I Re-assume, Dear Cousin, without any Compliments, the Sequel of my Travels: In leaving St. Sebastian, we entred into a very rough Way, which brings you to such terrible steep Mountains, that you cannot ascend them without climbing; they are call’d Sierra de St. Adrian. They shew only Precipices and Rocks, on which a puling Lover may meet with certain Death, if he has a mind to it. Pine Trees of an extraordinary heighth crown the top of these Mountains. As far as the Sight will reach you see nothing but Desarts, cut with Streams clearer than Chrystal. Near the highest part of Mount St. Adrian, you meet with an elevated Rock, which seems to have been placed in the midst of the way to block up the Passage, and thus separate Biscaye from the Old Castille.

A tedious and painful Labour has pierced this Mass of Stone in manner of a Vault; you may walk forty or fifty Paces under it, without sight of Day, but what comes by the Overtures at each Entry, which are shut by great Doors: You find under this Vault an Inn, which is left in the Winter, by Reason of the Snows: You see here likewise a little Chappel of St. Adrian, and several Caverns, where Thieves commonly retreat; so that it is dangerous passing here without being in a condition of Defence. When we^[2] had traverst the Rock, we still a little ascended, to arrive to the top of the Mountain, which is held to be the highest of the Pyranea’s; it is wholly covered with great Ash Trees. There was never a finer place of Solitude; the Springs run here as in the Vallies: the sight is only bounded by the Weakness of the Eyes; Shades and Silence here reign, and the Eccho’s answers on every side. We began afterwards to descend down faster than we climed up: We saw in some parts little barren Plains, many sandy places, and ever and anon Mountains covered with great Rocks. It is not without Reason, that in passing so near, you fear, lest some one of ’em should get loose, which would certainly over-whelm one; for you see some which are fall’n from the top, and hang in their passage on other Clefts; and these finding nothing in the way, would give a sorry Diversion to a Traveller. I made all these Reflections at my ease; for I was alone in my Litter, with my Child, who did not at all disturb my Thoughts. A River call’d Urrola, big enough, but which was increased by the Torrents, and melted Snow, slides along the Way, and breaks forth into particular Streams in some places, which fall with a great impetuosity and noise, and make a very pleasant sound and sight.

We meet not here with those fine Castles to be seen on the Banks of the Loire, which make Travellers call it the Country of Fairies. Here are on these Mountains only some Shepherds Cottages, and some few Hovels, and at that distance, that you must go a great way before you can find them; yet all these Natural Objects, though very melancholly ones, yet have something that is very taking in them. The Snows were so high, that we had always twenty Men, who made way for us with Shovels. You will perhaps imagine this cost me very much; but here are so well establisht Orders, and those so well observ’d, that the Inhabitants of a Village are oblig’d to meet Travellers, and be their Guides to the next; and no one being bound to give them any thing, the least Liberality therefore satisfies them. To this first Care there is added another, which is that of Ringing the Bells without ceasing, to give notice to Travellers, where they may retreat in stormy Weather. They told me, there had not fall’n this forty Years so much Snow as we met with, there having been no Frost for a great while in this Province.

Our Troop was so great that we might count ourselves no ways inferiour to those Famous Caravans which go to Mecha; for without reckoning my Train, and that of Don Fernand de Toledo, there joyn’d with us near St. Sebastian, three Knights, with their Attendants, who return’d from their Commanderships of St. James; there were two of this Order, and one of that of Alcantara: The first wear Red Crosses, in form of an embroidered Sword, on their Shoulders; and he of Alcantara had a Green one. One of the two first is of Andalousia, the other of Galicia, and the third of Catalonia; they are of good Families; he of Andalousia calls himself, Don Esteve de Carvajal; he of Galicia, Don Sancho Sanniento; and the other of Catalonia, Don Frederic de Cardonne; they are Persons of good Meine, and well acquainted with the World. I receiv’d all possible Civilities from them, having much of the French Humour in them. They have travelled over the greatest Part of Europe; and this has rendred them so Polite. We went to lye at Galareta; this is a Borough a little distant from Mount Adrian, situated in the little Province of Spain, I now mention’d, named Alava, which makes a Part of Biscaye; we had there but bad Entertainment. They reckon it eleven Leagues from thence to St. Sebastian.

We had better Way from Galareta to Victoria, than we had before: The Country here yields much Corn and Grapes; and the Villages lie very thick together: We found here Custom-House-Men, who made us pay both for the Cloaths and Money we carried with us: they were not very exacting with us, because our Company was too large to be imposed on. Don Fernand de Toledo had inform’d me over Night, that we were to travel near the Castle of Quebara, which was said to be haunted with a Spirit, telling me a thousand extravagant Stories, which were readily swallow’d by the Inhabitants of the Country, and which were so effectually believ’d by them, that no body would live there. I had a great desire to see this place; for altho’ I am naturally as fearful as another, yet am not afraid of Ghosts; and if I were, our Company was so numerous, as would animate the greatest Coward: we struck off a little to the left, and came to the Borough of Quebara; the Master of the Inn where we entred, had the Keys of the Castle; he told us, in going along with us, ‘That the Duende,’ which is to say the Spirit, ‘could not endure Company; yet if we were a thousand together, he would, if he were minded, beat us all, in such a manner, as to leave us for dead.’ I began to tremble; Don Fernand de Toledo, and Don Frederic de Cordonne, who gave me their Hands, perceiving my Fear, burst out into Laughter: I grew asham’d, and pretended to gain Courage; and so we entred the Castle, which might have past for a fine one, had it been kept in order: It had no Furniture, except an old Tapistry Hanging in a great Hall, which represented the Amours of Don Pedro the Cruel, and Donna Maria de Padilla: she is represented sitting like a Queen in the midst of other Ladies, and the King placing on her Head a Crown of Flowers: In another part she sate under the shade of a Wood, the King shewing her a Hawk on his Fist: And again, in another, she appears in a Warrier’s Dress, and the King in Armour presents her with a Sword; which makes me believe that she had been in some Warlike Expedition with him. She was very ill represented; and Don Fernand told me, ‘He had seen her Effigies elsewhere, by which she appeared to be the most beautiful and most cruel Woman of her time; and that the Figures in this Tapistry resembled neither her nor the King: his Name, Cypher, and Arms were every-where on it.’ We went up into a Tower, on the top of which was a Dungeon, and ’twas there where the Spirit inhabited; but without doubt he was abroad, for we neither saw nor heard him, or any of his Companions; and having seen sufficiently this great Building, we left it to pursue our Journey. In approaching Victoria, we past over a most delightful Plain, at the end of which stands a Town situated in this Province of Spain, I lately mention’d, call’d Alava; this is the Capital Town of it, as well as the first of Castille: It is inclosed with two Walls, one of which is old, and the other new; besides this, it has no other Fortifications. After I had refresh’d myself a while here, ’twas proposed to me to go to a Play; but in tarrying till it began, I had no small Diversion, in seeing come into the most spacious place of the Town, four Companies of young Men, preceded by Drums and Trumpets: they marched several times round, and in fine, immediately began the Fight with Snow-balls, which they threw at one another with such Fierceness, that they were all very well pelted in the end: they were above two hundred who fought this Battle. To tell you of those who fell, or recovered their Feet again, and the Shouts and Acclamations of the People, will be needless; and I was obliged to leave them thus engaged, to go to the place where the Play was to be represented.

When I entred into the Room, the People set forth an hollowing, Mira, mira! which is to say, Look, look! The Decoration of the Theatre was not over Magnificent; it was rais’d on Barrels, and ill-rang’d Planks; the Windows of the Room were open, for they used no Candles or Flambeaux; whence you can easily imagine this much takes away from the Beauty of the Sight. They acted the Life of St. Anthony; and when the Players said any thing which pleas’d the Company, all the People cried out, Victoria, Victoria; I was informed this was the Custom of the Country. I observ’d the Devil was no other ways clad than the rest, having only a pair of Stockings of a Flame colour, and a pair of Horns to distinguish him. This Comedy consisted only of three Acts, and they are all no more: at the end of each serious Act, another began of Farce and Pleasantry, wherein appear’d him they called El Gracioso, which is to say, the Buffoon, who, among much insipid Stuff, says sometimes something that is less nauseous: The Interludes were mixt with Dances, to the sound of the Harps and Guitars: The Actors had Castagnets, and a little Hat on their Heads, without which they never Dance, and then ’tis a Saraband; they seem not to walk, they slip along so lightly. Their manner is wholly different from ours: they move too much their Arms, and often pass their Hands on their Hats and Face, and that with no ill Grace; they play admirably well on the Castagnets.

As to the rest, (Dear Cousin) I would not have you think these Actors, for being in a little City, do much differ from those of Madrid. I was told that those of the King are a little better; but, in a word, both act what they call Las Comedias Famosas, which is to say, The finest and most famous Comedies; which in truth are very ridiculous: For Example, when St. Anthony said his Confiteor, which he did often enough, all the Spectators fell down on their Knees, and gave themselves such rude Mea Culpa’s as was enough to beat the breath out of their Bodies.

Here would be a proper place to speak of their Habits; but you had better excuse me till I come to Madrid, lest I tire you with Repetitions: Yet I must tell you, that all the Ladies I saw in this Company, had a prodigious quantity of Red, which begins just under the Eye, and passes from the Chin to the Ears, and Shoulders, to their very Hands; so that I never saw any Radishes of a finer Colour.

The Lady Governness of the Town drew near to me; she just toucht my Cloaths, and hastily drew back her Hand as if she had burnt her Fingers. I bid her in Spanish not to be afraid: She at length familiariz’d herself, and told me, ‘’Twas not through fear of any thing else but of displeasing me: that ’twas no new thing to her to see French Ladies: and that if she might, she would gladly dress herself after their Fashion.’ She ordered Chocolate to be brought her, with which she presented me; which is far better here than in France. The Play being ended, I took my Leave of her, having thanked her for her Civilities.

The next Morning, as I entred the Church to hear Mass, I espied an Hermit, who had the Air of a Person of Quality, and yet begg’d an Alms of me, with such great Humility, that I was greatly surpriz’d at it: Don Fernand having notice of it, drew near, and said to me, ‘The Person whom you behold, Madam, is of an Illustrious Family, and of great Merit, but his Fortune very Unhappy.’

‘You raise in me,’ said I to him, ‘a great Curiosity to know more; and therefore I must beg your Favour to satisfie it.’ ‘You may command any thing of me,’ replied he, ‘Madam; but I am not so thoroughly inform’d of his Adventures, to undertake the relating them to you; and I believe ’twere better I engage him into a Recital of them himself.’ He left me, and went immediately to Embrace him, with the greatest Civilities and Tenderness: Don Frederic de Cardonne, and Don Esteve de Carvajal, had already accosted him, as their old Acquaintance; and when Don Fernand had joyn’d them, they all earnestly intreated him to come with them when Mass was over. He as earnestly excused himself; but being told, I was a Stranger, and much importuned, that I might learn from himself, what had oblig’d him to turn Hermit; he at length consented, on condition I would permit him to bring one of his Friends, who was perfectly knowing in what related to him: ‘Do us Justice,’ continued he, ‘and judge whether ’tis fit for me to relate such Particularities in this Habit I wear.’ They found he had Reason, and pray’d him to bring his Friend, which he did a while after I was at my Lodgings: He presented a very fine Cavalier to me; and taking leave of us very civilly, he told him, ‘He should be oblig’d to him, if he would satisfie the Curiosity which Don Fernand de Toledo had giv’n me, of knowing the Spring of his Misfortunes.’ This Gentleman took place by me, and began in these Terms:

‘I think myself very Happy, Madam, that my Friend has chosen me to satisfie the Desire you have of knowing his Adventures; but I fear I shall not acquit myself so well as I would: The Person whose History you wou’d learn, has been one of the finest Gentlemen in the World; it would be hard to make a Judgment of him now; he is buried, as it were in his Hermit’s Habit. He was an exceeding graceful Person, well shaped, of an excellent Meine, and Noble Air: And in fine, had all the Accomplishments, both Natural and Acquired, of a Person of Quality, being liberal, witty and brave. He was born at Cagliari, Capital of the Isle of Sardogne, one of the most illustrious and richest Families of all that Country.

‘He was brought up with one of his Cousin-Germans; and the sympathy which was found in their Humours, and Inclinations, was so great, that they were more strictly united by Friendship than Blood: they had no Secret from each other. And when the Marquess Barbaran was married (which was his Cousin’s Name,) their Friendship continued in the same force.

‘He married one of the finest Women in the World, and the most Accomplisht; she was then not above Fourteen: She was Heiress to a very Noble Estate and Family. The Marquess every day discovered new Charms in the Wit and Person of his Wife, which likewise increased every day his Passion. He speaks without ceasing, of his Happiness, to Don Lewis de Barbaran; which is the Name, Madam, of my Friend; and when any Affairs oblig’d the Marquess to leave her, he conjured him to stay with the Marchioness, thereby to lessen the Trouble of his Absence. But alas! how hard is it when one is at an Age uncapable of serious Reflections, to see continually so fine a Woman, so young and aimable; and to see her with Indifference! Don Lewis was already desperately in Love with the Marchioness, and thought then ’twas only for her Husband’s sake: Whilst he was in this Mistake, she fell dangerously sick; at which he grew so dreadful melancholly, that he then knew, but too late, this was caus’d by a Passion which would prove the greatest Misfortune of his whole Life. Finding himself then in this condition, and having not strength to resist it, he resolv’d to use the utmost Extremity, and to fly and avoid a place where he was in danger of dying with Love, or breaking through the Bonds of Friendship. The most cruel Death wou’d have seem gentler than the Execution of this Design: When the Marchioness beginning to grow better, he went to her to bid her Adieu, and see her no more.

‘He found her busied in choosing among several Stones of great price, those which were the finest, which she intended to have set in a Ring, Don Lewis was scarce entred the Chamber, but she desired him, with that Air of Familiarity usual among Relations, to go and fetch her other Stones which she moreover had in her Cabinet. He ran thither, and by an unexpected good hap, found among what he lookt for, the Picture enamell’d of the Marchioness, in little, set with Diamonds, and incircled with a Lock of her Hair; it was so like, that he had not the power to withstand the desire he had of stealing it: “I am going to leave her,” said he, “I shall see her no more; I sacrifice all my quiet to her Husband: Alas! is not this enough? And may I not without a Crime, search in my Pain a Consolation so innocent as this.” He kist several times this Picture; he put it under his Arm, he carefully hid it, and returning towards her with these Stones, he tremblingly told her the Resolution he had taken of Travelling. She appear’d much amazed at it, and chang’d her colour. He lookt on her at this moment; he had the pleasure of perceiving it; and their Eyes being of Intelligence, spake more than their Words: “Alas! What can oblige you, Don Lewis,” said she to him, “to leave us? Your Cousin loves you so tenderly; I esteem you; we are never pleas’d without you; he cannot live from you: Have you not already travelled? You have without doubt some other Reason for your Departure, but at least do not hide it from me.” Don Lewis, pierc’d through with sorrow, could not forbear uttering a deep Sigh, and taking one of the delicate Hands of the Charming Person, on which he fixt his Mouth, “Ah, Madam, What do you ask me?” said he to her, “What would you have me say to you? And indeed, What can I say to you, in the Condition I am in?” The Violence he used, to conceal his Sentiments, caus’d him such a great Weakness, that he fell half dead at her Feet. She remained troubled and confused at this sight: She oblig’d him to sit down by her; she dared not lift up her Eyes to look on him; but she let him see Tears, which she could not forbear shedding, nor resolve to conceal from him.

‘Scarcely were they come to themselves, when the Marquess entred into the Chamber. He came to embrace Don Lewis with all the Testimonies of a perfect Friendship, and he was in the greatest trouble, when he understood he parted for Naples. He omitted no Arguments to perswade him from it, prest his stay with the greatest Earnestness, but all in vain. He there immediately took his leave of the Marchioness, and saw her no more. The Marquess went out with him, he left him not till the moment of his Departure. This was an Augmentation of Don Lewis’s Sorrow; he would have willingly remained alone to have an intire Liberty of afflicting himself.

‘The Marchioness was sensibly afflicted at this Separation: She had perceived he loved her, before he had known thus much himself; and she had found in him such singular Merit, that for her part too she had loved him without knowing it; but she found this to her Cost after his Departure: Recovering but lately from a dangerous Sickness, of which she was not perfectly cured, this unhappy Accident made her fall into a languishing Indisposition, as soon rendred her quite another body; her Duty, her Reason, her Vertue equally persecuted her: She was greatly sensible of her Husband’s Respects to her, and she could not suffer but with great Sorrow, that another should take up her Thoughts, and have so great a place in her Affections. She dared not any more mention the Name of Don Lewis; she never made any Enquiries after him; she made it an indispensable Duty to forget him: This Violence which she used on herself, was like a continual Martyrdom; she made one of her Women, In whom she most confided, the Repository of this Secret: “Am I not very unhappy?” said she, “I must wish never again to see a Man, towards whom it is impossible for me to be in a state of Indifference; his Person is always before mine Eyes; nay, I think sometimes I see him in the Person of my Husband; the Resemblance which is between them, serves only to nourish my Affection towards him. Alas! Mariana, I must die, to expiate this Crime, although it be an involuntary one; I have only this means to get rid of a Passion of which I cannot hitherto be Mistress: Alas, what have I not done to stifle it, this Passion which yet is dear to me.” She accompany’d these Words with a thousand Sighs: She melted into Tears; and though this Woman had had a great deal of Wit and Affection to her Mistress, yet she could say nothing to her could yield her any Comfort.

‘The Marquess in the mean time, every day reproacht his Wife with her Indifferency to Don Lewis: “I cannot suffer,” said he to her, “that you should think so little on the Man I love above all the World, and who had so much Complaisance and Friendship for you: I must needs say, this is a kind of Hardness, which would make one judge untowardly of the Tenderness of your Heart: At least, you must grant, Madam, that he was scarcely gone, but you forgot him.” “What good would my remembring him do him?” said the Marchioness with a languishing Air, “Do not you see he avoids us? Would he not have been still with us, if he had any real Kindness for us? Believe me, my Lord, he deserves a little that we should forsake him in our turn.” Whatever she could say, repel’d not the Marquess; he still importun’d her to write to Don Lewis to Return. One Day among the rest, she was gotten into his Closet to speak to him about some Affairs; she found him busied in reading a Letter of D. Lewis, which he lately receiv’d.

‘She would have retir’d; but he took this opportunity to oblige her to do what he would have her; he told her very seriously, “That he could no longer bear the Absence of his Cousin; that he was resolv’d to go find him; that ’twas already two Years since he had been gone, without intimating any desire of returning to his Friends and Country; that he was perswaded he would yield a greater Deference to her Requests than his; that he conjured her to write to him: And that in fine, she might chuse either to give him this Satisfaction, or be content to see him part for Naples, where Don Lewis was to make some stay.” She remain’d surpriz’d, and perplext at this Proposal; but knowing he expected with great Impatience her Determination, “What would you have me say to him, my Lord?” said she to him with a sorrowful Countenance, “Dictate this Letter to me, I will write it; I can do no more; and I believe this is more than I ought.” The Marquess, transported with Joy, most affectionately embrac’d her; he thank’d her for her Compliance, and made her write these Words:

“If you have any Kindness for us, defer not your Return; I have very urgent Reasons to desire it. I am not a little concern’d that you shew such Indifference towards us, which is an unquestionable Indication that you take no Delight in our Company. Return, Don Lewis, I earnestly wish it; I intreat you: And if it were fit for me to use more urgent Terms, I would say, perhaps, I Command you to do it.”

‘The Marquess made a single Pacquet of this fatal Letter, to the end Don Lewis might not think ’twas by his Order the Marchioness had wrote it; and having sent it to the Currier, he expected the Success with extraordinary Impatience. What became of this Lover at the sight of so dear and unexpected an Order! Although he had remarkt Dispositions of Tenderness in the Countenance of this fair Person, yet he dared not promise himself she could desire his Return; his Reason revolted against his Joy: “How Unhappy a Wretch am I?” said he, “I Adore the most Aimable of all Women, and yet I dare not offer to please her! She has a Kindness for me, yet Honour and Friendship with-hold me from making the least Advantage of it. What shall I do then, O Heavens! What shall I do! I flatter’d my self, that Absence would Cure me: Alas! this is a Remedy which I have fruitlesly tried; I have never cast mine Eyes on her Picture, but have found myself more in Love, and more Miserable than when I saw her every day. I must obey her, she commands my Return; she desires to see me, and she cannot be ignorant of my Passion: When I took my Leave of her, my Eyes declared to her the Secret of my Heart: And when I call to mind what I saw in hers, all my Reflections then are to no purpose; for I resolve rather to die at her Feet, than to live remote from her.”

‘He parted without any delay, and without taking leave of his Friends. He left a Gentleman to Excuse him towards them, and to order his Affairs. He was in such great haste to see the Marchioness, that he used such Diligence to be with her, that no body but he could have done: In arriving at Cagliary, Capital of Sardagne, he understood that the Marquess and his Wife were at a stately Country-house, where the Vice-Roy was gone to give them a Visit, with all his Court. He learnt moreover, that the Marquess de Barbaran prepared for him a great Feast, where there were to be held Justs or Turnaments, after the Ancient Manner of the Mores: He was the Defendant, and was to maintain, “That a Husband beloved, is Happier than a Lover.”

‘Several Gentlemen that were not of this Opinion, were preparing themselves to go and dispute the Prize, which the Marchioness, at the Vice-Queen’s Intreaty, was to give to the Conquerour; ’Twas a Scarf embroidered with her own Hands, wrought with Cyphers: No one was to appear but maskt and disguised, to the end all might be freer and more gallant.

‘Don Lewis had a secret Despight, in comprehending the Marquess so well satisfied: “He is belov’d,” said he, “I cannot but look on him as my Rival, and as an Happy Rival; but we must endeavour to disturb his Happiness, in triumphing over his vain Glory.” Having formed this Design, he would not appear in Town; he caus’d to be made a Suit of strip’d Green Satin, embroidered with Gold, and all his Liveries were of the same Colour, to denote his new Hopes.

‘When he entred into the Lissts, everybody had their Eyes on him; his Magnificence and his Air gave Emulation to the Cavaliers, and great Curiosity to the Ladies. The Marchioness felt a secret Emotion, of which she could not discover the Cause: He was placed very near the Balcony, where she sate with the Vice-Queen; but there was no Lady there which did not lose all her Lustre near that of the Marchioness; her youthful Air, which exceeded not eighteen Years, her lovely white and red Cheeks, her Eyes so sweet and graceful, her Scarlet and little Mouth, agreeable Smiles, and her Shape, which surpast the Fairest, made her the Admiration of all the World.

‘Don Lewis was so ravish’d in seeing her so charming, and to observe yet in her Countenance a languishing sorrowful Air, that he flattered himself to have therein a part; and this was the first Moment wherein he thought himself Happy. When his turn came, he ran against the Marquess, and smote him so dexterously, that he got the Advantage all along of him: so that in a word, he gain’d the Prize with a general Applause, and with every one’s good-liking. He threw himself at the Marchioness’s Feet, to receive it at her Hands; he altered the Tone of his Voice, and speaking to her with his Mask on, low enough not to be heard but only by her: “Divine Person,” said he to her, “be pleas’d to observe what Fortune decides in favour of Lovers.” He dar’d not say more to her; and without knowing him, she gave him the Prize, with this natural Grace with which all her Actions were accompanied.

‘He suddenly withdrew himself, for fear of being known; for this might have been an occasion of Quarrel between the Marquess and him; and without doubt he would not have easily pardon’d the Victory he obtain’d over him. This oblig’d him to keep himself still conceal’d for some Days. The Vice-Roy and his Lady return’d to Cagliari, and the Marquess and Marchioness accompanied them thither, with the whole Court.

‘Don Lewis then shew’d himself; he pretended he just then arriv’d, and made as if he knew not what had past in the Field. The Marquess de Barbaran was transported with Joy in seeing him; and Absence had not at all altered the Affection he had for this dear Relation. He had no difficult task to find a favourable moment wherein to entertain his aimable Marchioness; he had as much liberty in their Lodgings as in his own; and you may well judge, Madam, that he forgot not to mention the Prize he had receiv’d from her fair Hands. “How wretched am I,” said he to her, “that you did not know me? Alas, Madam, I flattered myself, that by some secret Pre-sentiments you would learn, that no one but I could sustain with such Passion the Cause of Lovers against Husbands.” “No my Lord,” said she to him, with an Angry and Disdainful Air, to take away all Hope from him, “I could never have imagin’d that you could have been Patron of so foul a Cause; and I could not have believ’d you could have taken such strong Engagements at Naples, that you should come as far as Sardagne to Triumph over a Friend who maintain’d my Interests as well as his own.” “I shall die with Regret, Madam,” said Don Lewis, “if I have displeas’d you in what I have done; and were you more favourably disposed, and I might dare to make you my Confident, it would be no hard matter for me to persuade you, that it is not at Naples I have left the Object of my Vows.”

‘The Marchioness apprehending lest he should speak more than she was willing to hear, and appear livelily toucht with the Reproach she made him, she put on a more pleasing Countenance, and turning the Conversation into a Tone of Raillery, answer’d him, “He took too seriously what she had said to him.” He dared not make use of this occasion to declare his Love to her; for though he lov’d her above all things, yet he respected her no less.

‘When he had left her, he began to blame himself for his Fearfulness: “Shall I,” said he, “always suffer without seeking any Remedy!” It was some time before he could meet with a favourable occasion, because the Marchioness studiously avoided him; but being come one Night where she was, he found her alone in an inward room, lying on a Bed in a most lovely manner, and most becoming Undress, her Hair being fastened with Knots of Diamonds, hung carelesly about her Breasts: The Trouble she felt in seeing Don Lewis, appear’d on her Countenance, and rendred her yet more lovely: He drew near her with an Awful and Respectful Air, fell down on his Knees by her; he lookt on her for some time, not daring to speak, but becoming a little more bold, “If you consider, Madam,” said he to her, “the piteous Condition whereto you have reduced me, you will easily comprehend that it is no longer in my power to keep Silence: I could not avoid such inevitable Stroaks as you have given me; I have adored you as soon as I saw you: I have endeavour’d to Cure myself in flying from you; I have offered the greatest Violence to myself, in endeavouring to master my Passion. You have recall’d me, Madam, from my Voluntary Exile, and I die a thousand times a Day, uncertain of my Destiny: If you be Cruel enough to refuse me your Pity, suffer at least, that having made known to you my Passion, I may die with Grief at your Feet.” The Marchioness was some time without resolving to answer him; but at length, gaining Assurance, “I acknowledge,” said she, “Don Lewis, that I am not wholly ignorant of one part of your Sentiments, but I was willing to perswade myself ’twas the Effects of an Innocent Affection: Make me not a Partner of your Crime; you commit one, when you betray the Friendship due to my Husband: But, alas, you will pay but too dearly for this; for I know that Duty forbids you to Love me; and in my Respect, it does not only forbid me to love you, but to fly from you: I will do it, Don Lewis, I will avoid you; and I do not know, whether I ought not to Hate you: But, alas, it seems impossible to me to do it.” “What do you then, Madam,” answer’d he, interrupting her, being full of Grief and Despair, “when you pronounce the Sentence of my Death? You cannot Hate me, say you; Do you not Hate me, and do you not do me all the Mischief you are able, when you resolve to avoid me? Make an end, Madam, make an end, leave not your Vengeance imperfect; sacrifice me to your Duty, and your Husband; for my Life cannot but be odious, if you take from me the Hopes of pleasing you.” She lookt on him at this instant with Eyes full of Languishment: “Don Lewis,” said she to him, “you reproach me with what I would deserve.” In ending these words, she arose, fearing greatly, lest her Affection should triumph over her Reason; and notwithstanding his endeavours to with-hold her, she past into a Chamber where her Women were.

‘She thought she had gained much on herself in forcing her way out of this Conversation without answering so favourably as her Heart could have wisht; but Love is a Seducer, which must not be in any sort hearkened to, if one will not be totally overcome by him. From that day Don Lewis began to think himself Happy, though he wanted many things to compleat his Felicity. The Marchioness, in effect, had a Principle of Vertue which opposed itself always with Success to the desires of her Lover.

‘He had no longer those Scruples of Friendship for the Marquess de Barbaran which had so greatly disturbed his Mind; Love had perfectly banisht Friendship; nay, he even secretly hated him.

‘In fine, Don Lewis flattering himself, that perhaps he might find a favourable moment to affect the Marchioness’s Heart with some Pity; he carefully sought it; and to find it, one day when ’twas very hot, knowing that the Marchioness was wont to retire to Repose herself after Dinner, as it is customary in that Country, he came to her, doubting not but every body was asleep in the House.

‘She was in a Ground-Room which lookt into the Garden; all was fast and shut close, save a little Window, whereby he saw on her Bed this charming Creature: She was in a profound Sleep, half undrest; he had the time to discover such Beauties as still augmented the force of his Passion. He approacht so softly to her, that she did not awake: It was already some moments that he had lookt on her with all the Transports of a Man amazed, when seeing her naked Breasts, he could not forbear kissing them. She arose on a sudden; she had not her Eyes open; the Chamber was dark, and she could never have believ’d Don Lewis could have been so bold. I have already told you, Madam, that he resembled the Marquess de Barbaran; She did not doubt then but it was he, and calling him several times, “her dear Marquess and Husband,” she tenderly embrac’d him. He well knew his Error; whatever Pleasure it procured him, he could have wished to have ow’d this only to his Mistress’s Favours. But, O Heavens, how unfortunately it hapned! The Marquess came in this dangerous moment; and ’twas not without the greatest fury he saw the Liberty Don Lewis took with his Wife. At the noise he had made in entring, she had turn’d her Eyes towards the Door, and seeing her Husband enter, whom she thought she had already in her arms, it is impossible to represent her Affliction and Astonishment.

‘Don Lewis amaz’d at this Accident, flatter’d himself, that perhaps he was not known: He past immediately into the Gallery, and finding a Window was opened into the Garden, he threw himself out of it, and immediately past through a Back-door. The Marquess pursued him, without being able to overtake him: In returning the same way he came, he unhappily found the Marchioness’s Picture, which Don Lewis had dropt as he ran; he immediately made most cruel Reflections hereupon: This Picture of his Wife, which Don Lewis had let fall, and the sight of her embracing him, all this made him no longer doubt of his Wives Falshood: “I am betray’d,” Cry’d he, “by her whom I loved dearer than my own Life: Was there ever a more Unhappy Man in the World?” In ending these Words, he returned to his Wives Chamber. She immediately threw herself at his Feet, and melting into Tears, would have justify’d herself, and make known to him her Innocency; but the Spirit of Jealousie had so fully possest him, that he violently represt her: He harkned only to the Transports of his Rage and Despair, and turning away his Eyes, that he might not see so lovely an Object, he had the Barbarity to strike his Dagger into the Breast of the most Beautiful and most Vertuous Woman in the World. She offered herself to be slaughtered as an innocent Sacrifice, and her Soul issued out in a stream of Blood.

“O God,” cryed I, “O Imprudent Don Lewis! Why did you leave this Charming Lady to the Fury of an Amorous Husband, transported with Jealousie! You might have snatch’d her out of his cruel Hands.” “Alas, Madam,” replied this Gentleman, “he know not what he did; for what would he have done at another time to have prevented such a Misfortune.”

‘As soon as the unfortunate Marchioness had rendred her last Breath, her cruel Executioner shut her Apartment, took all the Money and Jewels he had, mounted on Horse-back, and fled with all the speed he could. Don Lewis restless, and more Amorous than ever, returned thither in the Evening, notwithstanding whatever might befal him: He was surpriz’d when he was told the Marchioness was still asleep; he immediately went into the Garden, and entred into the Gallery, through the same Window which he had found open, and from thence came into the Chamber: Twas so dark, that he was fain to walk warily; when he felt something which had like to have made him fall, he stooped down, and found it was a dead Body; he uttered a great Shriek, and doubting not but it was that of his dear Mistress, he sunk down with Grief: Some of the Marchioness’s Women walking under the Windows of her Apartment, heard Don Lewis’s Crys; they easily got up through the same Window, and entred the Room. What a sad Spectacle, what a lamentable sight was this? I cannot find Words to denote to you the Horror of this Spectacle. Don Lewis was no sooner come to himself, by the force of Remedies, but his Grief, Rage and Despair, broke out with such Violence, that it was impossible to calm him; and I am perswaded he had not out-lived her whose loss he occasioned, if the desire of Vengeance had not re-animated him.

‘He parted like one furious in search of the Marquess de Barbaran; He sought him every-where without hearing any news of him; He ran over Italy, traverst Germany, came into Flanders, and past into France. He was told that the Marquess was at Valentia in Spain; he came there, and met not with him. In fine, three Years being past, without finding the means of sacrificing his Enemy to his Mistress’s Ghost, Divine Grace, which is irresistible, and particularly on great Souls, toucht his so efficatiously, that he immediately changed his Desire of Revenge into serious Desires of leaving the World, and minding only the fitting himself for another Life.

‘Being fill’d with this Spirit he return’d into Sardagnia: He sold all his Estate, which he distributed among some of his Friends, who with great Merit were yet very poor; and by this means became so poor himself, that he reduced himself to the begging of Alms.

‘He had heretofore seen, in going to Madrid, a place very fit to make an Hermitage, (it is towards Mount Dragon;) this Mountain is almost inaccessible, and you cannot pass to it but through an Overture, which is in the midst of a great Rock; it is stopt up when the Snow falls, and the Hermitage lies buried more than six Months under it. Don Lewis made one be built here, where he was wont to pass whole Years without seeing any one. He made such Provisions as were necessary, having good Books, and thus remain’d in this dismal Solitude; but this Year his Friends forced him hither, by reason of a great Sickness, which had like to have cost him his Life. It is four Years since he has led this Holy Spiritual Life, and so different from that to which he was born, that it is with great trouble he sees any of his Acquaintance.

‘As to the Marquess de Barbaran, he has wholly left the Isle of Sardagnia, where he has not the Liberty to return. I am inform’d he is married again at Anvers, to a Widow of a Spaniard named Fonceca.

‘And it is he himself that has related to one of my Friends the Particularities of his Crime; and he is so furiously tortured with the remembrance of it, that he imagines he continually sees his Wife dying, and reproaching him with his Fury and Jealousie. In a word, he has contracted such a deep Malancholly, that his Death is thought by every one to be near, or at the least, the loss of his Sences.’

The Gentleman here was silent; and I not being able to forbear weeping at so Tragical a Relation, Don Fernand de Toledo, who had observ’d it, and would not take notice of it, for fear of interrupting the Relation, rally’d me about my Tenderness, telling me how well he was pleased to find me so Compassionate, and that I should not be long before I met with Objects fit to exercise it on. I did not so much mind the returning an answer to him, as the Thanking this Gentleman, who was pleas’d to entertain me with the Recital of so extraordinary an Adventure: I intreated him to make my Compliments to Don Lewis, and to give him from me two Pistols, seeing he lived on Alms. Don Fernand, and each of the Cavaliers, gave as much: ‘Here is,’ said the Gentleman to us, ‘wherewith to enrich the Poor of Victoria; for Don Lewis appropriates not such great Charities as these to himself.’ We told him, he was the Master, and might dispose of the Money as he pleased. But to return to my Adventures:

Although I had a Pasport from the King of Spain, the best specified, and most general, as is possible, yet I was oblig’d to take a Billet from the Toll-House; for without this Precaution, all my Cloaths had been confiscated: ‘To what purpose then is my Pasport?’ said I to them. ‘To none at all,’ replied they. The Surveyors and Officers of the Customs would not so much as cast their Eyes on it; they told me, The King must come and assure them, that this Order was from him. It is to no purpose for any one to alledge his being a Stranger, and ignorant of the Usages of the Country: For they drily answer, ‘That the Stranger’s Ignorance makes the Spaniard’s Profit.’ The ill Weather has kept me here two Days, during which I saw the Governness, and the Play. The principal Place of this Town is adorn’d with a very fair Fountain standing in the midst: it is incircled with the Town-House, the Prison, two Convents, and several well-built Houses: Here is a New Town and an Old one; every body forsakes this latter to dwell in the other. Here are very rich Merchants; their chief Trade is at St. Sebastian or Bilbo; they send great store of Iron to Grenada, Estremadour, Galicia, and other Parts of the Kingdom. I observ’d, that the great Streets are set with fine Trees, which are watered with Streams running by them. From Mount St. Adrian hither, it is seven Leagues. In fine, I am just setting out, and must end this long Letter; it is late, and I have spoke to you so much of what I have seen, that I have said nothing of my Affections to you; Believe me, however, Dear Cousin, that I am, and ever shall be