When the masquers were come down to dance, who were all women, the chief of them being the daughter of the Viceroy, who was a widower, and she was his only child, they took out the men such as their fancy pleased, and then they sat down; and then one of the chief of the men chose out a lady, and so began to dance in single couples[.] The Duke being the chief that did dance, chose out this beauty, not knowing who she was, nor she him: but when she danced, it was so becoming; for she having naturally a majestical presence, although her behaviour was easy and free, and a severe countenance, yet modest and pleasing, and great skill in the art, keeping her measures just to the notes of music, moving smoothly, evenly, easily, made her astonish all the company.
The Viceroy sent to enquire who she was, and what she was, and from whence she came, and where she lived, but the enquirer could learn nothing. But as soon as the masque was done, she was sought about for, and enquired after, but she was gone not to be heard of: whereupon many did think she was a vision, or some angel which appeared, and then vanished away; for she had done as her uncle had commanded her, which was, to convey herself as soon away as she could, covering herself close. So home they went, and her uncle was very much pleased to see the sparks of her beauty had set their tinder hearts on fire. But as they went home, she enquired of her uncle[,] of the company; pray Sir, said she, was the Duke or Duchess there?
I cannot tell, said he, for my eyes were [so] wholly taken up in observing your behaviour, that I never considered nor took notice who was there.
Who was he that first took me out to dance? said she.
I cannot tell that neither, said he, for I only took the length of your measure; and what through a fear you should be out, and dance wrong, and with joy to see you dance well, I never considered whether the man you danced with moved or no, nor what he was: but now I am so confident of you, that the next assembly I will look about, and inform you as much as I can: so home they went. But her beauty had left such stings behind it, especially in the breast[s] of the Viceroy and the Duke, that they could not rest. Neither was she free, for she had received a wound, but knew not of it; her sleeps were unsound, for they indeed were slumbers rather than sleeps; her dreams were many, and various: but her lovers, that could neither slumber nor sleep, began to search, and to make an enquiry; but none could bring tidings where she dwelt, nor who she was. But the Viceroy cast about to attain the sight of her once again; so he made a great ball, and provided a great banquet, to draw an assembly of all young ladies to his court. Whereupon her uncle understanding, told his niece she must prepare to show herself once again; for I will, said he, the next day after this ball, remove to our new house.
Sir, said she, I must have another new gown.
As many as thou wilt, said he, and as rich; besides, I will buy you jewels.
No Sir, said she, pray spare that cost, for they are only to be worn at such times of assemblies which I shall not visit often for fear I tire the courtly spectators, which delight in new faces, as they do new scenes. So her uncle left her to order herself; who dressed herself this time all in white satin, all embroidered with silver.
When her uncle saw her so dressed, now by my troth thou lookest like a Heaven stuck with stars, but thy beauty takes off the gloss of thy bravery; now, said he, you shall not go veiled, for thy beauty shall make thy way; besides, we will not go too soon, nor while they are in disorder, but when they are all placed, you will be the more prospectious.6
But the cavaliers, especially the Duke and the Viceroy, began to be melancholy for fear she should not come; their eyes were always placed at the doors like sentinels, to watch her entrance; and when they came to the court, all the crowds of people, as in a fright, started back, as if they were surprised with some divine object, making a lane, in which she passed through; and the keepers of the doors were struck mute, there was no resistance, all was open and free to enter. But when she came in into the presence of the lords and ladies, all the men rose up, and bowed themselves to her, as if they had given her divine worship; [excepting] only the Duke, who trembled so much, occasioned by the passion of love, that he could not stir: but the Viceroy went to her.
Lady, said he, will you give me leave to place you?
Your Highness, said she, will do me too much honour.
So he called for a chair, and placed her next himself; and when she was set, she produced the same effects as a burning glass;7 for the beams of all eyes were drawn together, as one point placed in her face, and by reflection she sent a burning heat, and fired every heart. But he could not keep her; for as soon as they began to dance, she was taken out, but not by the Duke, for he had not recovered as yet [from] love’s shaking fit. But the young gallants chose her so often to dance, for every one took it for a disgrace, as not to have the honour to dance with her, insomuch that few of the other ladies danced at all, as being creatures not worthy to be regarded whilst she was there.
But the Viceroy, for fear they should tire her, and she not daring to deny them, by reason it would be thought an affront, and rude, or want of breeding, made the Viceroy call sooner for the banquet than otherwise he would have done. Besides, he perceived the rest of the ladies begin to be angry, expressing it by their frowns; and knowing nothing will so soon pacify that bitter humour in ladies as sweetmeats, he had them brought in. But when the banquet came in, he presented her the first with some of those sweetmeats, and still filling her ears with compliments, or rather chosen words, for no compliment could pass on her beauty, it was beyond all expressions.
At last, he asked her where her lodging was, and whether she would give him leave to wait upon her.
She answered him, it would be a great grace and favour to receive a visit from him; but, said she, I am not at my own disposing, wherefore I can neither give nor receive without leave.
Pray, said he, may I know who is this happy person you so humbly obey.
Said she, it is my uncle, with whom I live.
Where doth he live? said he.
Truly, said she, I cannot tell the name of the street.
He is not here, Lady? said he.
Yes, said she, and pointed to him. And though he was loath, yet he was forced to leave her so long, as to speak with her uncle: but the whilst he was from her, all the young gallants, which were gathered round about her, presented her with sweetmeats, as offerings to a goddess; and she making them curtsies, as returning them thanks for that she was not able to receive, as being too great a burden; for she was offered more sweetmeats than one of the Viceroy’s guard could carry.
But all the while the Duke stood as a statue, only his eyes were fixed upon her, nor had he power to speak; and she perceiving where he was, for her eye had secretly hunted him out, would as often look upon him as her modesty would give her leave, and desired much to know who he was, but was ashamed to ask.
At last, the Duke being a little encouraged by her eye, came to her.
Lady, said he, I am afraid to speak, lest I should seem rude by my harsh discourse; for there is not in the alphabet, words gentle nor smooth enough for your soft ears, but what your tongue doth polish: yet I hope you will do as the rest of the gods and goddesses, descend to mortals, since they cannot reach to you.
Sir, said she, but that I know it is the courtly custom for men to express their civilities to our sex in the highest words, otherwise I should take it as an affront and scorn; to be called by those names I understand not, and to be likened to that which cannot be comprehended.
Said the Duke, you cannot be comprehended; nor do your lovers know what destiny you have decreed them.
But the Viceroy came back with her uncle, who desired to have his niece home, the banquet being ended.
But when the Duke saw her uncle, he then apprehending who she was, was so struck, that what with guilt of conscience, and with repenting sorrow, he was ready to fall down dead.
Her uncle, seeing him talking to her, thus spoke to the Duke.
Sir, said he, you may spare your words, for
you cannot justify your unworthy deeds.
Whereat she turned as pale as death, her spirits being gathered to guard the heart, being in distress, as overwhelmed with passion. But the bustle of the crowd helped to obscure her change, as well it did smother her uncle’s words, which pierced none but the Duke’s ears, and hers.
The Viceroy taking her by the hand, led her to the coach, and all the gallants attended; whereat the ladies, that were left behind in the room, were so angry, shooting forth words like bullets with the fire of anger, wounding every man with reproach: but at the Viceroy they sent out whole volleys, which battered his reputation: but as for the young Lady, they did appoint a place of purpose to dissect her, reading satirical lectures upon every part with the hard terms of dispraises. So all being dispersed, the Viceroy longed for that seasonable hour to visit her.
But the Duke wished there were neither time nor life: I cannot hope, said he, for mercy, my fault is too great, nor can I live or the in quiet without it; but the miseries and torments of despairing lovers will be my punishment.
But the old gentleman was so pleased to see his niece admired, that as he went home, he did nothing but sing after a humming way; and was so frolic, as if he were returned to twenty years of age; and after he came home, he began to examine his niece.
Said he, how do you like the Duke? for that was he who was speaking to you when I came.
She answered, that she saw nothing to be disliked in his person.
And how, said he, do you like the Viceroy?
As well, said she, as I can like a thing that time hath worn out of fashion.
So, said he, I perceive you despise age: but let me tell you, that what beauty and favour Time takes from the body, he gives double proportions of knowledge and understanding to the mind; and you use to preach to me, the outside is not to be regarded; and I hope you will not preach that doctrine to others you will not follow yourself.
Sir, said she, I shall be ruled by your doctrine, and not by my own.
Then, said he, I take my text out of virtue, which is divided into four parts, prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. Prudence is to forsee the worst, and provide the best we can for ourselves, by shunning the dangerous ways, and choosing the best; and my application is, that you must shun the dangerous ways of beauty, and choose riches and honour, as the best for yourself.
Fortitude is to arm ourselves against misfortunes, and to strengthen our forts with patience, and to fight with industry. My application of this part is, you must barricade your ears, and not suffer, by listening after the enticing persuasions of rhetoric to enter; for if it once get into the brain, it will easily make a passage to the heart, or blow up the tower of reason with the fire of foolish love.
Temperance is to moderate the appetites, and qualify the unruly passions. My third application is, you must marry a discreet and sober man, a wise and understanding man, a rich and honourable man, a grave and aged man, and not, led by your appetites, marry a vain fantastical man, a proud conceited man, a wild debauched man, a foolish prodigal, a poor shark, or a young inconstant man.
And fourthly and lastly, is justice, which is to be divided according to right and truth, to reward and punish according to desert, to deal with others as we would be dealt unto.
My last application is, that you should take such counsel, and follow such advice from your friends, as you would honestly give to a faithful friend as the best for him, without any ends to yourself; and so goodnight, for you cannot choose but be very sleepy.
When he was gone, Lord, said she, this doctrine, although it was full of morality, yet in this melancholy humour I am in, it sounds like a funeral sermon to me: I am sure it is a preamble to some design he hath, pray God it is not to marry me to the Viceroy; of all the men I ever saw, I could not affect him, I should more willingly wed death than him, he is an antipathy to my nature, good Jupiter, said she, deliver me from him. So she went to bed, not to sleep, for she could take little rest, for her thoughts worked as fast as a feverish pulse.
But the Viceroy came the next day, and treated with her uncle, desiring her for his wife.
Her uncle told him, it would be a great fortune for his niece, but he could not force her affection; but, said he, you shall have all the assistance, as the power and authority of an uncle, and the persuasions as a friend can give, to get her consent to marry you.
Pray, said the Viceroy, let me see her, and discourse with her.
He desired to excuse him, if he suffered him not to visit her; for, said he, young women that are disposed by their friends, must wed without wooing. But he was very loath to go without a sight of her: yet pacifying himself with the hopes of having her to his wife, presented his service to her, and took his leave.
Then her uncle sat in council with his thoughts how he should work her affection, and draw her consent to marry this Viceroy, for he found she had no stomach towards him; at last, he thought it best to let her alone for a week, or such a time, that the smooth faces of the young gallants, that she saw at the masque and ball, might be worn out of her mind. In the meantime, she grew melancholy, her countenance was sad, her spirits seemed dejected, her colour faded, for she could eat no meat, nor take no rest; neither could she study nor practise her exercises, as dancing, etc. Her music was laid by: neither could she raise her voice to any note, but walked from one end of the room to the other, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, would sigh and weep, and knew not for what; at last, [she] spoke thus to herself[.] Surely an evil fate hangs over me, for I am so dull, as if I were a piece of earth, without sense; yet I am not sick, I do not find my body distempered, then surely it is in my mind, and what should disturb that: my uncle loves me, and is as fond of me as ever he was; I live in plenty, I have as much pleasure and delight as my mind can desire. O but the Viceroy affrights it, there is the cause; and yet methinks that cannot be, because I do verily believe my uncle will not force me to marry against my affections; besides, the remembrance of him seldom comes into my mind; for my mind is so full of thoughts of the Duke, that there is no other room left for any other; my fancy orders places, and dresses him a thousand several ways: thus have I a thousand several figures of him in my head[.] Heaven grant I be not in love; I dare not ask anyone that hath been in love, what humours that passion hath: but why should I be in love with him? I have seen as handsome men as he, that I would not take the pains to look on twice: but now I call him better to mind, he is the handsomest I ever saw: but what is a handsome body, unless he hath a noble soul? He is perjured and inconstant; alas, it was the fault of his father to force him to swear against his affections. But whilst she was thus reasoning to herself, in came her uncle; he told her, he had provided her with a good husband.
Sir, said she, are you weary of me? Or am I become a burden, you so desire to part with me, in giving me a husband?
Nay, said he, I will never part, for I will end the few remainder of my days with thee.
Said she, you give your power, authority, and commands, with my obedience, away; for if my husband and your commands are contrary, I can obey but one, which must be my husband.
Good reason, said he, and for thy sake I will be commanded to; but in the meantime, I hope you will be ruled by me; and here is a great match propounded to me for you, the like I could not have hoped for, which is the Viceroy, he is rich.
Yet, said she, he may be a fool.
O, he is wise and discreet, said he.
Said she, I have heard he is ill natured, and froward.8
Answered her uncle, he is in great power and authority.
He may be, said she, never the honester for that.
He is, said he, in great favour with the King.
Sir, said she, princes and monarchs do not always favour the most deserving, nor do they always advance men for merit, but most commonly otherwise, the unworthiest are advanced highest; besides, bribery, partiality, and flattery, rule princes and states.
Said her uncle, let me advise you not to use rhetor
ic against yourself, and overthrow a good fortune, in refusing such a husband as shall advance your place above that false Duke’s Duchess; and his estate, with yours joined to it, it will be a greater than his, with which you shall be served nobly, attended numerously, live plentifully, adorned richly, have all the delights and pleasures your soul can desire; and he being in years, will dote on you; besides, he having had experience of vain debaucheries, is become staid and sage.
Sir, said she, his age will be the means to bar me of all these braveries, pleasures and delights you propound; for he being old, and I young, he will become so jealous, that I shall be in restraint like a prisoner; nay, he will be jealous of the light, and my own thoughts, and will enclose me in darkness, and disturb the peace of my mind with his discontents; for jealousy, I have heard, is never at quiet with itself, nor to those that live near it.
Come, come, said he, you talk I know not what; I perceive you would marry some young, fantastical, prodigal fellow, who will give you only diseases, and spend your estate, and his own too, amongst his whores, bawds, and sycophants; whilst you sit mourning at home, he will be revelling abroad, and then disturb your rest, coming home at unseasonable times; and if you must suffer, you had better suffer by those that love, than those that care not for you, for jealousy is only an overflow of love; wherefore be ruled, and let not all my pains, care, and cost, and the comfort of my labour, be lost through your disobedience.
The Blazing World and Other Writings (Penguin Classics) Page 6
