No. 164. Friday, September 7, 1711. Addison.
"Illa; Quis et me, inquit, miseram, et te perdidit, Orpheu? Jamque vale: feror ingenti circ.u.mdata nocte, Invalidasque tibi tendens, heu! non tua, palmas."
Virg.
CONSTANTIA was a Woman of extraordinary Wit and Beauty, but very unhappy in a Father, who having arrived at great Riches by his own Industry, took delight in nothing but his Money. _Theodosius_ was the younger Son of a decayed Family of great Parts and Learning, improved by a genteel and vertuous Education. When he was in the twentieth year of his Age he became acquainted with _Constantia_, who had not then pa.s.sed her fifteenth. As he lived but a few Miles Distance from her Father"s House, he had frequent opportunities of seeing her; and by the Advantages of a good Person and a pleasing Conversation, made such an Impression in her Heart as it was impossible for time to [efface [1]]: He was himself no less smitten with _Constantia_. A long Acquaintance made them still discover new Beauties in each other, and by Degrees raised in them that mutual Pa.s.sion which had an Influence on their following Lives. It unfortunately happened, that in the midst of this intercourse of Love and Friendship between _Theodosius_ and _Constantia_, there broke out an irreparable Quarrel between their Parents, the one valuing himself too much upon his Birth, and the other upon his Possessions. The Father of _Constantia_ was so incensed at the Father of _Theodosius_, that he contracted an unreasonable Aversion towards his Son, insomuch that he forbad him his House, and charged his Daughter upon her Duty never to see him more. In the mean time to break off all Communication between the two Lovers, who he knew entertained secret Hopes of some favourable Opportunity that should bring them together, he found out a young Gentleman of a good Fortune and an agreeable Person, whom he pitched upon as a Husband for his Daughter. He soon concerted this Affair so well, that he told _Constantia_ it was his Design to marry her to such a Gentleman, and that her Wedding should be celebrated on such a Day.
_Constantia_, who was over-awed with the Authority of her Father, and unable to object anything against so advantageous a Match, received the Proposal with a profound Silence, which her Father commended in her, as the most decent manner of a Virgin"s giving her Consent to an Overture of that Kind: The Noise of this intended Marriage soon reached _Theodosius_, who, after a long Tumult of Pa.s.sions which naturally rise in a Lover"s Heart on such an Occasion, writ the following letter to _Constantia_.
"The Thought of my _Constantia_, which for some years has been my only Happiness, is now become a greater Torment to me than I am able to bear. Must I then live to see you another"s? The Streams, the Fields and Meadows, where we have so often talked together, grow painful to me; Life it self is become a Burden. May you long be happy in the World, but forget that there was ever such a Man in it as _THEODOSIUS_."
This Letter was conveyed to _Constantia_ that very Evening, who fainted at the Reading of it; and the next Morning she was much more alarmed by two or three Messengers, that came to her Father"s House one after another to inquire if they had heard any thing of _Theodosius_, who it seems had left his Chamber about Midnight, and could nowhere be found.
The deep Melancholy, which had hung upon his Mind some Time before, made them apprehend the worst that could befall him. _Constantia_, who knew that nothing but the Report of her Marriage could have driven him to such Extremities, was not to be comforted: She now accused her self for having so tamely given an Ear to the Proposal of a Husband, and looked upon the new Lover as the Murderer of _Theodosius:_ In short, she resolved to suffer the utmost Effects of her Father"s Displeasure, rather than comply with a Marriage which appeared to her so full of Guilt and Horror. The Father seeing himself entirely rid of _Theodosius,_ and likely to keep a considerable Portion in his Family, was not very much concerned at the obstinate Refusal of his Daughter; and did not find it very difficult to excuse himself upon that Account to his intended Son-in-law, who had all along regarded this Alliance rather as a Marriage of Convenience than of Love. _Constantia_ had now no Relief but in her Devotions and Exercises of Religion, to which her Afflictions had so entirely subjected her Mind, that after some Years had abated the Violence of her Sorrows, and settled her Thoughts in a kind of Tranquillity, she resolved to pa.s.s the Remainder of her Days in a Convent. Her Father was not displeased with [a [2]] Resolution, [which [3]] would save Money in his Family, and readily complied with his Daughter"s Intentions. Accordingly in the Twenty-fifth Year of her Age, while her Beauty was yet in all its Height and Bloom, he carried her to a neighbouring City, in order to look out a Sisterhood of Nuns among whom to place his Daughter. There was in this Place a Father of a Convent who was very much renowned for his Piety and exemplary Life; and as it is usual in the Romish Church for those who are under any great Affliction, or Trouble of Mind, to apply themselves to the most eminent Confessors for Pardon and Consolation, our beautiful Votary took the Opportunity of confessing herself to this celebrated Father.
We must now return to Theodosius, who, the very Morning that the above-mentioned Inquiries had been made after him, arrived at a religious House in the City, where now Constantia resided; and desiring that Secresy and Concealment of the Fathers of the Convent, which is very usual upon any extraordinary Occasion, he made himself one of the Order, with a private Vow never to enquire after _Constantia_; whom he looked upon as given away to his Rival upon the Day on which, according to common Fame, their Marriage was to have been solemnized. Having in his Youth made a good Progress in Learning, that he might dedicate [himself [4]] more entirely to Religion, he entered into holy Orders, and in a few Years became renowned for his Sanct.i.ty of Life, and those pious Sentiments which he inspired into all [who [5]] conversed with him. It was this holy Man to whom _Constantia_ had determined to apply her self in Confession, tho" neither she nor any other besides the Prior of the Convent, knew any thing of his Name or Family. The gay, the amiable _Theodosius_ had now taken upon him the Name of Father _Francis_, and was so far concealed in a long Beard, a [shaven [3]]
Head, and a religious Habit, that it was impossible to discover the Man of the World in the venerable Conventual.
As he was one Morning shut up in his Confessional, _Constantia_ kneeling by him opened the State of her Soul to him; and after having given him the History of a Life full of Innocence, she burst out in Tears, and entred upon that Part of her Story in which he himself had so great a Share. My Behaviour, says she, has I fear been the Death of a Man who had no other Fault but that of loving me too much. Heaven only knows how dear he was to me whilst he liv"d, and how bitter the Remembrance of him has been to me since his Death. She here paused, and lifted up her Eyes that streamed with Tears towards the Father; who was so moved with the Sense of her Sorrows, that he could only command his Voice, which was broke with Sighs and Sobbings, so far as to bid her proceed. She followed his Directions, and in a Flood of Tears poured out her Heart before him. The Father could not forbear weeping aloud, insomuch that in the Agonies of his Grief the Seat shook under him. _Constantia_, who thought the good Man was thus moved by his Compa.s.sion towards her, and by the Horror of her Guilt, proceeded with the utmost Contrition to acquaint him with that Vow of Virginity in which she was going to engage herself, as the proper Atonement for her Sins, and the only Sacrifice she could make to the Memory of _Theodosius_. The Father, who by this time had pretty well composed himself, burst out again in Tears upon hearing that Name to which he had been so long disused, and upon receiving this Instance of an unparallel"d Fidelity from one who he thought had several Years since given herself up to the Possession of another. Amidst the Interruptions of his Sorrow, seeing his Penitent overwhelmed with Grief, he was only able to bid her from time to time be comforted--To tell her that her Sins were forgiven her--That her Guilt was not so great as she apprehended--That she should not suffer her self to be afflicted above Measure. After which he recovered himself enough to give her the Absolution in Form; directing her at the same time to repair to him again the next Day, that he might encourage her in the pious Resolution[s] she had taken, and give her suitable Exhortations for her Behaviour in it. _Constantia_ retired, and the next Morning renewed her Applications. _Theodosius_ having manned his Soul with proper Thoughts and Reflections exerted himself on this Occasion in the best Manner he could to animate his Penitent in the Course of Life she was entering upon, and wear out of her Mind those groundless Fears and Apprehensions which had taken Possession of it; concluding with a Promise to her, that he would from time to time continue his Admonitions when she should have taken upon her the holy Veil. The Rules of our respective Orders, says he, will not permit that I should see you, but you may a.s.sure your self not only of having a Place in my Prayers, but of receiving such frequent Instructions as I can convey to you by Letters. Go on chearfully in the glorious Course you have undertaken, and you will quickly find such a Peace and Satisfaction in your Mind, which it is not in the Power of the World to give.
_Constantia"s_ Heart was so elevated with the Discourse of Father _Francis_, that the very next Day she entered upon her Vow. As soon as the Solemnities of her Reception were over, she retired, as it is usual, with the Abbess into her own Apartment.
The Abbess had been informed the Night before of all that had pa.s.sed between her Noviciate and Father _Francis:_ From whom she now delivered to her the following Letter.
"As the First-fruits of those Joys and Consolations which you may expect from the Life you are now engaged in, I must acquaint you that _Theodosius_, whose Death sits so heavy upon your Thoughts, is still alive; and that the Father, to whom you have confessed your self, was once that _Theodosius_ whom you so much lament. The love which we have had for one another will make us more happy in its Disappointment than it could have done in its Success. Providence has disposed of us for our Advantage, tho" not according to our Wishes. Consider your _Theodosius_ still as dead, but a.s.sure your self of one who will not cease to pray for you in Father."
_FRANCIS._
_Constantia_ saw that the Hand-writing agreed with the Contents of the Letter: and upon reflecting on the Voice of the Person, the Behaviour, and above all the extreme Sorrow of the Father during her Confession, she discovered _Theodosius_ in every Particular. After having wept with Tears of Joy, It is enough, says she, _Theodosius_ is still in Being: I shall live with Comfort and die in Peace.
The Letters which the Father sent her afterwards are yet extant in the Nunnery where she resided; and are often read to the young Religious, in order to inspire them with good Resolutions and Sentiments of Virtue. It so happened, that after _Constantia_ had lived about ten Years in the Cloyster, a violent Feaver broke out in the Place, which swept away great Mult.i.tudes, and among others _Theodosius._ Upon his Deathbed he sent his Benediction in a very moving Manner to _Constantia,_ who at that time was herself so far gone in the same fatal Distemper, that she lay delirious. Upon the Interval which generally precedes Death in Sicknesses of this Nature, the Abbess, finding that the Physicians had given her over, told her that _Theodosius_ was just gone before her, and that he had sent her his Benediction in his last Moments. _Constantia_ received it with Pleasure: And now, says she, If I do not ask anything improper, let me be buried by _Theodosius._ My Vow reaches no farther than the Grave. What I ask is, I hope, no Violation of it.--She died soon after, and was interred according to her Request.
Their Tombs are still to be seen, with a short Latin Inscription over them to the following Purpose.
Here lie the Bodies of Father _Francis_ and Sister _Constance. They were lovely in their Lives, and in their Deaths they were not divided._
C.
[Footnote 1: deface]
[Footnote 2: her]
[Footnote 3: that]
[Footnote 4: himself up]
[Footnote 5: that]
[Footnote 6: shaved]
No. 165. Sat.u.r.day, September 8, 1711. Addison.
"... Si forte necesse est, Fingere cinctutis non exaudita Cethegis Continget: dabiturque licentia sumpta pudenter." [1]
Hor.
I have often wished, that as in our Const.i.tution there are several Persons whose Business it is to watch over our Laws, our Liberties and Commerce, certain Men might be set apart as Superintendants of our Language, to hinder any Words of a Foreign Coin from pa.s.sing among us; and in particular to prohibit any _French_ Phrases from becoming Current in this Kingdom, when those of our own Stamp are altogether as valuable.
The present War has so Adulterated our Tongue with strange Words that it would be impossible for one of our Great Grandfathers to know what his Posterity have been doing, were he to read their Exploits in a Modern News Paper. Our Warriors are very industrious in propagating the _French_ Language, at the same time that they are so gloriously successful in beating down their Power. Our Soldiers are Men of strong Heads for Action, and perform such Feats as they are not able to express. They want Words in their own Tongue to tell us what it is they Atchieve, and therefore send us over Accounts of their Performances in a Jargon of Phrases, which they learn among their Conquered Enemies. They ought however to be provided with Secretaries, and a.s.sisted by our Foreign Ministers, to tell their Story for them in plain _English_, and to let us know in our Mother-Tongue what it is our brave Country-Men are about. The _French_ would indeed be in the right to publish the News of the present War in _English_ Phrases, and make their Campaigns unintelligible. Their People might flatter themselves that Things are not so bad as they really are, were they thus palliated with Foreign Terms, and thrown into Shades and Obscurity: but the _English_ cannot be too clear in their Narrative of those Actions, which have raised their Country to a higher Pitch of Glory than it ever yet arrived at, and which will be still the more admired the better they are explained.
For my part, by that time a Siege is carried on two or three Days, I am altogether lost and bewildered in it, and meet with so many inexplicable Difficulties, that I scarce know what Side has the better of it, till I am informed by the Tower Guns that the Place is surrendered. I do indeed make some Allowances for this Part of the War, Fortifications having been foreign Inventions, and upon that Account abounding in foreign Terms. But when we have won Battels [which [2]] may be described in our own Language, why are our Papers filled with so many unintelligible Exploits, and the _French_ obliged to lend us a Part of their Tongue before we can know how they are Conquered? They must be made accessory to their own Disgrace, as the _Britons_ were formerly so artificially wrought in the Curtain of the _Roman_ Theatre, that they seemed to draw it up in order to give the Spectators an Opportunity of seeing their own Defeat celebrated upon the Stage: For so Mr. _Dryden_ has translated that Verse in _Virgil_.
[_Purpurea intexti_ [3]] _tollunt auloea Britanni_.
(Georg. 3, v. 25.)
_Which interwoven_ Britains _seem to raise_, _And shew the Triumph that their Shame displays_.
The Histories of all our former Wars are transmitted to us in our Vernacular Idiom, to use the Phrase of a great Modern Critick. [4] I do not find in any of our Chronicles, that _Edward_ the Third ever reconnoitred the Enemy, tho" he often discovered the Posture of the _French_, and as often vanquished them in Battel. The _Black Prince_ pa.s.sed many a River without the help of Pontoons, and filled a Ditch with f.a.ggots as successfully as the Generals of our Times do it with Fascines. Our Commanders lose half their Praise, and our People half their Joy, by means of those hard Words and dark Expressions in which our News Papers do so much abound. I have seen many a prudent Citizen, after having read every Article, inquire of his next Neighbour what News the Mail had brought.