SECTION I.

'THE lure of private advantage,' (reſumed the captive, the next evening, in the words of Himilco) ‘which had been held up to the Byrſans, to draw them into the war, had fired them with ſuch an univerſal phrenzy, that their army might almoſt have been ſaid to contain the whole nation. People of both ſexes, of every age, and rank, [2] crowded as to a feſtival, in all the pomp and parade of affluence and luxury, to gratify curioſity and ſhare in the ſpoil; for ſo confident were they of ſucceſs, that they even carried chains to bind their enemies, whom they already conſidered as captives.’

SECTION II.

[11]At theſe words grief choaked his ut⯑terance. He covered his face, for a few moments; and having paid the tribute of a pious tear to the memory of his coun⯑try, thus continued his narrative.

SECTION III.

SECTION IV.

SECTION V.

SECTION VI.

SECTION VII.

SECTION VIII.

SECTION IX.

WHEN the venerable Himilco had thus concluded his narrative, he left me for ſome time, as if to regulate his little oeconomy with his daughter, though I believe his firſt purpoſe was to give vent to the griefs which naturally attended the remembrance of his misfortunes.

My mind, in the mean while, was too ſtrongly impreſſed with events of ſuch ſingularity to attend to any thing elſe. I ran over the various occurrences of his life, and from a compariſon of it with my own, drew this conſolation, that I muſt certainly have been directed by heaven to his habitation for our mutual hap⯑pineſs.

I waited ſome days, however, before I would mention this thought to Himilco, in order to contemplate more cloſely the [48] diſpoſition of his daughter, before I at⯑tached my fate to her's; if I ſhould not rather ſay, that I was prevented by fear of a refuſal, as my heart became every hour more and more enamoured of her.

Himilco at length relieved me from this embarraſſment, by aſking me, one day as we walked among the ruins, in what manner I meant to proceed, in or⯑der to accompliſh the purpoſe of heaven, which had been ſo ſtrikingly communi⯑cated to me.

It was impoſſible for me to avoid ex⯑plaining myſelf any longer. I therefore opened all my heart to him, as well as the confuſion, inevitable on ſuch an occa⯑ſion, would permit; and waited with the ſtrongeſt anxiety for his anſwer, as the de⯑ciſion of my fate.

Regarding me, for ſome moments, with a look of inexpreſſible tenderneſs, ‘I am [49] no ſtranger,’ ſaid he, ‘O my ſon! to your ſentiments in reſpect to my daughter. I have beheld them labouring in your heart from the firſt day of your arrival here; nor was the diſcovery diſpleaſing: on the contrary, I will own, that I have found pleaſure in drawing the ſame concluſion with you, from the wonderful manner in which you have been led, as it were by the hand, to this place, where I had never hoped to ſee the face of man.’

Severely as I felt this delay of my hopes, it was not in my power to make any re⯑ply to the reaſons which he gave for it. From that day I lived with him and his [51] daughter in a ſtate of happineſs, reſem⯑bling that which the juſt enjoy as they draw near to heaven.

When the day of my departure arrived, his daughter preſented me with a ſcrip, fill⯑ed with dried fruits of various kinds, as a proviſion for my journey, till I ſhould meet the caravan, the way of which Hi⯑milco pointed out to me, by ſuch certain ſigns, which he had learned from his friend, that there could be but little danger of my miſſing it.

I ſhall not attempt to deſcribe my part⯑ing with his daughter. In compaſſion to us both, Himilco hurried me away from this diſtreſsful ſcene; and leading me to the extremity of the ruins, diſmiſſed me with a kiſs of peace.

He had before provided me with a fa⯑quir's habit, the diſguiſe which had ſo often been favourable to himſelf, in which [52] he concealed ſome gold, and jewels of great price; as alſo a ſabre and a ſhield, for my defence, ſhould it be my misfor⯑tune to be met by any of the men or beaſts of prey, which ranged thoſe boundleſs deſarts.

SECTION X.

MY mind was ſo oppreſſed by the recollection of what I had already under⯑gone, ſo terrified by the proſpect before me, that I forgot to attend to the ſigns by which Himilco had directed me to find the track of the caravan; inſomuch, that after travelling for ſeveral days longer than he had preſcribed for my gaining it, I found, to my inexpreſſible unhappineſs, that I had been only involving myſelf deeper in thoſe inexplicable wilds.

This diſcovery ſtruck me with the deepeſt diſmay. My heart died in me for ſome moments. Recollecting myſelf, how⯑ever, [53] and aſking forgiveneſs of heaven for this involuntary diſtruſt of its protection, I aſcended the neareſt high tree, to try if I could ſee any of the ſigns by which Hi⯑milco had marked my way.

Having made the beſt obſervations I could, I reſolved, as the evening began to cloſe apace, to remain where I was for that night, in hope of continuing my jour⯑ney in an happier hour the next morning.

As I was ſoothing my melancholy in contemplating the ſtruggles between light and darkneſs for the poſſeſſion of the ſky, and comparing them with the viciſſitudes of human life, my ear was ſuddenly ſtruck by the ſound of ſeveral voices, which appear⯑ed not to be far diſtant from me; when, turning my eye to the ſide from whence they came, I was ſurpriſed to ſee a number of children, as I thought, running about in ſport, near the tree which I had climbed.

[54]My firſt ſurprize though, ſoon gave place to a greater, when I conſidered the appearance of the creatures I beheld: their bodies, which were totally uncovered, were white as marble, without any ſuffu⯑ſion of that redneſs by which the blood diſtinguiſhes animal life. Their height did not exceed two cubits at the moſt, at the ſame time that their agility was utterly irreconcileable with the ſtrength of children of that age.

While I was gazing in aſtoniſhment at beings, whom I immediately concluded to be ſome of thoſe inhabitants of the air of whom ancient tradition relates ſo many wonders, one of them happening to ap⯑proach my ſtation, his ſenſe of ſmelling gave him the alarm, which he inſtantly communicated to the reſt, who crouding around the tree, ſoon diſcovered me among the branches, when giving a yell of affright, they all ran into a cavern at the foot of a hill cloſe to where I was.

[55]This appearance of fear was ſo incon⯑ſiſtent with the notion I had formed of them, that I was utterly at a loſs to what motive I ſhould attribute it. I thought it could not be a ſtratagem to decoy me down, as beings who were lords of the elements, ſuch as I ſuppoſed them to be, could enforce their commands by means impoſſible for me to reſiſt. I therefore concluded that my better angel muſt have interpoſed, though imperceptibly to me, and reſolved to continue where I was, un⯑der his protection, till the return of the ſun (whoſe light ſuſpends the power of thoſe inferior ſpirits) ſhould enable me to proceed without fear of moleſtation from them.

But a few moments ſolved the diffi⯑culty in a more natural manner. I had ſcarce formed this reſolution, when I ſaw an animal of the moſt hideous aſpect, which had ever ſtruck my ſight, advance toward the place where they had been.

[56]His ſtature was higher than that of the talleſt man, but in every proportion un⯑naturally ſlender for his height. His tawny ſkin was thinly ſhaded with hair of the ſame colour. His ears hung down, like thoſe of the animal abominated by all nations, while his flat viſage came ſo near the human, as to ſtrike me with ſhame and horror at the reſemblance.

Though I had never ſeen a creature of his kind before, I directly knew him, from deſcription, to be one of thoſe animals which make the middle link between the brute and human natures in the chain of life; ſuch herds of which, Himilco had informed me, inhabited ſeveral parts of thoſe deſarts, as would long ſince have over-run the whole, were it not for the numbers daily deſtroyed in their furious broils with each other. Happening to raiſe his eyes as he drew near the tree, he eſpied me; when chattering his teeth, and [57] grinning a ſmile of horrible delight, he inſtantly prepared to aſcend to me.

As I knew what kind of enemy I had to deal with, I was not under the ſame ap⯑prehenſion as before; but determined to ſtand upon my defence. I therefore un⯑ſheathed my ſabre, and placing myſelf where the boughs could not impede my arm, the moment he came within my reach, dealt him ſuch a blow, as felled him to the ground, where he lay, roaring and ſtruggling in vain to riſe.

This inſtantly ſhewed me the neceſſity of changing my reſolution, and deſcend⯑ing from the tree to ſlay him outright, leſt his cries ſhould draw more of his fel⯑lows about me than I might be able to reſiſt. Accordingly I ſprung down, and with one ſtroke ſevered his ghaſtly head from his body.

SECTION XI.

WHILE I was conſidering whether I had better reaſcend the tree, or proceed to ſeek ſome place of greater ſafety for the night, I was ſurpriſed to find myſelf ſur⯑rounded, on a ſudden, by the ſwarm of little beings, who had juſt before fled away as affrighted at the ſight of me.

Though I thought them impaſſive to human force, I naturally put myſelf in a poſture of defence, calling to them at the ſame time, in a menacing tone, to keep at a diſtance from me.

But I ſoon found that my apprehen⯑ſions were groundleſs, and that they were really as much afraid of me as I could poſſibly be of them.

On hearing my voice, they ſtarted back, and huddling cloſe together, ſtood evi⯑dently [59] fluctuating between fear and joy; their eyes ſparkling with exultation when they looked at the dead ſavage, but ſink⯑ing again with diffidence and affright, when turned toward me.

This inſtantly ſuggeſted it to me, that the creature I had ſlain was their enemy; and that their fear of me proceeded from my reſemblance of him. To remove this fear therefore, I went to the dead body, and giving it a ſtroke or two with my ſabre, ſpurned the head from me with a look and geſture of the ſtrongeſt deteſtation.

Such a proof of my enmity to their foe, was received as an expreſs treaty of friendſhip and alliance with them. They directly ſhook off all fear, and running with ſhouts of joy and triumph to the dead body, treated it with every inſult of hatred and revenge, till their rage was glutted; when ſeeming to recollect to whom they were indebted for his death, [60] they turned their attention to me, and one of them, whoſe features, on his nearer approach, I could perceive bore the marks of old age, advanced alone to me, and put himſelf, without apprehenſion, into my power; while the reſt, giving a ſhout of joy, made ſigns to me to go with them into their cavern.

Though by this time I was convinced, that far from being what I had at firſt ſuppoſed, they were in reality only one of thoſe varieties in which nature delights to diſport herſelf (a diminutive ſpecies of the human kind) from whoſe force I had as little reaſon to apprehend danger, as from their preſent intentions; yet ſuch was the power of prepoſſeſſion, ſo difficult to diveſt the mind of the apprehenſions of ignorance, that I felt a kind of horror in complying with that invitation, which ſtronger curioſity would not permit me to refuſe.

[61]This momentary heſitation, however, eſcaped their notice; and they ſhewed the higheſt pleaſure at my compliance. They ſhouted, they danced, and friſked around me all the way to the cavern; where the ſame one, who had advanced to me before, and whom I ſaw the reſt treated with re⯑ſpect, beckoned to me to ſtop, while they removed a number of gins and ſharpened ſtones, with which the entrance was beſet in ſuch a manner, as made their retreat inacceſſible to any creature bigger than themſelves, and which was not acquainted alſo with the ſeveral windings between them.

When the paſſage was thus cleared, my guide again made ſigns to me to follow him, ſtooping, though unneceſſarily for himſelf, as he entered, to ſhew me that I muſt ſtoop.

It is impoſſible for words to expreſs my aſtoniſhment when I entered this ſubterra⯑neous [62] city, for ſuch I immediately per⯑ceived it to be; the inſide of the hill be⯑ing entirely ſcooped out, whether by na⯑ture or art I could not diſtinguiſh, ſo as to make a cavity capable of containing many times the number of the little com⯑munity which then inhabited it, and di⯑vided into regular compartments proper for the few purpoſes of their ſimple life.

As the ſhades of night had by this time covered the earth, I expected to have found the cavern either involved in dark⯑neſs, or artificially illuminated by fire; but no ſooner had I entered, than I ima⯑gined I ſaw another ſky, which emitted a light, pallid indeed and feeble, but ſuffi⯑cient to diſcover every preſent object to the eye.

In the firſt impulſe of ſurpriſe, I raiſed my hand to what I thought the ſky, when I found that the light was only reflected from a viſcid ſubſtance, which diſtilled [63] through the roof and ſides of the cavern, and retained ſo much of the rays of the ſun, admitted through different crevices in the day, as reflected thus ſerved to ſup⯑ply his place during his abſence.

Having replaced their defences, and ſettled all things in a ſtate of ſafety, the whole people, to the number of about forty, of both ſexes and every age, ga⯑thered around me as I ſat upon the ground, after the example of my leader; where, having ſatisfied their curioſity by looking at me for ſome time, the greater part withdrew to their domeſtic concerns.

In a little time ſome of them returned, laden with fruits and the fleſh of various birds and other little animals, ſome of which appeared to have been dried, or rather ſodden, in the ſun, but the greater part was raw; and ſetting them before me, my hoſt, as I may call him, eat him⯑ſelf, to encourage me to eat.

[64]As I had taken no food from the riſing of the ſun, I followed his example, and eat of the fruits ſufficiently for the ſup⯑port of nature; but I loathed to taſte the fleſh, though he ſtrove to tempt me, by eating with a voracity which ſhewed that he thought it moſt delicious.

Having finiſhed our repaſt, he took me to a ſpring, which iſſued from the ſide of the cave, where I ſlacked my thirſt, and waſhed my feet in a pool filled with the overflowing of the water; after which, obſerving that I was over-powered with ſleep, he led me through various windings to a kind of niche, large enough to ſerve me for an apartment, where he made ſigns to me to lay me down to reſt.

Reſolved to comply with every thing which ſhould be propoſed to me, for that night, I directly obeyed him, letting him ſee me, however, lay my ſword un⯑der [65] my head, in ſuch a manner, that it could not be removed without awaking me; a care of which I afterwards found I had no occaſion.

SECTION XII.

MY mind had been ſo over-laboured in the obſervation of theſe ſtrange events, that I ſoon ſunk into a profound ſleep, in which all my cares were buried, till the next morning was far advanced, as I could judge by the light tranſmitted through a crevice in the roof of the cave, near the place where I lay.

Having looked around me, and found every thing in the ſame ſtate as when I went to ſleep, I lay ſtill for ſome time, in expectation of my hoſt's coming to me; till my patience being quite exhauſted, I aroſe, intending to depart without farther delay, in hope of diſentangling myſelf [66] from that part of the wilderneſs before the night ſhould come on.

But I ſoon found my intention defeated. The cavern was cut into ſuch an inexpli⯑cable labyrinth, that I wandered through it for a conſiderable time without being able to find the entrance, or even to re⯑turn to the place where I had ſlept; never, to my utter aſtoniſhment, ſeeing, or even hearing one of the inhabitants.

Loſing, at length, all hope of extri⯑cating myſelf, without their aſſiſtance, I called aloud ſeveral times; upon which I immediately heard the buzzing of their voices all around me.

After ſome minutes, my hoſt, as I have called him, came toward me; but with an appearance of diſtruſt and apprehen⯑ſion. To remove an impreſſion, there⯑fore, which I ſaw might be diſadvantage⯑ous [67] to me, I ſat down upon the ground, and reaching out my hand with a ſmile, the honeſt creature, ſuſpecting no deceit, as he deſigned none, reſumed his former confidence, and ſat down near me with evident pleaſure; whereupon the whole community, who had waited the event of his approach, inſtantly came round me, with the ſame freedom as before.

The light, which now entered through various apertures in the roof of the cavern, enabled me to ſee every thing diſtinctly. I have already deſcribed their ſize, and the peculiar colour of their bodies; in other reſpects they differed not from the ordinary race of men, a ſingularity in one feature excepted, which at firſt view was not ſo pleaſing. This was a prominence in their eyes, from whence probably pro⯑ceeded their ſeeing ſo much better in a feeble, than a ſtrong light; and may have been the cauſe of their chuſing ſuch a gloomy habitation.

[68]Our amity being thus reſtored, on my making ſigns of a deſire to go out of the cavern, my hoſt inſtantly led me to the entrance, where he ſtopped, being unable to bear the light of the ſun; but gave me to underſtand, that he would wait my return, by ſeating himſelf upon the ground.

Our deſire for any thing is always in proportion to the difficulty which attends the attainment of it. Though I was ſo anxious to continue my journey but a few minutes before, I now no ſooner found myſelf ſo perfectly at my liberty, than that anxiety ceaſed; and I reſolved to indulge my curioſity, by ſtaying a few days among this extraordinary people, to obſerve their cuſtoms and manners, and, if poſſible, acquire ſome knowledge of their language.

Accordingly, as ſoon as I had looked around me for a few minutes, to mark [69] the way I came, I went back to the mouth of the cave, where I found my hoſt, who expreſſed the ſtrongeſt ſatisfaction at my return.

The little community, who now re⯑garded me as one of themſelves, purſued their uſual occupations as if I was not preſent; by which means I ſoon had an opportunity of making all the obſerva⯑tions I deſired.

I have taken notice before, that their bodies were entirely naked; nor was that cuſtom, however ſtrange to me, in the leaſt to be wondered at, when their ſitua⯑tion was properly conſidered.

Natural neceſſity for cloathing they had none, as their place of habitation defended them from every inclemency of weather; and to the artificial neceſſity of ſhame, they were ſtrangers, both from their [70] ſecluſion from the reſt of the world; and that it had never entered into their thoughts, that nature had made any parts of their bodies objects of ſhame; and for the ſame reaſon, they performed all the natural functions wherever ſhe ſuggeſted the performance of them.

Their deſires were as limited, as their powers of gratification. They eat fruits, with which the happineſs of the climate ſupplied them, at every ſeaſon; and the fleſh of birds, and thoſe ſmaller animals which we denominate vermin, taken in gins, in the conſtruction of which all the powers of their ingenuity ſeemed to terminate.

Implements of domeſtic oeconomy, they knew not the uſe of. They eat their food without any preparation. They ſtooped to the fountain to drink, and when their appetites were ſatisfied, they laid themſelves down to ſleep, with⯑out [71] farther care, for the whole day; the ſtrong light of the ſun ſuſpending their occupations, as much as darkneſs doth thoſe of other men.

I found no great difficulty in acquir⯑ing a ſufficient knowledge of their lan⯑guage, which was far from being co⯑pious, their ſituation, and ſimplicity of life ſuggeſting but very few ideas: They had names for the things they knew, and expreſſions for the uſes they made of them; and that was nearly its whole extent; for they never combined their ideas, nor employed the faculties of the mind on its own operations.

Of all the paſſions which agitate the heart, and equally conſtitute the happi⯑neſs and miſery of man, they ſeemed to have a ſenſe only of fear and love; if I ſhould not add hatred and joy! though no more than conſequences of the for⯑mer, in the only inſtance, I ever could [72] diſcover of them, their behaviour when I ſlew the ſavage! nor were the effects even of theſe powerful or laſting.

When the entrance of their cavern was defended, in the manner I have de⯑ſcribed, they appeared to have no farther fear; and of love, I could never per⯑ceive the leaſt reſemblance, except in parental affection for their offspring; ſuch as nature hath imprinted on every animal, for the purpoſe of preſerving the ſpecies: the attachments of friend⯑ſhip, or ſecluſive connections between the ſexes, appearing to be utterly un⯑known to them.

I have obſerved, that they ſeemed to pay reſpect, to the one, who firſt ap⯑proached, and afterwards attended par⯑ticularly to me! but I could never per⯑ceive that he had any authority or in⯑fluence over them.

[73]They had given place to his ſuperior intrepidity, and followed his example in that inſtance; and that was all: for of an eſtabliſhed authority or government, there did not appear the fainteſt ſhadow among them, any more than of religion; of the very firſt principles of which, ſup⯑poſed to be univerſally written in the human heart, they were utterly igno⯑rant; nor when I was able, in ſome manner, to converſe with them, could I ever make them form the leaſt concep⯑tion of either.

Till their offspring were able to pro⯑cure their own food, they followed their parents, who fed them; but with this neceſſity the attachment on both ſides ended ſo abſolutely, that I could never trace even the remembrance of it. Every one did juſt what they pleaſed, without reſpect being paid to, or offence taken by any other.

[74]I have ſaid, that they took me, at firſt, for one of thoſe ſavages, with which they live in a continual ſtate of war. But when they were undeceived by my killing their enemy, and they had entered into amity with me, they ex⯑preſſed no curioſity to know who I was, or whence I came, my words ſeeming to make impreſſion upon them no longer than upon the air, through which the ſound of them paſſed to their ears.

Nor muſt it be ſuppoſed, that this inattention proceeded from pride. Their ignorance of themſelves was equally great. When I aſked if they were originally of that country, they could not compre⯑hend what I meant; nor did they know whether there was any more of their own ſpecies in the world.

My curioſity ſoon took in the whole of ſuch a narrow ſphere. I left them at the end of ſeven days, convinced of [75] the contemptible ignorance of thoſe tor⯑pid viſionaries, who affect to place hap⯑pineſs in the abſence of paſſion, and being content merely with the ſupport of nature.

A compariſon of ſuch a people with myſelf, gave me a conſequence, in my own eyes, which reſtored the vigor of my mind, and ſupported me through my journey. I ſoon recovered the way-marks pointed out to me by Himilco, from which I had not ſtrayed ſo far, as the dejection of my ſpirits had made me apprehend; and on the ſixth day from my leaving the little people, joined the caravan.

SECTION I.

AS the expreſs intent of their jour⯑ney, continued the captive, was to perform a religious duty, I expected to have met with nothing, but acts of virtue, and ſentiments of piety, among the pilgrims: But a very little time ſhewed me, that the profeſſed intention doth not always govern the actions of man, even in thoſe ſacred matters.

[78]I had not been long with the caravan, when my attention was ſtruck by one of the pilgrims, whoſe demeanour ſhewed a degree of ſanctity ſuperior to all the reſt.

Not content with performing all the rites ordained by his religion, he doubled them in every inſtance. Nature ſeemed unequal to the rigor of his abſtinence. The hours allotted to reſt, he ſpent in prayer: and his exhortations were num⯑bered by the ſteps of his journey.

Such a ſight was balm to my heart. I thought the merits of this one man overbalanced the failings of all the reſt. 'Virtue cannot be a ſhadow,' I reaſoned with myſelf. ‘I have now met the ſubſtance, upon which I may ſafely form my judgment.’

But a moment's reflection damped the pleaſure of this thought. ‘I have been [79] deceived before,’ I continued, ‘and how can I be certain, that I am not ſo now! That I do not ſee this man alſo in a mirrour! I will obſerve him better before I preſume to judge.’

For this purpoſe I attached myſelf more cloſely to him, than I had done before; when the event was far from confirming the opinion I had conceived in his favour. I ſoon thought I ſaw pride ſupply the place of piety, in his moſt exemplary acts of devotion; and virtue made uſe of as a veil to cover vice.

This diſcovery almoſt drove me to deſpair. 'To what purpoſe,' I ex⯑claimed, in the anguiſh of my ſoul, ‘do I ſee life, when I am not able to judge of what I ſee? This man's actions are all good. Why then ſhould I preſume to deduce them from a bad motive? They ſurely are the beſt index of the [80] heart. I have formed a wrong judg⯑ment of him, in one inſtance, or the other; and at any rate the former error was the more pardonable. Where there is any uncertainty, a good heart will always judge favourably. Let me therefore hope, that I have deceived myſelf by a falſe ſagacity; and that my firſt opinion of him was right.’ But this hope was of ſhort duration.

The Santone, for by that venerable appellation was he diſtinguiſhed from the other pilgrims in the caravan, was encou⯑raged by the admiration he had raiſed, to form ſtill higher hopes.

Addreſſing himſelf to me one evening, after prayer, 'I have obſerved,' ſaid he, ‘my ſon, with what piety you perform the rites of religion; and how attentively you liſten to the exhortation of my words. Come to my tent, at [81] the third hour of the night, when my private devotions will be finiſhed, that we may confer together upon the ways of heaven.’

Such an invitation was far from being unpleaſing to me, as it muſt give me an opportunity of clearing up the doubts with which my mind was perplexed. I therefore punctually attended the ap⯑pointment of the Santone, whom I found expecting my arrival.

Placing me beſide him, on his carpet, ‘I have obſerved,’ ſaid he, ‘O my ſon, the regularity of your deportment; and rejoice to have found in ſo young a man, one who is worthy of my friendſhip. I read your heart in your looks; and will open myſelf to you, without fear or reſerve; a confidence, which will not only ſhew you things in their proper colours, but alſo convince you of the [82] advantage of attaching yourſelf to me, and entering into all my views.’

It is impoſſible for me to expreſs, how much I was ſurprized at this addreſs. The manner was as unexpected, as the matter was incomprehenſible; ſuch a familiar ſtyle of diſcourſe being totally different from the abſtracted broken ſen⯑tences, in which he was accuſtomed to deliver his ſentiments. However, I was ſufficiently maſter of myſelf to conceal my aſtoniſhment; and the Santone tak⯑ing my habitual ſilence for aſſent, conti⯑nued his diſcourſe in theſe words.

SECTION II.

I could contain myſelf no longer. ‘Gracious heaven!’ I exclaimed, ‘Is it poſſible that the religious exerciſes, which ſtrike the world with ſuch reve⯑rence, can proceed from any other motive than true piety?’

‘Moderate your zeal, my ſon,’ he returned, with a contemptuous ſmile, ‘and all theſe matters ſhall be explained to you. True piety never ſtrikes the world with reverence, becauſe it is never ſeen by the world. It is an im⯑mediate intercourſe between the ſoul and heaven, carried on in acts merely ſpiritual, and which cannot be repre⯑ſented to ſenſe. Whenever you ſee a man perform religious exerciſes in pub⯑lic; and eſpecially if he affects to ex⯑ceed in them, you may ſafely conclude [85] either that his reaſon is diſordered, or that he acts from motives moſt dif⯑ferent from thoſe which he profeſſes.’

SECTION III.

IT is impoſſible to expreſs the hor⯑ror, with which I was ſtruck by this propoſal. I thought myſelf contami⯑nated by the bare communication of it; and held his confidence as the greateſt diſhonour which had ever befallen me; concluding that he muſt have ſeen an appearance of guilt in my looks, to make him ſelect me for his accomplice.

At firſt I determined to open the myſ⯑tery of his iniquity; but when I conſi⯑dered the conſequence of contradicting enthuſiaſtic ſuperſtition, as he had ſaid; I did not think myſelf juſtifiable in throwing away my own life, where I had no proſpect of defeating his impious deſigns.

[94]But happily an opportunity ſoon offered, of extricating me from this difficulty.

Along with the caravan, in which I travelled, there journied a company of merchants, who were going to Bagdat and Baſſora, to barter the commodities of Africa, for thoſe of the Aſiatic regions.

We had paſſed the Iſthmus of Suez, the very day before the Santone had opened his intentions to me. As I re⯑turned from his tent to my own, my way led me by the quarter of thoſe merchants, whom I found preparing to ſeparate from the caravan, the next morning.

It inſtantly ſtruck me, that I might eſcape the danger of refuſing to enter into his iniquitous ſchemes, by depart⯑ing along with theſe merchants. I ac⯑cordingly [95] went directly to my tent; and taking my ſcrip upon my back, and my ſtaff in my hand, joined them, juſt before they began their march.

It was ſome time before my ſoul could free itſelf from the horror with which the profligacy of the Santone had ſtruck me. At length, after weighing delibe⯑rately every thing, which he had ſaid, I found conſolation in reflecting, that the abuſe of the beſt things produces the worſt effects; and that the excellence of true piety was only proved more ſig⯑nally, by its being able to ſtand the teſt of ſuch proſtitution.

We purſued our journey to Bagdat, without meeting any occurrence worth relating.

High as my curioſity had been raiſed, by the accounts which I had heard of this imperial city, my impatience to embrace [96] the knees of my father was ſo ſtrong, that I ſhould not have delayed an hour in it, had it been in my power to proceed: but all the neighbouring nations were in⯑volved in ſuch furious wars, that it was neceſſary for me to wait for a favourable opportunity, before I could expect to perform my journey in ſafety.

The ſcene I was now in, was ſo utterly new to me, that I could only gaze in ſilent admiration, without being able to form any judgment of what I ſaw. The infinite variety of the objects which at⯑tracted my attention, prevented my at⯑tending to any of them. I had not time to obſerve one, when another preſented itſelf to my obſervation, ſo that I literally was loſt in the wilderneſs of my own thoughts.

While I was in this ſtate of perplexity, I happened one day, as I performed my devotions in the principal moſque, to [97] kneel cloſe to an aged man, who inſtantly fixed his eyes upon me in the moſt earneſt manner.

As I could not recollect that I had ever ſeen him before, I concluded he muſt have miſtaken me for ſome other perſon; and ſoon as the prayers were ended, departed without taking any further notice of him: but I had not gone far, before I was accoſted abruptly by a ſlave, who bade me, with an air of authority, to follow him.

Though I was naturally ſurprized at ſuch an addreſs, I judged, from the man⯑ner in which he ſpoke, that it would be in vain for me to refuſe; and therefore, to make a merit of my compliance, obeyed without aſking him any queſtions, or even obſerving whither he led me, till I found myſelf in one of the courts of the Khaliff's palace.

[98]I had not waited long, when I was in⯑troduced into the preſence of the grand viſier, whom I directly knew to be the perſon, who had regarded me ſo atten⯑tively, ſome minutes before, at the moſque.

As ſoon as I approached him, ‘I would know,’ ſaid he, ‘O young man, who thou art, and what thine occupation is in this city?’

The manner in which he ſpoke was far from giving me any alarm. As I was conſcious of no crime, I was free from fear; and reſolved, while I adhered ſtrictly to truth, not to enter into the parti⯑culars of my life, farther than was neceſ⯑ſary to ſatisfy his curioſity.

‘May the ſubſtitute of him, whoſe power rules the world, I anſwered, live for ever! Your ſlave cometh from the remoteſt parts of Arabia the Happy. My motive [99] for leaving my native country, was to ſee the manners of different people, and prove the precepts of education by ex⯑perience.’

‘Haſt thou not been among the Be⯑douins?’ he interrupted me ſternly; ‘and haſt thou not even led thoſe troops of ravagers, in their attacks upon the caravans of the true believers?’

Unexpected as this queſtion was, it did not diſconcert me. I anſwered him in the boldneſs of innocence and truth; and in few words gave him an account of the manner in which I had been taken captive by the Bedouins, and the reaſon of their diſmiſſing me from among them.

The force of truth is irreſiſtible. He heard me with attention; and as ſoon as I had ended: ‘Thy virtue hath been proved by many trials,’ ſaid he, riſing from the ſopha upon which he ſat, and embracing [100] me tenderly; ‘I have been myſelf a grate⯑ful witneſs of it. I was in the number of the captives, whom you ſo generouſly ſaved from the cruelty of thoſe barba⯑rians, and diſmiſſed in peace. Nor did my unexpected deliverance, on that day, fill my heart with ſincerer joy, than I feel now, at this happy opportunity of ſhewing my ſenſe of it.’

I need not attempt to deſcribe the effect which theſe words had on me. I returned his embrace with equal warmth, and for⯑got that I had ever been unhappy.

My friend, for he would never permit me to addreſs him by any other appella⯑tion, was not ſatisfied with heaping all the benefits in his own power upon me. He introduced me to the Khaliff, to whom he repreſented me in ſuch an advantageous light, that he ſoon diſtinguiſhed me, by many marks of his favour.

[101]My firſt advances to this envied ſtation drew upon me the frowns and malevolence of all, who had already gained, or aſpired to it: but an event ſoon happened, which totally changed their conduct.

SECTION IV.

MY friend, the viſier, who had de⯑ſcended far into the vale of years, fixed his eye upon me as a proper ſucceſſor in thoſe cares, to the weight of which he began to feel himſelf unequal. He re⯑commended me therefore in ſuch ſtrong terms to the Khaliff, that he made no dif⯑ficulty of permitting him to reſign the reins of government, and entruſting them to me.

The clouds which had attended every ſtep of my aſcent to this height of power, vaniſhed the moment I had attained it: and in their place I met nothing but ſmiles [102] of congratulation, and profeſſions of at⯑tachment and reſpect.

Unpractiſed in the ways of men, I readily gave credit to appearances, which I was not conſcious of having given any reaſon to doubt, and formed the moſt pleaſing ſchemes for turning the influen⯑tial power I now enjoyed to the general advantage; the ſplendor of the preſent ſcene dazzling my eyes, and making me over-look the eſſential reſemblance be⯑tween it and the former, in which I had met ſo mortifying a diſappointment, in my deſigns of the ſame kind, among the Be⯑douins.

In this deluſion I eagerly reſumed my favourite ſcheme of reformation, confid⯑ing in the obvious rectitude and advan⯑tage of it, and the integrity of my own heart, to ſecure my intereſt with the Kha⯑liff; and in his power to protect me from [103] the attempts of any, who ſhould be ſo loſt to every ſenſe of virtue and public ſpirit, as to oppoſe me in the execution.

Nor was I deceived in this confidence. The diſcernment and juſtice of the Khaliff viewed my intentions in a juſt light, and they confirmed me ſtill more ſtrongly in his eſteem.

But there were many obſtacles in the way to my wiſhes, which I foreſaw not at the firſt; or rather looked upon in the oppoſite light.

The greateſt of theſe aroſe from the power of appointing to places of profit or honour under the government, which was apparently veſted in the office I bore; and not only overwhelmed me with vex⯑ation, but alſo counteracted my deſigns, though I had built upon it as one of the ſureſt means of their ſucceſs.

[104]Empty as the honour, and poor the profits of many of thoſe places were, the number and importunity of the candi⯑dates for them embarraſſed me beyond expreſſion.

Some pleaded their own merits, others thoſe of their anceſtors; this one his youth and ability to do ſervice, that his age and the ſervices he had done, though he was now incapable of repeating them: one urged his poverty, and the neceſſity he had for relief; another his riches, and the influence they gave him over his fel⯑lows. In a word, every circumſtance and diſtinction, which varies the motley view of life, was alledged to enforce their pre⯑tenſions.

Nor was this ſolicitation only for ſuch places as were actually vacant. They vied with equal eagerneſs for thoſe which were already filled; blackening the characters of the poſſeſſors, as well as of each other, [105] with every calumny which envy or ambi⯑tion could ſuggeſt.

In the mean time, though it was evi⯑dent that I could not gratify ſuch num⯑bers as applied, even if I was ſo inclined, yet each affected to take offence; and the refuſal of impoſſible requeſts made me irreconcileable enemies: the competitors dropping their mutual animoſities to join in combinations againſt me, for a diſap⯑pointment of expectations contradictory in themſelves, and deſtructive of each other; and repreſenting every word and action of my life in ſuch malignant co⯑lours, as made me an object of general deteſtation to the miſguided multitude, whoſe deareſt intereſts and happineſs I was at the very time labouring to promote.

Severely as I felt the ſting of this in⯑gratitude, I bore it, while it affected my⯑ſelf only; but when their virulence pre⯑ſumed to riſe from me to the Khaliff, I [106] could ſupport it no longer: but to pre⯑vent that worſt misfortune which can be⯑fal a ſovereign, the loſs of his ſubjects' love, threw myſelf at his feet, and im⯑plored his permiſſion to leave a court, where my beſt intentions had unhappily produced ſo bad an effect.

Strong as the reaſons were, with which I enforced this requeſt, the Khaliff thought his honour, as well as his regard, concerned not to grant it. He raiſed me from the ground, and bidding me fear nothing, while he approved my conduct, prepared to make thoſe, who had thus preſumed to oppoſe his pleaſure, feel the weight of his reſent⯑ment.

But the conſequences which I foreſaw might attend this firmneſs, however fa⯑vourable to myſelf, and noble in its mo⯑tive, ſtruck me with horror. I repeated my ſuit, therefore, in terms ſo preſſing, [107] that I, in a manner, extorted his compli⯑ance, againſt his inclination; and leaving my enemies to triumph in their ſucceſs, joined a body of troops, which the Khaliff was ſending to the aſſiſtance of Aladdin, king of Diarbee, who then waged a moſt unequal war with the Sultan of Khouareſm.

Though the motives of the oppoſition, to which I had thus fallen a ſacrifice, and the means by which it had been carried on, were equally unjuſt, candour obliges me to confeſs, in this cool moment of deli⯑berate reflection, that my own indiſcretion aſſiſted it, in too many inſtances.

Secure of the ſupport of the Khaliff's favour, I ſlighted public opinion, and thought it beneath me to pay regard to appearances, as my intentions were right; eager for the accompliſhment of which, I never ſtudied a proper ſeaſon; but ob⯑truding them abruptly, without attention [108] to circumſtances, provoked oppoſition, by injudicious precipitancy, where modeſt de⯑licacy and caution would have obviated every objection, and enſured ſucceſs.

I wiſh I could ſay, that the Khaliff himſelf had not alſo given ſomething too like reaſon for the clamours raiſed upon this occaſion.

While he devoted all his thoughts to the cultivation of the finer arts, and mo⯑ral reformation of his people, the moſt important affairs of the ſtate either lan⯑guiſhed in neglect, or miſcarried in the attempt of conducting them by the rules of private virtue. From too lively a ſenſe of the evils of war, he ſacrificed the in⯑tereſts of his people and the honour of his crown to preſerve peace; and mercy, in⯑diſcriminately diſpenſed, robbed the laws of reſpect, and encouraged crimes, by taking away the fear of puniſhment.

[109]One advantage, it is true, I received from this ſecond diſappointment, which was that of being convinced by the un⯑erring proof of experience, that as power, in the firſt inſtance, does not always pro⯑cure happineſs, in the ſecond it is always unhappy; for, if the pillow of a prince is ſometimes uneaſy, that of a favourite is ever filled with thorns; all the troubles of the former being aggravated to the latter, by anxiety at the uncertainty of his ſituation.

SECTION V.

THE pain I felt at leaving a court, where I had thought myſelf ſo happily eſtabliſhed, was in ſome degree alleviated by reſentment, and hope of acquiring ſuch glory in the war as ſhould dazzle my ene⯑mies at my return; and raiſe me above danger of ſuffering the like diſgrace again, eſpecially as I reſolved never more to give [110] offence by attempting to ſerve people againſt their inclinations.

The Khaliff diſmiſſed me with the warmeſt aſſurances of regard. He had offered me the command of his troops; but a ſenſe of my inexperience in the art of war made me decline ſo difficult a charge, till I ſhould be more equal to it.

‘And yet,’ interrupted Temugin, ‘equal inexperience in the arts of govern⯑ment had not made you decline that charge. Preſumptuous folly! To think it eaſier to govern a whole people in idleneſs, and in a manner free from re⯑ſtraint, and conduct the complicated affairs of peace; than to command a ſmall part of them, who are prepared to obey; and direct them to a particular end, however difficult to attain, on which they are themſelves all intent!’

[111]I acknowledge, mighty lord, the juſ⯑tice of your reprehenſion, returned the captive; but ſuch is the confidence of man in his own abilities, where it is not reſtrained by the obvious neceſſity of ob⯑ſerving ſome particular method, of which practice only can make him maſter.

No one attempts the ſimpleſt works of mechaniſm, who has not practiſed the manner; but all think themſelves born with abilities to govern.

‘Proceed,’ replied Temugin; ‘I re⯑prehend not thee. The fault is in hu⯑man nature.’

As ſoon as I had joined the army of Aladdin, reſumed the captive, I applied myſelf with the greateſt aſſiduity to learn the military art, which I had an opportu⯑nity of ſeeing in all its various extent; the war, in which he was engaged, call⯑ing [112] forth all the reſources of his genius and courage, to balance the ſuperiority of the Sultan's forces.

The manner in which I had parted from the Khaliff had made me flatter my⯑ſelf, that his regard for me was unalter⯑ably fixed; but I ſoon had reaſon to change my opinion.

He had ordered me to ſend him con⯑ſtant accounts of all the events of the war; but to theſe I never received the leaſt re⯑turn; and to remove all doubt of the reaſon of ſuch a ſlight, I ſaw one of my moſt malignant enemies appointed to the command of the troops in which I ſerved; though, on the death of the former gene⯑ral, I had ſolicited that truſt, my abilities for which could not now be doubted.

This was an indignity I could not bear. In the anguiſh of my ſoul, therefore, I threw myſelf at the feet of Aladdin, and [113] informing him of my ſituation, implored his protection, and leave to ſerve in his own troops.

That vigilant and diſcerning prince, who was not a ſtranger to the character of any ſoldier in his armies, readily granted my ſuit; and as, in ſuch a ſcene of conti⯑nued action, I could not long want an opportunity of proving my abilities, I ſoon aroſe to the higheſt rank in his forces.

I had juſtified the good opinion, which raiſed me to the command of a ſeparate army, by ſeveral ſignal ſucceſſes, when a tempeſt and hurricane burſt upon me, one day, as I was on a march, and over⯑whelmed the greater part of my troops.

As this was an accident, which no hu⯑man precaution could prevent, I did not apprehend that it could poſſibly be im⯑puted to me as a fault; and therefore ſent [114] directly to inform Aladdin of my misfor⯑tune, and deſire a reinforcement.

But he viewed the matter in a different light; and ſending another general to take the command from me, let me know that it was a maxim with him, never to em⯑ploy again an officer who had once been unfortunate.

‘Impious abſurdity!’ exclaimed Te⯑mugin; ‘to ſet his own will in oppoſition to that of heaven, and pretend to make man accountable for its actions! How could he expect that his ſoldiers ſhould ſerve him, with the attachment and con⯑fidence neceſſary to ſucceſs, when they were liable thus to loſe the merit of their beſt endeavours, without being guilty of any fault?’

And yet, mighty lord, returned the captive, it is in order to keep up that con⯑fidence, that he practiſes ſuch ſeverity. [115] ‘Such is the force of ſuperſtitious opi⯑nion!’ I have heard him ſay, ‘that the ſoldier who ſerves under a commander who has once been unfortunate, always fears misfortune; whereas, under one who has ever been ſucceſsful, he ruſhes on his enemy, with an aſſurance of the ſame ſucceſs, which is the moſt certain means of obtaining it.’

As to the particular injuſtice of ſuch a conduct, that never enters into his conſi⯑deration. Where the mind is wholly taken up with one object, it meaſures the propriety of any means only by their apti⯑tude to procure it.

Aladdin not only gives the ſtricteſt at⯑tention to the general welfare and intereſts of his ſubjects, but alſo relieves the diſ⯑treſſes, and promotes the happineſs of every individual with paternal tenderneſs and care.

[116]But this is, where this diſtreſs or hap⯑pineſs does not interfere with the opera⯑tions of the war, the immediate and great object of all his thoughts. Where they do, the tenderneſs and juſtice of the king, and father of his people, are drowned in the political views and ſeverity of the ſol⯑dier and ſtateſman.

Thus, while his ſubjects at home live in happineſs and ſafety under the protec⯑tion of his care, his ſoldiers are obliged to diveſt themſelves of every natural prin⯑ciple of action, and execute his orders, like mere machines, without regard to circumſtances; or any ſenſe, but that of obedience to his will: a ſtate of ſubjec⯑tion, which nothing but the hope of ac⯑celerating by victory their return to the bleſſings of peace, ſo profuſely enjoyed under him, can make ſupportable to be⯑ings, whom reaſon invariably directs to act with a regard to their own happineſs.

[117] ‘Ceaſe your reflections,’ replied Te⯑mugin, ‘and proceed with your ſtory. Aladdin is a wiſe prince.’

SECTION VI.

WHEN I had recovered from my firſt aſtoniſhment, continued the captive, I humbled my heart before heaven; and ſeeking in myſelf for the cauſe of ſo many misfortunes, was not at a loſs to attribute them to my having delayed to return to my father; and immediately reſolved to turn my face homewards, nor ſtop till I ſhould throw myſelf at his feet, and ob⯑tain his forgiveneſs.

This reſolution baniſhed every repining and reſentful thought, and reſtored ſere⯑nity to my mind. I directly ſet out on my journey, accompanied only by one atten⯑dant, whoſe affectionate attachment I could not elude, ſo as to depart alone, as [118] I would have done; and through innu⯑merable difficulties and dangers, at length reached the habitation of my father.

My joy aroſe ſo high, as I approached this ſeat of innocence and content, that I could ſcarce ſupport its emotions. It may be judged then what I felt, on find⯑ing his houſe deſerted, and learning from his neighbours that he had diſappeared, in a few days after my departure, nor had ever been heard of ſince.

I ſunk into a ſwoon, from which I re⯑covered only to ſuffer the tortures of a violent fever, into which the workings of my ſoul had inflamed my whole frame.

The care of my faithful attendant ſaved my life; but I languiſhed many moons, in more than infantine weakneſs; nor was it even in the power of his friendſhip to heal the anguiſh of my heart.

[119]At length, when youth had triumphed over the effects of my diſeaſe, a ray of deluſive hope dawned upon me, that I might yet find my father. I recollected, that when I was learning my military exerciſes, he had ſhewn a moſt anxious alarm at my expreſſing a deſire to ſeek experience in the art of war, and uſed every argument to check the military ardour with which I ſeemed to be fired.

This inſtantly ſuggeſted a thought, that he might have concluded I had gone to ſome of the armies engaged in war, and accordingly purſued me.

As I had already ſeen the armies of Bagdat and Diarbee, I thought it in vain to ſeek him among them; and therefore re⯑ſolved to repair directly to the camp of the Sultan of Khouraeſm, never reflecting on the improbability of finding an obſcure old man among the innumerable multi⯑tudes collected in ſuch a place, or of [120] his having continued there ſo long, even if he had gone thither at the firſt.

I accordingly meaſured back the weary ſteps of my late journey, accompanied by my faithful friend; and proceeded thro' Perſian Irac into the country of Tranſ⯑oxana, where I joined the army of Mo⯑hammed, whoſe evil genius had led him thither to oppoſe his force to your's.

But a fruitleſs ſearch at length ſhewed me the folly of ſuch a vain undertaking; though I ſtill knew not how to give it up, as it was the laſt reſource of my hope of ever ſeeing my father more.

As I was wandering one day through the camp, buried in theſe painful reflec⯑tions, the leader of a band of ſoldiers hap⯑pening to take notice of me, enquired who I was; and turning the honeſt an⯑ſwer which I gave him into brutal ridi⯑cule, [121] ordered me to be enrolled directly among the troops under his command.

It was in vain to expoſtulate. I was dragged away, amid the cruelties and in⯑ſults of thoſe unfeeling wretches, who fallen beneath humanity themſelves, take a malignant pleaſure in aggravating the miſeries of others; and thrown into a dungeon to prevent my attempting to eſcape, till they ſhould go upon action.

Every new misfortune ſeems heavier than the paſt. I thought of nothing now, but the horrors of my preſent ſituation, among the ſevereſt of which I reckoned the loſs of my faithful companion, who had happened to be abſent from me, when I was ſeized; nor had I any poſſibility of letting him know where I was.

When I had lain ſome days in a con⯑finement, the loathſomeneſs and ſeverity [122] of which were ſufficient to break the ſtrongeſt health and ſpirits, I went with the forces into the field, where hope of ending my ſufferings, by an honourable death, prompted me to behave in a man⯑ner, that attracted the notice of the com⯑mander, and removed all ſuſpicion of my deſiring to quit the ſervice.

On my return to the camp, I ſought my companion, with the moſt anxious care, but with no better ſucceſs than had attended my ſearch for my father.

My ſpirit ſunk under ſuch accumulated diſappointments. I reſolved to return to Himilco; and ſeclude myſelf from a world, whoſe ways I deſpaired of ever being able to reconcile to thoſe principles, by which I had been taught to believe it governed.

While I was conſidering how to accom⯑pliſh my eſcape, the day arrived, which [123] was to determine the ſovereign of the world.

Deteſtation of every thing which had the remoteſt appearance of cowardice, would not permit me to leave the army at ſuch a time. I therefore engaged in a cauſe, in which even my wiſhes were not intereſted; and having been entruſted with a ſubordi⯑nate command, for I had carefully con⯑cealed my having ſerved in the armies of Aladdin, I loſt my liberty in the execution of my duty, and now expect my fate from the ſovereign of mankind.

SECTION VII.

THE circumſtances of this ſtory made ſo deep an impreſſion on the mind of Te⯑mugin, that he remained wrapt in thought for ſome time, after the captive had con⯑cluded.

Recollecting himſelf at length, ‘Though thy days have been but few,’ ſaid he, ‘the viciſſitudes of thy life have been ſuf⯑ficient to give thee the experience of many years. If thou art willing to fol⯑low me, I will charge myſelf with thy fortunes. If not, depart in peace, and may thy paths be proſperous: thou art at liberty from this hour. Compulſion and fidelity are incompatible.’

Such condeſcending goodneſs over⯑powered the grateful heart of Selim. He proſtrated himſelf at the feet of the empe⯑ror, [125] and embracing his knees, aſſured him of his moſt faithful attachment.

Though Temugin's late victory, had ſo totally broken the ſpirit of ſultan Mo⯑hammed, that he never after dared to face him in the field, his ſon, Gelaleddin, made ſuch noble efforts to retrieve his affairs, as ſeemed for ſome time to keep the event doubtful.

While the emperor, therefore, was tak⯑ing he neceſſary meaſures for reduc [...]n [...] an enemy, whoſe activity and enterprize ren⯑dered him ſtill more formidable, than the number of his forces, he received infor⯑mation of the revolt of one of his newly conquered kingdoms, in which a conſider⯑able body of his own troops had joined.

Such an event demanded inſtant atten⯑tion. The example might be followed by others; and the reduction attended with more difficulty than the firſt conqueſt; as [126] deſpair always ſtrengthens the hand of rebellion.

The account had arrived juſt as Selim had finiſhed the ſtory of his life. In a moment the whole camp was in motion; and the riſing ſun found Temugin in full march, at the head of a body of forces, equal to the occaſion, which he held not of importance ſufficient to require his whole army.

In ſuch general commotions, private individuals are eaſily overlooked. Selim had received no orders to attend the empe⯑ror; but he deemed it his duty; and re⯑ſolved to keep as near to his perſon as poſ⯑ſible, in hope of ſome happy opportunity of proving in his ſight, that he was not unworthy of the favour which had been ſhewn him.

The army of Temugin had ſcarce en⯑tered the country of the rebels, when [127] they daringly advanced to meet him. The battle was obſtinate and bloody. As Te⯑mugin was haſting to ſupport one of the wings of his army, which was beginning to give way, he found himſelf unexpect⯑edly ſurrounded by a band of the rebels, who knowing his perſon, had made a deſ⯑perate effort to take him priſoner: but though he ſaw all his attendants cut to pieces, he diſdained to ſubmit to ſuch in⯑dignity. He ſtood reſolutely on his de⯑fence; and like a lion fallen into a pit, ſacrificed to his revenge, every one, who dared to come within his reach, till he was juſt ſinking under fatigue, and loſs of blood; when, in the important moment, which ſeparates life from death, a ſingle ſoldier broke through the croud, and throw⯑ing himſelf before him, with a loud ſhout, exerted efforts of ſuch uncommon valour in his defence, as kept the enemy off, till a body of troops, whom he had apprized of the emperor's danger, and who had [128] followed him, as cloſe as they could, came to his relief.

This was the laſt ſtruggle which the rebels made for victory. As ſoon as the battle was ended, the firſt care of Temu⯑gin was to find his deliverer, whom he had known, amidſt all the tumults of ſuch a ſcene.

On the ſoldier's advancing through the croud of princes and commanders, who had gathered round the emperor to expreſs their joy at his ſafety, and congratulate him on the victory, which had crowned his arms, ‘Take this,’ ſaid he, reaching him his own ſword, ‘ſon of Abudah, as a pledge of my eſteem; and aſk any boon which your heart wiſheth, in re⯑ward of your fidelity and valour.’

‘Conqueror of the world,’ replied Se⯑lim, throwing himſelf at the emperor's [129] feet, ‘my heart's firſt wiſh is to lay down with glory, in your ſervice, that life which you have bleſſed with liberty. The bare performance of duty merits not reward.’

The emperor then turning to one of his chieftains, ‘Go,’ ſaid he, ‘put all the captives to the ſword; let looſe the rage of war upon the country; nor leave a ſoul alive to preſerve the name of ſuch a people upon the face of the earth! The world ſhall ſee the conſequence of re⯑belling againſt my power.’

SECTION VIII.

THE chief was juſt departing to put theſe orders in execution, when Selim ſtepped forward, and proſtrating himſelf again, at the emperor's feet, ‘Revoke the dreadful ſentence,’ ſaid he, ‘O ſub⯑ſtitute of heaven! and imitate his mercy who hath given you his power.’

All preſent were ſtruck with aſtoniſh⯑ment and affright, at a preſumption never attempted before; the word of the empe⯑ror being held as ſacred as the will of heaven.

Temugin ſtarted; and looking furiouſly on Selim, as he lay trembling with eager⯑neſs and anxiety at his feet, 'How!' ſaid he; ‘dareſt thou to doubt the juſtice of my commands? To interpoſe thyſelf between rebellion and my vengeance? [131] Beware, raſh youth; ſuch a crime, even in thought, cancels all merit.’

‘Never ſhall a thought of his ſlave,’ returned Selim, ‘give offence to my lord. I revere thy irreſiſtible power; and ſhrink to nothing before thy wrath: but O, hearken to the words of thy ſlave. Let the guilty, but the guilty only, ſuffer: infants are incapable of rebellion; and weakneſs ſinks the woman and old age equally beneath vengeance. Let the innocent live to witneſs the puniſh⯑ment of the guilty. The dead obey no more! nor does a deſolated country yield laurels to adorn the victor's brow.’

The words of Selim ſunk into the em⯑peror's heart. He ſtood, ſome moments, buried in thought; then, ſoftening the rage which glowed in his looks, 'Ariſe,' ſaid he, ‘I will ſhew you that my word is irrevocable. I bade you aſk a boon! You have aſked; and ſhall obtain it. [132] Go! take under your command the troops of Caſbin; and execute my ven⯑geance according to the rules of that juſtice, in favour of which you have ventured to plead ſo ſtrongly.’

Such a charge exceeded even the hopes of Selim. He bowed his head to the ground, in teſtimony of obedience; and riſing, departed inſtantly to execute a command, which gratified the deareſt paſſions of his heart.

Putting himſelf, therefore, at the head of the forces aſſigned to him, he flew directly to ſtop the carnage, always com⯑mitted in the firſt heat of victory; and gathering all the captives into one body, he ſurrounded them with a guard, not more to prevent their eſcape, than to pro⯑tect them from farther injury; having done which, he directed his march to the capital, taking them along with him.

[133]As the reaſon of the emperor's confer⯑ring this command upon Selim, was as yet known but to few, it was thought he had thus ſaved the lives of the captives for the preſent, only to ſtrike the greater terror, by putting them to death in the ſight of their families and friends; for mercy to rebels was a thing unheard of.

But he ſuffered them not to remain long in an opinion ſo injurious to his intentions. As ſoon as he arrived before the capital, he ordered all the priſoners to be led forth; and advancing toward them, as they ſtood trembling with ſuſpenſe and horror, ‘The firſt orders of the emperor's juſt wrath,’ ſaid he, ‘were to exterminate a people, who had dared to rebel againſt him; but his mercy hath interpoſed; and his juſtice now ordains, that the guilty only ſhall ſuffer.’

‘Let theſe therefore be pointed out! Who were the firſt inciters to this rebellion? what pretext was feigned? what end propoſed [134] to encourage it? He is unworthy to lead in any cauſe, who will not ſtand be⯑tween his followers and deſtruction.’

He had ſcarce ſpoken theſe words, when a confuſed noiſe announced the arrival of the king of this unhappy people. He ap⯑peared to have paſt the middle ſtage of man's life; but to have ſuffered more from misfortune than from time. A ray of native majeſty ſhot through the gloom of grief, which overcaſt his looks. He was arrayed in the garb of mourning; and the enſigns of royalty were borne reverſed before him.

At his approach, all was ſtill as death. On being informed of what Selim had ſaid, a gleam of joy flaſhed over his face. He ſtepped forward, and with an air of dignity and reſolution, ‘Behold, O worthy ſubſtitute of the conqueror of the world,’ he ſaid, ‘the man, whom you ſeek! I was the king of this unhappy people; [135] and on my head muſt fall the puniſh⯑ment of their miſdoings.’

‘He was not the author of the revolt! He led not the people to battle,’ ex⯑claimed a youth, breaking through the croud of captives, who ſtrove in vain to reſtrain him: ‘That crime, ſince heaven hath declared it ſuch by the event, was mine; and I alone deſerve to die for it.’

'Away! raſh boy!' returned the ve⯑nerable monarch; ‘nor add thy diſobe⯑dience to the number of my griefs. Wouldſt thou uſurp the rights of thy king? for who, but their king, can be anſwerable for his people?’

Then addreſſing himſelf to Selim, ‘If I was not the immediate author of the revolt,’ he continued, ‘I ſtrove not to ſuppreſs it! If he led the people to bat⯑tle, it was in the authority of my name, and with my aſſent. What was a crime [136] therefore in me, was only a duty in him; nor would it be conſiſtent with the juſ⯑tice you propoſe, to let the ſon ſuffer for doing that which his ſovereign and his father did not forbid him to do.’

SECTION IX.

SELIM liſtened with equal pleaſure and ſurprize, to a conteſt which did ho⯑nour to the human name. But it was far from being ſo pleaſing to all preſent.

The troops, at the head of which the emperor had placed him, were com⯑manded, under him, by Cafor, the chief⯑tain, againſt whom the rebellion had firſt been raiſed.

As Selim was proceeding to inter⯑poſe between the father and the ſon, he was interrupted by Cafor, who juſt then joined him: ‘Let the inſtant deaths of both,’ ſaid he ſternly, ‘put [137] an end to their audacious conteſt. It were treaſon to ſhew mercy to traitors.’

‘And canſt thou doom us to death,’ returned the youth, trembling with indig⯑nant rage, ‘for that which thy injuſtice alone compelled us to do? For ſeeking redreſs of wrongs, too great for human nature to ſubmit to?’

'What can this mean?' interrupted Selim. ‘What wrongs doſt thou com⯑plain of? and whoſe injuſtice was the cauſe of thy rebellion? Speak in the boldneſs of truth, and expect juſtice.’

'Our wrongs, O gracious chieftain,' replied the prince, melting into tears, at the tenderneſs which ſhone in the looks of Selim, ‘are too many to be recited in a moment; and the perpetrator too mighty for me to contend with. You ſee before you, two of the moſt miſer⯑able of men, made ſo by him, who [138] ſtands in the ſecurity of power, at your right hand. The injuſtice of Cafor was the cauſe of our crime. Againſt that only, not againſt the ſovereignty of Temugin, did we revolt! And if thou wilt but ſweeten death, with an hope that our wrongs ſhall be avenged upon his head, this moment will I meet it with joy, in any form which his own cruelty can preſcribe.’

‘Shall the power of Temugin be thus inſulted?’ exclaimed Cafor, ‘and his vengeance delayed by the vain words of a ſlave? Give them to death, the hoary traitor and his rebellious ſon! Give them inſtantly to the death which their ac⯑knowledged guilt deſerves; nor let the honour of our ſovereign be longer trifled with in this manner.’

‘Son of Aſhur,’ returned Selim, ‘the power of our mighty lord ſhall not be inſulted; nor his vengeance delayed [139] longer, than is neceſſary for putting it under the direction of juſtice, by which alone the honour of a ſovereign is ſupported.’

Then turning to the captive prince, ‘Thy accuſation,’ he continued, ‘falls upon a reſpected head; and muſt be ſupported by the cleareſt proof, or it will recoil with tenfold force upon thy⯑ſelf! But let not this diſcourage thee to ſpeak the words of truth. Juſtice knoweth no diſtinction of perſons.’

Emboldened by this aſſurance, the prince pauſed for a few moments, then raiſing his eyes ſlowly from the ground, and fixing them with the modeſt confi⯑dence of innocence upon Selim, ‘O ſhadow of him, who rules the world,’ he ſaid, ‘I obey thy command; and will unfold our griefs as far as nature is able to give them utterance, depending upon [140] thy compaſſion to pardon the incohe⯑rencies of diſtraction and deſpair.’

SECTION X.

SECTION XI.

IT was not without difficulty that Se⯑lim could prevent Cafor from frequent⯑ly interrupting the captive prince in the courſe of his narrative. As ſoon as it was ended, he turned to the accuſed, with a cool, but determined look, and de⯑manded what defence he could make againſt ſo black a charge.

'This ſhall defend me,' anſwered Ca⯑for, in a rage, brandiſhing his ſabre over his head; ‘I diſdain to ſubmit to any other deciſion.’

[148]'O, let the ſword decide it!' exclaimed the prince eagerly. ‘Strong though his arm, the juſtice of heaven is ſtill ſtronger. Let the ſword decide it, this moment.’

'We need not refer to heaven,' returned Selim, ‘for the deciſion of that which human reaſon can decide. When ap⯑peals to the ſword are admitted, obedi⯑ence to the laws is at an end. Every man is then the ſovereign arbiter of his own cauſe.’

Then turning to Cafor, 'Son of Aſhur,' he continued, ‘ſince thou canſt not refute the atrocious charge brought againſt thee, take the juſt puniſhment of thy guilt.’—Saying which, he made a ſignal to his ſoldiers, who inſtantly ſmote off the head of Cafor, and laid it at his feet.

The tumult, occaſioned by this unex⯑pected event, had no ſooner ſubſided, than [149] Selim, addreſſing himſelf to the king, who had ſtood all this time in the ſtupefaction of grief before him, ‘To thee, O injured monarch,’ ſaid he, ‘the juſtice of Te⯑mugin hath rendered this redreſs; and now reinſtates thee in all the rights of that ſovereignty, of which thou haſt been ſo unworthily deprived. Reſtore tran⯑quillity and order among your people; puniſh paſt crimes, to prevent the repe⯑tition of them; and compleat your own glory, by compleating the happineſs of your ſubjects. It is the intention of Temugin, that all who live under his power ſhould be happy.’—

Then raiſing the prince, who lay at his feet, panting in an extaſy of gratitude and joy, ‘As for your fate,’ he continued, ‘it muſt be determined by the word of our ſovereign. He commanded me to pu⯑niſh the authors of this revolt. How far you may be included in that com⯑mand, is for himſelf to ſay. Be not, [150] however, diſmayed. He will weigh the cauſe againſt the crime, and pay juſt re⯑gard to the firſt of human duties.’

This ſignal inſtance of juſtice reſtored peace to the country. Satisfied at ſeeing the wrongs of their ſovereign redreſſed, the people forgot their own, and readily returned to their duty; while their hap⯑pineſs ſecured their continuance in it.

On Selim's return, he threw himſelf at the feet of Temugin, to render an account of his charge. The fate of Cafor had reached the camp before him, and the emperor had not diſcloſed his ſentiments upon it. All therefore waited with anxiety for the event.

The emperor having heard him with unmoved attention, as ſoon as he had ended, 'The heart of man,' ſaid he, look⯑ing around him with an air of majeſty, [151] which ſtruck every beholder with awe, ‘can be read only by the eye of heaven! I knew the valour of Cafor, and doubt⯑ed not his virtue; but he hath paid the juſt penalty of his crime, and my ho⯑nour is vindicated.’

Then directing himſelf to the prince, who lay proſtrate before him, 'Ariſe,' he continued, ‘and reſume your command in my armies. I war not againſt nature!’

‘And you,’ turning to Selim, ‘to whoſe more powerful genius the fortune of Togrul was obliged to yield; aſſume the name; and ſtand near me, in the place of that brave and faithful warrior, whoſe wiſdom in the council was equal to his valour in the field.’

SECTION I.

THE exalted ſtation to which Tog⯑rul (for by that name was he now known) was thus raiſed, gave, for ſome time, ſuch employment to his mind, that he ſcarce thought of his former misfor⯑tunes.

But this reſpite was not long. No ſooner had the firſt tumults of youthful [154] joy and ambition ſubſided, than all his grief returned with aggravated weight; and he upbraided himſelf for having ſuf⯑fered it to be ſuſpended, even for a moment, by the ſmiles of a proſperity, which he conſidered as acquired at the loſs of his father, and not to be enjoyed without the farther crime of violating his faith to the daughter of Himilco, now the ſole object of his hopes and wiſhes; to whom he ac⯑cordingly reſolved to return.

But a principle of gratitude would not permit him to carry this purpoſe into exe⯑cution, before he ſhould, by ſome new ſervices, repay the debt he owed to Temu⯑gin, and prove himſelf not unworthy of the rank to which he was raiſed.

In the mean time Temugin, who was no ſtranger to the leading paſſions of his heart, generouſly reſolved to employ him in a ſervice, which ſhould afford him the ampleſt opportunity of indulging them.

[155]Calling for him therefore, one morn⯑ing, ‘Togrul,’ ſaid he, ‘I know not in what light I am to hold the Khaliff of Bagdat; whether as an enemy, or a friend. The oppreſſions which he ſuf⯑fered, from the lawleſs ambition and pride of Mohammed, ſhould have filled his heart with gratitude to his deliverer; but never hath he thought proper to take the leaſt notice of his obligation, nor made any advances toward my friend⯑ſhip.’

‘Take, therefore, the troops under your command, and proceed directly to Bagdat. If you find him deſerving of my favour, receive him to it on proper terms; if not, the ſword is in your hand to vindicate my rights.’

No charge, in the power of Temugin to give, could have affected Togrul in ſo intereſting a manner. The favours, the [156] ſlights he had received from the Khaliff, the malignancy of his enemies, and the opportunity of revenge now in his power, flaſhed inſtantly upon him, and ſet every paſſion of his heart in conflict.

Proſtrating himſelf at the feet of the emperor, ‘I acknowledge,’ ſaid he, ‘mighty lord, the honour conferred upon me by this important truſt, and will endeavour to acquit myſelf of it to your ſatisfaction. But, O remember the trial to which your ſlave is expoſed!’—

‘I ſee,’ interrupted the emperor, ‘the workings of your ſoul; but I doubt not your ability to ſurmount ſtill greater trials. It is by ſuch alone that virtue can be proved.’

The armies of Temugin were always in readineſs to carry his orders into inſtant execution. Togrul decamped at the firſt [157] hour of the evening, animated with an ardour, from which his forces drew the happieſt preſages of ſucceſs.

As he purſued his march through the country of Farſiſtan, his attention was one day ſtruck by a pile of ruins, the magni⯑ficence of which tempted him to take a nearer view of them, while his troops halted for refreſhment.

The reflections, naturally ſuggeſted by ſuch ſcenes, were interrupted by the ſight of an aged man, ſitting in a melancholy poſture, with his eyes intently fixed upon ſome fragments, which lay in an heap be⯑fore him, while a flood of tears rolled in ſilence down his furrowed cheeks.

Such a ſight was equally affecting to curioſity and compaſſion. Advancing therefore toward him, 'Pardon,' ſaid To⯑grul, ‘O venerable father! the intruſion [158] of a ſtranger, who wiſhes to know the cauſe of your diſtreſs, in hope it may be in his power to offer you relief.’

The mourner raiſed his eyes, and look⯑ing eagerly around, ‘Is the voice of benevolence heard again in this place?’ he exclaimed. ‘Sweet is the ſound, tho' its purpoſe is impoſſible.’

Then fixing his eyes moſt attentively upon Togrul for ſome moments, ‘Your words, O illuſtrious young man,’ he continued, ‘ſpeak a feeling heart; and I ſee that you have already taſted of ad⯑verſity. I will therefore ſatisfy your enquiry, though hopeleſs of its motive; for, alas! my woes admit not of relief.’

Having ſaid this, he turned his face to the Eaſt, and proſtrating himſelf before the heap of fragments, ‘O life of the univerſe!’ he ſaid, ‘thou glorious Sun! [159] protect theſe ſacred relicks from pollu⯑tion; nor give the aſhes of Zelis to the winds, before mine ſhall be mingled with them.’

When he had offered up this prayer, he aroſe, and turning to Togrul, ‘I have promiſed to unfold to you the cauſe of my unhappineſs,’ he continued; ‘but this place is improper. The voice of prayer and adoration only ſhould be heard here. We will withdraw into the ſhade of yon⯑der arch, and there I will relate the me⯑lancholy tale.’

As ſoon as Togrul and he were ſeated, 'Theſe ruins,' ſaid the mourner, with a ſigh, which ſeemed to burſt his heart, ‘are all which remains of the ſacred Temple of the Sun; and in that ſpot, now covered with thoſe fragments, once ſtood the altar, on which my anceſtors, for ages without number, fed the ever⯑living [160] fire, the hallowed emblem of his purity and power; till the divine wrath, kindled againſt the ſins of man⯑kind, gave up the world to the ravages of the Arabians, who not content with temporal dominion, dared to attack the ſovereignty of heaven.’

A flood of tears here choaked his ut⯑terance. He hung down his head, and ſobbed aloud for ſome moments, while [164] Togrul humanely wept in ſilence with him.

SECTION II.

AS ſoon as he had recovered the power of ſpeech, ‘Were I not convinced of the benevolence of your heart,’ he reſumed, ‘O virtuous youth! I ſhould make an excuſe for paying a tribute to nature, which affected heroiſm has diſhonoured with the name of weakneſs; but I ſee you are ſuperior to ſuch falſe refine⯑ment.’

SECTION III.

SECTION IV.

THOUGH the heart of Togrul ſym⯑pathized with the unhappy ſufferer, there were ſome circumſtances in his ſtory which affected him in a very different manner.

As his reaſon was convinced of the in⯑comprehenſible eſſence of the Deity, he conſidered every aſſimilation of him to ob⯑jects [176] of ſenſe, as the moſt impious abſur⯑dity; and the very thought of paying to his creatures, the adoration due only to himſelf, ſtruck him with ſacred horror.

Nor were his moral ſentiments leſs hurt, by cuſtoms which he held to be contrary to the moſt inviolable laws of nature.

Well aware as he was of the inefficacy of argument in matters of religious preju⯑dice, he would have thought ſilence a crime on ſuch an occaſion, as implying an aſſent which his ſoul diſclaimed.

As ſoon, therefore, as the Perſee had ended his melancholy narrative, ‘I con⯑dole with you for your loſs,’ ſaid he, ‘O man of affliction! but I dare not offer conſolation before you have re⯑conciled yourſelf to heaven, by a renun⯑ciation of thoſe errors (ſhould I not rather ſay crimes?) which have drawn its wrath upon your head.’

[177] ‘You blindly miſtake the creature for the Creator, and rob him of that wor⯑ſhip which is his ſole and incommuni⯑cable right: and your marriages break down the fences, which nature hath eſtabliſhed to guard moral chaſtity, forcing her back upon herſelf, in con⯑nections, againſt which ſhe revolts with horror.’

Heavy as this charge was, the Perſee was not abaſhed. Fixing his eyes upon Togrul, with a modeſt firmneſs, ‘Moſt unworthy of conſolation ſhould I cer⯑tainly be,’ he replied, ‘O ſevere judge! if I were guilty of the crimes which you impute to me. But I exult in the aſſu⯑rance, that on a moment's reflection, you will yourſelf acquit me of them.’

It was ſome time before Togrul reco⯑vered from the ſurpriſe with which this defence of the Perſee ſtruck him. He examined it with candid attention, and [180] though he was far from thinking it ſatis⯑factory, it determined him never more to condemn any man for differing in opi⯑nion with him.

SECTION V.

THE ſenſations of his heart, as he approached Bagdat, are not to be de⯑ſcribed. On his arrival, he was met by an ambaſſador from the Khaliff, to enquire the cauſe of his coming in that hoſtile manner.

Though age, together with the change of his name, prevented Togrul from be⯑ing known, he directly knew the ambaſſa⯑dor to have been one of his moſt malig⯑nant enemies, and could not avoid feeling ſome natural emotions of reſentment; but he ſuppreſſed them inſtantly, having cove⯑nanted with his heart to keep the charac⯑ters of Selim and Togrul perfectly diſtinct; nor to ſhew the leaſt recollection of the [181] former, till he ſhould have executed his preſent commiſſion.

He replied, therefore, that as hitherto no act of his had ſhewn any intention of hoſtility, ſo ſhould his future conduct be directed by that of the Khaliff, to whom alone he would communicate the motive of his coming.

This reply was by no means ſatisfactory to the ambaſſador. He would fain have himſelf entered into treaty with Togrul, alledging that the Khaliff's health was un⯑equal to ſuch an interview at preſent; though were it even otherwiſe, it would be inconſiſtent with the character of a ſo⯑vereign to enter into the neceſſary alterca⯑tions of buſineſs with a ſubject.

But theſe evaſions had no weight with Togrul. He anſwered peremptorily, that his commiſſion was to the Khaliff himſelf [182] in perſon, to whom if he had not admiſ⯑ſion the next morning, he ſhould look upon the denial as a denunciation of war, and take his meaſures accordingly, without farther delay; adding, with a ſmile of contempt, that attention to the intereſts of his people could never be beneath the character of a prince, with whomſoever it might bring him into intercourſe; and that when the ſovereign could be preſent, the intervention of a ſervant was merely nugatory: ſaying which, he left the am⯑baſſador, without waiting for a reply.

Though it was evident, that a war with Temugin muſt in the end prove fatal to the Khaliff, his viſier, who after the de⯑parture of Selim, had wreſted the whole power out of his hands, leaving him only the empty name of ſovereign, reſolved to bury himſelf under the ruins of his coun⯑try, rather than admit an interview, the firſt conſequence of which he was conſci⯑ous would be his own depoſal.

[183]For this purpoſe, he formed the deſpe⯑rate reſolution of making an aſſault upon the camp of Togrul that very night, flat⯑tering himſelf with hope of ſurpriſing him in the falſe ſecurity of peace; to confirm which, he ſent another embaſſy to inform him, that the Khaliff would ſee him the next morning.

But Togrul was too well experienced in the art of war to relax his care for a mo⯑ment on any appearances. He anſwered the ambaſſadors, that he ſhould be ready to attend the Khaliff at the time appoint⯑ed; and as ſoon as they were gone, pro⯑ceeded to ſtation his guards, and put his camp in a proper ſtate of defence.

When the ſhades of night had covered the earth, Togrul retired to his tent; and falling upon his face, poured out his ſoul in grateful praiſe and adoration to him, who had protected him through the paſt [184] day, and implored a continuance of the ſame protection for that night.

Juſt as he had performed this ſacred duty, he was alarmed at a ſudden noiſe; when ſtarting up, he ſaw a ſtrange man, with a poniard in his hand, fallen on the floor of his tent.

Such a ſight required no explanation. Togrul inſtantly ſeized him, before he could riſe to execute his intent; and wreſt⯑ing his poniard out of his hand, demanded who he was; and by what injury he had been provoked to attempt ſo nefarious a crime.

The aſſaſſin, in the natural impulſe of ſelf-preſervation, lifting up his hands and eyes, begged for mercy, which he did not even expect, offering to purchaſe his par⯑don by a diſcovery of the moſt immediate importance.

[185]Togrul, whoſe reſentment never laſted longer than the cauſe, bade the trembling wretch merit the mercy he implored, by a candid confeſſion of the motives to his guilt.

Theſe words giving him a ray of hope, the aſſaſſin, without heſitation, owned that he had been prompted to aſſaſſinate him by promiſes of large reward made to him by the viſier; and for that purpoſe had lingered behind the ambaſſadors, in whoſe train he came, till he found an opportu⯑nity of hiding himſelf in his tent, where, ſeeing him enter ſoon after, and proſtrate himſelf to pay his devotions, he had ſtep⯑ped forth from the place where he was concealed, and was advancing to perpe⯑trate the deed, when his foot entangling in the fringe of the carpet, he fell at his length upon the floor; and then, as a farther plea for pardon, diſcovered the viſier's deſign of aſſaulting the camp that very night.

[186]This account was too ſtrongly confirm⯑ed, by the circumſtances in which the re⯑lator ſtood, to admit of doubt. Having offered a mental tribute of thankſgiving to heaven for ſo ſignal a preſervation, To⯑grul called to his attendants, and ordering them to guard the aſſaſſin, prepared in⯑ſtantly to avail himſelf of the information he had received.

For this purpoſe he ſummoned the ſeve⯑ral leaders of his troops, and unfolding the diſcovery which had been made to him, directed one of them to take a body of forces, and marching ſilently out of the camp, on the ſide fartheſt from the city, to fetch a circuit, ſo as to fall upon the enemy in the rear, as ſoon as they ſhould begin their attack upon the camp, where he ſhould be ready to give them a proper reception.

The ſoldiers of Temugin, who were always accuſtomed to the ſtricteſt diſci⯑pline, [187] obeyed his orders without noiſe or confuſion; and the camp continuing as ſilent, as if buried in the profoundeſt ſleep, the enemy advanced to the attack with that ſecurity in which they had ex⯑pected to have ſurprized him.

The event was ſoon determined. The aſſailants repulſed with vigour, and them⯑ſelves aſſailed at the ſame time, gave up the unequal conteſt, and endeavoured to ſave themſelves by a retreat into the city; but in vain. The greateſt part of them was cut off; and the victors entering with the few who eſcaped, made themſelves maſters of the place without reſiſtance.

SECTION VI.

THE fears of the inhabitants, in ſuch a ſituation, are not to be expreſſed. They expected nothing leſs than to be given up to all the outrages of war; but they were ſaved by the military ſkill, as much as by the mercy of their conqueror, who, know⯑ing their numbers, would not drive them to deſpair. Having ſtopped the fury of his ſoldiers, he poſſeſſed himſelf of the gates, and all the places of ſtrength in the city; and placing guards to prevent any new attempts, reſtored all things to a ſtate of order and tranquillity.

As ſoon as the morning ſun aroſe, To⯑grul advanced with a body of his troops to the palace of the Khaliff. A recollec⯑tion of former ſcenes ſwelled his heart for a moment; but he ſoon ſhook off ſuch ſoftneſs. Calling for the commander of the guard, he ordered him to go to the [189] Khaliff, and demand an interview, if he would avoid the conſequences of an im⯑mediate aſſault.

The grand viſier returned along with the officer, and after attempting to pal⯑liate the treachery he had been guilty of the night before, by laying the attack of the camp to the charge of the ungovern⯑able populace, deſired that Togrul would accompany him to the Khaliff, who, he ſaid, expected him in the divan; but To⯑grul, inſtead of making him any reply, gave a ſignal to his guards, who inſtantly ſeized him, before he could attempt to eſcape.

An act of ſuch ſeeming violence natu⯑rally threw all the citizens into the greateſt conſternation; but Togrul ſoon eaſed them of their fears. Waving his hand to demand ſilence, he declared aloud that none but the guilty ſhould ſuffer; nor even they, before the fulleſt proof of their [190] guilt, and by the authority of their ſove⯑reign; ordering the viſier to be ſtrictly guarded, till he could be brought before him.

The tumult being thus appeaſed, To⯑grul ſent once more to requeſt the inter⯑view with the Khaliff, who immediately came to the gate of the palace to meet him.

The firſt ſight of his altered ſtate af⯑fected Togrul in ſo tender a manner, that it required all his preſence of mind to con⯑ceal it. Broken in ſpirit, and ſtooping under infirmities, he ſcarcely ſeemed the ſhadow of himſelf.

As ſoon as he approached, Togrul ad⯑vancing in a reſpectful manner, informed him of the motive of his coming.

The Khaliff heard him with attention; and as ſoon as he had ended, ‘Thou [191] ſpeakeſt of peace,’ he anſwered, ‘but acteſt all the outrages of war. Haſt thou not taken our city by ſurprize, while we depended on the faith of thy words? And haſt thou not now ſeized our viſier, who came to conduct thee to us, ac⯑cording to thy deſire? Wherefore ſhouldſt thou continue the illuſion farther? Or, why mention a choice of peace, or war, to one who is already thy priſoner, and obliged to obey thy will?’

This pathetic expoſtulation opened to Togrul the ſtate of the Khaliff, whom he knew to be incapable of diſſimulation. He ſaw that he had been the ſlave of his vi⯑ſier, who gave the ſanction of his ſove⯑reign's name to his own iniquities.

Inſtead, therefore, of retorting the charge of violated faith, he informed the Khaliff, in terms of reſpect, of the con⯑duct of his viſier, producing the aſſaſſin to prove his guilt, and referring the judg⯑ment to him.

[192]The diſcovery ſtruck all preſent with horror. 'Holy Prophet!' exclaimed the Khaliff, raiſing his hands and eyes to heaven, ‘to what misfortunes is the mo⯑narch ſubject, who ſeeth not with his own eyes, who truſts the reins of go⯑vernment out of his own hands for a moment?’

Then turning to the viſier, who ſtood trembling in the ſilence of ſelf-conviction, ‘Thy conqueror,’ he continued, ‘hath left thy fate to my diſpoſal; receive that, which I doubt not but thou haſt often merited before; for man ſinks not to ſuch conſummate guilt at once.’—Say⯑ing which, he made a ſignal to his guards, who inſtantly ſmote off the miſcreant's head.

Togrul, in the natural impulſe of re⯑ſentment, could not help feeling a mo⯑mentary inclination to have made himſelf known to his enemy before his death; but [193] he inſtantly ſuppreſſed it, bluſhing at a thought ſo unworthy of him.

This ſacrifice being offered to juſtice, the Khaliff, addreſſing himſelf again to Togrul, ‘I have thus, perhaps for the laſt time,’ he reſumed, ‘performed the duty of a ſovereign in puniſhing guilt. It is now thine to diſpoſe of me, ac⯑cording to the commands of thy maſter. I here reſign my ſceptre into thine hands for him, and ſubmit to the will of hea⯑ven without repining.’

Togrul received the ſceptre, with an air of dignity ſuited to the character he repreſented, and holding it in his hand for a few moments, while the hearts of all preſent were burſting with ſuſpenſe, ‘Know, O ſupreme of all the followers of Mahomet!’ he ſaid, ‘that the juſtice of Temugin is equal to his power. He deſires to conquer only for the benefit of mankind; nor doth he ever dethrone [194] the ſovereign, whom he finds worthy to rule. The errors which incurred his diſpleaſure proceeded from him to whom thou hadſt incautiouſly entruſt⯑ed thy power, and are atoned by his death; receive therefore thy ſceptre again from his hands, and hold it more ſteadily in thine own for the future! Thou art from this hour the friend of Temugin.’

It is impoſſible to expreſs the effect of this ſublime moderation upon all who were preſent. The name of Temugin was borne to heaven in acclamations of grati⯑tude and joy; nor was that of his ſubſti⯑tute forgotten.

The feelings of the Khaliff were too big for utterance. He ſunk under the weight of his own gratitude. Proſtrating himſelf upon his face, he adored the ſovereign ruler of the univerſe for this inſtance of his divine favour; and then ariſing, payed [195] to Togrul the thanks due to that benevo⯑lent grace, by which he had even endeared the generoſity of his lord.

The terms of their accord were ſoon adjuſted. Temugin had required no ad⯑vantages for himſelf. Togrul therefore only ſtipulated, that all under the power of the Khaliff ſhould be ſuffered to enjoy, unmoleſted, the common rights of huma⯑nity. That they ſhould worſhip the Deity in the manner ſeeming beſt to themſelves, and be ſafe from puniſhment and injury while they ſhould be free from guilt; and that the traveller, and the ſtranger who ſojourned in the land, ſhould meet equal juſtice and protection with the natives.

SECTION VII.

THE treaty being ratified with the proper ſolemnities, Togrul held it not neceſſary to maintain longer a reſerve, which nature had the greateſt difficulty to ſupport.

Advancing to the Khaliff, and regard⯑ing him with a tender aſpect, ‘Can it be poſſible,’ ſaid he, ‘that any change of character ſhould ſo ſoon have effaced from the mind of Naſſer the memory of his moſt faithful—?’

'Holy Prophet!' exclaimed the Kha⯑liff, ſtarting at the well-known voice, now uttered in its native ſweetneſs, ‘whom do I hear?’—Then fixing his eyes eager⯑ly upon him, 'It is he!' he continued, ruſhing into his arms, ‘it is Selim him⯑ſelf! my long-lamented, faithful Selim!’

[197]All, who heard not the words of the Khaliff, were ſtruck with ſurpriſe at ſuch a conduct. But when the cauſe of it was explained, when the citizens of Bagdat heard, that in their generous conqueror Togrul, they beheld their beloved viſier Selim, their gratitude and joy know no bounds. They flocked around him in raptures impoſſible to be repreſſed, bleſ⯑ſing the happy day which had reſtored him once more to their ſight.

As ſoon as the firſt tranſports of their joy had ſubſided, Togrul departed for a few moments to lead his troops back to their camp, whither the Khaliff ſent them all manner of accommodations, in ſuch plenty as made them entirely forget the fatigues of their march, and mix with his ſubjects as one people.

Having ſettled every thing in proper order, Togrul returned to the Khaliff, [198] who expected him with the moſt ardent impatience.

The tenderneſs of their meeting, now freed from the reſtraint of obſervation, may be well conceived. Togrul gratified the curioſity of the Khaliff, by a recital of the incidents of his life, ſince his departure from Bagdat. On his explaining the rea⯑ſon of his having entered into the ſervice of Aladdin, the Khaliff could not ſuppreſs his reſentment. 'Holy Prophet!' he ex⯑claimed, ‘to what impoſitions are princes ſubject?’

‘From the day you left me, never did a letter from you come to my ſight! Never did I even hear that you were liv⯑ing, till I was informed of your having quitted my ſervice for that of Aladdin, from motives of perſonal diſregard to me! But the traitors ſhall meet their due reward. The principal is already [199] puniſhed, though for another crime; but the reſt ſhall have their deaths em⯑bittered by your triumph over them.’

'O, vicar of Mahomet!' returned To⯑grul, ‘let not looſe your rage againſt thoſe who are ſo far beneath it. How⯑ever baſe their intentions, the event was directed by the hand of heaven. Had I not been driven from your ſervice, by that appearance of your diſregard, I could not have been the fortunate in⯑ſtrument of this day's happineſs. Let them no more have influence in your councils; but let that, and the conſci⯑ouſneſs of their guilt, be their only pu⯑niſhment for this crime. For me, I ne⯑ver will triumph over a fallen foe.’

Togrul devoted the remainder of that day to the re-eſtabliſhment of the Khaliff's government, in ſuch a manner as ſhould promiſe a continuance of his preſent hap⯑pineſs. He was delivered from the moſt [200] ſevere of all tyrannies, that of his own ſervants. All who had abuſed his power were given up to juſtice, and their wealth divided among thoſe, who had ſuffered under their iniquitous oppreſſion.

SECTION VIII.

THE ſpirits of the Khaliff being un⯑equal to ſuch long-continued exertion, Togrul left him to his reſt; and was re⯑turning to his camp, when he was ſur⯑priſed to find himſelf ſtopped by a Fa⯑quir, who, falling at his feet, embraced his knees, in an agony of joy, which de⯑prived him of the power of utterance.

But Togrul was not long at a loſs to account for his emotions. At the firſt caſt of his eye, his heart acknowledged his faithful attendant Achmet, whoſe loſs, when he was ſeized in the camp of Mo⯑hammed, had given him ſo much grief.

[201]No change of condition can alter the ſentiments of a generous heart. Togrul raiſing him from the ground, and em⯑bracing him tenderly, bade him dry his tears, and come to his camp, where all his troubles ſhould find an end.

'Lord of my ſoul's attachment,' an⯑ſwered Achmet, ‘my troubles ended when I heard your name. But think not of me; one, much more worthy of your care requires your inſtant at⯑tendance. A friend, once juſtly dear to your heart, lives, but in hope of em⯑bracing you again; to conclude in that happineſs, a life worn out in all the mi⯑ſeries of oppreſſion. If the name of Obeidah ſtill lives in your memory; if he yet holds a place in your eſteem, O haſte to calm the emotions with which his heart is burſting, till he enfolds you in his arms!’

[202]Starting at the name; ‘And doth he live! My moſt-reſpected, beſt-loved friend and benefactor!’ returned Togrul. ‘I will go to him this inſtant; nor ſhould have waited to be called, but that I thought his virtues had long ſince re⯑ceived their reward; that he was num⯑bered with the happy, in the life which never ends. Lead me to his palace, this inſtant!’

‘Alas, my lord!’ replied Achmet, ‘the palace of Obeidah hath long been ex⯑changed for a priſon. You muſt ſum⯑mon all your fortitude to ſupport the ſight of his preſent fallen eſtate. But let us haſten to him. He numbers every moment of our delay by a pang of mi⯑ſery.’

It is impoſſible to expreſs what Togrul felt at this repreſentation. He bade Ach⯑met proceed; and following him, in [203] ſilence, mourned in his ſoul for the ſuf⯑ferings of his friend.

Apprehenſion, which uſually doubles every evil of life, here fell ſhort of the reality. On entering the priſon, he ſtart⯑ed back in horror, to ſee his friend and benefactor, the good viſier, who had firſt made him known to the Khaliff, lying on the bare floor, loaded with chains.

Achmet had cautioned him not to make himſelf too ſuddenly known to Obeidah, for fear of the effects of ſurpriſe, upon an heart already ſtretched to burſting; but nature could not be reſtrained. The mo⯑ment he ſaw him, he ruſhed forward, and throwing himſelf on the floor beſide him, raiſed up his aged head, and laying it in his boſom, exclaimed, ‘O my friend! O Obeidah! My friend! My friend!’—

Obeidah did not require to be told, by whoſe arms he was embraced. ‘O Se⯑lim!’ [204] he replied, ‘O ſon of Abudah! Though my eyes can no longer be bleſ⯑ſed with thy ſight, my heart tells me it is my friend.’

Achmet, in the mean time, ſummoned the keeper of the priſon to take off Obei⯑dah's chains; but the loyal old man would not permit him. ‘Theſe chains,’ ſaid he, ‘were put on me in the name of Naſſer; and by his orders only will I ſuffer them to be taken off. Never yet have I vio⯑lated his authority; nor will I begin now.’

Togrul would not contradict a loyalty which he revered, and whoſe obſervance could add but a few minutes to the ſuf⯑ferings of his friend. He therefore in⯑ſtantly ſent one of his attendants to the Khaliff, to acquaint him with all theſe circumſtances, and requeſt his order for the diſcharge of Obeidah.

[205]While they waited for the return of the meſſenger, Togrul could not forbear ex⯑preſſing his aſtoniſhment at the Khaliff's treating his moſt faithful ſervant in ſo cruel a manner; adding, with a tone of ſeverity, that if he had known he was capable of ſuch a groſs abuſe of his power, he ſhould not have been ſo haſty in rein⯑ſtating him in it.

The loyal heart of Obeidah could not bear to hear his ſovereign loaded with ſo injurious a charge. ‘Take care, O my ſon!’ ſaid he, ‘nor let thy tongue take liberty with the choſen of the Lord. Though my ſufferings were inflicted in his name, they proceeded not from him. Too well I know that he ſuffered him⯑ſelf, under the tyranny by which I was oppreſſed.’

On Togrul's expreſſing aſtoniſhment, almoſt to doubt, at what he heard, Obei⯑dah informed him, that immediately after [206] his departure from Bagdat, to join the armies of Aladdin, his enemies preſuming upon the eaſy temper of Naſſer, who, ne⯑glecting the cares of government, had given himſelf up entirely to the cultivation of thoſe amuſements of an idle mind, which the vanity of their profeſſors have digni⯑fied with the pompous title of the finer arts, had, by inſenſible degrees, wreſted the royal power out of his hands, and covered their own nefarious crimes under the ſanction of his name; in which they at length proceeded to ſuch an height, that on his own conſtantly oppoſing them in the divan, and labouring to open the Kha⯑liff's eyes, they threw him into this priſon, where, without reſpect to his age, his in⯑nocence, or the exalted office, which he had ſo long filled with honour, they had detained him ever ſince, loaded with chains, in the manner he then was.

Before Togrul had time to reply, a noiſe at the door of the priſon announced [207] the arrival of the Khaliff, who running wildly up to the place, where Obeidah lay in the boſom of Togrul, 'Holy Prophet!' he exclaimed, ‘is it poſſible that ſuch ini⯑quity could be perpetrated by man? O Obeidah! my faithful Obeidah! think not that thy ſovereign ever knew of thy ſufferings; ever could make ſo ungrate⯑ful a return for the ſervices of thy life. But thy wrongs and mine are avenged. Our better angel, our Selim hath ſet us both free; and we will live together henceforward to bleſs his name.’

This condeſcenſion, this goodneſs of his ſovereign was too much for the full heart of Obeidah to ſupport. He ſeized the hand of the Khaliff, and preſſing it to his breaſt, expired without a ſtruggle, in the exceſs of his honeſt joy.

The ſcene was too moving for huma⯑nity to bear. Togrul, raiſing the Khaliff from the dead body, upon which he had [208] fallen, led him to the door of the priſon, where they parted, unable either to ſpeak a word.

SECTION IX.

THE agitation of Togrul's mind was too violent to admit of ſleep. Having paid the pious tribute of a flood of tears to the memory of his friend, he called for Achmet, and deſired to be informed by what ſtrange fortune he had been led to Bagdat.

'The fortune of the poor,' replied Achmet, ‘is ſeldom diſtinguiſhed by any incidents worthy of recital. My diſtreſs, at your ſeparating yourſelf from me, in the camp of Mohammed, need not be deſcribed. I ſought you for ſeveral days with the moſt anxious diligence, till I could no longer hope to find you there.’

As ſoon as the firſt bluſh of morning had began to gild the firmament, Togrul returned to the Khaliff; and recommend⯑ing to him once more to hold with ſteadi⯑neſs the ſceptre, which he had reſtored to his hand, began his march to rejoin Te⯑mugin, covered with the unfading laurels of a victory, which had made the vanquiſhed happy.

On his arrival at the camp, he pre⯑ſented himſelf before the emperor, and gave him an account of his ſucceſs; when inſtead of the approbation, with the hope of which he had pleaſed himſelf, Temugin demanded ſternly, why he had given peace to the Khaliff, on ſuch eaſy terms, when he had had it in his power to have made him accede to whatever he thought proper.

[212]Much as Togrul was affected, at ſo unexpected a reproof, he was not abſent from himſelf. Falling at the emperor's feet, 'I gave him a good peace,' he an⯑ſwered, ‘O ſovereign of the world, be⯑cauſe I wiſhed to have it long, and faith⯑fully preſerved. They, who puſh their advantages to extremity, deceive them⯑ſelves. A bad peace never laſts longer, than the neceſſity which made it be accepted.’

Temugin pauſed ſome moments, with⯑out making any reply; then ſoftening his look and accent, ‘Go,’ ſaid he, ‘and take order for the refreſhment of your troops. I will conſider theſe matters, at ſome other time.’

SECTION X.

THE conduct of Togrul, on this delicate occaſion, fixed him ſo firmly in the eſteem and confidence of Temugin, that he admitted him into his moſt ſecret councils; and delighted to do him honour.

Such favour was not beheld without envy; but the humility with which he bore his greatneſs, and the diſintereſted benevolence, that ruled his conduct, ſoon diſarmed its rage; and if it was not poſſi⯑ble for the favourite of a prince to have a true friend, he had the happineſs, at leaſt, of having no enemies.

But this happineſs ſoon palled upon him; and he ſickened in that ſunſhine, for which all around him ſighed. ‘If I muſt not hope to find my father!’ would he often ſay to Achmet, in the [214] overflowing of his heart, ‘muſt I deſert my friends? Muſt I violate my faith to Himilco, who by this time expects my promiſed return? Muſt I leave his daughter a prey to the terrors, which hourly anticipate the miſery of that for⯑lorn eſtate, in which the death of her father muſt leave her?—Forbid it hea⯑ven! But may he not be already dead? May not ſhe be, this moment, looking out with anxious impatience for my return; and juſtly accuſing me of the crueleſt neglect? I cannot bear the dreadful thought. If it is not in my power to avoid being unhappy; I will not aggravate my unhappineſs by con⯑ſcious baſeneſs. I will have the appro⯑bation of my own mind, at leaſt, to ſupport me.’

He would have thrown himſelf at the feet of Temugin, and beſought his per⯑miſſion to depart; but the circumſtances of the time made the very thought a diſ⯑honour, [215] honour, Gelaleddin having collected all his force, for one laſt ſtruggle with his fate: He reſolved therefore to exert every effort in order to accelerate an event, which alone delayed the accompliſhment of his only hope.

SECTION XI.

WHILE he was paying this painful tribute to honour, he happened, one day, to fall in with a body of Gelaleddin's troops, who were conducting that prince's houſhold to a place of ſafety, farther from the ſeat of the war.

Fluſhed with continued victory, and following a leader whom they loved, his ſoldiers ſoon overcame a ſervile and diſ⯑heartened band, who unattached to the charge they were to guard, thought only of ſecuring their own ſafety by flight.

[216]As the wars of Temugin were conducted on the principles of humanity and honour, Togrul gave orders, immediately after the victory, for ſending back the wives of Gelaleddin, without his even ſeeing them; when a rumour, that that prince was con⯑cealed among them, obliged him to deviate from his intended delicacy.

The alarm of the women on his enter⯑ing the tent, in which they were, may well be conceived; but he ſoon pacified their fears, by aſſurances of reſpect and ſafety; and then informing them of the cauſe of his coming, requeſted that they would ſubmit to a ſearch, ſo indiſpenſible, by lifting up their veils.

Their compliance having ſhewn that the rumour was without foundation, To⯑grul was about to withdraw, when his eye was caught by a female ſlave, whoſe ſur⯑paſſing beauty, neither the meanneſs of her habit, nor the grief with which ſhe [217] appeared to be overwhelmed, beyond all the reſt, could hide. He gazed at her, for ſome minutes, in rapturous aſtoniſh⯑ment; till Achmet perceiving his ſituation, reminded him to retire, which he did in ſuch confuſion, that he forgot to give any orders for their departure.

Achmet beheld with joy the impreſſion, which the beauty of the ſlave had made upon Togrul; and reſolved to heighten it by every means in his power. He was truly attached to him; but as his own ſoul was fired with the ſtrongeſt ambition, he conſidered his deſign of retiring to Himilco, as a weakneſs unworthy of him; which this incident, if rightly improved, might happily enable him to prevent.

As ſoon as Togrul had diſpoſed his men properly for the night, he retired to his tent, where he gave himſelf up to the contemplation of the beauteous ſlave.

[218]While he was thus indulging himſelf in a pleaſure, of the tendency of which he was not aware, Achmet entered; and after ſome occaſional diſcourſe, aſked him ſlightly if he had obſerved a beautiful ſlave, who attended upon the wives of Gelaleddin.

The queſtion, even from one, with whom he lived in the moſt unreſerved familiarity, threw Togrul into evident confuſion. He heſitated ſome mo⯑ments, before he could ſpeak, and then bluſhing, though unconſcious for what cauſe, anſwered, that it was impoſſible for any one, who was not blind, to have paſſed ſuch beauty unobſerved.

The manner in which he ſaid this, con⯑firming Achmet's conjecture, he directly proceeded to feed the flame, which he ſaw kindled in the breaſt of Togrul, with the warmeſt deſcriptions of her beauty, and [219] alluſions to the pleaſure, which the poſ⯑ſeſſion of it muſt beſtow.

Togrul, for the firſt time, liſtened to ſuch converſation, without diſlike. His virtue was forced to yield to an attack, in which nature herſelf took ſo ſtrong a part againſt it; and he ſunk inſenſibly into a ſoft intoxication, which drowned all remembrance of himſelf, and every pur⯑poſe of his heart.

When Achmet had thus prepared him for his deſign, he aſked whether he had given orders for the departure of the wives of Gelaleddin? All the pleaſing hopes, with which Togrul had been ſo fondly feeding his paſſion, faded at theſe words. He turned pale; and fixing his eyes for ſome time upon the ground, at length, with an heavy ſigh, deſired Achmet to take upon him a care, which he found himſelf unable to execute.

[220]Achmet, who knew that the ſucceſs of his deſign depended on its being conducted with addreſs, reſolved to ſeem rather to follow, than lead him to the point he deſired; affecting therefore not to under⯑ſtand what he meant, he aſked, with a look of anxiety, if he had received any wound in the late battle, to which he had neglected applying proper remedies.

Deeply as Togrul was diſtreſſed, he could ſcarcely forbear ſmiling, at ſuch a miſtake. ‘No, my friend,’ he anſwered, ‘I have received no wound; but that which the beauteous ſlave hath inflicted on my heart; to which, I fear, it never will be in my power to apply any remedy.’

'And wherefore ſhould you fear that?' replied Achmet. ‘The wounds of love are, of all others, the moſt eaſy to be healed, where the object is in our poſ⯑ſeſſion.’

[221]'But how is ſhe in my poſſeſſion?' returned Togrul. ‘Doth ſhe not belong to the houſhold of Gelaleddin? and muſt I not reſtore her to him? I dare not, I cannot violate the orders of Te⯑mugin: Orders founded on the moſt ſacred principles of virtue; and which my own ſoul holdeth in the higheſt honour.’

'How induſtrious,' ſaid Achmet, with a ſmile, ‘are we to torture, to deceive ourſelves? The orders of Temugin reſpect only the ſacred property of the marriage bed. Slaves are, by the uni⯑verſal laws of war, the captor's prize, the reward of valour, which Temugin never meant to deprive him of. Diſ⯑miſs the wives of Gelaleddin with due reſpect; and he will never think your detaining a ſlave an invaſion of his right.’

[222]Though a propoſal, ſo favourable to his wiſhes, readily ſatisfied the ſcruples of Togrul, he had a reſpect to the appearance of virtue, a modeſty in his nature, which would not permit him to carry it openly into execution.

But Achmet was not at a loſs to ſur⯑mount this difficulty. He counſelled To⯑grul to ſend away the women directly, with every mark of honour, under the conduct of a perſon in whom he could confide; and ſaid he would himſelf follow at the firſt dawn of the morning, as if he was going on ſome ſecret occaſion of the war, and bring the fair ſlave without any alarm, or its being even known for whom, to a neighbouring fortreſs, where Togrul might meet her in the evening; and in⯑dulge himſelf in her company for ſome days, as if he was only attending to the motions of the enemy; a purpoſe for which it was a proper place.

[223]Had not Togrul been blinded by his paſſion, he would have rejected with diſ⯑dain, a propoſal, founded on a neglect of his duty, though but for a moment: but ſuch was his infatuation, that he equally forgot what he owed to his own honour, and to the confidence of Temugin.

SECTION XII.

THE conflict in his mind, when Ach⯑met departed, is not to be deſcribed. Though his paſſion had ſilenced the voice of reaſon, it had another antagoniſt to ſtruggle with, which was not ſo eaſily to be ſubdued. In ſpite of all his efforts to elude it, the remembrance of Himilco, and his daughter, would ever and anon force itſelf upon him; and damp his higheſt ardours. Every moment pro⯑duced a new reſolution, which the next overturned, leaving him in the ſame fluc⯑tuation.

[224]Attachments of mere deſire loſe their force, when the object is no longer preſent. Every time he thought of the daughter of Himilco, his paſſion for the fair ſlave grew weaker; till, in the end, it entirely ſub⯑ſided, leaving no more trace behind than ruffles the boſom of a ſtream, into which ſome fragment of the rock hath newly fallen from the impending cliff.

He awoke, as from a troubled dream; and wondering at his own weakneſs, re⯑ſolved to wipe off the ſtain of it, by ſend⯑ing back the fair ſlave the moment he ſhould arrive at the place, where he had appointed to meet Achmet. Nor would he even have gone thither, had he not thought that countermanding, without any viſible reaſon, the orders he had ſo lately given to his troops, would betray an unſteadineſs, that muſt lower him in their eyes.

[225]Exulting in this victory, he arrived at the fortreſs, where he no ſooner ſaw Ach⯑met, than he commanded him to ſend back the ſlave that very night; declaring that he would not even ſee her.

Achmet, who read in his looks the ſtruggle in his heart, was more ſurprized than diſcouraged at this change of his reſolution; which he did not doubt but the ſight of the fair ſlave would ſoon alter, could he prevail upon him to ſee her.

Without ſeeming therefore to heſitate at paying obedience to his orders, he aſked him, with a diſcontented look, what reaſon he ſhould give her, for ſuch a diſappoint⯑ment of thoſe hopes, with which he had taken ſo much pains to inſpire her.

Togrul, whoſe conqueſt over his paſſion was far from being ſo complete as he thought, could not forbear enquiring [...]gerly, what hopes he meant; to which [226] Achmet anſwered, in a tone of indifference, the hopes of his love, which he had ſo confidently aſſured her of, that he was ut⯑terly aſhamed to inform her of a change in his ſentiments, as unaccountable as it was ſudden.

Incapable of artifice himſelf, Togrul ſuſpected none in Achmet. He told him, with a ſigh, the reaſon of his ſending her back, acknowledging, at the ſame time, the pain which that reſolution had coſt him.

Achmet, who wanted not virtue, though his ſenſe of it was neither ſo extenſive nor ſo ſublime as that of Togrul, looked upon this as no more than a falſe refinement, to which it was his duty to open the eyes of his friend.

But as he was ſenſible, that it would be in vain to attempt reaſoning on ſuch a ſub⯑ject, he affected to approve the reſolution [227] Togrul had taken, and only deſired that he would himſelf acquaint the fair ſlave with the motive of it; a mark of atten⯑tion which, he ſaid, would change her re⯑ſentment into reſpect of his conſtancy, the virtue deareſt to the ſex; adding, when Togrul ſeemed to heſitate, that ſurely he could not doubt his own reſolution ſo far, as to apprehend danger from ſo ſhort an interview; or aggravate the pain of her diſappointment, by ſuch an ungenerous inſtance of contempt, as to ſend her away without condeſcending even to ſee her.

This was an attack which Togrul could not reſiſt. His heart harboured not a ſen⯑timent that was not truly generous; nor would he admit the appearance of a weak⯑neſs of which he was not conſcious. He conſented therefore to ſee her, as ſoon as he ſhould have taken order for the diſpoſal of his troops, directing Achmet to pre⯑pare, in the mean time, for her departure.

SECTION XIII.

EVERY ſtep, as he approached her tent, encreaſed the emotions which the thought of this interview raiſed in his breaſt. He entered, trembling and irre⯑ſolute, where he found her ſitting on the ground, diſſolved in tears, and wailing herſelf in ſobs of woe.

The power of beauty, when aided by compaſſion, is irreſiſtible. He ſtopped ſhort, and gazing at her for ſome mo⯑ments, turned to Achmet to learn the cauſe of her tears.

Achmet, who ſaw that the ſucceſs of his deſign depended on the improvement of the preſent moment, and ſcrupled not any means to accompliſh an end which he thought juſt, breathed a ſoft whiſper in his ear, that all her grief aroſe from his having informed her of Togrul's late reſo⯑lution [229] to ſend her back; and therefore ad⯑viſed him not to mention any thing of it, till ſhe ſhould be a little more compoſed.

Togrul's reſolution, which had begun to waver the minute he ſaw her, was to⯑tally overturned by theſe words. Every motive of honour and virtue, which had ſo lately ſwayed him, now gave place to his paſſion. He ruſhed forward, and throwing himſelf at her feet, attempted to ſooth her grief with profeſſions of love and vows of conſtancy.

But what was his diſappointment to find, that inſtead of appeaſing, this only en⯑creaſed her diſtreſs. He pauſed for ſome minutes, utterly at a loſs what to con⯑clude; then fixing his eyes paſſionately upon her, conjured her, in the tendereſt terms, to declare the cauſe of her afflic⯑tion, and depend upon every relief in his power to procure.

[230]Moved by the manner in which he ſpoke, ſhe raiſed her head, and looking earneſtly at him, aſked how he, who had ſo lately torn her away from an huſband, whom ſhe dearly loved, could affect to be a ſtranger to the cauſe of her affliction.

Equally ſhocked and ſurpriſed at what ſhe ſaid, Togrul enquired haſtily who was her huſband? And upon her anſwering, Gelaleddin, demanded again, how ſhe came then to be clad in the habit of a ſlave? Whereupon ſhe informed him, that the wives of that prince not expect⯑ing ſuch generous treatment as they had experienced, ſhe, his moſt beloved, had aſſumed that diſguiſe, in order to ſave the honour of his name at leaſt, ſhould any violence be offered to her.

Togrul ſtood aghaſt! He ſaw the pre⯑cipice over the verge of which he hung! He ſaw alſo the only way of eſcaping. It was painful; but it was indiſpenſible.

[231]The occaſion called forth all his virtue. He heſitated not a moment; but explain⯑ing the error, into which he had been led by her own precaution, removed all her apprehenſions, and dried her tears, by aſſuring her that ſhe ſhould be directly ſent back to her huſband ſafe, and unſo⯑licited farther by an unhappy paſſion, which was not now more diſagreeable to her, than diſapproved by himſelf; and giving, in her preſence, the neceſſary or⯑ders to Achmet (who, terrified at the dan⯑ger into which his too ſanguine zeal had unwillingly betrayed his friend, prepared to carry them into inſtant execution) hur⯑ried away from a ſcene, more diſtreſsful than he could ſupport.

Not that his diſtreſs was lighter, when he retired to his tent, and reflected on his late conduct. He looked back with hor⯑ror to the manifold ruin which he had ſo narrowly eſcaped; nor did remorſe make the proſpect before him much leſs painful.

[232]Though error might ſeem to extenuate the crime of his attempt upon the wife of Gelaleddin, his intended infidelity to the daughter of Himilco, his intended neglect of duty to Temugin, admitted of no exte⯑nuation. He judged himſelf with ſeve⯑rity; but he ſunk not under that judg⯑ment.

Superior to that weakneſs, which in⯑ſtead of nobly endeavouring to repair a fault, gives itſelf up to fruitleſs wailing and ſelf-reproach, he reſolved to retrieve the day he had loſt to Temugin by ſome eminent ſervice; and then to expiate his crime againſt the daughter of Himilco, by a ſacrifice of every other hope to his love.

SECTION XIV.

THIS reſolution reſtored to his mind that virtuous ſerenity, which had been ſo dangerouſly interrupted by his late paſſion; if the remembrance of which would ſome⯑times return, its only effect was to ſtimu⯑late his efforts to make atonement for it.

Nor were theſe efforts unſucceſsful. Among the chieftains of Temugin, famed as they juſtly were in war, Togrul ſoon diſ⯑tinguiſhed himſelf, by abilities which prov⯑ed him to be the proper antagoniſt of Ge⯑laleddin. Equals in activity and enter⯑prize, they exhauſted, againſt each other, every reſource of the military art; while experience viewed their emulation with wonder and delight.

But the ſuperior power of Temugin at length decided a conteſt, which virtue would have ſupported; and Gelaleddin [234] found himſelf pent in between armies, which it was in vain for him to attempt reſiſting, and the mighty river of Indus.

He inſtantly ſaw all the ſeverity of his fate; that nothing remained for him, but to yield himſelf captive, or die in the de⯑fence of his liberty. The choice, with him, admitted not a moment's pauſe. Animating his faithful followers by his example, he bravely continued the fight, marking every ſtep of his retreat with the dead bodies of his boldeſt foes, till he was forced to the very brink of the river, where, looking round him for a moment, and ſeeing almoſt all his people ſlain, he formed the noble reſolution of attempting to ſave himſelf for an happier day, when heaven might be more propitious to him; and inſtantly plunged into the river, which rolled in ſuch a torrent, that the greatneſs of the danger prevented his being pur⯑ſued.

[235]While he was gloriouſly ſtruggling thus with fate, Togrul, whoſe efforts had prin⯑cipally driven him to this extremity, was ruſhing forward to plunge in after him, when he was ſtopped by Temugin, who ho⯑noured ſuch virtue, even in a foe. ‘Re⯑member,’ ſaid he, ‘the day in which you eſcaped from the rovers in the de⯑ſarts of Africa; and imitate that gene⯑roſity, which you have yourſelf experi⯑enced. Leave this gallant prince to his fortune. This is a ſon worthy of his father. Happy is he who hath ſuch children!’

Togrul was affected in the ſtrongeſt man⯑ner by theſe words. Though in the head⯑long fury of the battle he would have purſued Gelaleddin; to have defeated ſo noble an effort for the preſervation of his liberty, when he could reſiſt no longer, would have ſtung his generous heart with incurable remorſe. The very thought overwhelmed him with ſhame; as his be⯑ing [236] ſo happily prevented filled him with joy.

The total defeat of Gelaleddin having put an end to the war, Togrul thought himſelf now at liberty to fulfil his reſolu⯑tion, by retiring to Himilco in the deſart.

For this purpoſe, he threw himſelf at the feet of Temugin the next morning, and pouring out the gratitude of his heart for all the favours he had received from him, humbly beſought his permiſſion to depart, and accompliſh the fate ordained for him by heaven.

Temugin, to whom the virtues of To⯑grul had endeared him, no leſs than his valour, heard, with concern, a requeſt, with which his regard would not permit him to comply. Though he thought the ſubject of too tender a nature for him to interfere with directly, he was not at a loſs to diſcover his motive for deſiring to de⯑part, [237] nor whither he intended to bend his way, as he remembered the love which he had expreſſed for the daughter of Himilco, and his promiſe that he would return to her; a promiſe which he meant not ob⯑liging him to violate, but only to defer its performance to a fitter ſeaſon.

Expoſtulating with him, therefore, in terms of eſteem, on his want of attach⯑ment, which alone, he alledged, could prompt him to ſeek elſewhere a fortune, that in his ſervice prevented his purſuit, he told him, that he could not conſent to his departure, till he ſhould have accom⯑pliſhed certain matters which he had in contemplation; after which, if he per⯑ſiſted in his preſent purpoſe, he would not only give him his conſent, but alſo the aſſiſtance neceſſary for executing it with happy effect.

This promiſe, by which Togrul ſaw, that the emperor was no ſtranger to his [238] intention, over-paid the delay on which it was founded, by hopes he had never ven⯑tured to indulge before. He embraced the knees of his generous benefactor, in a tranſport of grateful joy, which the ful⯑neſs of his heart left him not the power of uttering.

SECTION I.

TEMUGIN, having thus compleated the conqueſt of Khouareſm, iſſued a mandate to all the princes, who governed the ſeveral kingdoms of his boundleſs em⯑pire, to meet him with all their houſeholds, in the plains of Karakathai, where he in⯑tended to relax from the fatigues of war, [240] and devote one whole year to the pleaſures of the chace, while he married his ſons, and regulated the various forms of govern⯑ment in his dominions; before he pro⯑ceeded to farther conqueſts, which he had in contemplation.

The preparations which he ordered to be made for this ſolemnity, at which the greater part of human kind were to aſſiſt, were ſuited to the magnificence of his ſpirit, and the greatneſs of his power. Nothing, which nature could ſupply, or art deviſe, was wanting to make the en⯑tertainment equal to the occaſion.

The morning before Temugin propoſed repairing to the plains of Karakathai, he ſent for Togrul into his tent, and regard⯑ing him with a look of favour, 'Togrul,' ſaid he, ‘I am now going to give you a mark of my confidence, which will put your abilities to the ſtricteſt proof.’

Though Togrul was far from approv⯑ing the motive of this war, his heart was not inſenſible to the glory which it opened him an opportunity of acquiring. Bow⯑ing himſelf, therefore, in grateful aſſent, he proceeded directly to execute a charge which did him ſo much honour.

As ſoon as he drew near to the country, which he was ſent to conquer, he called together the ſeveral leaders of his troops, and laid them under the ſtricteſt injunc⯑tions to reſtrain the ſoldiers from every act of rapine, cruelty, and oppreſſion, which in the nature of their duty could poſſibly be avoided. ‘Though they are our ene⯑mies,’ he ſaid, ‘let us not forget that they are men, as well as we! Let us [243] ſpare the country, which is to belong to our ſovereign.’

This reſtraint, at the ſame time that it ſaved the country from devaſtation, ſaved alſo the forces under his command from all thoſe dangers which await an army broken looſe from diſcipline, and ſcattered over an enemy's country in ſearch of plunder.

He penetrated into the heart of the land, without meeting any misfortune, though the king watched his ſteps, with a powerful army, ready to take any oppor⯑tunity of attacking him to advantage; as he was unwilling to riſque the fate of his country, on a battle, upon equal terms.

Finding, however, all his ſchemes de⯑feated by the vigilance and circumſpection of Togrul, and apprehenſive that his own ſoldiers might be diſpirited at ſeeing him ſo cautious, Aſtyages, at length, reſolved [244] to truſt all to the valour of his people, and the juſtice of his cauſe; and drawing all his forces together, waited for the enemy in a place which defended the approach to his capital.

This was directly the point to which Togrul had all along wiſhed to lead him. He inſtantly diſpoſed his troops in order of battle, and led them to the charge in perſon.

The conflict was ſuch as might be ex⯑pected from men animated by the ſtrongeſt motives. The ſoldiers of Temugin were ſo accuſtomed to conquer, that they look⯑ed upon themſelves as invincible; while the men of Betlis, who knew that they fought for the deareſt bleſſings of life, exerted themſelves, every one, as if the event depended upon his ſingle arm.

SECTION II.

WHILE the battle raged thus, with equal fury, the adverſe leaders, who flew from place to place to enforce the execu⯑tion of their orders, by their own example chanced to meet.

Knowing each other by the number of their attendants, and animated by an equal paſſion for glory, they advanced, as by conſent, to decide the conteſt, making a ſignal to their men to draw back; who readily obeyed, willing to commit the for⯑tune of the day to their reſpective valour.

Nor was their confidence deceived on this important occaſion. Every effort, which art and courage could ſuggeſt to ſtrength, was exerted ſo equally by each combatant, that it was impoſſible to form any judgment of the event.

[246]While every heart panted thus in anxi⯑ous expectation and ſuſpenſe, the king of Betlis, provoked at a reſiſtance which he had never met before, ſmote Togrul ſuch a blow, as cleft his helmet in twain; which, falling to the ground, left his head unarmed; at the ſame time, that his own ſword, unequal to the force, broke ſhort in his hand.

Togrul recovering from the ſtroke, which had ſtunned him for a moment, was preparing to return it on his defenceleſs enemy, when his ear was ſtruck by the voice of a man, who throwing himſelf be⯑tween the combatants, exclaimed, ‘Hold, O Selim! nor ſtain thy ſoul with the blood of thy father.’

Starting at the well-known voice, To⯑grul dropped his ſword, which hung over the head of his adverſary, and looking eagerly at the perſon who ſpoke, inſtantly knew the face of Abudah, who, by this [247] time, had thrown off his helmet, and fallen on his knees before him.

The piety of Togrul could not bear ſuch a ſight. He ran, and raiſing him from the ground, threw himſelf at his feet, and embraced his knees in tranſports of pious joy.

Tenderly as the heart of Abudah felt this endearment, the time was too impor⯑tant for him to indulge it. Turning haſ⯑tily from Togrul, 'There pay thy duty!' ſaid he, pointing to the king, who ſtood loſt in wonder at what he ſaw. ‘That, O Selim! is thy father.—O king of Betlis, behold thy ſon!’

The king no ſooner heard theſe words, than yielding to the impulſe of nature, he ruſhed forward, and throwing himſelf upon the neck of Togrul, bedewed his boſom with tears, ſobbing, ‘O my ſon! have I [248] at length found thee? O Arſaces! My ſon! My ſon!’

Though Togrul felt the tenderneſs of this embrace, he was unable to return it with equal warmth. He knew no father but Abudah; at the ſame time, he knew that Abudah was incapable of aſſerting any thing but truth. He was utterly at a loſs.—In the mean while, the chieftains of both armies, ſtruck with aſtoniſhment, gathered promiſcuouſly around them, to learn the cauſe of this affecting ſcene.

Abudah ſaw the importance of the mo⯑ment. 'O ſoldiers of Temugin!' ſaid he, mounting upon a rock, which happened to be near, and ſpreading abroad his arms, ‘and you men of Betlis, behold and re⯑vere the myſterious ways of that power which rules the world! The leader of the armies of Temugin is ſon to the king of Betlis. Heaven, which per⯑mitted them to prove their valour, in [249] your ſight, this day, hath diſcovered them to each other, in time to prevent the crime of parricide, and put an end to this groundleſs war. Let us not therefore preſume to oppoſe its ſacred will.’

The manner in which he uttered theſe words enſured their effect. His eyes, his voice, his geſtures, ſeemed to ſpeak im⯑mediate inſpiration. All heard him with reverential awe, and waited but the word of their leaders to pay obedience to what they thought a divine command.

The king and Togrul had, by this time, recovered themſelves ſufficiently to attend to their ſituation. Advancing therefore to their reſpective armies, they unfolded this extraordinary event; and declared their intentions of obeying the will of hea⯑ven, ſo plainly ſignified; and extending to their people that peace, which nature had eſtabliſhed between themſelves.

[250]Nor was this difficult to be effected. The manner in which the war had been conducted, had prevented any perſonal animoſity, by preventing private injuries. It had rather been a conteſt for glory, than a war.

SECTION III.

AS ſoon as they had drawn off their forces, and taken proper care to prevent any accidental diſagreement between them, they repaired to a tent, which Abudah had cauſed to be pitched in the midſt be⯑tween the two armies, equally anxious to concert ſuch meaſures for confirming the peace, thus happily commenced, as ſhould meet the approbation of Temugin, with⯑out derogating from the honour of Aſty⯑ages, or injuring the intereſts of his people.

As ſuch an interview muſt neceſſarily open all the tenderneſs of nature, it was [251] ordered that no perſon ſhould be preſent beſide Abudah, who waited to receive To⯑grul; and before the arrival of his father, relieve his heart from the ſuſpenſe with which it muſt be tortured, by an event equally intereſting and ſtrange.

As ſoon as Togrul entered the tent, he ran to Abudah, and claſping him in his arms, ‘O father of my heart!' ſaid he, unfold the myſtery of my fate; nor keep me longer in a ſuſpenſe, which my ſoul is unable to ſupport. Who am I?— How can I be other than thy ſon?— And yet, I bluſh to own, that my heart feels a divided love; a reſpect, which it never felt before.’

'Son of my ſoul!' anſwered Abudah, as he kiſſed away the tear which rolled down the cheek of Togrul, ‘reſtrain thine impatience to a more proper moment. Thou oweſt thy being to Aſtyages. He is thy father. How the precious charge [252] of thine education came to be entruſted to me, muſt be reſerved to an hour of more leiſure; as well as a recital of the occurrences, through which heaven hath led thee to this happy period. At pre⯑ſent, other matters demand our attention.’

Aſtyages entering as he ſpoke theſe words, Togrul yielding to the impulſe of nature, ran to him, and crying, ‘O my father! my father!’ threw himſelf at his feet, and embraced his knees, unable to ſay more; while Aſtyages wept upon his head in extaſy, too big for utterance.

When they had indulged nature thus, for a few bliſsful minutes, Abudah, who was more preſent to himſelf, though his feelings were ſcarcely leſs lively, reminded them of the more immediate cauſe of their meeting.

When Togrul had repeated the charge, given to him by Temugin, Aſtyages [253] muſed for ſome moments; then with a look ſerenely reſolute, ‘My ſon!’ ſaid he, ‘I trace the hand of heaven in all theſe events, and will not preſume to ſet my⯑ſelf in oppoſition to it.’

As ſuch a propoſal could admit of no difficulty, peace was directly announced to both armies, who embraced it with equal pleaſure; having made too ſtrong a proof [254] of each other's valour, to deſire a conti⯑nuance of the war.

When Togrul had adjuſted every thing for beginning his march the next morning to Karakathai, where he was to join Te⯑mugin, he returned to the tent, where he found his father expecting him, in com⯑pany with Abudah.

After ſome time given up to mutual endearments, ‘I will leave you for a few moments, my ſon!’ ſaid Aſtyages, ‘while I go to make ſome preparations for my journey. The father of ſo large a fa⯑mily, hath many things to ſettle, before he can leave it. Abudah will, in the mean time, inform you of matters, which you muſt naturally be deſirous to know.’

SECTION IV.

THE anxiety, evident in the looks of Togrul, made it not neceſſary for him to claim the performance of this promiſe.

‘O ſon of my affection! thou beloved of my ſoul!’ ſaid Abudah, as ſoon as Aſtyages withdrew, ‘I am now to reſign an honour, of which I am unworthy, and exchange the name of father for that of friend; a ſecret, my having concealed which from you ſo long, hath coſt my heart many a painful hour.’

SECTION V.

Aſtyages entering as he ſpoke theſe words, 'I reſtore to thee, O king,' con⯑tinued Abudah, leading Arſaces to him, ‘thy ſon, no longer Togrul, nor Selim, but Arſaces, a genuine ſcyon of the ſacred ſtock of Cyrus. O, Arſaces, behold a father worthy of thee!’

'O my ſon! My father!' they ex⯑claimed with one voice, as they ran into each other's arms, while Abudah, un⯑able to ſpeak, gave vent to his joy in a flood of tears.

When they had payed this tender tri⯑bute to nature, Aſtyages hinted to his ſon a deſire to hear the incidents of his life, ſince his departure from Abudah. Ar⯑ſaces [263] inſtantly obeyed, and placing him⯑ſelf between them, related, in brief, the wonderous tale.

As ſoon as he had concluded, ‘Could a particular inſtance be wanting in proof of that, which all the works of nature prove,’ ſaid Abudah, ‘thy life, O Arſaces, affords the ſtrongeſt conviction, that the ways of heaven are always con⯑ducted with wiſdom, goodneſs, and juſ⯑tice, however inſcrutable to the feeble powers of human reaſon. Let us there⯑fore adore that Being, who ordereth every thing for the beſt; nor perplex ourſelves with doubts, which only in⯑volve us in deeper darkneſs.’

SECTION VI.

ARSACES began his march the next morning, accompanied by his father. On his arrival at the camp of Temugin, he haſted to his preſence, that he might him⯑ſelf deliver the firſt tidings of theſe won⯑derful events.

Proſtrating himſelf before his throne, ‘May the king of men,’ ſaid he, ‘live for ever. Thy commands have been executed in their fulleſt extent. The country of Betlis pays obedience to Te⯑mugin; and its king is come to receive his fate from thy word. But in the king of Betlis, O behold the father of Togrul! The father of him, who in thy ſervice hath unknowingly lifted his ſword againſt the author of his life.’

Temugin, who thought the enterprize [265] upon which he had ſent Togrul, too diffi⯑cult to have been accompliſhed in ſo ſhort a ſpace, was utterly at a loſs to conceive the meaning of what he heard. He de⯑manded therefore an explanation of cir⯑cumſtances, which appeared ſo extraor⯑dinary to him.

As ſoon as Arſaces had recited the whole, the emperor pauſing a few mo⯑ments, as loſt in thought, ‘I adore the ways of heaven,’ ſaid he; ‘and war not with its will. King of Betlis,’ he continued, ‘on what terms art thou wil⯑ling to receive the reſtitution of thy crown this day, from my hands?’

'Conqueror of the world,' anſwered Aſtyages, ‘it ill befitteth me to make terms with him into whoſe power I have willingly ſurrendered myſelf. If thou wilt permit me to ſtudy the happineſs of my people; and preſerve them in the [266] enjoyment of thoſe laws, which their fathers have handed down to them, we will render thee, with fidelity, all the ſervices which can be expected from men who are free. If thou requireſt more, my promiſe ſhall not deceive thee.’

‘For know, O Temugin, that though I have the power to commit my own liberty to thy diſpoſal, I have none over that of the meaneſt ſubject, whom I lately governed; every one of whom, while he pays obedience to the laws, is ſafe under their protection; and would with readineſs ſacrifice his life in their defence.’

'We will put their virtue to the trial;' replied Temugin. ‘My will ſhall be cir⯑cumſcribed by no laws. In the mean time, return thou in ſafety to their aſſiſtance. I ſcorn to take advantage of thy confidence.’

[267]'O ſovereign of the world,' exclaimed Arſaces, throwing himſelf again at the feet of Temugin, and embracing his knees, ‘what is to be the fate of the cap⯑tive of thy power, the ſlave of thy goodneſs? Can I fight againſt the au⯑thor of my being? Can I fight againſt him, whoſe beneficence hath made that being a bleſſing to me? O divide not duties, which heaven hath united! nor ſet my ſoul at war againſt itſelf! My father will teach his people to pay you the higheſt ſubjection, which man can pay to man, without derogating from the dignity of their common nature.— O my father, ſubmit yourſelf to the power of him who rules the world. He will not deprive your ſubjects of liberty, who gave it to your ſon.’

The agony, in which Arſaces ſpoke theſe words, affected all who were preſent. The generous heart of Temugin melted in compaſſion. ‘Ariſe,’ ſaid he, ‘O ſon, [268] worthy of thy father; and be happy! And thou, O Aſtyages, return to thy kingdom in peace; and rule thy people according to the rectitude of thine heart. Happy art thou in being worthy to have ſuch a ſon.’

Every one was filled with joy, by theſe words. Even envy and ambition forgot themſelves, for ſome moments, and joined in the general acclamations, which raiſed the name of Temugin to heaven.

Aſtyages, who had hitherto ſupported his royal character, could not reſiſt the tender impulſe of his gratitude. ‘Thou haſt conquered, O Temugin,’ ſaid he, ‘thou haſt conquered my ſoul.’

He would have thrown himſelf at the feet of the emperor, but he was prevented. Temugin caught him in his arms; and embracing him warmly, ‘I receive thee, as my friend,’ he ſaid; ‘and in no other [269] light will I admit thee to offer thyſelf to me. Happy is the ſovereign who hath ſuch a friend.’

Aſtyages would have departed the next morning, but Temugin inſiſted on his remaining ſome time; during which he took delight to do him honour, above all his princely gueſts.

The magnificence of ſuch a ſcene, never equalled upon earth, dazzled not the eyes of Aſtyages; nor could the offer of Te⯑mugin, to make him ſovereign over many nations, ſhake his ſteady virtue.

‘Think it not ingratitude,’ he anſwered, ‘O firſt of human kind, in virtue as in power, that I decline favours, your holding me worthy of which covers me with the higheſt honour. My ſoul feels the warmeſt ſenſe of your generous con⯑fidence, and friendſhip; but its ambi⯑tion never ſoared ſo high. I am content [270] with the contracted ſphere, in which heaven hath placed me; and find the government of one ſmall kingdom ſuf⯑ficient for my abilities. Rather would I reign in the hearts of a ſingle village, made happy by my care, than rule over diſcontented millions, with a rod of iron; it not being the extent, but the good government of a kingdom, which in my humble ſenſe conſtitutes the happineſs and glory of a ſovereign.’

Temugin was ſtruck with ſentiments, the juſtice of which his ſoul acknowledged; though they had never occurred to him before. He pauſed for ſome minutes, then claſping Aſtyages to his breaſt, ‘We muſt fulfil the deſtiny appointed for us,’ ſaid he; ‘were I not Temugin, it ſhould be my wiſh to be Aſtyages.’

After ſome days ſpent in the cloſeſt in⯑tercourſe of mutual eſteem, Aſtyages de⯑parted for his own country, accompanied [271] by his ſon; who offered to remain, but Temugin waved ſuch a ſacrifice of every tender feeling. ‘After ſo long a ſepara⯑tion,’ ſaid he, ‘your ſouls muſt require ſome time to ſeal the connection of na⯑ture, by acquaintance. When I want your ſervice, I will call for it. Till then be happy in each other.’

SECTION VII.

THE return of Aſtyages reſtored to his people, the only happineſs which they had to wiſh for. Under him they enjoyed every bleſſing of life; and the virtues of his ſon gave them an aſſured preſage of its continuance.

Aſtyages, in the overflowing of paternal affection, would have ſhared his throne with his ſon; but he declined it. ‘Let it be my honour, let it be my happi⯑neſs,’ he ſaid, ‘to be the foremoſt of thy ſubjects, in humble obedience, as [272] in love! Let me learn to reign, in the execution of thy commands.’

But in the midſt of all this general joy, Aſtyages obſerved that a ſigh would ſome⯑times ſteal unawares from his ſon; that an abſence of mind, in ſpite of all his care to conceal it, ſhewed he cheriſhed ſome ſe⯑cret grief. Alarmed at this diſcovery, he communicated it to Abudah, and deſired him to try to explore the cauſe.

Abudah, in all his intercourſe with Arſaces, had ever endeavoured to ſink the authority of a father in the intimacy of a friend; an intimacy, which now knew no bounds; as the former character, which, notwithſtanding all his endeavours, had kept Arſaces at a reſpectful diſtance, was at an end.

He found him walking, penſive and alone, by the ſide of a rivulet, which ran through the gardens of Aſtyages. ‘Whence [273] cometh it, O my ſon!’ ſaid he, ‘that you ſeparate yourſelf thus from ſociety? What means that ſmothered ſigh, which this inſtant hath eſcaped you? Hath Arſaces any grief, which he is afraid to communicate to Abudah? Has he a thought, which he would hide from his friend?’

Arſaces was abaſhed, at being ſo ſur⯑prized, at meriting this tender rebuke. He bluſhed, and hung down his head for a few moments, unable to make any anſwer.

Recovering himſelf at length, ‘O guide of my youth!’ he replied, ‘the heart of Arſaces harboureth not a thought which he is afraid to entruſt to you. The ſtate in which I left the virtuous Hi⯑milco—My father may poſſibly diſap⯑prove—’

[274]'And the daughter of Himilco!' inter⯑rupted Abudah, claſping him in his arms. ‘Bluſh not, my ſon! To be inſenſible to love, argues a defect in nature; an incapacity for its moſt exquiſite happi⯑neſs. Nor need you fear your father's diſapprobation. He will aſſiſt you to obtain your wiſhes. The choice of rea⯑ſon cannot be unworthy of thee.’

This diſcovery gave the greateſt joy to Aſtyages, who wiſhed not for any thing ſo ardently, as to ſee the virtues of his ſon continued in his offspring. It was agreed that Arſaces and Abudah ſhould ſet out directly for the habitation of Himilco, at⯑tended by a train ſufficient to protect them on the way.

The journey was long; but nothing is too much for love. They performed it without meeting any misfortune.

[275]The ſurprize of Himilco, on ſeeing ſuch a numerous company approach his habi⯑tation, may be well conceived; but that ſurprize was ſoon turned to joy, when he heard the well-known voice of Arſaces, who advanced before the reſt. He de⯑ſcended inſtantly, and falling upon his neck, bedewed it with tears of joy.

When they had recovered from the ſoft⯑neſs of this ſcene, Arſaces preſenting Abu⯑dah to Himilco, ‘Receive into thy friend⯑ſhip,’ ſaid he, ‘that Abudah, whoſe vir⯑tues thou haſt ſo often admired. Em⯑brace, O Abudah! the beneficent re⯑liever of my diſtreſs.’

Congenial virtues attract each other. Himilco and Abudah embraced with the eſteem of long acquaintance.

Arſaces, having given order for the en⯑campment of his train, aſcended with Abudah, into the habitation of Himilco, [276] where he was ſoon bleſſed with the ſight of Arpaſia, who joyfully obeyed the firſt call of her father to receive him.

After mutual congratulations on the happineſs of their meeting, Arſaces grati⯑fied the anxiety of his hoſts, with a recital of the events of his life, ſince he had departed from them; the viciſſitudes of which frequently drew the ſympathetic tear from the gentle Arpaſia, though de⯑licacy prevented his diſcloſing the circum⯑ſtance moſt intereſting to her.

But Abudah was not under the ſame reſtraint. Arpaſia withdrawing as ſoon as Arſaces had concluded his narrative, Abu⯑dah made a ſignal to him to follow her, and acquainted Himilco with Aſtyages's approbation of his ſon's paſſion.

Himilco, who was ſuperior to the affec⯑tation of making a difficulty of that which gave him pleaſure, acknowledged that his [277] daughter returned the love of Arſaces, and conſented to end his days with them in Betlis.

‘I acknowledge and adore,’ ſaid he, ‘the hand of heaven, which hath evi⯑dently led me through ſuch wonderous ways to this happineſs; which I will not ungratefully embitter, by repining that I was not thought worthy to effect the happineſs of my country alſo. I reſign myſelf humbly to its will, which is al⯑ways right.’

Nor did Arpaſia receive the declaration of Arſaces's love with leſs candour. She re⯑ferred him to her father for an anſwer; ſay⯑ing, with a bluſh, in which modeſty added new graces to beauty, that her inclination would find no difficulty in accompanying her obedience to his com⯑mands.

[278]Himilco could not leave the aſylum of his diſtreſs, without feeling the moſt ten⯑der emotions. But the recollection of paſt misfortunes only brightened the happy proſpect before him. He payed the tri⯑bute of ſome pious tears to the dear me⯑mory of thoſe whoſe remains he left be⯑hind him, and then departed with a grate⯑ful heart.

They arrived in ſafety at the court of Aſtyages, whoſe happineſs was compleated in theirs; and in the aſſurance, which their virtues, continued in a numerous offspring, gave him of the happineſs of his people: and Arſaces acknowledged, that true wiſdom conſiſteth in humble obedience to the will of heaven, without arrogantly preſuming to ſcan its ways.