Don Henrique was a person of great birth, of a great estate, of a bravery equal to either, of a most generous education, but of more passion than reason. He was besides of an opener and freer temper than generally his countrymen are (I mean, the Spaniards) and always engaged in some love-intrigue or other.
One night as he was retreating from one of those engagements, Don Sebastian, whose sister he had abused with a promise of marriage, set upon him at the corner of a street, in Madrid, and by the help of three of his friends, designed to have despatched him on a doubtful embassy to the Almighty Monarch. But he received their first instructions with better address than they expected, and dismissed his envoy first, killing one of Don Sebastian’s friends. Which so enraged the injured brother, that his strength and resolution seemed to be redoubled, and so animated his two surviving companions, that (doubtless) they had gained a dishonourable victory, had not Don Antonio accidentally come in to the rescue; who after a short dispute, killed one of the two who attacked him only; whilst Don Henrique, with the greatest difficulty, defended his life, for some moments, against Sebastian, whose rage deprived him of strength, and gave his adversary the unwished advantage of his seeming death, though not without bequeathing some bloody legacies to Don Henrique. Antonio had received but one slight wound in the left arm, and his surviving antagonist none; who however thought it not advisable to begin a fresh dispute against two, of whose courage he had but too fatal a proof, though one of them was sufficiently disabled. The conquerors on the other side, politicly retreated, and quitting the field to the conquered, left the living to bury the dead, if he could, or thought convenient.
As they were marching off, Don Antonio, who all this while knew not whose life he had so happily preserved, told his companion in arms, that he thought it indispensably necessary that he should quarter with him that night for his further preservation. To which he prudently consented, and went, with no little uneasiness, to his lodgings; where he surprised Antonio with the sight of his dearest friend. For they had certainly the nearest sympathy in all their thoughts, that ever made two brave men unhappy. And, undoubtedly, nothing but death, or more fatal love, could have divided them. However, at present, they were united and secure.
In the meantime, Don Sebastian’s friend was just going to call help to carry off the bodies, as the — came by; who seeing three men lie dead, seized the fourth: who as he was about to justify himself, by discovering one of the authors of so much bloodshed, was interrupted by a groan from his supposed dead friend Don Sebastian; whom, after a brief account of some part of the matter, and a knowledge of his quality, they took up, and carried to his house; where, within a few days he was recovered past the fear of death. All this while Henrique and Antonio durst not appear, so much as by night; nor could be found, though diligent and daily search was made after the first; but upon Don Sebastian’s recovery, the search ceasing, they took the advantage of the night, and, in disguise, retreated to Seville. It was there they thought themselves most secure, where indeed they were in the greatest danger; for though (haply) they might there have escaped the murderous attempt of Don Sebastian and his friends, yet they could not there avoid the malicious influence of their stars.
This city gave birth to Antonio, and to the cause of his greatest misfortunes, as well as of his death. Donna Ardelia was born there, a miracle of beauty and falsehood. It was more than a year since Don Antonio had first seen and loved her. For it was impossible any man should do one without the other. He had had the unkind opportunity of speaking and conveying a billet to her at church; and to his greater misfortune, the next time he found her there, he met with too kind a return both from her eyes and from her hand, which privately slipped a paper into his; in which he found abundantly more than he expected, directing him in that, how he should proceed, in order to carry her off from her father with the least danger he could look for in such an attempt; since it would have been vain and fruitless to have asked her of her father, because their families had been at enmity for several years; though Antonio was as well descended as she, and had as ample a fortune; nor was his person, according to his sex, any way inferior to hers; and certainly, the beauties of his mind were more excellent, especially if it be an excellence to be constant.
He had made several attempts to take possession of her, but all proved ineffectual; however, he had the good fortune not to be known, though once or twice he narrowly escaped with life, bearing off his wounds with difficulty. (Alas, that the wounds of love should cause those of hate!) Upon which she was strictly confined to one room, whose only window was towards the garden, and that too was grated with iron; and, once a month, when she went to church, she was constantly and carefully attended by her father, and a mother-in-law, worse than a Duegna. Under this miserable confinement Antonio understood she still continued, at his return to Seville, with Don Henrique, whom he acquainted with his invincible passion for her; lamenting the severity of her present circumstances, that admitted of no prospect of relief; which caused a generous concern in Don Henrique, both for the sufferings of his friend, and of the lady. He proposed several ways to Don Antonio, for the release of the fair prisoner; but none of them was thought practicable, or at least likely to succeed. But Antonio, who (you may believe) was then more nearly engaged, bethought himself of an expedient that would undoubtedly reward their endeavours. It was, that Don Henrique, who was very well acquainted with Ardelia’s father, should make him a visit, with pretence of begging his consent and admission to make his addresses to his daughter; which, in all probability, he could not refuse to Don Henrique’s quality and estate; and then this freedom of access to her would give him the opportunity of delivering the lady to his friend. This was thought so reasonable, that the very next day it was put in practice; and with so good success, that Don Henrique was received by the father of Ardelia with the greatest and most respectful ceremony imaginable. And when he made the proposal to him of marrying his daughter, it was embraced with a visible satisfaction and joy in the air of his face. This their first conversation ended with all imaginable content on both sides; Don Henrique being invited by the father to dinner the next day, when Dona Ardelia was to be present; who, at that time, was said to be indisposed, (as it is very probable she was, with so close an imprisonment). Henrique returned to Antonio, and made him happy with the account of his reception; which could not but have terminated in the perfect felicity of Antonio, had his fate been just to the merits of his love. The day and hour came which brought Henrique, with a private commission from his friend, to Ardelia. He saw her; (ah! would he had only seen her veiled!) and, with the first opportunity, gave her the letter, which held so much love, and so much truth, as ought to have preserved him in the empire of her heart. It contained, besides, a discovery of his whole design upon her father, for the completing of their happiness; which nothing then could obstruct but herself. But Henrique had seen her; he had gazed, and swallowed all her beauties at his eyes. How greedily his soul drank the strong poison in! But yet his honour and his friendship were strong as ever, and bravely fought against the usurper love, and got a noble victory; at least he thought and wished so. With this, and a short answer to his letter, Henrique returned to the longing Antonio; who, receiving the paper with the greatest devotion, and kissing it with the greatest zeal, opened and read these words to himself:
Don Antonio,
You have, at last, made use of the best and only expedient for my enlargement; for which I thank you, since I know it is purely the effect of your love. Your agent has a mighty influence on my father: and you may assure yourself, that as you have advised and desired me, he shall have no less on me, who is
Yours entirely,
And only yours,
Ardelia.
Having respectfully and tenderly kissed the name, he could not choose but show the billet to his friend; who reading that part of it which concerned himself, started and blushed: which Antonio observing, was curious to know the cause of it. Henrique told him, that he was surprised to find her express so little love, after so long an absence. To which his friend replied for her, that, doubtless, she had not time enough to attempt so great a matter as a perfect account of her love; and added, that it was confirmation enough to him of its continuance, since she subscribed herself his entirely, and only his. How blind is love! Don Henrique knew how to make it bear another meaning; which, however, he had the discretion to conceal. Antonio, who was as real in his friendship, as constant in his love, asked him what he thought of her beauty? To which the other answered, that he thought it irresistible to any, but to a soul prepossessed, and nobly fortified with a perfect friendship: ‘Such as is thine, my Henrique,’ added Antonio; ‘yet as sincere and perfect as that is, I know you must, nay, I know, you do love her.’ ‘As I ought to do,’ replied Henrique. ‘Yes, yes,’ returned his friend, ‘it must be so; otherwise the sympathy which unites our souls would be wanting, and consequently our friendship were in a state of imperfection.’ ‘How industriously you would argue me into a crime, that would tear and destroy the foundation of the strongest ties of truth and honour!’ said Henrique. ‘But,’ he continued, ‘I hope within a few days, to put it out of my power to be guilty of so great a sacrilege.’ ‘I can’t determine,’ said Antonio, ‘if I knew that you loved one another, whether I could easier part with my friend, or my mistress.’ ‘Though what you say is highly generous, replied Henrique,’ yet give me leave to urge, that it looks like a trial of friendship, and argues you inclinable to jealousy. But, pardon me, I know it to be sincerely meant by you; and must therefore own, that it is the best, because it is the noblest way of securing both your friend and mistress.’ ‘I need not make use of any arts to secure me of either,’ replied Antonio, ‘but expect to enjoy them both in a little time.’
Henrique, who was a little uneasy with a discourse of this nature, diverted it, by reflecting on what had passed at Madrid, between them two and Don Sebastian and his friends; which caused Antonio to bethink himself of the danger to whith he exposed his friend, by appearing daily, though in disguise. For, doubtless, Don Sebastian would pursue his revenge to the utmost extremity. These thoughts put him upon desiring his friend, for his own sake, to hasten the performance of his attempt; and accordingly, each day Don Henrique brought Antonio nearer the hopes of happiness, while he himself was hourly sinking into the lowest state of misery. The last night before the day in which Antonio expected to be blessed in her love, Don Henrique had a long and fatal conference with her about her liberty. Being then with her alone in an arbour of the garden, which privilege he had had for some days; after a long silence, and observing Don Henrique in much disorder, by the motion of his eyes, which were sometimes steadfastly fixed on the ground, then lifted up to her or heaven, (for he could see nothing more beautiful on earth) she made use of the privilege of her sex; and began the discourse first, to this effect: ‘Has anything happened, sir, since our retreat hither, to occasion that disorder which is but too visible in your face, and too dreadful in your continued silence? Speak, I beseech you, sir, and let me know if I have any way unhappily contributed to it!’ ‘No, madam,’ replied he, ‘my friendship is now likely to be the only cause of my greatest misery; for tomorrow I must be guilty of an unpardonable crime, in betraying the generous confidence which your noble father has placed in me. Tomorrow,’ added he, with a piteous sigh, ‘I must deliver you into the hands of one whom your father hates even to death, instead of doing myself the honour of becoming his son-in-law within a few days more. – But – I will consider and remind myself, that I give you into the hands of my friend; of my friend, that loves you better than his life, which he has often exposed for your sake; and what is more than all, to my friend, whom you love more than any consideration on earth.’ ‘And must this be done?’ she asked. ‘Is it inevitable as fate?’ ‘Fixed as the laws of nature, madam,’ replied he. ‘Don’t you find the necessity of it, Ardelia?’ continued he, by way of question. ‘Does not your love require it? Think, you are going to your dear Antonio, who alone can merit you, and whom only you can love.’ ‘Were your last words true,’ returned she,’ I should yet be unhappy in the displeasure of a dear and tender father, and infinitely more, in being the cause of your infidelity to him. No, Don Henrique,’ continued she, ‘I could with greater satisfaction return to my miserable confinement, than by any means disturb the peace of your mind, or occasion one moment’s interruption of your quiet.’ ‘Would to Heaven you did not,’ sighed he to himself. Then addressing his words more distinctly to her, cried he, ‘Ah, cruel! ah, unjust Ardelia! these words belong to none but Antonio; why then would you endeavour to persuade me, that I do, or ever can merit the tenderness of such an expression? Have a care!’ pursued he, ‘have a care, Ardelia! your outward beauties are too powerful to be resisted; even your frowns have such a sweetness that they attract the very soul that is not strongly prepossessed with the noblest friendship, and the highest principles of honour. Why then, alas! did you add such sweet and charming accents? Why –’ ‘Ah, Don Henrique!’ she interrupted, ‘why did you appear to me so charming in your person, so great in your friendship, and so illustrious in your reputation? Why did my father, ever since your first visit, continually fill my ears and thoughts with noble characters and glorious ideas, which yet but imperfectly and faintly represent the inimitable original! But (what is most severe and cruel) why, Don Henrique, why will you defeat my father in his ambition of your alliance, and me of those glorious hopes with which you had blessed my soul, by casting me away from you to Antonio!’ ‘Ha,’ cried he, starting,’ what said you, madam! What did Ardelia say? That I had blessed your soul with hopes! That I would cast you away to Antonio! Can they who safely arrive in their wished-for port, be said to be shipwrecked? Or, can an abject indigent wretch make a king? These are more than riddles, madam; and I must not think to expound them.’ ‘No,’ said she, ‘let it alone, Don Henrique; I’ll ease you of that trouble, and tell you plainly that I love you.’ ‘Ah,’ cried he, ‘now all my fears are come upon me!’ ‘How!’ asked she, ‘were you afraid I should love you? Is my love so dreadful then?’ ‘Yes, when misplaced,’ replied he; ‘but it was your falsehood that I feared. Your love was what I would have sought with the utmost hazard of my life, nay, even of my future happiness, I fear, had you not been engaged; strongly obliged to love elsewhere, both by your own choice and vows, as well as by his dangerous services, and matchless constancy.’ ‘For which,’ said she, ‘I do not hate him, though his father killed my uncle. Nay, perhaps,’ continued she, ‘I have a friendship for him, but no more.’ ‘No more, said you, madam?’ cried he; ‘but tell me, did you never love him?’ ‘Indeed I did,’ replied she; ‘but the sight of you has better instructed me, both in my duty to my father, and in causing my passion for you, without whom I shall be eternally miserable. Ah, then pursue your honourable proposal, and make my father happy in my marriage!’ ‘It must not be,’ returned Don Henrique, ‘my honour, my, friendship forbids it.’ ‘No,’ she returned, ‘your honour requires it; and if your friendship opposes your honour, it can have no sure and solid foundation.’ ‘Female sophistry,’ cried Henrique: ‘but you need no art nor artifice, Ardelia, to make me love you. Love you!’ pursued he,’ by that bright sun, the light and heat of all the world, you are my only light and heat – Oh, friendship! Sacred friendship, now assist me!’ [Here for a time he paused, and then afresh proceeded thus,] ‘You told me, or my ears deceived me, that you loved me, Ardelia.’ ‘I did,’ she replied, ‘and that I do love you, is as true as that I told you so.’ ‘It is well; but would it were not so!’ ‘Did ever man receive a blessing thus?’ ‘Why, I could wish I did not love you, Ardelia! But that were impossible –’ ‘At least unjust,’ interrupted she. ‘Well then,’ he went on, ‘to show you that I do sincerely consult your particular happiness, without any regard to my own, tomorrow I will give you to Don Antonio; and as a proof of your love to me, I expect your ready consent to it,’ ‘To let you see, Don Henrique, how perfectly and tenderly I love you, I will be sacrificed tomorrow to Don Antonio, and to your quiet.’ ‘Oh, strongest, dearest obligation!’ cried Henrique. ‘Tomorrow then, as I have told your father, I am to bring you to see the dearest friend I have on earth, who dares not appear within this city for some unhappy reasons, and therefore cannot be present at our nuptials; for which cause, I could not but think it my duty to one so nearly related to my soul, to make him happy in the sight of my beautiful choice, ere yet she be my bride.’ ‘I hope,’ said she,’ my loving obedience may merit your compassion; and that at last, ere the fire is lighted that must consume the offering, I mean the marriage-tapers’ (alluding to the old Roman ceremony) ‘that you or some other pitying angel, will snatch me from the altar.’ ‘Ah, no more, Ardelia! say no more,’ cried he,’ we must be cruel, to be just to ourselves.’ [Here their discourse ended, and they walked into the house, where they found the good old gentleman and his lady, with whom he stayed till about an hour after supper, when he returned to his friend with joyful news, but a sorrowful heart.]
Antonio was all rapture with the thoughts of the approaching day; which though it brought Don Henrique and his dear Ardelia to him, about five o’clock in the evening, yet at the same time brought his last and greatest misfortune. He saw her then at a she relation’s of his, above three miles from Seville, which was the place assigned for their fatal interview. He saw her, I say; but ah! how strange! how altered from the dear, kind Ardelia she was when last he left her! It is true, he flew to her with arms expanded, and with so swift and eager a motion, that she could not avoid, nor get loose from his embrace, till he had kissed, and sighed, and dropped some tears, which all the strength of his mind could not restrain; whether they were the effects of joy, or whether (which rather may be feared) they were the heat-drops which preceded and threatened the thunder and tempest that should fall on his head, I cannot positively say; yet all this she was then forced to endure, ere she had liberty to speak, or indeed to breathe. But as soon as she had freed herself from the loving circle that should have been the dear and loved confinement or centre of a faithful heart, she began to dart whole showers of tortures on him from her eyes; which that mouth that he had just before so tenderly and sacredly kissed, seconded with whole volleys of deaths crammed in every sentence, pointed with the keenest affliction that ever pierced a soul. ‘Antonio,’ she began,’ you have treated me now as if you were never like to see me more: and would to Heaven you were not!’ ‘Ha!’ cried he, starting and staring wildly on her, ‘What said you, madam? What said you, my Ardelia?’ ‘If you like the repetition, take it!’ replied she, unmoved, ‘Would to Heaven you were never like to see me more!’ ‘Good! very good!’ cried he, with a sigh that threw him trembling into a chair behind him, and gave her the opportunity of proceeding thus. ‘Yet, Antonio, I must not have my wish; I must continue with you, not out of choice, but by command, by the strictest and severest obligation that ever bound humanity. Don Henrique, your friend, commands it; Don Henrique, the dearest object of my soul, enjoins it; Don Henrique, whose only aversion I am, will have it so.’ ‘Oh, do not wrong me, madam!’ cried Don Henrique. ‘Lead me, lead me a little more by the light of your discourse, I beseech you,’ said Don Antonio,’ that I may see your meaning! for hitherto It is darkness all to me.’ ‘Attend, therefore, with your best faculties,’ pursued Ardelia, ‘and know, that I do most sincerely and most passionately love Don Henrique; and as a proof of my love to him, I have this day consented to be delivered up to you by him; not for your sake in the least, Antonio, but purely to sacrifice all the quiet of my life to his satisfaction. And now, sir,’ continued she, addressing herself to Don Henrique, ‘now, sir, if you can be so cruel, execute your own most dreadful decree, and join our hands, though our hearts never can meet.’ ‘All this to try me! It’s too much Ardelia,’ said Antonio. And then turning to Don Henrique, he went on,’ Speak, thou! if yet thou art not apostate to our friendship! Yet speak, however! Speak, though the Devil has been tampering with thee too! Thou art a man, a man of honour once.’ ‘And when I forfeit my just title to that,’ interrupted Don Henrique, ‘may I be made most miserable! May I lose the blessings of thy friendship! May I lose thee!’ ‘Say on then, Henrique,’ cried Antonio, ‘and I charge thee, by all the sacred ties of friendship, say, Is this a trial of me? Is it illusion, sport, or shameful murderous truth? Oh, my soul burns within me, and I can bear no longer. Tell! Speak! Say on!’ [Here, with folded arms, and eyes fixed steads fastly on Henrique, he stood like a statue, without motion; unless sometimes, when his swelling heart raised his overcharged breast.] After a little pause, and a hearty sigh or two, Henrique began: ‘Oh, Antonio! Oh my friend! prepare thyself to hear yet more dreadful accents! I am,’ pursued he, ‘unhappily the greatest and most innbcent criminal that ere till now offended: I love her, Antonio, I love Ardelia with a passion strong and violent as thine! Oh! summon all that used to be more than man about thee, to suffer to the end of my discourse, which nothing but a resolution like thine can bear! I know it by myself.’ ‘Though there be wounds, horror, and death in each syllable,’ interrupted Antonio, ‘yet prithee now go on, but with all haste.’ ‘I will,’ returned Henrique,’ though I feel my own words have the same cruel effects on me. I say again, my soul loves Ardelia. And how can it be otherwise? Have we not both the self-same appetites, the same disgusts? How then could I avoid my destiny, that has decreed that I should love and hate just as you do? Oh, hard necessity! that obliged you to use me in the recovery of this lady! Alas, can you think that any man of sense or passion could have seen, and not have loved her! Then how should I, whose thoughts are unisons to yours, evade those charms that had prevailed on you? And now, to let you know, it is no illusion, no sport, but serious and amazing woeful truth, Ardelia best can tell you whom she loves.’ ‘What I have already said, is true, by Heaven,’ cried she, ‘It is you, Don Henrique, whom I only love, and who alone can give me happiness. Ah, would you would! With you, Antonio, I must remain unhappy, wretched, cursed. Thou art my Hell; Don Henrique is my Heaven.’ ‘And thou art mine,’ returned he, ‘which here I part with to my dearest friend.’ Then taking her hand, ‘ Pardon me, Antonio,’ pursued he,’ that I thus take my last farewell of all the tastes of bliss from your Ardelia, at this moment.’ [At which words he kissed her hand, and gave it to Don Antonio; who received it, and gently pressed it close to his heart, as if he would have her feel the disorders she had caused there.] ‘Be happy, Antonio,’ cried Henrique. ‘Be very tender of her; tomorrow early I shall hope to see thee, Ardelia,’ pursued he; ‘All happiness and joy surround thee! May thou never want those blessings thou canst give Antonio! Farewell to both!’ added he, going out. ‘Ah,’ cried she, ‘farewell to all joys, blessings, happiness, if you forsake me. Yet do not go! Ah, cruel!’ continued she, seeing him quit the room,‘but you shall take my soul with you.’ Here she swooned away in Don Antonio’s arms; who, though he was happy that he had her fast there, yet was obliged to call in his cousin, and Ardelia’s attendants, ere she could be perfectly recovered. In the meanwhile Don Henrique had not the power to go out of sight of the house, but wandered to and fro about it, distracted in his soul; and not being able longer to refrain her sight, her last words still resounding in his ears, he came again into the room where he left her with Don Antonio, just as she revived, and called him, exclaiming on his cruelty, in leaving her so soon. But when, turning her eyes towards the door, she saw him; oh! with what eager haste she flew to him! then clasped him round the waist, obliging him, with all the tender expressions that the soul of a lover, and a woman’s too, is capable of uttering, not to leave her in the possession of Don Antonio. This so amazed her slighted lover, that he knew not, at first, how to proceed in this tormenting scene; but at last, summoning all his wonted resolution, and strength of mind, he told her, he would put her out of his power, if she would consent to retreat for some few hours to a nunnery that was not above half a mile distant from thence, till he had discoursed with his friend, Don Henrique, something more particularly than hitherto, about this matter. To which she readily agreed, upon the promise that Don Henrique made her, of seeing her with the first opportunity. They waited on her then to the convent, where she was kindly and respectfully received by the Lady Abbess; but it was not long before her grief renewing with greater violence, and more afflicting circumstances, had obliged them to stay with her till it was almost dark, when they once more begged the liberty of an hour’s absence; and the better to palliate their design, Henrique told her, that he would make use of her father Don Richardo’s coach, in which they came to Don Antonio’s, for so small a time: which they did, leaving only Eleonora, her attendant, with her, without whom she had been at a loss, among so many fair strangers; strangers, I mean, to her unhappy circumstances. Whilst they were carried near a mile farther, where, just as it was dark, they lighted from the coach, Don Henrique ordering the servants not to stir thence till their return from their private walk, which was about a furlong, in a field that belonged to the convent. Here Don Antonio told Don Henrique, that he had not acted honourably; that he had betrayed him, and robbed him at once both of a friend and mistress. To which the other returned, that he understood his meaning, when he proposed a particular discourse about this affair, which he now perceived must end in blood. ‘But you may remind yourself,’ continued he, ‘that I have kept my promise in delivering her to you.’ ‘Yes,’ cried Antonio, ‘after you had practised foully and basely on her.’ ‘Not at all!’ returned Henrique. ‘It was her fate that brought this mischief on her; for I urged the shame and scandal of inconstancy, but all in vain, to her.’ ‘But don’t you love her, Henrique?’ the other asked. ‘Too well, and cannot live without her, though I fear I may feel the cursed effects of the same inconstancy. However, I had quitted her all to you, but you see how she resents it.’ ‘And you shall see, sir,’ cried Antonio, drawing his sword in a rage, ‘how I resent it.’ Here, without more words, they fell to action; to bloody action. (Ah! how wretched are our sex, in being the unhappy occasion of so many fatal mischiefs, even between the dearest friends!) They fought on each side with the greatest animosity of rivals, forgetting all the sacred bonds of their former friendship; till Don Antonio fell, and said, dying, ‘Forgive me, Henrique! I was to blame; I could not live without her: I fear she will betray thy life, which haste and preserve, for my sake – Let me not die all at once! Heaven pardon both of us! Farewell! Oh, haste!’ ‘Farewell!’ returned Don Henrique, ‘Farewell, thou bravest, truest friend! Farewell, thou noblest part of me! And farewell all the quiet of my soul.’ Then stooping, he kissed his cheek; but, rising, he found he must retire in time, or else must perish through loss of blood, for he had received two or three dangerous wounds, besides others of less consequence. Wherefore, he made all the convenient haste he could to the coach, into which, by the help of the footmen, he got, and ordered them to drive him directly to Don Richardo’s with all imaginable speed; where he arrived in little more than half an hour’s time, and was received by Ardelia’s father with the greatest confusion and amazement that is expressible, seeing him returned without his daughter, and so desperately wounded. Before he thought it convenient to ask him any question more than to inquire of his daughter’s safety, to which he received a short but satisfactory answer, Don Richardo sent for an eminent and able surgeon, who probed and dressed Don Henrique’s wounds, who was immediately put to bed; not without some despondency of his recovery: but (thanks to his kind stars, and kinder constitution!) he rested pretty well for some hours that night, and early in the morning, Ardelia’s father, who had scarce taken any rest all that night, came to visit him, as soon as he understood from the servants who watched with him, that he was in a condition to suffer a short discourse; which, you may be sure, was to learn the circumstances of the past night’s adventure; of which Don Henrique gave him a perfect and pleasant account, since he heard that Don Antonio, his mortal enemy, was killed; the assurance of whose death was the more delightful to him, since, by this relation, he found that Antonio was the man, whom his care of his daughter had so often frustrated. Don Henrique hardly made an end of his narration, ere a servant came hastily to give Richardo notice, that the officers were come to search for his son-in-law that should have been; whom the old gentleman’s wise precaution had secured in a room so unsuspected, that they might as reasonably have imagined the entire walls of his house had a door made of stones, as that there should have been one to that close apartment. He went therefore boldly to the officers, and gave them all the keys of his house, with free liberty to examine every room and chamber; which they did, but to no purpose; and Don Henrique lay there undiscovered, till his cure was perfected.
In the meantime Ardelia, who that fatal night but too rightly guessed that the death of one or both her lovers was the cause that they did not return to their promise, the next day fell into a high fever, in which her father found her soon after he had cleared himself of those who come to search for a lover. The assurance which her father gave her of Henrique’s life, seemed a little to revive her; but the severity of Antonio’s fate was no way obliging to her, since she could not but retain the memory of his love and constancy; which added to her afflictions, and heightened her distemper, insomuch that Richardo was constrained to leave her under the care of the good Lady Abbess, and to the diligent attendance of Eleonora, not daring to hazard her life in a removal to his own house. All their care and diligence was however ineffectual; for she languished even to the least hope of recovery, till immediately after the first visit of Don Henrique, which was the first he made in a month’s time, and that by night incognito, with her father, her distemper visibly retreated each day. Yet, when at last she enjoyed a perfect health of body, her mind grew sick, and she plunged into a deep melancholy; which made her entertain a positive resolution of taking the veil at the end of her novitiate; which accordingly she did, notwithstanding all the entreaties, prayers, and tears both of her father and lover. But she soon repented her vow, and often wished that she might by any means see and speak to Don Henrique, by whose help she promised to herself a deliverance out of her voluntary imprisonment: nor were his wishes wanting to the same effect, though he was forced to fly into Italy, to avoid the prosecution of Antonio’s friends. Thither she pursued him; nor could he any way shun her, unless he could have left his heart at a distance from his body; which made him take a fatal resolution of returning to Seville in disguise, where he wandered about the convent every night like a ghost (for indeed his soul was within, while his inanimate trunk was without) till at last he found means to convey a letter to her, which both surprised and delighted her. The messenger that brought it her was one of her mother-in-law’s maids whom he had known before, and met accidentally one night as he was going his rounds, and she coming out from Ardelia; with her he prevailed, and with gold obliged her to secrecy and assistance: which proved so successful, that he understood from Ardelia her strong desire of liberty, and the continuance of her passion for him, together with the means and time most convenient and likely to succeed for her enlargement. The time was the fourteenth night following, at twelve o’clock, which just completed a month since his return thither; at which time they both promised themselves the greatest happiness on earth. But you may observe the justice of Heaven, in their disappointment.
Don Sebastian, who still pursued him with a most implacable hatred, had traced him even to Italy, and there narrowly missing him, posted after him to Toledo; so sure and secret was his intelligence! As soon as he arrived, he went directly to the convent where his sister Elvira had been one of the professed, ever since Don Henrique had forsaken her, and where Ardelia had taken her repented vow. Elvira had all along concealed the occasion of her coming thither from Ardelia; and though she was her only confidant, and knew the whole story of her misfortunes, and heard the name of Don Henrique repeated a hundred times a day, whom still she loved most perfectly, yet never gave her beautiful rival any cause of suspicion that she loved him, either by words or looks. Nay more, when she understood that Don Henrique came to the convent with Ardelia and Antonio, and at other times with her father; yet she had so great a command of herself, as to refrain seeing him, or to be seen by him; nor ever intended to have spoken or writ to him, had not her brother Don Sebastian put her upon the cruel necessity of doing the last; who coming to visit his sister (as I have said before) found her with Dona Ardelia, whom he never remembered to have seen, nor who ever had seen him but twice, and that was about six years before, when she was but ten years of age, when she fell passionately in love with him, and continued her passion till about the fourteenth year of her empire, when unfortunate Antonio first began his court to her. Don Sebastian was really a very desirable person, being at that time very beautiful, his age not exceeding six-and-twenty, of a sweet conversation, very brave, but revengeful and irreconcilable (like most of his countrymen) and of an honourable family. At the sight of him Ardelia felt her former passion renew; which proceeded and continued with such violence, that it utterly defaced the ideas of Antonio and Henrique. (No wonder that she who could resolve to forsake her God for man, should quit one lover for another.) In short, she then only wished that he might love her equally, and then she doubted not of contriving the means of their happiness betwixt them. She had her wish, and more, if possible; for he loved her beyond the thought of any other present or future blessing, and failed not to let her know it, at the second interview; when he received the greatest pleasure he could have wished, next to the joys of a bridal bed. For she confessed her love to him, and presently put him upon thinking on the means of her escape; but not finding his designs so likely to succeed, as those measures she had sent to Don Henrique, she communicates the very same to Don Sebastian, and agreed with him to make use of them on that very night, wherein she had obliged Don Henrique to attempt her deliverance. The hour indeed was different, being determined to be at eleven. Elvira, who was present at the conference, took the hint; and not being willing to disoblige a brother who had so hazarded his life in vindication of her, either does not, or would not seem to oppose his inclinations at that time. However, when he retired with her to talk more particularly of his intended revenge on Don Henrique, who he told her lay somewhere absconded in Toledo, and whom he had resolved, as he assured her, to sacrifice to her injured honour, and his resentments; she opposed that his vindictive resolution with all the forcible arguments in a virtuous and pious lady’s capacity, but in vain: so that immediately, upon his retreat from the convent, she took the opportunity of writing to Don Henrique as follows, the fatal hour not being then seven nights distant.
Don Henrique,
My brother is now in town, in pursuit of your life; nay more, of your mistress, who has consented to make her escape from the convent, at the same place of it, and by the same means on which she had agreed to give herself entirely to you, but the hour is eleven. I know, Henrique, your Ardelia is dearer to you than your life: but your life, your dear life, is more desired than anything in this world, by
Your injured and forsaken
Elvira.
This she delivered to Richardo’s servant, whom Henrique had gained that nighty as soon as she came to visit Ardelia, at her usual hour, just as she went out of the cloister.
Don Henrique was not a little surprised with this billet; however, he could hardly resolve to forbear his accustomed visits to Ardelia, at first. But upon more mature consideration, he only chose to converse with her by letters, which still pressed her to be mindful of her promise, and of the hour, not taking notice of any caution that he had received of her treachery. To which she still returned in words that might assure him of her constancy.
The dreadful hour wanted not a quarter of being perfect, when Don Henrique came; and having fixed his rope ladder to that part of the garden wall, where he was expected, Ardelia, who had not stirred from that very place for a quarter of an hour before, prepared to ascend by it; which she did, as soon as his servant had returned and fixed it on the inner side of the wall: on the top of which, at a little distance, she found another fastened, for her to descend on the outside, whilst Don Henrique eagerly waited to receive her. She came at last, and flew into his arms; which made Henrique cry out in a rapture, ‘Am I at last once more happy in having my Ardelia in my possession!’ She, who knew his voice, and now found she was betrayed, but knew not by whom, shrieked out,’ I am ruined! help! help! Loose me, I charge you, Henrique! Loose me!’ At that very moment, and at those very words, came Sebastian, attended by only one servant; and hearing Henrique reply, ‘Not all the powers of hell shall snatch you from me,’ drawing his sword, without one word, made a furious pass at him. But his rage and haste misguided his arm, for his sword went quite through Ardelia’s body, who only said,’ Ah, wretched maid!’ and dropped from Henrique’s arms, who then was obliged to quit her, to preserve his own life, if possible: however he had not had so much time as to draw, had not Sebastian been amazed at this dreadful mistake of his sword; but presently recollecting himself, he flew with redoubled rage to attack Henrique; and his servant had seconded him, had not Henrique’s, who was now descended, otherwise diverted him. They fought with the greatest animosity on both sides, and with equal advantage; for they both fell together: ‘Ah, my Ardelia, I come to thee now!’ Sebastian groaned out. ‘Twas this unlucky arm, which now embraces thee, that killed thee.’ ‘Just Heaven!’ she sighed out, ‘Oh, yet have mercy!’ [Here they both died.] ‘Amen,’ cried Henrique, dying, ‘I want it most – Oh, Antonio! Oh! Elvira! Ah, there’s the weight that sinks me down. And yet I wish forgiveness. Once more, sweet Heaven, have mercy!’ He could not outlive that last word; which was echoed by Elvira, who all this while stood weeping, and calling out for help, as she stood close to the wall in the garden.
This alarmed the rest of the sisters, who rising, caused the bell to be rung out, as upon dangerous occasions it used to be; which raised the neighbourhood, who came time enough to remove the dead bodies of the two rivals, and of the late fallen angel Ardelia. The injured and neglected Elvira, whose piety designed quite contrary effects, was immediately seized with a violent fever, which, as it was violent, did not last long: for she died within four-and-twenty hours, with all the happy symptoms of a departing saint.