SELFISHNESS, Or the Story of CARAZAN the Merchant of BAGDAT.

CARAZAN, the Merchant of Bagdat, was eminent throughout all the Eaſt for his avarice and his wealth: his origin was obſcure as that of the ſpark which by the colliſion of ſteel and adamant is ſtruck out of darkneſs; the patient labour of perſevering diligence alone had made him rich. It was remembered, that when he was indigent he was thought to be generous; and he was ſtill ac⯑knowledged to be inflexibly juſt. But whether in his dealings with men he diſcovered a perfidy which tempted him to put his truſt in gold, or whether in proportion as he accumulated wealth he diſco⯑vered his own importance by increaſe, Carazan prized it more as he uſed it leſs. He gradu⯑ally loſt the inclination to do good, as he acquired the power; and as the hand of time ſcat⯑tered [21] ſnow upon his head, the freezing influence extended to his boſom.

But though the door of Carazan was never open⯑ed by hoſpitality, nor his hand by compaſſion, yet fear led him conſtantly to the moſque at the ſtated hours of prayer: he performed all the rights of de⯑votion with the moſt ſcrupulous punctuality, and had thrice paid his vows at the temple of the pro⯑phet. That devotion, which ariſes from the love of God, and neceſſarily includes the love of man, confers new dignity upon goodneſs, and is the ob⯑ject not only of affection but reverence. On the contrary, the devotion of the ſelfiſh, whether it be intended to avert the puniſhment which every one wiſhes to ſee inflicted, or to inſure it by the compli⯑cation of hypocriſy with guilt, never fails to excite indignation and abhorrence. Carazan, therefore, locking his door, and, turning round with a look of circumſpective ſuſpicion, proceeded to the moſque, and was followed by every eye with ſilent malig⯑nity. The poor ſuſpended their ſupplications as he paſſed. Though he was known by every man, yet no man ſaluted him.

Such had long been the life of Carazan, and ſuch was the character which he had acquired, when no⯑tice was given by proclamation, that he was re⯑moved to a magnificent building in the centre of the city; that his table ſhould be ſpread for the hungry, and that the ſtranger ſhould be welcome to his bed. The multitude ſoon ruſhed like a tor⯑rent [22] to his door, where they beheld him diſtribut⯑ing bread to the hungry, and apparel to the naked; his eye ſoftening with compaſſion, and his cheek glowing with delight. Every one gazed with aſto⯑niſhment at the prodigy; and the murmur of innu⯑merable voices increaſing like the ſound of ap⯑proaching thunder, Carazan beckoned with his hand. Attention ſuſpended the tumult in a moment; and he thus gratified the curioſity which procured him audience.

"To Him who touches the mountains and they ſmoke, the almighty and moſt merciful, be ever⯑laſting honour! he hath ordained ſleep to be the miniſter of inſtruction, for his viſions have reprov⯑ed me in the night. As I was ſitting alone in my haram, with my lamp burning before me, com⯑puting the product of my merchandize, and exult⯑ing in the encreaſe of my wealth, I fell into a deep ſleep, and the hand of him who dwells in the third heaven was upon me. I beheld the angel of death coming forward like a whirlwind, and he ſmote me before I could deprecate the blow. At the ſame moment I felt myſelf lifted from the ground and tranſported with aſtoniſhing rapidity through the regions of the air. The earth was contracted to an atom between; and the ſtars glowed round me with a luſtre that obſcured the ſun. The gate of paradiſe was now in ſight; and I was intercepted by a ſudden brightneſs which no human eye could behold. The irrevocable ſentence was now to be [23] pronounced; my day of probation was paſt, and from the evil of my life nothing could be taken away, nor could any thing be added to the good. When I reflected that my lot for eternity was caſt, which not all the powers of nature could reverſe, my confidence totally forſook me; and while I ſtood trembling and ſilent, covered with confuſion and chilled with horror, I was thus addreſſed by the ra⯑diance that flamed before me."

'Carazan, thy worſhip has not been accepted, becauſe it was not prompted by the love of God; neither can thy righteouſneſs be rewarded, becauſe it was not produced by the love of man: for thy own ſake only, haſt thou rendered to every man his due; and thou haſt approached the Almighty only for thyſelf. Thou haſt not looked upwards with gratitude nor round thee with kindneſs. A⯑round thee thou haſt indeed beheld vice and folly; but if vice and folly could juſtify thy parſimony, would they not condemn the bounty of heaven? If not upon the fooliſh and the vicious, where ſhall die ſun diffuſe his light, or the clouds diſtil their dew? Where ſhall the lips of the ſpring breathe fragrance, or the hand of autumn diffuſe plenty? Remember, Cazaran, that thou haſt ſhut compaſſion from thy heart, and graſped thy treaſures with an hand of iron: thou haſt lived for thyſelf; and, therefore, henceforth for ever thou ſhalt ſubſiſt alone. From the light of heaven, and from the ſociety of all beings, ſhalt thou be driven; ſolitude [24] ſhall protract the lingering of etrnity, and darkneſs aggravate the horrors of deſpair.'

"At this moment I was driven by ſome ſecret and irreſiſtible power, through the glowing ſyſtem of creation, and paſſed innumerable worlds in an inſtant. As I approached the verge of nature, I perceived the ſhadows of total and boundleſs va⯑cuity deepen before me, a dreadful region of eter⯑nal ſilence, ſolitude, and darkneſs! unutterable hor⯑ror ſeized me at the proſpect, and this exclama⯑tion burſt from me with all the vehemence of de⯑ſire. O! that I had been doomed for ever to the common receptacle of impenitence and guilt! there ſociety would have alleviated the torment of deſpair, and the rage of fire could not have excluded the comfort of light. Or, if I had been condemned to reſide on a comet, that would return but once in a thouſand years to the regions of light and life; the hope of theſe periods, however diſtant, would chear me in the dreary interval of cold and dark⯑neſs, and the viciſſitude would divide eternity into time. While this thought paſſed over my mind, I loſt ſight of the remoteſt ſtar, and the laſt glim⯑mering of light was quenched into utter darkneſs. The agonies of deſpair encreaſed every moment, as every moment augmented my diſtance from the laſt habitable world. I reflected with intolerable anguiſh, that when ten thouſand thouſand years ſhould carry me beyond the reach of all but that [25] power who fills infinitude, I ſhould ſtill look forward into an immenſe abyſs of darkneſs, through which I ſhould ſtill drive without ſuccour and without ſo⯑ciety, farther and farther for ever and ever. I then ſtretched out my hands towards the regions of exiſtence, with an emotion that awaked me. Thus have I been taught to eſtimate ſociety, like every other bleſſing, by its loſs. My heart is warmed to liberality; and I am zealous to commu⯑nicate the happineſs which I feel, to thoſe from whom it is derived; for, the ſociety of one wretch, whom in the pride of proſperity I would have ſpurned from my door, would, in the dreadful ſo⯑litude to which I was condemned, have been more highly prized, than the gold of Afric, or the gems of Golconda."

At this reflection upon his dream, Carazan be⯑came ſuddenly ſilent, and looked upwards in an ex⯑taſy of gratitude and devotion. The multitude was ſtruck at once with the precept and the example; and the Caliph, to whom the event was related, that he might be liberal beyond the power of gold, com⯑manded it to be recorded for the benefit of poſ⯑terity.

BENEVOLENCE. Or the Story of PALAMON and AMASINA.

PALAMON and AMASINA were married almoſt too young to know the duties of the ſtate they entered into, yet both being extremely good-natured, a mutual deſire of obliging each other appeared in all their words and actions; and, though this complaiſance was not owing to thoſe tender emotions which attract the heart with a reſiſtleſs [32] force, and bear the name of love, yet were the effects ſo much the ſame, as not to be diſtin⯑guiſhed.

The firſt year of their marriage made them the happy parents of an heir to a plentiful eſtate.—All their friends congratulated this addition to their felicity; and the moſt perfect joy and tranquillity reigned.

Amaſina, after ſhe became a mother, began to feel, by degrees, an encreaſing warmth of affection for him that made her ſo; and having no reaſon to doubt an equal regard from him, thought herſelf as happy as a woman could be, and that there were joys in marriage greater than ſhe had formerly ſuppoſed.

Quite otherwiſe was it with Palamon: the time was now arrived, which taught him what indeed it was to love.—The hopes, the fears, the anxie⯑ties, the impatiences, all the unnumbered cares, which are attributed to that paſſion, now took poſ⯑ſeſſion of his heart.—He pined, he languiſhed—but, alas! not for his wife.—He had, unhappily, ſeen a young lady at the opera, who had given his heart ſenſations and deſires unfelt, unknown before. As he happened to fit in the ſame box with her, he had frequently an opportunity of ſpeaking to her: and, though only on ordinary ſubjects, every an⯑ſwer ſhe made to what he ſaid, ſeemed, to him, to diſcover a profuſion of wit and gave him the moſt longing deſire to be acquainted with her.

[33]Fortune, favourable to his wiſhes, preſented her to him the next day, in one of the public walks, accompanied by a lady and a gentleman, the latter of whom he had a ſlight knowledge of. He joined them; and perceiving it was to the other lady that the gentleman ſeemed moſt attached, he was at the greater liberty to ſay a thouſand tender and gallant things to her, who was now become the object of his wiſhes.

Belinda, who was in all reſpects one of the mo⯑dern modiſh ladies, received the compliments he made her in a manner which convinced him his converſation was not diſagreeable to her; and, ſome mention happening to be made of a maſquerade that night, ſhe told him, that both ſhe and her fair companion intended to be there, and were then going to beſpeak habits for that purpoſe.

The hint was not loſt upon Palamon: he fol⯑lowed them at a diſtance; and when the ladies had left the ſhop he went in under pretence of hiring a domino for himſelf. Finding the woman be⯑hind the counter was no ſtranger to the ladies, he eaſily prevailed on her to let him know, not only what dreſſes they had beſpoke, but alſo of what condition and character they were.—She informed him, that Belinda had a large fortune, and, her parents being dead, was under the care of guar⯑dians, though ſhe did not live with them, but had lodgings in an adjacent ſtreet.

[34]Palamon was tranſported at this intelligence, as it ſeemed to promiſe him an eaſy acceſs to her ac⯑quaintance, and the privilege of viſiting her; which, probably, in thoſe early days of his paſſion was all he aimed at. His impatience, however, occaſioned him to go betimes to the maſquerade, that he might have an opportunity of examining every one that came in. He ſoon diſcovered Belinda, and was not long in convincing her, that he was the gentleman who made her ſo many compliments in the morning. This greatly flattered her vanity. She liſtened attentively to the aſſurances he gave her of his paſſion, and frequently let fall ſome words, as if they eſcaped her inadvertently, that might make him think ſhe would not be ungrateful, if he perſiſted in giving teſtimonies of a conſtant flame.

Palamon was tranſported to find the offer of his heart ſo well received; and made ſo good a uſe of the opportunity ſhe gave him of entertaining her, that he obtained her permiſſion to attend her home; and, as it was then too late for them to continue their converſation, to viſit her the next day in the afternoon.

Belinda, it is probable, had no other motive for entertaining Palamon, and receiving his addreſſes, than merely that of hearing herſelf praiſed, and giving pain, as ſhe imagined, to others of her ad⯑mirers who were leſs frequently admitted. But, how dangerous it is to encourage an intimacy with [35] one of the other ſex, too many, poſſeſſed of a greater ſhare of diſcretion than Belinda, have expe⯑rienced.—This unwary lady in meditating new arts to captivate her lover, became inſnared herſelf. In ſhort, Palamon ſucceeded.

Amaſina, all this while, loſt ground in his affec⯑tion; ſhe every day ſeemed leſs fair, and whatever ſhe ſaid, or did, had in it a kind of aukwardneſs which, before, he was far from diſcovering; every thing was now diſpleaſing in her; if endearing, her fondneſs was childiſh and ſilly; and if more reſerved, ſhe was ſullen and ill-natured. One mo⯑ment he was out of humour if ſhe ſpoke, and the next offended at her ſilence. He was continu⯑ally ſeeking ſome pretence to find fault with the moſt juſtifiable conduct; and even vexed when he had nothing in reality to condemn.—Unhappy, but certain conſequences of a new attachment! which, not content with the injury it does, adds to it ill humour, and a wiſh for ſome occaſion to hate the object we no longer love.

The poor lady could not help obſerving this al⯑teration in his behaviour; but, as ſhe was far from gueſſing the real motive, imputed it to ſome un⯑lucky turn in his affairs; though of what nature ſhe could not imagine, they having had a large fortune ſettled on them at their marriage, beſides the re⯑verſion of what his father ſhould die poſſeſſed.

For more than a whole year did ſhe combat his ill-humour with ſweetneſs, gentleneſs, and the moſt [36] obliging behaviour: and, though ſhe began to think herſelf loſt to his affection, bore even that afflicting thought with the moſt ſubmiſſive patience; ſtill flattering herſelf, that, if it were even ſo, he would one day reflect, that ſhe did not deſerve her ill fortune.

Jealouſy was, however, a paſſion ſhe was wholly unacquainted with: many beautiful women viſited at her houſe, and ſhe had never ſeen the leaſt pro⯑penſity in him to gallantry with any of them; ſo that ſhe rather imagined a diſguſt to the whole ſex was growing on him, than an attachment to any one in particular.

Thus did her innocence and unſuſpecting nature deceive her, till one day a female friend, more buſy than wiſe, opened her eyes to the true reaſon of her huſband's coldneſs. This lady, by means of a maid ſervant ſhe had lately entertained, who had lived with Belinda long enough to know the whole ſecret of her amour with Palamon, was made ac⯑quainted with all that paſſed between that guilty pair.—She learned from this unfaithful creature, that Belinda had been made a mother by Palamon; and that the child was diſpoſed of to a perſon who for a preſent of fifty guineas, had taken the ſole charge of it, ſo that it ſhould never appear to the diſgrace of the unnatural parents. Not the moſt minute circumſtance, relating to the affair, but was betrayed by this wretch, partly in revenge for her having been diſcarded, and partly to gain the [37] favour of her preſent lady, who, ſhe eaſily perceived, loved to hear news of this kind.

Amaſina would fain have treated this account as fabulous, and have perſuaded her friend to regard it only as a piece of malice in the reporter; but the other was poſitive in her aſſertion, and told her, that it was utterly impoſſible for ſuch a perſon to dreſs up a fiction with ſo many particulars, and ſuch a ſhew of truth.—"Beſides, added ſhe, if there were nothing in it, we might eaſily diſprove all ſhe has ſaid, by going to the woman who has the care of the child, and whoſe name and place of abode ſhe has told me."

Compelled at laſt to believe, ſhe gave for a while a looſe to her tears and complainings, but her good ſenſe as well as good temper, ſoon got the better of her paſſion; and, when her friend aſked her, in what manner ſhe would proceed, in order to do herſelf juſtice—What can I do? replied this charm⯑ing wife, but endeavour to render myſelf more oblig⯑ing, more pleaſant, and more engaging, if poſſible, than my rival; and make Palamon ſee, he can find nothing in Belinda, that is wanting in me?

"O Heaven! cried the lady, can you forgive ſuch an injury?"—"Yes, reſumed Amaſina, ſtifling her ſighs as much as ſhe was able, love is an invo⯑luntary paſſion."—"And will you not upbraid him with his ingratitude, and expoſe Belinda?" ſaid ſhe.—"Neither the one nor the other, anſwered Amaſina coldly; either of theſe methods would in⯑deed [38] render me unworthy of a return of his affec⯑tion; and I conjure and beſeech you, added ſhe, by all the friendſhip I flatter myſelf you have for me, that you will not make the leaſt mention of this affair to any one in the world."

Amaſina was no ſooner left alone, and at liberty to meditate more deeply on the ſhocking intelligence ſhe had received, than ſhe again began to fancy there was a poſſibility of its being falſe: the ſuſ⯑penſe, however, ſeemed more dreadful to her than the confirmation could be, and ſhe reſolved to be fully convinced of the truth, if there were any means of being ſo.

The unhappy wife of Palamon, who ſoon became aſſured of his perſidy, determined to bear it with as much patience as ſhe was able; which was indeed ſufficient to render her behaviour ſuch, as made him poſitive in his own mind, that ſhe had not the leaſt ſuſpicion of the wrong he did her; and alſo compelled him very often to accuſe himſelf for being guilty of what he could not anſwer to his reaſon, though he had not reſolution enough to abandon Belinda, notwithſtanding that the levity of her conduct diſcovered the difference between a miſtreſs and a wife.

Whenever Amaſina reflected on this change in her huſband, as ſhe had little elſe in her mind, there was no part in the adventure appeared more ſtrange to her, than that a lady, born and educated in the manner ſhe knew Belinda was, and who had [39] ſo far yielded to temptation as to throw off all mo⯑deſty and honour, ſhould have ſo little regard for her innocent child, as to abandon it to miſeries ſhe knew not of what kind. This was a barbarity, ſhe thought exceeded the crime to which it owed its birth, and ſhe more readily forgave the injury done to herſelf, than that to the helpleſs infant.

The more ſhe reflected, the more ſhe was aſto⯑niſhed, that a woman ſhould act ſo contrary to na⯑ture; and, by often picturing to herſelf the woes to which this deſerted child might probably be ex⯑poſed, became at length ſo generouſly intereſted in its fate, as to form a reſolution of which few, be⯑ſide herſelf, would have been capable.

She had been informed, by her officious friend, both of the name and habitation of the woman with whom this little creature had been left; when, without making any perſon privy to her deſign, muffled herſelf up in her capuchin, and went in a hackney-chair to the houſe. The woman received her with a great deal of reſpect and kindneſs, ima⯑gining ſhe was come on the ſame buſineſs as Belinda.

The virtuous Amaſina bluſhed at being ſuſpected by this woman to be guilty of an act her ſoul ſhudder⯑ed at.—"I come not, ſaid the wife of Palamon, on the buſineſs you ſeem to think, though on one which equally requires your ſecrecy.—I have no unhappy infant to leave with you, but am come to eaſe you of one you have lately taken charge of.

[40]The woman looked much ſurprized to hear her ſpeak in this manner, and knew not well what an⯑ſwer to make; but Amaſina put an end to her ſuſ⯑penſe, by telling her, that ſhe was in the ſecret of the lady, who left a child at her houſe at a certain time and who had given fifty guineas to be eaſed for ever of the trouble of it.—"I am, ſaid Amaſina, a near relation of the gentleman to whom the poor infant owes its being, and cannot conſent, that any thing which does ſo, ſhould be deſerted and expoſed. I therefore deſire, that if alive, you will let me ſee it. I will provide for it better than it can be poſ⯑ſible that you ſhould do for the pittance left by the mother."

The woman affected to expatiate on the impoſſi⯑bility of her taking the care ſhe could wiſh to do, with children left on theſe terms; but that hea⯑ven knew ſhe did all ſhe could, and often laid put more than ſhe received.—She aſſured her, that the child ſhe enquired after was alive and a fine boy, but that he was with a perſon who indeed nurſed for the pariſh, who yet was a very good woman, and did her duty.

That may be, replied Amaſina, but I muſt have him removed; and, if you can provide another nurſe who can be depended on, I have a power from the father to ſatisfy you for your trouble, in a very ample manner. In the mean time, continued ſhe, putting five guineas into her hand, take this as an earneſt, and let the child be brought here to-morrow [41] about this time, and a new nurſe, whom you can recommend.

The next day, this excellent pattern of conjugal love took with her every thing proper for a child, whom ſhe was determined to make her own by adoption. She no ſooner ſaw the infant in his new nurſe's arms, than ſhe killed him with a tenderneſs little leſs than maternal; then, after having agreed upon terms, ordered him to be dreſſed, in her pre⯑ſence, in the cloaths ſhe had brought; and, every thing being ſettled, returned home with a content⯑ment of mind which words are too poor to expreſs.

Nor was this a ſudden ſtart of goodneſs and ge⯑neroſity; for the more ſhe reflected on what ſhe had done, the greater was the pleaſure ſhe received. —She never let a week paſs without going to ſee her charge; and had he been in reality her own, her diligence could not have been greater.

By accuſtoming herſelf to perform the duties of a mother to the child of Belinda, ſhe began really to love him as ſuch; and what, at firſt, was only pity, converted by degrees into a tender affection. When Palamon was abroad, ſhe would often order him to be brought to her, and, ſending for her own ſon at the ſame time, divert herſelf with their ſmiles and antics. She was one day employed in this manner, when Palamon unexpectedly returned, and came directly into the room where they were.— Whatever indifference he had for his wife, he had always ſhewn the greateſt tenderneſs to her ſon; and [42] he now took him up in his arms and kiſſed him, as was his cuſtom to do. "Here is another little one, ſaid Amaſina, ſmiling, who alſo claims ſome por⯑tion of your kindneſs;" and at the ſame time pre⯑ſented Belinda's child to him. "By what right, madam? replied Palamon in the ſame gay tone.— "As he is mine," reſumed his wife. "Yours!" cried he.—"Yes, anſwered ſhe, he is mine by adoption; and I muſt have you look upon him as yours likewiſe." "My complaiſance for you may carry me great lengths, ſaid he; but as I know you do nothing without being able to give a reaſon, I ſhould be glad to learn the motive of ſo extraordi⯑nary a requeſt."

"The infant you ſee, ſaid ſhe, in a more ſeri⯑ous tone than before, and whom I have, in reality, taken under my care, owes its being to two per⯑ſons of condition; but, being illegitimate, the care of reputation prevailed over nature; and this inno⯑cent victim of an inconſiderate paſſion I found abandoned, either to periſh, or, ſurviving, to ſur⯑vive but to miſeries worſe than death.—The thought was ſhocking to me, and I reſolved to ſnatch him from the threatening woes, and provide for him out of my private purſe, in ſuch a manner as not to make life hateful to him."

"An action truly charitable," ſaid Palamon, a little perplexed; "but this is not the reaſon I expected, ſince by the ſame rule your pity might be extended to hundreds, whom, doubtleſs, you may [43] find expoſed in the like manner. It muſt, there⯑fore, be ſome plea more forcible than mere com⯑paſſion that attaches you particularly to this child."

Amaſina, who had foreſeen what anſwer her huſ⯑band would make, was debating within herſelf, whether it would be beſt for her to evade, or to confeſs the truth of this affair; and, not being able to determine, appeared no leſs confuſed and diſor⯑dered than ſhe would have been, if about to make an acknowledgement for ſome great offence.— At laſt, "a plea there is, indeed, ſaid ſhe, but—;" here her voice and courage failed her, and ſhe was utterly incapable to give him the ſatisfaction he required.

Palamon was confounded beyond meaſure. Not knowing what to think of a behaviour ſo new, and which ſeemed to denote that ſhe laboured with a ſecret of ſome importance, he looked ſtedfaſtly on her for ſeveral minutes; and perceiving that ſhe changed colour, and had her eyes fixed on the earth, grew quite impatient, and cried out, "What plea? what myſtery?"

"A myſtery, replied ſhe, which I had much rather you ſhould gueſs at than oblige me to unra⯑vel.—Oh Palamon! continued ſhe, after a pauſe, is there no inſtinct in nature that can inform you, my affection for the father makes his offspring, of whomſoever born, dear to me?—I cannot hate Belinda ſo much as I love Palamon; and, while I [44] am performing the offices of a mother to this child, I forget the ſhare ſhe has in him—to remember what I owe to him as yours."

The reader's imagination muſt here ſupply the place of deſcription.—Impoſſible it is for words to give a juſt idea of what a huſband, circumſtanced like Palamon, muſt feel.—To have his faults thus pal⯑pably made known to her, whom he moſt deſired ſhould be ignorant of them—to receive the higheſt obligations where he could have expected only re⯑ſentment;—and to hear the detection of what he had done diſcovered to him by the injured perſon, in ſuch a manner as if herſelf, not he, had been the criminal!—his hurried thoughts, between re⯑morſe, aſtoniſhment, and ſhame, left him not the power to reply.—He walked about the room in a diſordered motion, to vain endeavouring to recover preſence of mind, a thing ſo neceſſary on this oc⯑caſion. At laſt, throwing himſelf into an eaſy chair, juſt oppoſite to that in which his wife was ſitting, "Good God! cried he, am I awake!—Can it be poſſible there ſhould be ſuch a woman in the world!"

Amaſina could not ſee him in theſe agitations without a concern, which made her almoſt re⯑pent having occaſioned them.—She ran to him, and, throwing her arms about his neck, "My dear, dear Palamon, ſaid ſhe, let it not trouble you that I am in poſſeſſion of a ſecret which I nei⯑ther ſought after, nor ever divulged. Conſider me as I am,—your wife,—and be aſſured you can be [45] guilty of no errors, which I ſhall not carefully con⯑ceal.—Judge of my ſincerity, continued ſhe, by my behaviour, which, you are ſenſible, has not in the leaſt been changed by my knowledge of this affair."

"O Amaſina! cried he, preſſing her tenderly to his boſom, I am indeed ſenſible how little I have deſerved ſuch proofs of your amazing goodneſs;— my ſoul overflows with gratitude and love;—yet how can I atone for my paſt crimes?"—"Mention them no more, interrupted ſhe, only let me ſhare in that heart, which my want of charms denies me the hope of wholly poſſeſſing."

He anſwered only in broken ſentences, but ſuch as teſtified what ſhe wiſhed to find in him more than the moſt eloquent ſpeeches could have done. Convinced that the victory gained over him was perfect and ſincere, ſhe would have known a tranſ⯑port without alloy, but for the tender pain it gave her to find ſo much difficulty in perſuading him to forgive himſelf.

Deſirous that ſhe ſhould have nothing, for the future, to apprehend from Belinda, he immedi⯑ately wrote a letter to that lady; wherein he ac⯑quainted her, that, ſenſible of the injury he had done the beſt of wives, he was determined to purſue no pleaſures for the future in which ſhe did not par⯑ticipate. He repreſented to her the ſhame and folly of ſuch an intrigue in the moſt pathetic terms, adviſed her to think of living ſo as to regain that reputation which, he was obliged to confeſs he had contri⯑buted [46] to make her loſe; aſſured her that the reſo⯑lution he had made to ſee her no more, was not to be ſhaken by arguments, and begged ſhe would en⯑deavour to follow his example, and forget all that had paſſed between them.

Though he deſired no anſwer, he received one, filled with the moſt virulent reproaches on himſelf, and mingled with many contempuous reflections on his wife. The firſt he was unmoved at; but the other totally deſtroyed all the remains of re⯑gard and conſideration he had for her. He tore the letter into a thouſand pieces, and, to ſhew this injurious woman the contempt and reſent⯑ment with which he had treated what ſhe ſaid, ga⯑thered up the ſcattered fragments, and ſent them back to her under a ſealed cover, but without writ⯑ing a word.

Thus ended Palamon's amour with Belinda, and thus Amaſina received the happy reward of her generous and exalted conduct, by ever after poſſeſs⯑ing undivided the grateful heart of her beloved huſ⯑band.

COQUETRY, Or the Story of LADY WILDHAM.

BEWARE OF COQUETRY, ſaid the old lady of Wildham Hall, to her young niece; it is not only the moſt ungenerous, but the moſt dangerous folly, or rather vice, to which any woman can be addicted; it is deſtructive of its own purpoſes, and there is no ſurer way to make any man hate, [51] or at leaſt deſpiſe you, than firſt to encourage his addreſſes, and afterwards treat them with neglect or contempt: it is an injury, which of all others, man finds the greateſt difficulty in forgiving; con⯑quer therefore your thirſt of praiſe, and while you are affable, take care not to ſeem particular. It was the want of this prudence that has rendered above half my life, one continued round of diſ⯑quietude, that has made me an acceſſary in deeds of blood, and that gave to me, inſtead of the youth whom I had an affection for, one who was the ſcourge of my inſincerity and duplicity. I would deſire you to relate your hiſtory (ſaid the young lady) but that I fear, as you ſay it was unfortu⯑nate, the recollection may give you pain. Your deſire ſhall be gratified, (replied her aunt) in hopes that you may profit by my miſconduct, and ſubſe⯑quent misfortunes.

You know, my dear, I was the only daughter of Sir Herbert Winworth, and I believe you have heard me ſay I received my education chiefly in the country, at Derby, the family ſeat being in the vicinity of that town. It is neceſſary to inform you, that my perſon and accompliſhments made me the toaſt and admiration of all the country gentle⯑men, eſpecially the youthful and unmarried ones. I converſed in Italian and French with eaſe and volubility, had a fine voice, and took great delight in my harpſichord. My underſtanding I believe was not contemptible, and I thought it prodigious. [52] With all theſe advantages, my vanity was bound⯑leſs, my imagination romantic, and I was ſome⯑times almoſt fit to believe no man could be worthy of me, who had not killed a fiery dragon, and pulled the ſultan by the beard. You ſmile, my dear, but though my ideas might not be exactly theſe, they were very extravagant: no flattery could be too violent for me, and however I might pre⯑tend to diſbelieve, or to be diſpleaſed at hyper⯑bolical praiſe and adulation, yet thoſe who had art enough to adminiſter ſuch potions, had penetra⯑tion enough to perceive how delicious they were to my palate. Of all my admirers none had hither⯑to made ſo great a progreſs as Glanmore. Others praiſed my beauty, which was ſo univerſally ſpoken of that I never imagined it wanted any confirma⯑tion; but he told me my perſonal charms, like the glorious light of the meridian ſun, were ſeen even by idiots, when they preſumed to gaze, and which they could not do without feeling their immediate power; but as philoſophy alone had diſcovered the ſalubrious and hidden effects of that bleſſed lumi⯑nary, ſo the charms of my wit, the elegance and propriety of my remarks, the keenneſs of my ſatire, the ſweet flow of my language, and the conviction that attended all my arguments and diſcourſes were beauties which he believed very few in⯑deed were capable of properly attending to, and which he, however great his admiration might be, confeſſed himſelf an imperfect judge of. This groſs [53] flattery pleaſed me the more, becauſe young Glan⯑more was continually ſpoken of as the beſt ſcholar, and moſt ſenſible youth in the country.

My father, whoſe tenderneſs and love for me were equally viſible, and who, I believe, rated my accom⯑pliſhments as highly as any one, myſelf excepted, not⯑withſtanding his partiality, could not help obſerving the violence of my ruling paſſion. He beheld with anxiety the pleaſure I took in the ſociety of the moſt contemptible fops, and the freedoms I al⯑lowed them. He ſaw with pain the chagrin my temper was liable to if any man took the liberty of behaving with eaſe, and paying a proper regard to any other woman. He could not ſtop his ears againſt the continual egotiſm of my diſcourſe; and if praiſe was preſumed to be given to another ob⯑ject, he could not but obſerve how ready I was to introduce myſelf, and make a compariſon either to my own advantage, or by tenaciouſly diſpraiſing my abilities, when they had evidently the ſuperiori⯑ty, to force others into a vindication of them, and violently to extort flattery. No one is ever ſo ſevere⯑ly ſatirical upon perſons of this character, as they are upon themſelves, their inordinate thirſt of adu⯑lation betrays them into a thouſand fooleries, and places them perpetually in numerous ridiculous ſituations, under which they ſhrink, and bluſh, for a moment, and generally, in order to ex⯑tricate themſelves, commit ſome temporary blunder that heightens the ridicule. Be careful, therefore [54] my dear, never to introduce yourſelf into the diſ⯑courſe, either by compariſon, or inſinuation, and whenever you obſerve ſuch a propenſity, check your⯑ſelf very ſeverely, as knowing yourſelf guilty of a mental weakneſs, very unworthy of that fortitude of mind, which it is the greateſt happineſs to poſſeſs.

My father's admonitions, though given with the utmoſt gentleneſs, were exceedingly irkſome to me; I was unwilling to believe I had any one foible, and that perſon who ſpoke diſreſpectfully of coquettes was ſure to incur my diſpleaſure; nay, when I ſometimes had the courage to reaſon with myſelf concerning it, I could never be thorough⯑ly perſuaded that I had one atom of the charac⯑ter in my compoſition. The picture ſtill was perfect, and all thoſe tints which a ſevere connoiſſeur might poſſibly think too glaring, with me gently glided off into ſhades of innocent gaiety, harmleſs raillery, generous emulation, and merited praiſe.

Glanmore, who not only from motives of love and intereſt, but likewiſe from pride, purſued the little advantages he had hitherto gained, became very aſſiduous in his endeavours to obtain me. There was a certain triumph, which would have gratified his vanity, even ſuperior to every other conſideration, which was that of winning the con⯑ſent of one who had rejected ſo many, and whom ſo many were daily wiſhing to poſſeſs. The tor⯑rent of adulation, which had been daily augmented from ſo many pretty ſtreams, had rendered me in⯑ſenſible [55] as yet of any ſincere and tender attach⯑ment: my father from motives which you will eaſily gueſs, was importunate with me to marry, and Glanmore teazed me exceedingly to give him permiſſion to obtain my father's conſent for our nuptials. I knew Sir Herbert wiſhed me to marry Lord Strangely, eldeſt ſon of the earl of Wild⯑ham, who had long paid his addreſſes to me, encouraged by the countenance my father gave him, although I had conſtantly ridiculed his paſ⯑ſion, and contemned his love. Unfortunate for me that I did ſo: I have ſince ſuffered ſeverely for my injuſtice. I call it injuſtice, becauſe I think it not only weak, but ungenerous to treat any one with ſcorn becauſe they love. Our humanity ſhould in⯑ſtruct us not to add the ſting of contempt to the thorn of deſpair.

Although I felt no violence of affection for Glanmore, yet there was ſomething exceedingly pleaſing in his flattery and aſſiduity, and as his company was more agreeable to me than any other man's, I imagined that it muſt proceed from love, at leaſt I endeavoured to perſuade myſelf ſo, for I was very unwilling to ſuppoſe myſelf incapable of that paſſion, which at ſome intervals I almoſt began to ſuſpect: partly therefore from an imaginary af⯑fection, and partly from a ſuppoſition that Sir Her⯑bert would not give his conſent, and that conſe⯑quently my promiſe would be no bar to my incli⯑nations, if they ſhould happen to vary, I gave [56] Glanmore an aſſurance, if he could bring my fa⯑ther to approve of our union, my will ſhould not prove an interruption to his happineſs. He left me when I delivered this decree in his favour, with the moſt ardent proteſtations of his love, and rap⯑turous praiſes of my condeſcenſion and goodneſs, and flew to find Sir Herbert, promiſing to leave nothing unattempted, that might prevail on him to comply with his deſires.

My lover's eloquence, contrary to my expecta⯑tion, ſoon prevailed with my father. Glanmore told him that though it was true, his eſtate was not ſo extenſive, nor his rank in life ſo elevated as that of ſome others, who ſolicited the honour of becom⯑ing his ſon-in-law, yet he hoped his endeavours, when united with Sir Herbert's intereſt, might enable him to deſerve and procure a title, which, thus attained, he repreſented as being equally ho⯑nourable to being born to one. Sir Herbert's anxiety for me, joined to a deſire of having me perfectly ſatis⯑fied with the man whom I ſhould take for a huſband, together with Glanmore's abilities, made him eager for the conſummation of the nuptials, and by the conſent of all parties, they were accordingly ap⯑pointed to be celebrated in a month, as I could not, without appearing childiſh and irreſolute, obtain a longer period. I was now introduced to all Glanmore's friends, who paid him the higheſt compliments upon his choice, and I began to conſider myſelf, not without frequent intervals of [57] doubt and fear, in ſome degree, his wife; while the increaſing tenderneſs of his manner plainly proved how happy the thoughts of this alliance had made Him.

One afternoon, when Glanmore came to pay me his uſual viſit, he brought a ſtranger from London, a friend of his who had come down to ſpend a fortnight with him, and introduced him to our fa⯑mily. Here, my dear Caroline, ſaid he, when he preſented him to me, be pleaſed for my ſake to know Sir Harry Moreton, a diſtant relation of mine. He is an infidel to the Cyprian goddeſs, con⯑tinued he, laughing, and his amorous creed runs thus: "I believe not in the power of Cupid, and I deſpiſe his darts, &c." I turn him over in⯑to your hands, to puniſh him as you think proper, you will ſoon make a convert of him. Nay, anſwered I, if thoſe are your friend's tenets I deſpair: unbelievers in theſe days are as reſolute in the defence of their hereſies, notwithſtanding the badneſs of their cauſe, as the faithful them⯑ſelves, who have the light of revelation to guide them.

Madam, replied the ſtranger, although I never was, nor perhaps ever ſhall be ſo romantic as my friend Glanmore pretends to be, yet I can admire wit and beauty, without ſuperſtitiouſly adoring them, though I aſſure you I have ſeldom met ſo fine a ſubject for admiration as I behold at this inſtant.

[58]I curtſied, and Glanmore exclaimed, "Your hum⯑ble ſervant, Mr. Admirer." When Glanmore and his friend were gone, I began to ruminate upon the behaviour of the latter: my pride was bleeding; I could not bear the reflection of Sir Harry's inſo⯑lent freedom, as I thought it. Neither could I help obſerving, that his admiration turned chiefly upon himſelf, and that he was the hero of every topic of converſation, wherein he bore a part. I per⯑ceived the abſurdity of ſuch behaviour, and could not avoid applying it to my own conduct; I called him a coxcomb, and recollection of paſt incidents, joined to my preſent wounded vanity, told me in a tone, ſomething louder than a whiſ⯑per, that I was little better than a coquette. I found an uneaſineſs attending the rememberance of him and his indifference, and began to ſuſpect he was to revenge upon me ſome part of the cha⯑grin that I had inflicted upon others.

He came the next day with Glanmore, and not⯑withſtanding I took every opportunity of extorting compliments from him, and uſed every art I was miſtreſs of to heighten my charms, and awaken his attention, I found it impoſſible to fix it even for a moment upon any object but himſelf.

By repeated attacks, I found the only battery which could poſſibly be played, with any proſpect of ſucceſs, was flattery; I was weak enough to forget my former pride, and preſent engagements, and deſ⯑perate enough to reſolve if poſſible, let what would [59] be the conſequence, to make Sir Harry acknow⯑ledge my power, and bow to my charms. I ſooth⯑ed my imagination with the thought of how I would uſe him when once I had him in proper ſub⯑jection.

It is in vain, my dear, to endeavour to deſcribe the meanneſſes to which pride made me ſubmit, nor can I tell you by what unaccountable means my mind became ſo infatuated, and my affections enſlaved ſo entirely to an object, too, ſo little wor⯑thy of them: yet, thus it was; and though it was impoſſible to accuſe him of either beauty, wit, or one exalted qualification of body or mind, I was unhappy when out of his ſight, and the thoughts of my approaching nuptials filled me with the moſt gloomy horror.

How can we account for theſe things? Why is it that we ſigh and wiſh ſo earneſtly for an object, not becauſe if is worthy of ſuch affection, but becauſe we cannot obtain it? And why when by fortune or induſtry we have gained what we deſire does it im⯑mediately become indifferent to us? My only reaſon for loving Sir Harry was, becauſe it ſeemed almoſt impoſſible for me to have him. I believe this is an error to which the human mind, however capa⯑cious, is ever in ſome degree ſubject, and though, as it is therefore indubitably a wholeſome law of nature, which prompts us to activity, yet we ſhould be careful not to increaſe it in young or weak [60] minds, by continually gratifying their deſires, and flattering their perſons, or actions; unleſs with great caution, and to excite emulation.

However conceited Sir Harry might be of his ac⯑compliſhments, he was not ſo blind to his intereſt as to be indifferent about his fortune; my weak behaviour, and his own confidence of perſonal merit, ſuffici⯑ently perſuaded him of the practibility of rivaling his friend, and as this was a point which did not in the leaſt deter him, it was not long before he anſwer⯑ed my advances more warmly than I at firſt had any reaſon to expect. From one indiſcretion I pro⯑ceeded to another, and my neglect, and even con⯑tempt, of the man to whom I had promiſed to give my hand, were ſo viſible, that they could not avoid alarming his jealouſy; though the approach⯑ing criſis, mine and my father's conſent, and above all the inſignificance of his rival, contributed greatly, I ſuppoſe, towards allaying thoſe fears. An accident however happened, which entirely confirm⯑ed Glanmore's ſuſpicions.

As I could not invent any plauſible pretext for breaking off the match, and as I was reſolved, at any rate, to gratify my preſent inclinations, I had conſented to a propoſal of an elopement made by Sir Harry, and which was to have been executed the very night preceding the day appointed for my marriage. The myſterious air which Glanmore obſerved the ſervants of Sir Harry to affect, and ſome preparations they were making, for they had [61] all received private orders, made him ſuſpect there was ſomething in agitation, which he had reaſon to dread, and which was neceſſary for him to diſco⯑ver. By bribes, and promiſes, he prevailed on one of them, whom he obſerved was more loquacious and ſignificant than the reſt, to repeat the orders he had received from Sir Harry; which were that Sir Harry's people were all to retire to their beds, ſooner than uſual, where, inſtead of undreſſing them⯑ſelves, they were to wait till within a quarter of one o'clock, and then if every thing was quiet in the houſe, and Glanmore's family all in bed, they were to come down without their ſhoes, and with as little noiſe as poſſible, take Sir Harry's poſt chariot round to the corner of Sir Herbert's garden wall, and wait for their maſter, holding themſelves in readineſs for a journey.

Glanmore's paſſions were ſufficiently alarmed by this intelligence: he had no room to doubt but that Sir Harry intended to carry me off by my own conſent. Tormented and diſtracted with jea⯑louſy, hope, and fear, he at one time reſolved to come immediately, and after upbraiding me with my infidelity, acquaint my father with it alſo; then changing his intentions, he put his piſtols in his pockets to puniſh my lover for his perfidy. At laſt, however, he came to a reſolution to wait till night, and plant himſelf, and ſome friends whom he could rely on, in ſuch a ſituation as to be able to inter⯑cept us, if he found his fears confirmed, which [62] he could not yet thoroughly perſuade himſelf were true.

Various and afflictive were the tumultuous feel⯑ings of the parties concerned in the tranſactions of this unhappy night. Glanmore's conduct proved the greatneſs of his torment: Sir Harry's, I be⯑lieve, was the moſt placid: he had not ſenſibility enough to produce any violent agitation of either pain or pleaſure. As for me, the nearer the time approached, the more irreſolute and diſtracted was my mind: I never paſſed ſo horrid an interval. Sometimes my imagination repreſented to me the agony of Sir Herbert at my breach of faith and capricious conduct; at others, I beheld Glanmore upbraiding me, in all the pangs of deſpair, and hatred for my duplicity: nay ſo intolerably was I oppreſ⯑ſed with the inconſiſtency of my conduct, and the terror of my guilt, that I ſtarted up three times with an intention to deſtroy myſelf, but had not ſufficient reſolution. At length, the hour arrived, and Sir Harry entered, conducted by my maid, as had been pre-concerted: but ſo great an impreſſion had my fears made on me, that I wept, entreat⯑ed, nay, at laſt abſolutely refuſed to go. My lover was not thus to be diverted from his intentions: he reaſoned, prayed, and at length ſwore he would not be ſo deceived, and catching hold of my arm, drag⯑ged me along with him; my fears of a diſcovery prevented me from taking courage to reſiſt; whilſt [63] his impetuous and violent conduct made me ſhudder at my own.

How ſhall I deſcribe the horror of the moment, when juſt as Sir Harry was handing me into the chaiſe, he was ſeized and intercepted by Glanmore! —"Traitor!" exclaimed the injured lover, trem⯑bling with rage, and fury in his aſpect, "forego your worthleſs prize, and ſatisfy my wrongs. As for you," ſaid he to Me, darting a look of wild de⯑ſpair and terror through my ſoul, "though I ſee my folly in conteſting a ſingle moment for ſo falſe, ſo light, ſo ungenerous a woman, yet, in your pre⯑ſence, will I puniſh this inſignificant, this inſiduous coxcomb;" then giving his antagoniſt a piſtol, and telling him it was charged, without quitting his hold, bade him prepare to fire! I ſcreamed! I flew to get between them ere the dreadful exploſion! but in vain!—They both fired! they both fell!—

Good God! what tongue can tell, what pencil paint, what imagination can conceive, the wild, the tremendous deſpair of my countenance when, by the glimmering of the moon I beheld both my lovers weltering in their blood! I ſeized one of the piſtols, and with a violent blow laid myſelf ſenſeleſs for a moment on the earth; then ſtarting up, and giving a frantic ſcream, I tore my hair, and face, while the ſervants and friends of the fal⯑len, ſtood petrified with horror, unable to deter⯑mine whether what they beheld were real or no.

[64]The agitation my mind had undergone for ſome hours was ſo increaſed, by this ſhocking tranſaction, that I was carried home in violent hyſterics, which were ſucceeded by weakneſſes and faintings to ſuch a degree, that it was thought at one time my life was in great danger. The youth and ſtrength of my conſtitution, together with the almoſt miracu⯑lous news of the recovery of both the combatants, overcame my diſorder; the ball of each had for⯑tunately taken place in the ſhoulder, and by that means eſcaped a vital part.

Ever after this dreadful night the image of Sir Harry was accompanied with pain and diſguſt, and Glanmore, inſtead of ever renewing his claim, was frequently heard to declare, that he deemed himſelf exceedingly happy in having eſcaped an indiſſolu⯑ble connexion with a woman who was capable of ſo much injuſtice and ingratitude: for indeed he had been a very warm and aſſiduous lover, and afterwards proved himſelf a tender and indulgent huſband.

We have ſince regarded each other with a ſigh, tho' I had far the greateſt reaſon, as my father, after this affair, peremptorily inſiſted upon my giving my hand to Strangely, who was now become earl of Wild⯑ham, and had renewed his addreſſes to me, but who, after his firſt tranſports, has continually up⯑braided me with my ſlights to him and crimes to others. Therefore I repeat, BEWARE OF CO⯑QUETRY.

INTEMPERANCE, Or the Journey of AZIBAH, in ſearch of the Salutiferous Fountain.

TOWARDS the concluſion of the twelfth year of the reign of Hallam, monarch of Indoſtan, Ozmah, captain of the palace guards, came into the chamber of [...], the ſon of Hedan, near the time of the [83] ſecond prayer, and ſaid: "Azibah, ſon of Hedan, I wiſh the command I am going to execute, may prove advantageous to thee. Give me thy ſabre, and follow me to the ſultan; for ſuch is his plea⯑ſure." The moment Azibah heard theſe words, he fell proſtrate, and, after imploring the protec⯑tion of the Prophet, ſaid to Ozmah, put thy hand upon my head; the Sultan is maſter of my life, and I am his ſlave! At the ſame time he delivered up his ſabre and followed him. At the bottom of the ſtairs, ten guards were poſted, who environed Azibah, and conducted him into the preſence of Hallam.

The monarch had with him Serah, general of his forces, and Naran, chief of the Imans. Oz⯑mah preſented him Azibah's ſword, and ſaid: Light of the faithful, Azibah, without the leaſt reſiſtance, hath ſubmitted himſelf to thy orders: may thine enemies imitate his example. Though Azibah, was not conſcious of having offended, yet his ſpirits were ſeized with terror: he, however, armed him⯑ſelf, ſo as to prevent any appearance of it, in his countenance. As ſoon as the Sultan ſaw Azibah at his feet, he ſaid, "Son of Hedan, let us fall down before Him, who never dies." Theſe words increaſed the terror of Azibah. The Sultan, the General, the Iman, the Captain of the Guards, kneeled down, bowed their faces towards the ground, and glorified the Prophet. Azibah, uncertain of his fate, thus implored the protection [84] of Mahomet: "If my reſolutions were ſincere when I went to pay honour to thy ſhrine, and to bedew with my tears the holy mount Arafat; if I have made it hitherto the chief delight of my mine eyes, to read over the divine book, be now my ſupport. The computation of my days will ſoon perhaps expire. I already ſee the dark and frightful angel ready to receive me. Remember the faith I re⯑poſe in thee. There is only one God, and thou art his Prophet."

Prayer being ended, the Sultan roſe up; and, turning towards Azibah, ſaid, "Son of Hedan, I have reſolved upon making thee undertake a long voyage; bow down thine head."—"Father of Muſſelmen," anſwered Azibah, "the voyage will be certainly long, and without return, which we muſt all expect to make at different times. May the moſt mighty and merciful God multiply thy years." Having pronounced theſe words, he ſtretched forth his neck to meet the fatal ſtroke. The Sultan drew the ſabre, and extended his arm; but inſtead of ſevering Azibah's head from his body, he re⯑turned the blade into its ſheath. Such unexpect⯑ed clemency drew from the aſſiſtants loud accla⯑mations of joy. Azibah again opened his eyes, which darkneſs, the forerunner of death, had alrea⯑dy cloſed: and Hallam, with a pleaſant aſpect, em⯑braced him. Having placed him between Naran and Serah, over-againſt his ſopha, he made ſigns for Serah to ſpeak to him.

[85]"My lord, ſaid Serah, I have talked with a man, who was three hundred and forty years old, who had ten more to live. He was oppreſſed with chains, in the King of Golconda's camp, after his defeat; and the victory you obtained, over that Prince, gave this perſon his liberty. I detained him three days, which hardly ſufficed to relate the revo⯑lutions he had ſeen, during the courſe of his long life. I did not think proper to keep him any longer, ſo I gave him ten roupees, with liberty to go where he pleaſed. He was a native of Bengal, and was called the old-man of that place. His eyes were much ſunk, his voice was clear, his hair and beard nicely combed out, and as white as ſnow. Though his viſage was full of wrinkles, it was en⯑livened with a florid red, and eaſily might one diſ⯑cover in it that gaiety which naturally accompa⯑nies perfect health. Being aſked, what means he uſed to attain ſo very advanced an age; he told me his father, who lived till he was three hundred and fifty years old, had bequeathed three doſes of the water brought from the iſland of Borico, by virtue of which, he had been thrice reſtored to his former youth. I cautiouſly deſired him to tell me, in what part of the world this iſland was, and whether it was permitted to obtain any of the water of this fountain of life. He proteſted, he could not anſwer either of the queſtions, and that he had ſeveral times propoſed the ſame demands to his father, but never could be ſa⯑tisfied in them. I then ſtrenuouſly preſſed him to in⯑form [86] me, by what means his father had found out ſo ſurpriſing a water: he always made anſwer, it was a preſent from VICHNOU, a god to whom he had for a long time ſacrificed to. This, my Lord, was all I could gather from the old man. So fabulous a concluſion did not a little contribute to make me deſpiſe him; for, after what manner ſoever I queſtioned him, he ſtill perſiſted in the ſame ſtory."

The Sultan, perceiving Serah had done ſpeaking, looked ſtedfaſtly on Azibah, and ſaid to him: "Son of Hedan, if the voyage I ſeemed to threaten thee with, could not make thee afraid, why ſhouldeſt thou dread going to the iſland of Borico in my ſervice?" "Moſt potent of Kings," anſwered Azibah, "I fear none on earth but thee. This inſtant, I will depart to ſearch every corner of the world, and, if I fail to bring thee the water thou deſireſt, then ſever my head from my body, and end the life of a creature, no longer worthy to live." The Sultan, having ſtrictly charged all preſent to conceal the ſecret, ordered Naran to provide every thing neceſſary for the journey.

The next morning, as ſoon as Aurora had with⯑drawn the curtains of the eaſt, and painted the mountain tops with glowing purple, Azibah left the city of Agra, and joined a caravan, going to Cam⯑baye. He had no equipage, and his dreſs but ordi⯑nary, though he carried about him, in gold and jewels, more than the value of a common city. He generally let the company paſs on before him, that he might enjoy the greater liberty of reflecting on [87] the method of executing his commiſſion. He was extremely penſive, for he was perſuaded of the im⯑poſſibility of ſucceſs, and, therefore, looked upon the expedition, as a baniſhment. "I am going, ſaid he to himſelf, to wander I know not whither, in ſearch of a fountain which has, perhaps, no exiſtence. And, even if it have, I am entirely ignorant of the coun⯑try in which it is ſituated; and am now, perhaps, travelling the direct oppoſite way." Theſe diſcou⯑raging thoughts, however, at laſt, began to give way to more pleaſing ſenſations, and he determined either to find the fountain, or convince himſelf that all ſearch was in vain. He had not travelled three days, with the caravan, before he perceived he was not the only perſon who had avoided company to indulge reflection. A young man, well mounted, of a very agreeable aſpect, ſeemed to be much in the ſame melancholy mood as he himſelf was.

To meet with companions in misfortune, alle⯑viates our grief. Azibah was greatly pleaſed to find an aſſociate in affliction, and determined to make him acquainted with the nature of his jour⯑ney. Azibah approached him, and, after a ſhort converſation on general ſubject, ſaid to him, "Sir, I perceive that your ſpirits are oppreſſed by the hand of affliction: mine are alſo in the ſame condi⯑tion. Let us therefore mutually impart to each other the cauſes, from which our afflictions flow; perhaps each may derive advantage from the coun⯑ſel of the other." To this, Sebah, (which was the [88] name of the young man) readily conſenting, Azi⯑bah acquainted him with the commands he had re⯑ceived from the Sultan; intimating, at the ſame time, that he looked upon the fountain of Borico, as a mere chimera.

Sebah liſtened with attention to Azibah's rela⯑tion, and after a minute's ſilence, ſaid, "Sir, I have accidentally acquired ſome knowledge of the ſitua⯑tion of that famous fountain, which I ſhall gladly impart to you. I am the ſon of Rephan, a phyſi⯑cian, well known in Sciras. And I need not ac⯑quaint you, that all the youths of that city delight in dancing, or playing on ſome inſtrument. One evening, when the heats of the ſeaſon rendered the night more pleaſant than the day, I left my father's houſe, to enjoy the refreſhing breeze, and played on a flagelet, as I paſſed along the ſtreets. In my re⯑turn home, I heard the window of a ſpacious houſe open, and, directing mine eyes towards the place, I ſaw, by means of the light of the moon, which was then ſhining in her greateſt ſplendor, a moſt beautiful lady, who ſeemed to liſten to my muſic very attentively. Pleaſed with the adventure, I ſtood ſtill▪ [...] continued playing, till ſhe withdrew; which wa [...] [...]ot till ſome conſiderable time after I firſt ſaw her. I took particular notice of the houſe, determining to return the ſucceeding evening; but, juſt as I reached home, an arrow paſſed whizzing by my ear; I ſtarted, and looking back, perceived a man making towards me, armed with a bow in [89] his left-hand, and a long javelin in his right. As he approached, he cried out, "Traitor! though I have miſſed thee once, I ſhall be more fortunate a ſecond time!" Seeing him alone, I took courage, drew my ſabre, and, having happily parried his thruſt, gave him two wounds in the breaſt. He inſtantly dropped, and begged his life; telling me, he was ſon to the Baſhaw of Sciras. I immedi⯑ately ſent a ſurgeon to his aſſiſtance; but, knowing I had every thing to fear from the fury of his father, I ſtayed no longer in the city, than to provide my⯑ſelf with a horſe and money.

I followed the high-road, till nature, overwhelmed with fatigue, required repoſe, when I quitted it, and took a path between two mountains, the end of which terminated in a wood. Alighting, and tying my horſe to the branch of a cedar, I laid myſelf down at the foot of a large palm-tree, and ſlept till Aurora viſited the earth with her enlivening beams. On my waking, I was much ſurpriſed to hear the voice of a man ſpeaking in the following manner:

"Now is the precious hour, child, that the genii appear under different forms to Princes who de⯑light in executing juſtice, and to tyrants who de⯑ſerve puniſhment. O child! couldeſt thou, as clearly as I, look into the events of this moment, then wouldeſt thou behold ſome employed in the dark ſhades of Mezanderan, to drive the lions and tygers from their dens, in defence of the innocent in op⯑preſſion; [90] and admire the facility of others, in ren⯑dering the hydras and griffins tame and familiar."

I had no longer patience to liſten to ſo ſtrange a diſcourſe, without being curious to ſee the perſon that delivered it. Advancing ſoftly, from one tree to another, I came to a pretty thick grove of lau⯑rels, where, concealing myſelf, I had the advantage of diſcovering, without being perceived, a grave old man, dreſſed in a long brown robe, and a young maid ſitting near him, in a blue veil, which co⯑vered every part of her, except her face and hands. Her eyes were modeſtly fixed on the old man, whom ſhe ſeemed liſtening to, with great attention. I ſhewed myſelf, and by that means interrupted their converſation. At my appearance, the young maid drew her veil over her face, and the old man aroſe and met me. "You behold, ſaid I, a traveller diſ⯑treſſed by hunger and fatigue, compelled to crave your aſſiſtance." "By Ali! replied he, thou art moſt heartily welcome; the ſages were never unhoſ⯑pitable. The charity I ſhew you, will ſerve as a new inſtruction for my daughter. Go, refreſh your⯑ſelf in our retreat, we will join you in an hour." He ſhewed me, at the ſame time, a little path, which conducted me, after ſeveral turnings, into a grotto.

Though the entrance was very narrow and ob⯑ſcure, yet it was ſufficiently light within, and con⯑tained ſeveral apartments. A ſlave, to whom I declared my diſtreſs, and the charitable intention of his maſter, ſet before me raiſins, piſtachoes, freſh [91] dates, white bread, and an excellent liquor from the palm-tree. Whilſt I was employed in ſatisfying the cravings of nature, I deſired him to go in ſearch of my horſe, deſcribing, as well as I could, the place where I left it. The ſlave accordingly de⯑parted; and, after I had eaten and drank ſufficiently, my curioſity prompted me to viſit every corner of ſo romantic a habitation. The moſt remote ca⯑vity of the grotto formed a cabinet, filled with books, taliſmans, and figures of all kinds of plants and animals. Here I amuſed myſelf for ſome time, and caſting my eyes towards the farther part of the cavity, I ſaw, againſt the rock, the following in⯑ſcription, in letters of gold: "Reader, whoever thou art, that haſt been favoured to approach this ſecret receſs of the ſages, ponder this, and be wiſe. Reverence the moſt High, ſeek wiſdom, love mercy, and be a ſhield of defence to the innocent.—Then ſhall thy years be prolonged, unaſſiſted by the wa⯑ters of Borico; nor ſhall any plagues or misfor⯑tunes approach thine habitation." While I was attentively peruſing this inſcription, the old man approached me, ſaying, "Son, let the precepts of that writing be engraven, in living characters, on the table of thy memory." I thanked him for his kind advice, and deſired him to explain what was meant by the waters of Borico. "My ſon, ſaid he, in the kingdom of Sofala, in Africa, is a large lake, in the midſt of which are ſeveral iſlands, and particularly one much larger than the reſt, called [92] Borico. In this iſland is a fountain, whoſe nature is endued with the amazing property of reſtoring youth to thoſe who drink of it. On the borders of this fountain grow many beautiful trees, which fill the air with a delightful fragrance, and are always loaded with the moſt delicious fruits. But the paſ⯑ſage to this fountain is guarded by leopards, ſo that it is almoſt impoſſible to approach it."

The old man having finiſhed his explanation of this myſtery, after returning him my thanks for his kindneſs and hoſpitality, I took my leave of him, mounted my horſe, and, after wandering a long time through unknown parts, I had the good for⯑tune to join this caravan, and to find in it a compa⯑nion in misfortunes. Azibah liſtened with the ut⯑moſt attention to Sebah's narrative, being agreeably ſurpriſed at ſo unexpected a diſcovery, and deter⯑mined to direct his courſe to Africa, in ſearch of the fountain of Borico.

At their arrival at Cambaye, Sebah was informed, that the Baſhaw's ſon was not only recovered from his wounds, but alſo become his friend. On hear⯑ing this agreeable news, Sebah ſet out on his return to Sciras, and Azibah, having procured a ſhip, ſailed for the coaſt of Africa. After a long and tedious ſearch through uninhabited deſerts, he had the good fortune to diſcover the lake, in the midſt of which the iſland Borico was ſituated. Being arrived at the ſide of the lake, he prevailed on ſome fiſhermen to carry him to the iſland. They did all in their [93] power to diſſuade him from ſuch a raſh attempt, by aſſuring him that it was only inhabited by wild beaſts, from which it would be impoſſible for him to eſcape. Theſe reaſons were loſt on Azibah, he perſiſted in his reſolution; and the fiſhermen, find⯑ing it in vain to oppoſe him, landed him on the iſland.

Here he wandered, ſeeking in vain the ſalutife⯑rous fountain. Deſpairing of ſucceſs, he ſet him⯑ſelf down in a valley, and fell aſleep. When he awaked, he beheld a beautiful lady dreſſed in the habit of the country, approaching him; who, with a great deal of ſweetneſs, aſked him what he ſought. He acquainted her with the commands of the Sul⯑tan, and the reaſons which induced him to come thither in ſearch of the fountain. "Since you con⯑ſult me, anſwered ſhe, it will be your own fault, if you do not ſucceed. As you go out of this val⯑ley, you will find a cryſtal ſtream flowing from a beautiful fountain, and diſcharging itſelf into a large river, not far diſtant from its ſource. At the bottom of the fountain you will find a little blue pebble, which you muſt not fail to take up; then follow the ſtream, till you arrive at the river, and direct your courſe along the bank of it, till it divides itſelf into two branches, and forms an iſland, or rather garden, in the middle of which is the ſalutiferous fountain. Over an arm of the ri⯑ver, there is a marble bridge; its paſſage is defended by twenty-ſeven leopards. Before you come in [94] ſight of them, put the little blue pebble in your mouth, and paſs boldly over the bridge, for the pebble will render you inviſible. When you approach the foun⯑tain, take up what water you intend, and return immediately. But be careful not to eat of the fruits of luxuriant trees growing on the margin of the fountain." The lady, after uttering theſe words, difappeared; and Azibah took the path ſhe directed.

The fountain, the pebble, the river, the bridge, and the leopards preſented themſelves ſucceſſively to his view. As he entered the garden, he was ſa⯑luted with an odour inexpreſſibly raviſhing, pro⯑ceeding from the flowers and fruits, which it pro⯑duced in the greateſt profuſion. Near the margin of the ſalutiferous fountain was a tree eminently taller than the reſt, loaded with fruit of ſo enchant⯑ing an aſpect, that even imagination itſelf can hardly paint any thing ſo beautiful. Azibah, un⯑able to withſtand the temptation, took the pebble but of his mouth, plucked off the fruit, and began to eat. The taſte was delicious and enchanting; but, alas! the pleaſure was but of ſhort duration. The leopards now caſt their furious eyes upon him, made towards him with incredible ſwiftneſs, and were juſt on the point of tearing him to pieces, when the lady, who had before directed him, ſud⯑denly appeared. At her preſence, theſe fierce crea⯑tures returned to their ſtation, and Azibah proſ⯑trated himſelf at her feet, endeavouring to expreſs his repentance and gratitude. "You are now, [95] ſaid ſhe, loſt to all hopes of ſucceſs; acknowledge your fault, and ſpend the remainder of your life in ſolitude." Having ſaid this, ſhe took him by the hand, and, after conducting him beyond the bridge, charged him to return the ſame way that he came, and to put the pebble in its place, as he paſſed by the fountain; which he had no ſooner done, than the whole vaniſhed from his ſight; neither bridge, river, nor fountain were any longer viſible; and, to add to his aſtoniſhment, he found himſelf on the top of the mountain of Arafat.

Thus was the unfortunate Azibah, through his own folly, diſappointed, when he thought the object, he had purſued through ſo many difficulties, within his reach. And hence we ſhould learn to govern our paſſions and appetites; for, if we ſuffer them to prevail, all our reſolution, aſſiduity, and perſeverance, in any undertaking, will be rendered abortive. Health, honour, and reputation will be ſacrificed to the gratification of ſome mean and unworthy paſ⯑ſion; and, like Azibah, for the momentary pleaſure of taſting one delicious morſel, loſe the ſalutiferous waters of Borico.

WEALTH and its CONSEQUENCES.

I WAS the ſecond ſon of a wealthy gentleman, who reſerved the bulk of his fortune for my elder brother, ſo that my only proviſion was a tolerable education, and a commiſſion in the army: but being ſoon weary of a ſoldier's life, I ſold out at the com⯑mencement of the preſent American war, and though my fortune ariſing from that ſale was but inconſider⯑able, I pleaſed myſelf with the idea of independence, and determined to enjoy it, by living within my income. Take away ſuch a determination, and there can be no true independence in the moſt affluent circumſtances.

My father had by this time reſigned his breath; I had no parental home to which I could retire, and therefore ſet up my reſt in a country town, where I had been formerly quartered with my regiment, and had made ſome agreeable acquaintances. There I paſſ⯑ed my time according to my heart's deſire.—I fiſhed, fowled, and hunted with the gentlemen of the neigh⯑bourhood, who entertained me in their houſes with [97] the moſt cordial hoſpitality. I walked, I chatted, I danced, and played at cards with their wives and daughters. Delightful excurſions and amuſing par⯑ties of pleaſure were planned and executed every day. The time ſtole away inſenſibly: I knew no care; I felt no diſorder; I inherited from nature a vigorous conſtitution, a happy ſerenity of temper, and was diſtinguiſhed among my friends as the beſt humoured fellow in the world.

In the midſt of theſe enjoyments, my heart was touched by the amiable qualities of a young lady, who was content to unite her fate with mine, con⯑trary to the inclination, and without the conſent of her father, who poſſeſſed a very large fortune. He reſented her marriage with ſuch perſeverance of in⯑dignation, as never to admit her into his preſence; nor even at his death forgave her for the ſtep ſhe had taken. His diſpleaſure, however, affected us the leſs, as we found happineſs in our mutual paſſion, and knew no wants, for my wife inherited from an aunt a legacy of eighteen hundred pounds, the in⯑tereſt of which, together with my little income, was ſufficient to anſwer our deſires.

We found great ſatisfaction in contriving plans for living ſnug upon our income, and enjoyed un⯑ſpeakable pleaſure in executing the ſcheme to which we had given the preference. Chance preſented us with an opportunity to purchaſe a ſmall, though neat and convenient houſe, with about twenty acres of land, in an agreeable rural ſituation, and there our [98] time was parcelled out in a ſucceſſion of taſks, for improving a large farm that we rented, and culti⯑vating a ſweet little garden, laid out on a gentle ſlope, the foot of which was watered by a branching rivulet of pure, tranſparent water. Although heaven had not thought proper to indulge us with children, we were favoured with every other ſubſtantial bleſ⯑ſing, and every other circumſtance of rural oeco⯑nomy proved a ſource of wealth and ſatisfaction.

The labours of the field, the little domeſtic cares of the barn-yard, the poultry, and the dairy, were productive of ſuch delights as none of your readers, except thoſe who are enamoured of a country life, will conceive. I cannot remember thoſe peaceful ſcenes of innocence and tranquillity without regret; they often haunt my imagination, like the ghoſt of de⯑parted happineſs. Within the boſom of this charm⯑ing retreat we lived, in a ſtate of uninterrupted en⯑joyment, until our felicity was invaded by two unex⯑pected events, at which, I am afraid, we ſhall always have cauſe to repine. My nephew, who had ſucceeded to my father's eſtate, died of the ſmall⯑pox; and a few weeks after this incident, my wife's only brother broke his neck in leaping a five barred gate; ſo that we found ourſelves, all at once, in poſſeſſion of a very opulent fortune, and violently tranſported from that ſituation for which our tempers had been ſo well adapted.

In the firſt flutter and agitation of mind, occa⯑ſioned by this unhoped for acceſſion, we quitted our [99] romantic ſolitude, and ruſhed into all the pageantry of high life. Thus irreſiſtibly carried away by the vortex of diſſipation, we grew giddy in a whirl of unnatural diverſions; we became enamoured of tinſel liveries, equipage, and all the frippery of faſhion. Inſtead of tranquillity, health, a continued flow of ſatisfaction, and a ſucceſſion of rational de⯑lights, which we formerly derived from temperance, exerciſe, the ſtudy of nature, and the practice of benevolence, we now taſted no pleaſure but what conſiſted in the gratification of idle vanity, and were toſſed for ever on a ſea of abſurd amuſements, by ſuch loud ſtorms of riot and tumult, as drowned the voice of reaſon and reflection, and overwhelmed all the beſt faculties of the ſoul. We deſerted na⯑ture, ſentiment, and true taſte, to lead a weary life of affectation, folly, and intemperance: our ſenſes became ſo depraved, that our eyes were capti⯑vated with glitter, and our ears with clamour; while our fancy dwelt with pleaſure on every gew-gaw of gothic extravagance. We entertained gueſts whom we deſpiſed; we viſited friends whom we did not love, and invited company whom we could not eſteem. We drank wines that we could not reliſh, and ate victuals which we could not digeſt. We frequented concerts which we did not underſtand, plays which we did not like, and diverſions which we could not enjoy. Our houſe might have been termed the Temple of Uproar. Card tables were the ſhrines, and the votaries [100] ſeemed agitated by the daemons of envy, ſpite, rage, vexation, and deſpair. In a word—all was farce and form. All was a phantaſm, and a hideous dream of incoherent abſurdities.

Theſe pleaſures, like brandy to a dram-drinker, have loſt their effect; we have waked from the in⯑toxication, to a due ſenſe of our miſerable condi⯑tion; for the vigour both of mind and body is quite impaired. With reſpect to each other, we find our⯑ſelves in a ſtate of mutual diſguſt; and all the en⯑joyments of life we either taſte with indifference, or reject with loathing. For my own part, I am over⯑whelmed with what the French call Pennui, a diſ⯑temper for which there is not a name in the Engliſh language. It may be underſtood, however, from the following lines of the poet—

It is not a common vacancy of thought, or an ordi⯑nary languor of the nerves, that I labour under, but a confirmed imbecillity of mind, and a want of reliſh, attended with a thouſand uneaſineſſes, which render life almoſt inſupportable. I ſleep without refreſhment; I am fatigued without labour; I am ſcarce riſen when I wiſh the day was done; and when night comes, I long for morning. I eat without appetite, and drink without exhilaration: [101] exerciſe affords no ſpirits; converſation no amuſe⯑ment; reading no entertainment, and diverſion no pleaſure. It is not from affectation, but an ac⯑quired inſenſibility, that I ſee Falſtaff without a ſmile, and The Orphan without emotion. I endea⯑vour to kill the time by ſhifting continually the ſcene of diſſipation, but I am cloſe purſued by diſguſt: all is diſappointment, inſipid, nauſeous, or ſhocking. My temper is grown ſo fretful and peeviſh, that I quarrel by turns with my ſervants and myſelf; even ſhe who was once the delight of my eyes, and the joy of my heart, is now become the ſubject of per⯑petual diſquiet. I harbour wiſhes which I dare not approve: my heart palpitates with paſſions which I am aſhamed to avow. I am tormented by a thou⯑ſand petty grievances, which riſe like angry tu⯑mours, from the ebullitions of a ſoured diſpoſition; and incidents that would move the mirth of other men, are to me productive of choler and anxiety.

I have given this account of myſelf, as a leſſon which I fear mankind will not learn, as a warning of dangers into which, whenever they have an opportunity, they will too eagerly ruſh. I ſpeak this generally, for I confeſs I am not with⯑out hope, that ſome very, very few, may be wiſe enough to profit by my example, and either be happy in mediocrity, or employ the redundancies of riches to better purpoſes, than in ſupplying the fooliſh and incoherent whims and caprices of faſhionable folly.

FORTITUDE, Or the ſingular Adventures of ABOULFAOUARIS, ſurnamed the GREAT TRAVELLER. PART I.

I AM the ſon of a maſter of a ſhip of Baſra, and my name is Aboulfaouaris. My father, ever ſince my infancy, made me attend him in the voy⯑ages he made in the Indian ſeas: ſo that, at twelve years old, I knew a great many of the iſlands that lie in the vaſt extent of them. He grew wealthy, employed his money in trade, and in leſs than ten years became one of the richeſt merchants of Baſra.

One day he ſaid to me, ſon, I have an important account to ſettle with my correſpondent at the iſle [105] of Ceylon: I am reſolved to ſend you into that country to make an end of the affair. Whatever regret I might have to leave my father, the deſire I had of ſeeing the famous city of Serendib made me accept the commiſſion he offered me with joy: indeed I had been there before, but was not then advanced enough in years to make obſervations on its beauty. I ſet out in a ſhort time, and embarked in the port of Baſra.

We had the good fortune to reach Ceylon with⯑out any miſchievous accident. The firſt thing I did was to enquire for my father's correſpondent. There was no body in the city of Serendib who did not know Signior Habib: he was one of the richeſt traders of all the iſland, and a very honeſt man. He gave me ſuch a reception, as I might expect from the beſt friend my father had.

As he perfectly underſtood buſineſs, and meant to do nothing but what was juſt, we finiſhed our ac⯑counts in a few days. At leiſure hours I viewed the rarities of the city, which are numerous: I in⯑ſtructed myſelf in the laws of the people, their oc⯑cupations and government. In ſhort, at the end of five or ſix weeks, my affairs being over, and my curioſity fully ſatisfied, I prepared for my return, and waited not long for an opportunity. A veſſel of Surat, which had arrived at Serendib to exchange goods, was ready to put to ſea, and I was to em⯑bark in her.

[106]The day before my departure, as I was returning to my hoſt about noon, a lady paſſed by, finely ſhaped, richly cloathed, and followed by a ſlave, who carried ſome things that ſhe had been buying. A thick veil ſcreened the beauty of her face, but I was ſtruck with the grandeur of her air, and the majeſty of her mien. I ſtopt to conſider her, and could not forbear crying out in my tranſport; What a lovely creature! ſhe is without doubt the king's miſtreſs. She ſtopt with ſome ſurpriſe, and looked upon me very earneſtly; then continued her walk, without appearing to be either pleaſed or diſpleaſed with the freedom I had taken. I pauſed a good while, reflecting on the circumſtance; and, much agi⯑tated by the emotions ſhe had cauſed in me, began to feel what I had never felt before.

Wholly filled with this idea, a ſlave accoſted me. I remembered to be the ſame that followed the lady: and the ſight of him redoubled my concern: What would you have with me, friend? ſaid I. Sir, anſwered he, with great reſpect, I have orders to deſire you to follow, where I ſhall have the ho⯑nour to conduct you. If you come from your miſ⯑treſs, replied I, altogether amazed, I ſhall ſubmit to her commands; I will readily obey them, whatever fate is prepared for me. My miſtreſs, anſwered the ſlave, hath not intruſted me with her intentions; but if you comply with her requeſt, I cannot believe you will repent it.

[107]In vain did I repreſent to myſelf that I was to ſet off next day, and ought to think of nothing but my departure. I followed the ſlave in ſpite of all that might happen; he led me through unfrequented ſtreets, till we came to a palace: then conducted me to a ſpacious apartment, magnificently furniſhed, and deſired me to wait. I was too much affected to buſy myſelf about any thing I ſaw; I thought of nothing but the miſtreſs of the palace.

At laſt ſhe appeared, and I found her as beauti⯑ful as her ſhape had promiſed: her jewels and dreſs added to her charms, which, indeed, had little need of their aſſiſtance. I was confounded — ſhe per⯑ceived it and ſmiled; then placed herſelf upon a ſofa, like a little throne, while her women ranked themſelves upon the right and left.

Come near young gentleman, ſaid ſhe, with great ſweetneſs; you ſeem to be a ſtranger: I will ven⯑ture to tell you, that the ſtars incline me to wiſh you well. Should you render yourſelf deſerving of my good opinion, I may give you leave to aſpire to pleaſe me.

Ah, my ſultaneſs! cried I, throwing myſelf at her feet, do I underſtand you right? To what pitch of fortune are you pleaſed to raiſe a ſtranger, who hath no other merit than to acknowledge you adorable? So much the better, ſaid ſhe, interrupting me, the favour will be the greater, the [...] believe you merit it. Inform me of w [...] country you [108] are, what your birth, and upon what account you came to Serendib.

I fully ſatisfied her curioſity; but when I ſaid I was to go on board the next day, in order to return home, ſhe diſcovered great concern. What, Aboul⯑faouaris, ſaid ſhe, hare you a deſign to depart ſo ſoon? Hath not the fineſt iſland of the Indies, charms enough to detain you longer? Princeſs, replied I, the city of Serendib, without doubt, can engage eyes more difficult to pleaſe than mine; but what won⯑ders ſoever are to be ſeen within the compaſs of theſe walls, I ſhould withdraw myſelf without diffi⯑culty, if this day had not offered to my ſight what is more capable of detaining me. You no longer continue then, replied the lady ſmiling, in the reſo⯑lution of a ſudden departure? After the glorious hopes, anſwered I, that you give me reaſon to conceive, think you, my queen, that I can have other inclinations than what you are pleaſed to in⯑ſpire me with?—You cannot fail, ſaid ſhe, with ſen⯑timents like theſe, to pleaſe me.

Having ſaid this, ſhe bade me ſit down on the ſofa: I made ſome difficulty, till ſhe ſaid my refuſal would diſpleaſe her. She then informed me her name was Canzada; that ſhe was daughter to one of the prime viſiers of the king of Ceylon; that the death of her father had given her the right to diſpoſe of herſelf; that the firſt lords of the country had paid her their addreſſes, but that ſhe was yet diſengaged. She told me likewiſe that my perſon [109] had ſtruck her; that her father had amaſſed immenſe riches; and that it would be my own fault if I re⯑fuſed to ſhare them with her.

I returned my acknowledgments to her in the moſt ſubmiſſive terms. Our converſation was in⯑terrupted by the arrival of twelve ſlaves, who pre⯑ſently covered the table with the moſt exquiſite fruits. Canzada made me ſit down by her: we began to eat, and ſhe helped me to the moſt excellent. The variety and delicacy of the wines anſwered to that of the proviſions: they ſparkled in cups of cryſtal, but animated me much leſs than the looks of the lady, who, preſenting a cup to me with a ſmiling air, kindled a flame in my heart, which increaſed every moment.

During the repaſt, her converſation was very lively; the pleaſantry of her humour added new graces to it. Every time that ſhe offered me wine, her beautiful lips taſting firſt, rendered it ſtill more delicious; I took the cup with tranſport, and as I drank the liquor, ſwallowed the ſweet poiſon of love.

At the end of the repaſt, Canzada's women di⯑vided themſelves into two companies; ſome ſinging, others dancing. While they were chanting their ſoft airs, the eyes of Canzada and mine ſpoke in dumb language the moſt tender and delicate ſenti⯑ments.

Night coming on, I would have taken leave of the lady: how, ſaid ſhe to me, with an air of diſſa⯑tisfaction, do you think of leaving me? After the [110] aſſurances you have given me of having no other will than mine, could I expect ſo ill a compliment? For a man in love, your impatience ſeems very ſur⯑priſing. Ah madam! cried I, how ill you interpret the ſentiments of my heart! This reception, of which I appear not to know the value, raiſes the ſofteſt ideas in my ſoul. I fear to abuſe your favours, and you ſhould rather pity me for the conflict I feel in offering to quit you. You deſerve little pity, replied ſhe, for a conflict you might have avoided; ſuch an over-diſcretion is to be ſuſpected; I would not adviſe you to think it meritorious. How, ma⯑dam, ſaid I, could I flatter myſelf that you had deſ⯑tined me to paſs the night in your palace?

In the midſt of all the ſatisfaction her goodneſs had procured me, I could not deny but that I was uneaſy. I related to her the reception that my hoſt had given me at my arrival at Serendib, re⯑preſenting to her that he was moſt certainly in great uneaſineſs concerning me.

Canzada agreed that I ought to ſend to Habib, but ſhe would not permit me to go myſelf: ſhe only gave me leave to write to him, but at the ſame time forbade me to give him the leaſt hint of my adven⯑ture. Her diſtruſt was ſo great, that ſhe dictated the letter; and I could only acquaint him, that ſome important buſineſs had retarded my departure, and deprived me of the happineſs of ſeeing him for ſome days, and that I deſired he would be under no apprehenſions on my account.

[111]Pleaſed that I had put off my departure, ſhe led me into the ſeveral apartments of her palace, and ſhewed me a magnificence that ſeemed worthy of a prime viſier. When the hour of reſt came on, ſhe conducted me to an apartment prepared for me. She left me, and was no ſooner gone, but ſlaves, who were commanded to attend me, brought every thing that was proper for the occaſion, and put me to bed.

When I found myſelf alone, and at liberty to re⯑flect ſeriouſly on this adventure, I ſaid to myſelf, What will all this come to? How richly this pa⯑lace is furniſhed! Can I ever hope to be poſſeſſed of the lady? No, Aboulfaouaris, no; this was never deſigned for thee; ceaſe to flatter thyſelf: theſe are ſnares which fortune hath laid, and thou wilt pre⯑ſently find them vaniſhing like a dream, and deceiving thee in thoſe ideas of greatneſs and pleaſure, which thou imagineſt are reſerved for thee.

This thought failed not to diſturb me. In a mi⯑nute after, I fancied it was wrong to alarm myſelf; that Canzada could have no intereſt to deceive me, and therefore that I ought not to ſuſpect her kind⯑neſs: that the behaviour of her people had appear⯑ed to me very ſincere and natural; and that I had obſerved, by her eyes, ſhe was touched with a real paſſion for me: ſo that ſometimes repoſing an entire confidence in her, and ſometimes giving way to my fears, like a veſſel agitated by two contrary winds, I paſſed the whole night without a moment of reſt.

[112]Break of day ſurpriſed me, while I was yet re⯑flecting with great concern on what had employed me in the night: the ſun ſhone into my apartment, and made the rich furniture glitter: dazled by the brightneſs, I looked upon the palace as one of thoſe enchanted caſtles, where magic art, getting the conqueſt of nature, boaſts the vaſt extent of its power. I got up, and preſently the ſlaves hearing me walk, came into the room with magnificent robes; I took one of green ſilk, embroidered with gold, the work and deſign of which pleaſed me in⯑finitely.

I was no ſooner dreſſed, than Canzada came to aſk me if I had reſted well; her impatience of ſeeing me again would not ſuffer her to wait till I could go to find her in her own apartment. I anſwered, that I had paſſed the night in a manner that ought to haſten the moment of my happineſs. She replied, ſmiling, that ſhe would be more fully informed of my ſince⯑rity, before ſhe made a further progreſs of ſuch conſequence to her quiet.

I remained eight days in Canzada's palace, and was treated with the reſpect due to a king. The lady ſhewed a particular regard for me; ſhe refuſed me no ſigns of tenderneſs and complaiſance that I could deſire of her, compatible with virtue.

One day, when we were walking in the garden, Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, I flatter myſelf that you love me; in this confidence, I am at laſt reſolved to compleat your wiſhes; to give you, with my [113] perſon, the free diſpoſal of my wealth. — After this, can you refuſe me any thing? Ah madam! ſaid I, interrupting her, with all the marks of real gratitude, this doubt is injurious to my paſſion. Speak! were it my life, it would be glory enough to ſacrifice it to the leaſt of your deſires. That which I ſhall aſk, replied the lady, will be a favour beſtowed on you, if you love me, as I would fain believe. Explain yourſelf then, cried I, it is too much to be kept in ſuſpence. The favour I have to aſk you, ſaid ſhe, is to ſecure my repoſe and hap⯑pineſs. Promiſe! ſwear to me an eternal con⯑ſtancy! and to prevent the chagrin of ſeeing our⯑ſelves ſeparated, join the gift of your hand to that of your heart. Let us be linked together by the ſacred tie of marriage.

Though the beginning of Canzada's diſcourſe had filled me with joy, her laſt words produced a quite contrary effect. Though ſhe had behaved with the ſtricteſt decorum, yet I never imagined ſhe thought of marriage, for ſhe was of the ſect of the Guebres, who are the ancient Perſians that adore the fire, and I a Mahometan; ſo that ſhe raiſed in me an extra⯑ordinary aſtoniſhment. I was diſturbed, I grew pale, I reddened, I caſt down my eyes; confuſion and perplexity took poſſeſſion of thoſe cheeks, on which joy was revelling but the moment before.

The lady, who obſerved me with attention, eaſily penetrated the cauſe of my diſorder. I could not have believed, ſaid ſhe, with a fierce and diſdainful [114] air, that ſuch a propoſal would have been ſo diſa⯑greeable to you; I rather expected tranſports of joy from you, than this confuſion. What, is it a diſ⯑honour to have me for your wife? Madam, anſwer⯑ed I, I know the value of that glorious degree, to which your bounty would raiſe me, but Heaven hath placed an invincible obſtruction in the way; and if you ſee trouble and confuſion cover my face, it is becauſe I mourn in ſecret my misfortune, which will not permit me to accept of an offer, which otherwiſe would crown my glory and happineſs.

I imagined, replied ſhe, that my rank was the ſole obſtacle to your good fortune. When I debaſed myſelf to you, I thought I had removed all diffi⯑culties: but tell me, purſued ſhe, what is that ob⯑ſtacle that you take to be ſo invincible. My reli⯑gion, replied I. How can I break through the command, which prohibits us to marry a wife, who is no follower of Mahomet. I am not leſs ſcrupu⯑lous in my religion than you, replied Canzada, and would not for an empire marry with a Mahometan. I deſigned, therefore, to make you renounce the falſe doctrine of your prophet, and oblige you to embrace the ſect of the Guebres. I reckoned upon your worſhipping the fire and the ſun. In ſhort, that you would abjure your own religion to follow mine. I confeſs, I promiſed myſelf, to have made it a merit in the eyes of the god we adore, to make a convert of the perſon whom I loved, even to the degree of delivering up to him all my treaſure; but [115] you deny me the advantage of ſuch a merit, and, de⯑ſpiſing the tender I make you of a large fortune, ra⯑ther than conſent to marry me, you become the moſt ungrateful of all men.

Theſe laſt words, and the tone in which Can⯑zada pronounced them, increaſed my confuſion, and furniſhed new occaſion to ſtir up her reſentment againſt me. She loaded me with reproaches, and ſhed tears, which pierced my heart every inſtant: how formidable was ſhe in this condition to a lover who was willing to preſerve his virtue! my own grief, and that which ſhe felt, deprived me al⯑moſt of my ſenſes. Alas! there wanted but little to conquer me, and I had without doubt ſacrificed all to her tears, if, ſecretly inſpired by Mahomet, I had not received from the grand prophet the aſſiſt⯑ance I wanted: but I remained firm in my reſolu⯑tion, and obſerved the precept of my religion.

Canzada was much aſtoniſhed that an adherence to my faith was capable of making me renounce the poſſeſſion of her and her riches. She had heard of ſome Muſſulman leſs ſcrupulous than myſelf, and my firmneſs grieved her much; nevertheleſs, che⯑riſhing yet hopes that at the end I ſhould yield, ſhe would not take my refuſal for a final anſwer. The injuſtice and cruelty of your proceedings, ſaid ſhe to me, ought before now to have tired my pa⯑tience; I bluſh that I am ſtill ſo weak as to have the leaſt inclination for you. However, I will yet believe you will change your opinion; I give you [116] eight days ſtill to determine: you ſhall have no cauſe to reproach me, that I give you not time to con⯑ſider: but, if after that, you take not a reſolution of doing what I require of you; if you perſiſt to render yourſelf unworthy of my bounty, expect all the moſt rigorous reſentment an enraged woman can inflict.

At theſe words ſhe left me with an air that might convince me, ſhe would effectually come to the laſt extremity, if I did not reſolve to marry her. I was left in the moſt deplorable condition imaginable. Nothing was equal to my conſternation. I could ſee no hopes that I could be happy, unleſs I would abjure Mahometaniſm. And could I reſolve on that? charming Canzada, cried I to myſelf ſighing, I may no longer raiſe my deſires to your enjoyment. But though I have loſt the hopes of poſſeſſing you, it is not in my power to ceaſe loving you; at what diſtance ſoever you are from me, you will be the ſo⯑vereign of my heart.

I paſſed the eight days that were given me in la⯑menting the good fortune I had once conceived hopes of; but I had courage enough not to alter my reſolution. Canzada perceiving at the end of the time ſhe had preſcribed that I was not yet in the proper diſpoſition, granted me eight days more; and, to contribute on her part to the victory ſhe deſigned to gain, ſhe made uſe of her moſt pow⯑erful charms. In ſhort, ſeeing the time elapſe again, without having gained any advantage, ſhe ſent for [117] me. I was conducted into the moſt ſtately apart⯑ment of the palace: She waited for me in the midſt of her women, upon a throne raiſed a few ſteps from the floor, and had more the air of a ſevere judge, than of a compaſſionate miſtreſs.

I approached trembling, and could ſcarce make uſe of my ſenſes. She ordered her women to leave the room. Well, Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, have your reflections inſpired your ſtubborn heart with ſentiments that are worthy of me? I was ſtruck to the very ſoul, and fainted at the foot of the throne.

Canzada deſcended from the throne, and was buſy to help me. I perceived it when I came to myſelf, and opening my eyes, fixed them on the lady. Ceaſe, madam, ſaid I, with a low voice, ceaſe to concern yourſelf for a wretch, who is not worthy your care. It is true, ſaid ſhe, interrupting me with ſome emotion, that I have reaſon to complain of you; but it is your own fault. Forget your injuſtice, and accept an advantage you cannot too much cheriſh.

Alas! madam, cried I, in an accent of grief and deſpair, what can I gain by your love on ſuch cruel conditions as you propoſe to me? When I am the reward of your compliance, replied the lady, ought you to balance any conſiderations againſt ſo great an acquiſition? Would you have me believe, that there is ſomething dearer to you than myſelf? You are dearer to me than all things, replied I; but can [118] I be worthy of you, if I have the weakneſs and cowardice to fully my honour by renouncing my religion—. Peace, peace, perfidious man, cried ſhe, interrupting me with the utmoſt paſſion: Make uſe no more of your falſe reaſons to juſtify pretences that would not diſquiet you, had you really loved me. But go, thou art unworthy of my favours. I am at length reſolved; and leave thee to thy own ingra⯑titude.

At theſe words, which much agitated me, ſhe ſtood ſilent: Then re-aſſuming her ſpeech with an air of coldneſs, which confeſſed no leſs rage than the accent in which ſhe ſpoke: Aboulfaouaris, purſued ſhe, never let me ſee you more; wait my orders; you ſhall ſoon be acquainted with what I determine concerning your fate. In ſpeaking thus, ſhe left the apartment with an emotion equal to mine; but we were moved with quite different paſſions.

I then knew what I had to apprehend from the diſpoſition in which I found things. If at times I was ſo paſſionate a lover, as to think with pleaſure of dying by the hands of the object beloved; at others, the love for life made me think of means to eſcape. But how ſhould I obtain my end? I was kept always in ſight, and the lady's orders were all exactly performed. Nor could I ever find means to inform my hoſt of the place where I was.

Every day I expected to hear what ſentence ſhe had paſſed upon me, and three weeks elapſed with⯑out hearing any thing. The incertainty in which I [119] lived, had ſomething in it more terrible than any ſentence they could pronounce. I deſired to have an end put to this ſuſpence, let what would be the conſequence.

In ſhort, the moment I wiſhed for came. As I was riſing to dreſs myſelf one morning, after having ſpent a night more troubleſome than uſual, five or ſix of Canzada's ſlaves entered my chamber. They conducted a number of people, habited otherwiſe than thoſe of Serendib; he who appeared to be the chief of theſe ſtrangers, looked upon me ſome time with attention; and at laſt gravely broke ſilence, and bid me follow him. He ſaid this with an air, which made me conclude that I muſt obey him.

We croſſed the palace, and when we were got to the gate, I aſked one of my conductors, whither they pretended to carry me. That you will know in time, anſwered he; but we are expreſly forbid to tell you. Theſe men conducted me to the port; I embarked with them; they preſently got ready; and we ſet ſail.

When we were out at ſea, the maſter of the ſhip informed me, that he was of the kingdom of Gol⯑conda, that Canzada had given me to him for a ſlave, and that he was charged particularly never to grant me liberty to return to Baſra; he ſaid no more, nor aſked me any queſtion about that lady. This gave me room to judge, that ſince ſhe had hid from him her affections for me, and the affront of my refuſing her, ſhe had engaged him to promiſe, [120] that he would not inform himſelf of the reaſons ſhe had to rid her hands of me.

Such was the revenge of Canzada; whom I can⯑not accuſe of rigour. She puniſhed me too mildly for the crime that I had been guilty of. When I reflected, however, that I ſhould return no more to my father, or my country, my ſlavery became inſup⯑portable. I afflicted myſelf much at firſt; but making a virtue of neceſſity, I ſtudied to ſerve my maſter faithfully, who was a very good man, and did not want ſenſe. I was not ſatisfied merely to do what he ordered me, I endeavoured to prevent his deſires, and found from time to time he was more and more pleaſed with me.

The ADVENTURES of ABOULFAOUARIS. PART II.

WE ſailed round the Iſland of Ceylon to come northward into the Gulph of Bengal, and were juſt ready to enter the Gulph, when the moſt violent ſtorm aroſe that was ever ſeen in thoſe ſeas. We wanted a full ſouth wind to carry us to the north⯑ward; but a north weſt wind drove us directly ſouth-eaſt, quite contrary to our intended courſe for Golconda. We were driven we knew not whither; the ſtorm wearied the art of the mariners; who ſeeing themſelves in danger, quitted their labour, and left the veſſel to the pleaſure of the winds and waves.

This wind laſted fifteen days, with ſuch impe⯑tuoſity, that it carried us ſix hundred leagues out of [122] our courſe. It changed at laſt, and filled us with joy; but we were diſturbed by an adventure ſo very extraordinary as ſcarcely to appear credible.

We were on the point of the Iſle of Java, on the eaſt ſide, when we perceived near us a man ſtrug⯑gling againſt the waves, to keep himſelf from ſinking. He kept faſt hold of a plank, that ſupported him, and made ſigns to us to come and help him. Com⯑paſſion is commendable, but ſometimes very dan⯑gerous; as you will underſtand by the ſequel.

We hoiſted out our boat, and brought him aboard. He appeared to be about forty years old; of a monſtrous ſhape; his head large, his hair ſhort and thick, his mouth exceſſively wide; his teeth ap⯑peared long, and very ſharp: his arms nervous, his hands large, and on each finger a long crooked nail. His eyes, which I had done wrong to omit, reſembled thoſe of a tiger, and he had a flat noſe, with very open noſtrils. His whole phyſiognomy was ſhocking, and he had a ſullen air, capable of changing into terror that compaſſion with which he at firſt inſpired us.

When he was brought to Dehaouſch the maſter, he ſaid, Sir, I owe my life to you; I was upon the point of periſhing without your aſſiſtance. It is true, replied the maſter, you had been preſently drowned, if you had not had the good fortune to meet us.—It is not the ſea which I feared, anſwers the man, ſmiling; I could live whole years in the water without hurt. That which torments me moſt [123] is a devouring hunger, that gnaws me; for it is almoſt twelve hours ſince I have eat. Do me the favour to bring me ſomething to repair my loſt ſtrength after ſo long a faſt—never mind after what manner—I am far from nice.—I eat every thing.

We looked upon one another, and judged that the danger he had been in had undoubtedly diſturbed his ſenſes, which was alſo the maſter's opinion, who, conceiving that he had full occaſion to eat, ordered as much as would ſerve ſix perſons; with cloaths to cover him. As for cloaths, ſaid the ſtranger, I need none, I go always naked. But decency, replied Dehaouſch, will not let you ſtay with us in the condition you are in. Ho! replied the other rudely, you will ſoon accuſtom yourſelves to the ſight.

This brutal anſwer confirmed us in the opinion, that he was not in his ſenſes. His hunger preſſed, and he was impatient to eat. He fell to kicking the hatches, grumbled, and rolled his eyes dreadfully. At length he ſaw what he wanted, fell upon it with a greedineſs that ſurpriſed us; and in a moment diſpatched it.

When he had eaten up all the proviſion that had been brought him, with an air of authority he bid us bring more. The maſter of the veſſel, willing to ſee the event, ordered that he ſhould be obeyed, but this ſecond ſervice was ſoon ſwallowed; and he demanded more to eat, when one of the ſlaves of [124] the ſhip, provoked with the inſolence of the brute, was going to treat him as he deſerved; but the ſavage laid his two hands on his ſhoulders, and tore him to pieces with his ſharp nails. In a moment no leſs than fifty ſabres were lifted up againſt him, to revenge this horrid murder. Each man ſtruck at him with all the reſolution and boldneſs he was able; but we perceived, with dread, that our enemy had a ſkin as impenetrable as a diamond: our ſabres broke or turned their edges, without being able to make an impreſſion. One man that was the moſt eager againſt him he laid hold on, with an aſtoniſh⯑ing force, and tore him to pieces before our eyes.

When we found our ſabres uſeleſs, and that we could not wound him, we fell all together upon him to throw him into the ſea; but he was im⯑moveable: for, beſides prodigious ſtrength, he ſtruck his crooked nails into the wood of the hatches, and kept his hold, like a rock in the midſt of the waves. Far from being diſmayed at our attempt, he told us, with a ſour ſmile, my friends, you have under⯑taken an ill buſineſs; I have reduced thoſe who were as untractable as yourſelves. If you continue to oppoſe my will, I ſhall uſe you all I have done your two comrades.

Chilled with fear we made no further reſiſtance. A third time we fetched him ſomething to eat, he ſat down to table, and as ſoon as he obſerved that we were at laſt determined to ſubmit, he became good humoured. He now ſeemed ſorry that we had [125] forced him to what he had done; and told us very calmly, that he eſteemed us for the ſervice we had done him, in taking him out of the ſea, where he muſt have died of hunger in a few hours: that he wiſhed there would come ſome other veſſel well ſtored with proviſions, becauſe he would then throw himſelf aboard her, and trouble us no farther. He laughed and jeſted like a common man, and we ſhould have found him very diverting, if circumſtances would have permitted us to reliſh his pleaſantry.

In ſhort, he made a fourth meal, and then ab⯑ſtained two hours from eating. During this in⯑terval, he aſked us, one after another, about our country, cuſtoms, and adventures. We hoped that the fumes of indigeſtion would riſe to his brain, and waited with impatience till ſleep ſhould over⯑power his ſenſes, that we might throw him ſud⯑denly into the ſea. This hope was our only re⯑ſource; for though we had had ever ſo much provi⯑ſion in our ſhip, at his way of eating, he would have devoured it in a little time. But, alas! we flattered ourſelves with vain hopes. This wretch, as if he had penetrated our deſigns, informed us he never ſlept. The quantity that I eat, ſays he, reſtores the weakneſs of nature, and ſerves inſtead of reſt.

We underſtood with grief this ſad truth. We deplored our ill fortune, and the maſter deſpaired of ever returning to Golconda, when on a ſudden the air appeared darkened, a tempeſt ſeemed gathering, and we were the more glad of it, becauſe a ſtorm [126] would afford us hopes of ſaving ourſelves. Our veſſel might daſh againſt a rock as we came in ſight of ſome iſland, where we might by ſwimming, per⯑haps, get rid of the monſter; who undoubtedly had promiſed himſelf, after he had eaten up all our proviſions, to devour the crew.

We wiſhed therefore for a violent tempeſt, and even prayed to heaven that we might ſink. But we were deceived; for what we took for a gathering of clouds and vapours, was only one of the largeſt rokhs that was ever ſeen in thoſe ſeas. This mon⯑ſtrous bird came ſouſe down impetuouſly upon the deck, and ſnatched off our enemy from the midſt of the ſhip's crew, who had no time to arm himſelf againſt ſuch a ſurprize. We were not aware our⯑ſelves of it till ſome moments after, when the bird was mounted in the air with his prey.

We then ſaw an extraordinary combat; the man finding himſelf ſuſpended in the air by the talons of a winged monſter, which he felt the ſtrength of, began now to defend himſelf. He had his hands at liberty; he ſtruck his hooked nails into the body of the rokh, and, at the ſame time, ſetting his teeth upon his breaſt, he fell to devouring the fleſh and feathers, when the bird made ſuch a hideous cry, as rent the air around; and to revenge itſelf, ſtruck out both the eyes of its enemy with one of its talons. Though blinded he quitted not his hold, but the rokh collecting together the remainder of ſtrength in death, pierced his head with one ſtroke [127] of the beak; ſo that both fell down dead into the ſea.

Thus we find that it was written upon the table of predeſtination, that we ſhould be delivered from this dangerous monſter. As ſoon as we ſaw our⯑ſelves rid of him, we could not enough admire our good fortune, and were ſorry for the death of the rokh who had delivered us. We continued our voyage, and entertained ourſelves with this adven⯑ture. Having now a conſtant favourable wind, after ſeveral days ſail, we diſcovered land. On the firſt notice of it we took the altitudes, and found that we were on the weſt point of the Iſle of Java, which, with the eaſt of the Iſle of Sumatra, forms the entrance into the Streights of Sonde, not far from the City of Bantam. Overjoyed at this diſco⯑very, we crowded our ſails; and in a little time ar⯑rived at Bantam.

There we took in freſh proviſions, and ſet ſail for Batavia. As ſoon as Dehaouſch had finiſhed his affairs there, we ſailed towards the kingdom of Gol⯑conda, where we arrived in about a month's navi⯑gation from the Iſles of the Sonde.

My patron was received in the capital where he reſided with a general applauſe, for he was beloved by every body.

After a thouſand and a thouſand careſſes from his family, he preſented me to his wife and daughter, as a ſlave for whom he had a particular regard, and prayed them to take in good part the ſervices I ſhould [128] render them. In a little time I acquired great repu⯑tation with them. The other ſlaves, far from being jealous, appeared pleaſed to ſee me ſo well treated. It is true that I procured them the beſt uſage I could, and often occaſioned them to be better rewarded than they deſerved.

In ſhort, the friendſhip that Dehaouſch had for me increaſed ſo much that he ſaid to me one day; Aboulfaouaris, for I had neither hid from him my name nor my country, you cannot but have taken notice that I have ever diſtinguiſhed you from the reſt of my ſlaves. At the firſt inſtant that I ſaw you, I took a fancy to you, and I have ſpared no⯑thing to ſoften the rigour of your ſlavery: I deſign to give you yet greater marks of my affection. You have ſeen my daughter; there is not, perhaps, a more beautiful girl in Golconda. You ſhall marry her; I have ſounded her upon this ſubject, and find you are not diſpleaſing to her.

I was ſo ſtunned at this propoſition, that it was not difficult for him to judge the news was not very agreeable to me. How! ſaid he, does what I pro⯑poſe diſturb you? Is the advantage of being my heir, with the enjoyment of Facrinniſſa, ſo very in⯑conſiderable, that it cannot raiſe the ambition of a ſlave? Sir, anſwered I, the honour of being your ſon-in-law would be ſufficient to tempt me, were you a Muſſulman as I am; but you are a Heathen.— If you have no other obſtacle but that, replied my maſter, we ſhall ſoon agree; for I am reſolved to [129] turn Mahometan, and my daughter is in the ſame reſolution: In ſpite of the prejudices with which our Gentile prieſts have filled my mind, I am weary of paying divine honours to oxen and cows: I have too much reaſon not to acknowledge it to be a wretched ſuperſtition, and I think there is a ſupreme Being above all other deities; therefore, my ſon, accept my propoſal, without ſcruple or delay.

Though Facrinniſſa was lovely, and the proffer advantageous; and though, on the ſcore of my re⯑ligion, I had nothing to reproach myſelf with in marrying my maſter's daughter, I had ſtill a re⯑luctance to this marriage, which could be no more than the effect of my remembrance of Canzada. However, I was ſo far maſter of myſelf, as to ſay nothing of it to my patron, who, believing that I conſented, as I made no oppoſition to it, went to carry the news to his wife and daughter.

I had preſently a converſation with Facrinniſſa, who appeared ſo gay and contented, that I could not help thinking that my perſon pleaſed her. Aboul⯑faouaris, ſaid ſhe, my father hath made choice of you for my huſband, and I doubt not of your gene⯑roſity towards the promoting of my good fortune, though at the loſs of your own. You are not de⯑ceived in me, fair lady, anſwered I, there is nothing that I will not do for the charming Facrinniſſa. Hear me, replied ſhe, and you ſhall underſtand the ſervice I require of you. I love the ſon of a mer⯑chant of Golconda, and I am paſſionately beloved [130] by him: he hath aſked me of my father ſeveral times, who always refuſed him, becauſe of an ancient grudge which is kept up betwixt our families. I would have you marry me, and, the day after our marriage divorce me, as through anger; afterwards feign as if you would take me again, and then chuſe my lover for your hulla. I underſtand you, ſaid I, you only deſire that I ſhould marry you to deliver you up to him whom you love: very well, madam, I agree to do ſo: how difficult ſoever it will be to yield up the poſſeſſion of ſuch an object, I think my⯑ſelf capable of ſo great a ſelf-denial. But what will my maſter ſay? You are not ignorant of the obli⯑gations I have to him. Surpriſed at my conduct, he will not fail to reproach me. What ſhall I anſwer? Let not this give you any uneaſineſs, replied ſhe, follow exactly the advice I ſhall give you, and I pro⯑miſe you my father will not complain of you.

Upon the faith of this promiſe, I aſſured her that I was diſpoſed to promote her love after the man⯑ner that ſhe deſired. Charmed with this aſſurance, ſhe preſſed her father to haſten the marriage, which was celebrated in a few days—ſhe abjured her reli⯑gion beforehand, and embraced Mahometaniſm. All I obtained from my union with Facrinniſſa, was obliging the lady to renounce her idolatry ſooner than ſhe would otherwiſe have done. Lovely as ſhe was, I ſacrificed the rights of a huſband to the ho⯑nour of keeping the promiſe I had given; and looked upon her only as a pledge entruſted with me, which [131] I was obliged honourably to reſtore. I was not long charged with it. A few days after our mar⯑riage I divorced her. My maſter, as I had foreſeen, aſtoniſhed at my proceeding, came to my houſe: for you muſt know, that the very day we were mar⯑ried, we lived in a houſe by ourſelves. He aſked me for what reaſon I had divorced Facrinniſſa? I anſwered him, that I found ſhe had a paſſion for another, and that not being willing to poſſeſs a wo⯑man againſt her inclinations, I had repudiated her. He laughed at my niceneſs, and told me that his daughter would by degrees love me better. In ſhort, he exhorted me to take her again, and I pretended I would. I will go into the city, ſaid I to him, find out a hulla, and bring him this night before the cady: to-morrow we will renew our nuptials, in hopes of better ſucceſs.

My patron returned home ſomething better ſatis⯑fied; he left to me the care of chuſing a hulla, and the reſt of the ceremony. I went and found out Facrinniſſa's lover, and they were married before me by the cady's lieutenant. They paſſed the night together. The next day the hulla refuſing to di⯑vorce his wife, I went to my maſter's houſe, and diſſembling a grief I never felt, told him that the hulla, contrary to what he had promiſed me the day before, refuſed to divorce the lady.

We ought to know who this hulla is, ſaid De⯑haouſch; if he is poor, I have reputation and mo⯑ney enough to take my daughter from him. Dur⯑ing [132] the time he was ſpeaking, the nayb or cady's deputy came in, and ſaid; "Sir, I come to inform you that the hulla, whom your ſon-in-law hath cho⯑ſen, is the ſon of Amer, the merchant; therefore your daughter is loſt as to her firſt huſband, for the ſecond is reſolved never to part with her. I know very well that Amer is not your friend, but I would adviſe you to be reconciled to him in favour of this marriage, and forget the hatred you have ſo long borne towards him."

The nayb, not contented to exhort my patron to an accommodation with the family of his new ſon-in-law, offered to ſpeak himſelf to Amer, and ſpare nothing to make them friends. Dehaouſch reaſoned properly in this affair, and therefore was not hard to be reconciled; and the lieutenant finding Amer in the ſame diſpoſition, eſtabliſhed between the two fa⯑thers a perfect underſtanding. But the beſt of all was, my patron, prepoſſeſſed that I was the victim of this reconciliation, pitied me, and, by way of re⯑compenſe, gave me a large ſum of money, with li⯑berty to return to Baſra.

Thus was Facrinniſſa freed from a huſband for whom ſhe had no affection, and married to her lover. As ſoon as I ſaw their good fortune ſecured, I went from Golconda, and joining myſelf to ſome people who were going to Surat, got to the ſea⯑ſide, embarked in a veſſel that preſently ſet ſail, and we had a happy voyage. The next day, finding no ſhipping ready to go for Baſra, I was obliged to ſtay at Surat.

[133]The city of Surat is too agreeable, and too full of curioſities, for one to be weary of it in a ſhort time. I went ſometimes to the public baths, which are very fine, and where there is better attendance than in any other place in the world. I walked about the city and avenues, and in the many delight⯑ful gardens that are open to all ſorts of people.

One day a man ſomewhat advanced in years met me at the turn of an alley, ſaluted me very civilly, and we joined converſation. He appeared frank and ſincere, told me that he was a Gentile, and that he had in the road of Surat a veſſel belonging to him, in which every year he made a voyage. To be equally free with him, I told him that I was a Mahometan, and related to him my adventures.

He ſeemed ſo ſenſible of my misfortunes, as to ſurpriſe me. I obſerve my ſon, ſaid he, that you are aſtoniſhed to ſee me take part in your af⯑flictions: but, beſides that I am naturally compaſ⯑ſionate, I muſt tell you that I have a great friend⯑ſhip for you, though you are not of my religion. I am concerned at the dangers you have run through; and ſhould you tell them to your own father, he could not feel himſelf more ſenſible of them than I am. O young man! cried he, how fortunate that I came to walk in theſe gardens! your converſation is agreeable to me, and every moment increaſes the affection I have conceived for you; let us go into the city and lodge together; I am old and rich; have no child; and will make you my heir. At [134] theſe words, he took me in his arms, and embraced me with the tenderneſs of a father.

I thanked him for theſe offers of kindneſs, on his part, and made him lively proteſtations of grati⯑tude on mine. In ſhort, the reſult was, that he conducted me to his houſe, which was one of the fineſt in Surat. When the porter opened the gate, I perceived, inſtead of a court, two parterres, with a profuſion of flowers, divided by a large walk made of a compoſition as hard and beautiful as marble. The walk led us to a fine building, where the fur⯑niture, though not rich, was elegant; the hangings and the ſofas were of painted linen, the figures ad⯑mirably wrought, and the linen exquiſitely fine.

The old man invited me to bathe with him in a large baſon of tranſparent water, which ſerved to re⯑freſh him, as well as to fulfil the duties of his re⯑ligion. The ſlaves attended us with the fineſt linen: we afterwards ſat down to a table, covered with proviſions, ſerved up in china; and drank of a palm wine called Taray, extremely delicious.

At the end of our repaſt, my hoſt ſaid, I will truſt you with a ſecret that ſhall convince you of my great kindneſs for you. I am in five days time to go from the port of Surat to an iſland which I viſit every year, and you ſhall go along with me. In that iſland, which is uninhabitable, for it is full of tigers, there are two hundred pits that produce pearls of an extraordinary ſize. This is only known to my⯑ſelf. The captain of a veſſel, to whom I was once a [135] favourite ſlave, diſcovered this treaſure to me, and informed me how I ſhould approach theſe pits in ſpite of the wild beaſts.

Certainly, ſaid I, the captain did well in teaching you this ſecret, for the tigers are likely to give but an ill reception to ſtrangers. It is eaſy, replied he, to drive away the moſt furious. We muſt go aſhore in the night with lighted torches; the ſight of fire frights them, and will make them fly from us. We will go then, and take from thoſe precious ſources a large quantity of pearl, and ſell it at our return into this city: the money we ſhall get, added to what I have already hoarded, will make a conſider⯑able fortune for you after my death.

To convince me of the truth of what he ſaid, he took me into his cloſet, and ſhewed roupees of gold and ſilver, lying in prodigious quantities. Well, ſaid he, does this appear worth your attention? Have you any diſlike to the voyage? I anſwered, I had not; but begged leave to write to my father of my arrival at Surat, and the reaſons which detained me. My hoſt conſented, and undertook that it ſhould be delivered to my father.

I truſted my letter to the care of Hyzoum, which was the Gentile's name, and we embarked at the port of Surat: we ſet ſail, and after having been three weeks at ſea, without any accident, we ſaw the little deſart iſland, which my friend told me was that where our buſineſs lay; we moored there, and wait⯑ed for night that we might land. Hyzoum ordered his [136] ſailors to remain aboard, and advanced into the iſle with no body but myſelf. We had each of us a lighted torch, with a number of them under our arms, and bags to put the pearl in. We looked for the pits, by the light of our torches, and we had not ſearched long before we diſcovered one of the deep⯑eſt. Deſcend, my ſon, ſaid he; I doubt not but here are fine pearls. I deſcended by a rope, which he held, and felt pearl under my feet. I filled the bag; the old man pulled it up, opened the ſhells, but could find nothing in them but pearl ſeed; he returned the bag again, and ſaid, The pearls of this pit are not yet in a condition to be taken. Cover them with earth, which will make them grow, and next year we will come and take them.

He drew me up by the rope, and we went to ano⯑ther pit, in a large mountain that roſe in the midſt of the iſland. The ſhells here were ſingularly beau⯑tiful. I filled the bag ſeveral times, which the old man drew up, and emptied. Then turning to me, laughing, ſaid, "Farewel, young man, I thank you for the good ſervices you have done me."—O fa⯑ther, anſwered I, take me from hence—Thou art very well where thou art, replied the traitor; lie down upon the pearls, and take thy reſt. I bring hither every year a young Muſſulman like thee. Thou haſt nothing to do but to pray to thy prophet. If he be able to work miracles, as thou imagineſt, he will not forſake a man ſo zealous, and ſo ſtrict to his religion. He ſpoke theſe words, and left me miſerable.

[137]O wretched Aboulfaouaris, ſaid I to myſelf, to what misfortunes hath Heaven condemned thee? What haſt thou done to deſerve this cruel fate? But why do I complain of a misfortune I have brought upon myſelf? Ought not I to have diſtruſt⯑ed a perfidious idolater? His exceſſive fondneſs! ought I not to have ſuſpected it? But O unprofi⯑table regret! What avails it now to blame myſelf for a fault which I am going too dearly to pay for, and which it depended not on me to avoid? Alas! it was my fate to fall into this abyſs, and the ſame power which brought me in, can take me out again.

This reflexion ſuffered me not to give way to de⯑ſpair. I paſſed the night in running about the bot⯑tom of the pit, which ſeemed of vaſt extent. I found myſelf treading upon bones, and I gueſſed that others had periſhed miſerably in this precipice. The thought, however, did not diſcourage me. Supported by our great prophet, who undoubtedly inſpired me, I advanced boldly to an aperture, whence iſſued a frightful noiſe. I ſtopt to hearken, and, liſtening with an attentive ear, thought I un⯑derſtood the cauſe of the noiſe. I was not deceived in my conjecture: it was the fall of ſeveral waters from the ſea, which penetrating into the mountain by divers clefts, met together in this place. I con⯑cluded from thence that they communicated with the ſea by ſome large ſtream, by which I might paſs. I threw myſelf in, and, almoſt ſuffocated, the waters took away my ſenſes, dragged me along with them, [138] and caſt me on the ſea-coaſt by a crevice that was in the mountain.

When I regained my ſenſes, and perceived the place through which the waters had brought me out to day-light, I proſtrated myſelf on the ſhore, to thank Heaven for my deliverance, and addreſſed Mahomet in theſe terms: "O Prophet of the Faith⯑ful, Favourite of the Moſt High, I have more need than ever of thy aſſiſtance. To what purpoſe haſt thou delivered me from the deep abyſs into which I was caſt, if I am to be left a prey to the wild beaſts of this iſland, or if hunger muſt put an end to my life?"

Full of faith, after this prayer, I aroſe and walked about the iſland, but ſaw nothing of Hyzoum's ſhip; that traitor had ſoon ſet ſail. Though I was not with⯑out fear that the tigers would devour me, I yet ſaw none; but ſoon perceived a large veſſel paſſing near the iſland, and unfolded the linen of my turban to make a ſignal for them to come to me. Thoſe on the deck obſerved me, ſent out a boat, and I was taken aboard.

Judge of my joy, when I found in the captain of the ſhip an intimate friend of my father's, and ſaw by the dreſs of the crew that they were all inhabi⯑tants of Baſra. I related to them the adventure that brought me to the iſland, and they heard me attention. They uttered a thouſand imprecations againſt the old man, and I aſked the captain after my father, and about matters that related to my family. [139] After this our diſcourſe fell again on the traitor Hyzoum, when the ſhip's company were deſirous of making a deſcent upon the iſland to ſearch the pits. We were too many to fear the tigers, we had no need of lighted torches; and if my perfi⯑dious old fellow took that precaution, it was be⯑cauſe he would have no body partake with him in the pearls. We then caſt anchor, and went aſhore, without waiting for the night. Armed with darts and ſabres, to defend ourſelves from the wild beaſts, we deſcended by turns into the pits, where we found pearls in abundance. Innumerable was the quan⯑tity of ſhells we took up. It employed three days compleat to open them, and to divide the pearls; and there fell ſo much to every one's ſhare, that all were ſatisfied.

The ADVENTURES of ABOULFAOUARIS. PART III.

We now ſet ſail for Serendib to ſell our painted callicoes of Surat, and buy cinnamon. We were ſailing merrily, when all of a ſudden a furious tem⯑peſt aroſe, which drove us out of our courſe, we [141] knew not whither, for ſix days together. On the ſeventh the ſky was clear, but neither pilot nor cap⯑tain could tell where we were. We knew not what to think, or what to do; and, in ſpite of all our endeavours, the veſſel was drawn by violence towards a mountain, which we diſcovered on the eighth day.

This mountain was of great extent, and prodi⯑gious height; very ſteep, and, what ſtrangely ſur⯑priſed us, bright and ſhining like poliſhed ſteel. An old ſailor, with a profound ſigh, cried out, "We are loſt! I have formerly heard talk of this place. It is fatal to all ſhips that come near it; ſo that if once you arrive at the foot of the mountain, you are detained there as by a charm; and are never more able to ſtand out to ſea, or to get away from it."

At this relation of the old mariner, the whole crew were immoderately afflicted. Alas! ſays one, what are we the better for having found the pearls, if we muſt loſe them and our lives too? Why, ſays another, could none among us know the danger we were in? A third made the air echo with his com⯑plaints and lamentations; and a fourth, falling upon his knees; implored the Prophet's aſſiſtance. With reſpect to myſelf, touched more with the affliction with which they were all ſeized, than at the dangers that threatened us, I ſaid to the captain, "Why ſhould we, ſir, thus cowardly ſubmit to ſorrow? rather let us ſeek ſome means to extricate ourſelves out of this dif⯑ficulty. As for me, I have naturally courage. Whe⯑ther [142] Mahomet may have this moment inſpired me or not, I am no ways diſmayed at the condition to which we are reduced. As ſoon as we arrive at the foot of the mountain, let us endeavour to gain the top of it. Mounting together, we may perhaps find a recompence for our misfortunes.

The captain, who was not the leaſt fearful among us, anſwered, that he would, in complaiſance, do what was propoſed; but that he had no hopes that we ſhould ſave ourſelves. Mean while our veſſel arrived at the foot of the mountain: the captain and I threw ourſelves into the boat; we gained the land, began to climb the hill, and, not without difficulty, got to the top.

Here, with ſurpriſe, we ſaw a green dome, large and high: upon it a column of ſteel; towards the bottom of which was hung in chains of gold, a ſmall drum made of aloe-wood, and a crooked ſtick. Above the drum hung a ſquare piece of ebony, upon which were theſe words, written in letters of gold: "If any ſhip is ſo unfortunate as to be drawn to this mountain, ſhe can never put to ſea again, except after the following manner. One man of the ſhip's company muſt give three ſtrokes with the crooked ſtick upon the drum. At the firſt ſtroke, the ſhip will get a bow-ſhot diſtance from the mountain: at the ſecond, ſhe will be out of ſight; and at the third, will be found in the very route ſhe ſhould be in; but the man who ſtrikes the drum, muſt voluntarily re⯑main behind, and conſent to let the reſt be gone."

[143]When we had read this inſcription, which ap⯑peared to us a taliſman, we returned aboard to in⯑form the crew of our diſcovery. Every one was raviſhed to know that there was a way for deliver⯑ance; but no body would be the victim. The meaneſt ſailor refuſed to ſacrifice himſelf for the reſt. Well then, ſaid I, I will remain here; I am willing to be an offering for you all, provided you will promiſe me, that when you get from hence you will go to Baſra; that you will tell my father the news, and faithfully deliver into his hands all the pearls which have fallen to my lot.

At this diſcourſe, they ſolemnly beſeeched Heaven to ſhipwreck them, if they punctually performed not what I deſired of them. The captain aſſured me, as well as the reſt, that if I had the reſolution to ſtay behind, they would return to Baſra without going to Ceylon. He expreſſed alſo ſome concern at loſing me; but I could eaſily perceive he was glad to get out of danger. In ſhort, I embraced the crew, and bade them all a long farewel. They ſet me aſhore, and I aſcended alone to the top of the mountain. Advancing towards the dome, I took the crooked ſtick in my hand, ſtruck the drum, and our veſſel departed from the mountain. I ſtruck again, and at the ſecond ſtroke I loſt ſight of her. I ſtruck the third time; and then remained under the dome ready to conſummate my ſacrifice, and un⯑dergo the fate reſerved for me.

I failed not again to addreſs myſelf to the Pro⯑phet, and, ſecure in his protection, advanced boldly [144] into the mountain, which was above two leagues in extent. After an hour's travel, I perceived a de⯑crepit old man. He had a bald head, a long white beard, and hollow eyes. He ſeemed to be drawing his laſt breath, was ſitting upon a ſtone at the door of a little houſe, and had a ſhort ſtick in his hand. I ſaluted him reſpectfully, and aſked him to tell me, why the veſſels which paſſed at a certain diſtance from the mountain were drawn to it in ſpite of themſelves; and who the author of the ta⯑liſman was, by virtue of which they were carried to ſea again.

The old man raiſed himſelf up, and returned my ſalute, leaning upon his ſtaff, while his head ſhook with weakneſs. He told me, that the ſhips were drawn towards the mountain by the force of the currents: that, as to the taliſman, which conſiſted in the drum, he knew not who made it; but if I were curious to know the myſtery, I muſt continue my road, and that I ſhould meet his brother, who was much older than he, and who could give me ſome light into the matter. I preſently took leave of him, and found indeed a ſecond old man, but he appeared to be more vigorous; for he had only begun to grow grey, and one would have thought him rather the ſon than the ſenior brother of the other. I aſked him, as I had done the firſt, if he knew who it was that had made the taliſman. No, replied he, I know not who it was; if any one can tell you, it is undoubtedly my elder brother, whom you will find on the road a little further.

[145]I continued to march on, and preſently perceived a man digging. He had not a grey hair on his head, and appeared much too ſtrong to be older than the other two I had ſeen before. Father, ſaid I, I have met with two old men who have bantered me. I deſired them to tell me who was the author of the taliſman on the mountain. They ſaid they knew not, but that they had an elder brother who could inform me. The old man ſmiled at theſe words, and anſwered, my ſon, they told you the truth, they are both younger than I am.

If this anſwer of the third old man ſurpriſed me, that which he added ſtill increaſed my wonder. They call us, ſaid he, the three old men of the mountain: the firſt that you met is much the youngeſt; he is not above fifty years old. The reaſon of his being ſo worn out and decrepit is, becauſe he had a bad wife and children, who gave him a great deal of uneaſineſs. The ſecond is ſeventy-five, and he is ruddier and ſtronger than the other, becauſe he had a good wife, and no children: as for me, I am more vigorous than my brothers, though I am paſt a hundred, becauſe I would never marry.

As to the taliſman, purſued he, the author of which you deſire to know, I have heard it ſaid in my youth, that it was compoſed by a great Indian ca⯑baliſt, and that is all that I know of it. I aſked him afterwards, if I was near any country inhabited. Yes, anſwered he, you need but follow the road [146] which you are in, and you will preſently come to a vaſt plain, which bounds another mountain, at the foot of which there are two paths, one on the right, and the other on the left hand. Follow the former; it will lead you to a great city, which hath a very fine port. Take care not to follow the left hand path, for that will carry you into a wood, where dwell very wicked men, the deſcendants of a monſtrous race of giants: they are cannibals, and have women who come to the confines of their territories, and endeavour to entice all paſſengers by their arts and blandiſhments to follow them into their country.

I thanked the old man for the information he gave me, and was reſolved not to neglect his cautions. When I had croſſed the plain, I took the road on the right hand, and it brought me, as he ſaid, to a very large city, well peopled. The ſtreets and the houſes were beautiful, and the port full of ſhipping. I gueſſed there muſt be a great trade, and I was not deceived. I ſaw ſhips that came from the kingdom of Canara and Viſapour loaded with pepper; others filled with the ſpices of Cananor, and ſome with cinnamon. I ſaw merchants of all countries. As I was buſy in obſerving the port, a man came up to me. We looked upon and knew one another. It was Habib, my father's correſpondent at Serendib. After we had embraced ſeveral times, Who would have thought, cried he, that I ſhould have met Aboulfaouaris here? What fatal adventure forced [147] you to leave Serendib without bidding me farewel, without giving me notice of your departure; and by what unexpected good fortune are you reſtored to me?

I told him my adventure with Canzada, and what had happened to me ſince. On his ſide, he inform⯑ed me, that he had a ſhip in the port; that he was come to ſell cinnamon, that he had diſpoſed of his cargo, and that in twenty-four hours he hoped to be gone. I expreſſed to him the joy I had to find him again. He conducted me on board his ſhip, and the ſame day we ſet ſail for Serendib. I was over⯑joyed to return thither, and you may think that Canzada was the principal cauſe of the plea⯑ſure that I conceived to myſelf of ſeeing that city again. We arrived after a ſhort voyage, becauſe we had all along a favourable wind.

I was very impatient to learn news of Canzada, whom I could not forbear loving, though I had no great reaſon to be pleaſed with the treatment ſhe had given me. I went out one morning from Habib's, with a deſign to ſpare no pains to get what intel⯑ligence I could of her, when a kind of ſlave ſtopped me in the ſtreet; Sir, ſaid he to me, do you remem⯑ber me? No, anſwered I, but yet your face is not altogether unknown to me; I have a confuſed idea of having ſeen you, but cannot ſay where. I know you well, replied he, you are a Muſſulman; you are called Aboulfaouaris; I had the honour to wait on you during your abode with the princeſs Canzada, [148] to whom I was, and ſtill am, a ſlave. It was I that by her order went to find out your maſter De⯑haouſch, into whoſe hands you were delivered. I was ſorry to be put upon that office, and I beg you would believe I was.

My heart leaped with joy at the ſlave's diſcourſe. My dear friend, ſaid I to him, making him accept of a diamond ring, inform me, I conjure you, in what condition is the princeſs, who is always dear to me, in ſpite of her rigours: Is ſhe in the ſame ſtate in which I left her? No, ſir, replied the ſlave, her affairs are much altered within theſe two months: the king of Ceylon made her eſpouſe an old lord of the court, who was in love with her. She could not help obeying; ſhe is married.

The grief I expreſſed at this news was ſo ſevere, that the ſlave appeared touched at it. I am ſorry, ſaid he, that the marriage of my miſtreſs ſhould give you ſo much trouble: It is your own fault; why would you not renounce your Prophet? You would then at this time have enjoyed the fineſt woman in the world, and an immenſe treaſure. Had I been in your place, I would not have taken ſo much time to conſider as you did: the firſt day, the firſt hour, the firſt minute, I would have determined to do what⯑ever Canzada had deſired me. From how much affliction might you have exempted both yourſelf and her! For after your departure ſhe fell ſick, and had like to have loſt her life.

[149]I know not, continued he, whether I ſhould tell her, that you are come to Serendib; I fear it will renew the grief which ſhe ſo long cheriſhed, and which is not yet diſpelled. On the other ſide, I ſee you ſo much afflicted, that I cannot reſolve to deprive you of all conſolation. I promiſe you then, that this day my miſtreſs ſhall know that I have ſeen you. One of her women ſhall tell her, that you repent of your paſt conduct, and that if you could make amends for it, you would not heſitate a moment at renouncing Mahomet's doctrine for her ſake. No, no, cried I, take care that you promiſe nothing that I ought not to do, though it were in my power to obtain the princeſs at the price. Tell her only that I am in deſpair for having loſt her, and to un⯑derſtand that ſhe is diſcontented with her condi⯑tion.

The ſlave ſwore, that he would exactly perform the commiſſion I charged him with; then left me, and I remained in a ſtate of mind equally mixed with joy and grief. If the change of Canzada's condition afflicted me, I felt ſome joy when I came to think that ſhe might ſtill perhaps have ſome af⯑fection for me. Flattered with ſo agreeable an idea, I waited every day for the ſlave's coming to in⯑quire for me at Habib's, where I had told him I lodged; but my expectation was vain; one entire month paſſed, and I heard no news of Canzada.

[150]I gueſſed then that the ſlave had made a wrong judgment of his miſtreſs's ſentiments; that the lord ſhe had married was beloved by her; or, in ſhort, that the lady's virtue had triumphed over the incli⯑nation ſhe had for me. Full of this laſt thought, which I had the vanity to think well grounded, I re⯑tired to a fine country-houſe which my father's cor⯑reſpondent had, three quarters of a league from the city of Serendib.

I employed my time in walking, or, more pro⯑perly, in muſing as I walked, on the object that in⯑flamed me. One day I was got inſenſibly a good way from Habib's houſe, and paſſing along the river-ſide, came to a magnificent pagod, which was built on the bank. After having admired the ſtructure, I ſuddenly gave attention to what ſeemed very deſerving of it. I ſaw ſeveral Gentoo prieſts, who were erecting a ſort of hut with reeds, and other combuſtible matters. I went and aſked what they were doing. One, amongſt the reſt, anſwered; certainly you have not been long at Serendib, or you would not aſk me this queſtion. Are you ſuch a ſtranger to the cuſtom of the Gentoos, as not to know that this is the place appointed for fune⯑rals? It is here that we burn dead bodies; here that the wives, ſacrificing themſelves to the manes of their huſbands, acquire immortal glory. One of the principal lords of the court of Serendib is dead, his body is to be burnt on the river's ſide five or ſix hours hence, and his faithful ſpouſe will be con⯑ſumed [151] in the very flames which are to reduce him to aſhes.

Having never ſeen this ceremony, I reſolved to be a witneſs of it. I could not help deploring the bigotry of theſe idolaters, whoſe ſacrilegious piety conſecrates rage and madneſs; or, rather, I laid the blame on their prieſts, of whom I had heard much at Surat. This horrible cuſtom is continued amongſt the Gentoos.

Near the hour that this deteſtable execution drew nigh, the fields were filled with people; ſome on foot, ſome on horſeback, and others on palanquins, and preceded by ſlaves, carrying ſtandards, or blow⯑ing the trumpet. The governor of Serendib was mounted on an elephant, in the midſt of ten or twelve perſons, ſitting under a tent, which was raiſed on the back of the animal. In two or three hours, there were above thirty thouſand perſons about the pagod and the hut. Not willing to let any circumſtance of this ceremony eſcape my cu⯑rioſity, I pierced the croud, and got as near the fu⯑neral pile as it was poſſible. Twenty prieſts, who had each of them a book, began all to pray while in waiting for the victim.

It was almoſt night when ſhe arrived. She was mounted on a white horſe richly capariſoned, crown⯑ed with flowers, and followed the corpſe of her huſ⯑band, which ſix men carried on a ſtately palanquin. Twelve women, adorned with jewels, bracelets, and great rings of gold and ſilver, attended her; [152] they had all long hair, with necklaces of pearl, fine pendants in their ears, and crowns of gold, with plates of ſilver enriched by rubies, which covered one half of the face. Muſicians followed the women ſlaves. Her parents and friends came next ſinging and dancing, to ſhew their felicity in having, ſome for a relation and others for their friend, ſo generous a woman.

With the aſſiſtance of two prieſts ſhe diſmounted, and was conducted to the banks of the river, where the body of her huſband was brought; ſhe waſhed it from head to foot; and then delivered it to the prieſts, who carried it into the hut upon a ſtraw mat covered with ſulphur. She roſe up, without undreſſing herſelf, went near to the pile, walked ſeveral times round it, and beheld the preparations that were making for her ſacrifice with great intre⯑pidity. She embraced her parents and friends, who preſently retired; ſhe was embraced by her women ſlaves, diſſolved in tears; to whom ſhe gave liberty, and diſtributed the jewels and ornaments with which ſhe was dreſſed. When ſhe took off the ſilver plate, which covered half her face, and which, till then, had hindered me from knowing her, gueſs at my aſtoniſhment, when I diſcovered Canzada. All na⯑ture reverſed at once, could not have more ſurpriſed me.

Great God! ſaid I to myſelf, can I believe my eyes? May I not doubt of what I ſee? Is it really Canzada who is going to ſuffer ſo cruel a death? [153] The grief I was in, would not ſuffer me to ſee the ſacrifice performed; I left her in the hands of the prieſt, who having exhorted her to render herſelf worthy, by her conſtancy, of the happineſs that at⯑tended her, they put her into the hut, and preſented to her, according to cuſtom, a lighted torch, to ſet fire to it herſelf. I flew towards Habib's country-houſe, in a diſpoſition of mind not to be deſcribed. Diſturbed, forlorn, I knew not what I did; I turned every moment my eyes towards the place of cere⯑mony, and the flames of the pile which I ſaw riſing in the air, rent my heart aſunder.

At laſt I arrived there: he aſked the cauſe of the diſorder which appeared in me: I told it him, and my generous friend anſwered me tear for tear. I am ſurpriſed, ſaid he, that Canzada would periſh to follow an old lord, whom ſhe did not love. Why, ſaid I, was it then in her power to have ſurvived him? Are not the wives here obliged to burn themſelves with the bodies of their huſbands? No, replied Ha⯑bib, they are not conſtrained to ſacrifice themſelves: on the contrary, the governor of the city, by the king's order, cauſes the widows that ſeek this death to come before him: he interrogates them upon the reaſons of ſo fatal a deſign, and endeavours to perſuade them to deſiſt from it. In ſhort, he grants them leave to die, only when they abſolutely demand it of him.

Canzada, purſued he, was very willing to die, perſuaded, as all women are, who ſacrifice them⯑ſelves, [154] that ſhe ſhould procure to herſelf, by a glo⯑rious and voluntary death, an eternal happineſs. Be⯑ſides, ſhe may have been urged on, by the honours that are paid to thoſe miſerable victims after their death; for their memories here are held in venera⯑tion; even ſtatues are erected to them among thoſe of the pagods. In a word, they are regarded as deities; and this, no doubt, is what inſpires our women who demand death, with that fortitude which makes them look upon the preparation of their ſa⯑crifice without changing colour.

Theſe reflections of Habib raiſed others in me. I repreſented to myſelf, that if Canzada had loved me as much as I loved her, ſhe would not have been ſo ready to deſtroy herſelf; that ſhe would have made me the propoſal, that if I would marry her on conditions which I had rejected, ſhe would not ſacrifice hreſelf; that ſhe ought to have put me to this proof, which undoubtedly, however, would have very much perplexed me.

Sir, ſaid I to Habib, whatever reaſons I have to forget Canzada, I deſpair of ever doing it; I cannot ſtay at Serendib after what has happened, give me leave to return to Baſra. My hoſt conſented; we returned to Serendib the next morning, and the firſt thing I did was to inquire for a ſhip that was to go from thence to any part of India: I was informed that one of Surat, laden with callicoes, was juſt ar⯑rived in the port, and that her cargo would ſoon be old off. I reſolved to make uſe of this opportunity, [155] and waiting for the day of my departure, I led a very melancholy life with Habib. Whatever care my friend took to overcome my diſtreſs, he could not conquer it; he ſpared nothing to compaſs his end; not a day paſſed, in which he did not find out ſome new diverſion, and every meal we ate he accompanied with dancing and concerts.

One day as I was ſitting thus in miſery, a ſlave came to ſpeak with me in private. He was the ſame that I met on my arival here, who had made me fair promiſes, which he had not performed. Sir, ſaid he, I proteſt it is not my fault that you have not ſeen me ſooner; my miſtreſs forbad me to ſpeak to you again, and I dared not diſobey her. She was a princeſs of heroic virtue, and would have no fur⯑ther to ſay to you: not content to be faithful to a huſband ſhe did not love, ſhe gave herſelf to the flames, to gain the veneration of the Gentoos: but let us leave her to the enjoyment of a happineſs ſhe dearly bought, and come to the buſineſs that has brought me hither. I am, at preſent, a ſlave to another lady, not leſs fair than Canzada, and who loves you more: I underſtand you are upon the point of embarking for Surat; but before your de⯑parture, I would adviſe you to make uſe of the good fortune that preſents itſelf.

I was more ſurpriſed than pleaſed at the ſlave's diſcourſe. Friend, ſaid I, it is with grief that I find myſelf reduced to be ungrateful to the favourable ſentiments your new miſtreſs hath conceived for me: [156] the image of Canzada is always in my thoughts, and leaves me little reliſh for new adventures. The lady whom you ſerve muſt pardon me, if I refuſe her favours. Having never ſeen her, my indifference can be no offence.

It muſt be confeſſed, replied the ſlave, that I am not fortunate in my negotiations; I am certain, however, you would be charmed with her, whatever obligations you may have had to Canzada. You are miſtaken, ſaid I, you are uſed to judge wrong of the emotions of the heart; you imagined that your former miſtreſs loved me ſtill, and deſired nothing more than my arrival at Serendib. You are in the right to reproach me thus, ſaid the ſlave; but upon this occaſion, be aſſured that I am certain of what I advance; give me leave only to come for you this night, and take you to the place appointed. No, ſaid I, no, I cannot prevail with myſelf to believe you; I know women too well, to put her upon trial. What a vexation would ſhe be in, ſhould ſhe find that I cannot love her. In vain did the ſlave aſſure me ſhe would hearken to reaſon, and not impute to me as a crime my conſtancy to Canzada. I refuſed to ſee her: and perſuaded my⯑ſelf I ſhould hear no more either of the ſlave or the lady; but he found me out again at night, and brought me a letter, which contained the ſub⯑ſtance of what follows: "The converſation you have had with my ſlave, gives me pleaſure; it in⯑creaſes the impatience I had to ſee to you; and if [157] you be ſo really concerned about Canzada as you ap⯑pear to be, both you and I ſhall preſently be better ſatisfied with each other."

This myſterious language gave me room for much ſpeculation. I could not reſiſt the deſire I had of clearing up the matter: I followed the ſlave, who conducted me to a ſmall houſe, and led me into a very plain lodging, where he left me, ſaying, he would acquaint the lady I was there. I did not wait long for her—ſhe came—but oh! think what confuſion I was in, when I beheld the Princeſs Can⯑zada herſelf, whom I ſuppoſed to be reduced to aſhes!

Aboulfaouaris's auditors ſtood amazed: He per⯑ceived it, ſmiled, and continued his relation.

I believed it, at firſt, to be an apparition. The features of a woman, the moſt dear to me in the world, put me in as great diſmay, as a real ſpectre could have produced; ſhe obſerved my confuſion, and could not forbear laughing. Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, 'twas not to frighten you that I deſired to ſee you; 'tis not Canzada's ſhade you ſee, 'tis ſhe herſelf: Your ſurpriſe indeed has ſome foundation. We cannot diſcover on a ſudden, a perſon whom we believed to be dead, without much emotion; but I will diſpel your fear, by convincing you that I yet live.

She then told me, that ſhe had bribed the Chief Prieſt, and in what manner that pious perſon had ſaved her from the flames, for a conſiderable ſum of [158] money. He cauſed a paſſage to be made privately under ground by the other prieſts, whom he entruſted with the ſecret. The funeral pile was erected over that ſubterranean paſſage, into which, ſaid ſhe, I deſcended, after having ſet fire to the reeds that conſumed nothing but my huſband's body. The night being come, and the ſpectators retired, the Chief Prieſt himſelf conducted me to this houſe that I had hired before-hand.

But, my Princeſs, ſaid I, why deceive the people by a pretended death? Why feign to follow your aged huſband? They forced you not to die with him; you might have ſpared that diſſimulation. No, replied the lady, I found myſelf under the ne⯑ceſſity of doing what I have done; you will be con⯑vinced of this truth, when I tell you that I have a deſign to join my fate to your's, to abjure idolatry, and to go to Baſra with you, and profeſs the reli⯑gion of Mahomet. It muſt have been your prophet himſelf that inſpired me with this great enterpriſe. My relations now believing me dead, I can without fear leave Serendib, and unite my lot to your's. This was the motive that urged me to an action, that not only amazes you, but, without doubt, aſto⯑niſhes the world; for they well know, that I never loved the old Lord whom I married in obedience to the King. They imagine that the vanity of paſſing for a heroine, and having a ſtatue among the pagods, induced me to die with my huſband; but reaſon, or perhaps my love for you, made me reflect maturely on ſo ſuperſtitious a ſacrifice.

[159]And is it then, my Queen, ſaid I, in favour of Aboulfaouaris, that you have employed this inge⯑nious ſtratagem? Was it to live with me, that you reſolved to go from Ceylon? Is it to crown me with joy that you reſolve to follow the doctrine of our great prophet? Oh beautiful Canzada! at this mo⯑ment you make me the happieſt of men.—I threw myſelf at her knees, and embraced them with tranſ⯑port. Riſe up, Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, I doubt whether you have reaſon to boaſt ſo much of your happineſs; Canzada is no longer ſo precious a con⯑queſt: Alas! I am not now miſtreſs of all the riches I gave you with my heart: I have given the beſt part of them to the prieſts that ſerved me; and I paid dear to the Governor of Ceylon, for his permiſſion to devote myſelf to the flames with my deceaſed huſband.

At theſe words, which gave me ſo fair an occa⯑ſion to declare my love, I looked on her with ten⯑derneſs, and ſaid, how unjuſt, my charming Can⯑zada, are you to ſuſpect me of not having ſentiments as free from ſelf-intereſt as your own! When in the ſtately palace, where you detained me, you expoſed your treaſures to my view, I call Heaven to wit⯑neſs, my heart was ſet on you alone.

She told me, that my ſentiments were ſuch as ſhe deſired; that ſhe was not ſtript of all, and that ſhe had jewels enough ſtill to make her a fortune, wherewith I ſhould have reaſon to be content. She ſpoke of the miſchiefs ſhe had occaſioned me, and [160] ſaid, ſhe had ſufficiently atoned for them by her grief. We agreed after this, to go for Baſra as ſoon as poſſible. I took leave of my landlord, con⯑ducted her that night to the harbour, and embarked with her, and ſome faithful ſlaves who carried her jewels.

We arrived at Surat without the leaſt danger, and found there a Baſra ſhip that was returning home. We made uſe of the occaſion, and, as if Heaven were willing to let us know that it favoured us, we arrived at Baſra with the moſt fortunate ex⯑pedition.

No joy could equal that of my father when he ſaw me again. After our firſt embraces, I pre⯑ſented Canzada to him, whoſe quality needed no boaſt: Her noble air and her beauty confeſſed at full what ſhe was. He received her with the higheſt tokens of eſteem, and conceived for her all the ten⯑derneſs of a father. When he had heard her ſtory, which I related to him in the terms of a paſſionate lover, I then gave him an account of my travels. He afterwards informed me, that he had received my pearls from the Captain, who had taken charge of them.

My father and I conducted the lady to the Cady, to whom ſhe abjured her idolatrous faith, before many witneſſes. He then aſked her, if ſhe con⯑ſented that I ſhould be her huſband? She anſwered, that it was the deareſt deſire of her heart; and upon that anſwer the Judge married us. My father, to [161] celebrate our nuptials, invited our relations and friends to a ſplendid feaſt and great rejoicings, which laſted ſix days together.

TREACHERY, Or the HISTORY of MOSES GOLEMUS, General to SCANDERBEG THE GREAT, King of Epirus.

AMONG all the heroes of ancient or modern ſtory, there are none whoſe courage, wiſdom, and good fortune, have been more conſpicuous than Scanderbeg's. King only of a ſmall ſtate and a handful of people, at a time when the Turkiſh em⯑pire flouriſhed in all its ſplendor and all its ferocity; [174] when Europe and Aſia trembled at the multitude and valour of its troops, Scanderbeg nobly aſſerted and maintained his independence, braved the fury of the Turk, vanquiſhed his armies, and diſgraced his vic⯑tories. Amurath the Second, after various ſieges and battles, died in Epirus, before the walls of Croia, curſing his ignominious fate, which after ſo many ſplendid conqueſts had ſent him thus diſhonourably to expire; baffled by a prince whoſe territories, with reſpect to extent, might rather be compared to the gardens of Amurath's ſeraglio, than to the Ottoman empire. Mahomet, his ſon and ſucceſſor, the fa⯑mous conqueror, who took Conſtantinople, and made the Chriſtian world tremble, never could ſub⯑due Scanderbeg. Armies after armies invaded Epi⯑rus, and were all either deſtroyed, or obliged ſhame⯑fully to retreat; for of all the various battles and ſkirmiſhes Scanderbeg was engaged in, and they were almoſt innumerable, he loſt but one.

Mahomet, who from repeated experiments and reiterated defeats, began at length to deſpair of ſub⯑duing Scanderbeg by open war, endeavoured to cor⯑rupt his generals. None among thoſe was more renowned than Moſes Golemus. This man had been with Scanderbeg in all his wars, was acquaint⯑ed with all his, reſources, all his ſtratagems, and be⯑loved by all his ſoldiers. His valour and conduct had often been proved, and always to his honour; no man doubted his love to his country, or his loy⯑alty to his prince, whoſe confidence he fully poſ⯑ſeſſed. [175] Moſes, who as a commander was ſecond only to Scanderbeg, lay with a ſtrong garriſon in Dibra, a frontier town of Epirus, when Mahomet commanded the governor of Sfetigrade to endea⯑vour, by every means within his power, to ſubvert the loyalty of Moſes. Sfetigrade was a town which the Turks had long held in Epirus. This governor, who from the known character of Moſes had little hope of ſucceſs, was yet obliged to make the at⯑tempt, in obedience to the commands of the ſultan. For this purpoſe he ſent a Chriſtian, an inhabitant of Sfetigrade, whom he had won to his intereſts by large gifts, to negotiate with Moſes. The meſſen⯑ger he choſe was a ſubtle man, plauſible and diſcern⯑ing, and inveſted with full powers to make the moſt advantageous propoſals to Moſes, and to paint the eſteem the ſultan had for him and his abilities in the moſt flattering colours. He came to Dibra, and, under pretence of ſtate ſecrets, gained a private audience of Moſes, to whom, in the name of Ma⯑homet, he offered whatever dignities the ſultan could beſtow. By the ſame authority likewiſe he demand⯑ed how he, who was known to be ſo great a cap⯑tain, equal at leaſt, if not ſuperior to Scanderbeg, could condeſcend to ſerve ſo petty a prince. The meſſenger ſhewed him how eaſy it would be for him, if he had a proper confidence in his own ca⯑pacity, to dethrone Scanderbeg, by cauſing a revolt in Epirus, and putting himſelf at the head of the Turkiſh armies. Moſes, who, till this fatal mo⯑ment, [176] had lived in the full enjoyment of content and acknowledged worth, ſunk before the treache⯑rous attacks of flattery and ambition. He diſ⯑miſſed the meſſenger without a poſitive anſwer, but with ſufficient reaſon to hope for ſucceſs.

After the departure of the meſſenger, a thouſand troubled thoughts aroſe in the hitherto peaceful mind of Moſes: his mirth was turned into melan⯑choly; the chearfulneſs of his countenance vaniſh⯑ed; diſtracting fears and haughty wiſhes were his ſolitary companions, and an imaginary kingdom the idol he ſecretly adored. Several diſcerning people obſerved this ſudden change, and ſome of his friends aſked him concerning the buſineſs of that ſecret meſſenger; to whom he replied, that he was a per⯑ſon from whom he received private intelligence of matters that concerned the good of the ſtate. This anſwer was ſatisfactory, for who could once think of diſtruſting Moſes?

It happened about this time, when the loyalty of Moſes had been ſufficiently overthrown by various negociations and ſplendid promiſes from the Turk, that Scanderbeg arrived before the walls of Belgrade, the only defeat he ever experienced from the Maho⯑metans. This was what Moſes deemed the proper opportunity to declare himſelf, this was the moment to ſubvert his friends and ſoldiers from their alle⯑giance. For this purpoſe, when the news arrived at Dibra he pretended at firſt to be greatly afflicted, and with many words to lament the misfortune of [177] Scanderbeg, and the miſeries of Epirus, taking care at the ſame time to deſcribe the great power of Ma⯑homet, and to endeavour to fill the minds of his hearers with diſtruſt and fear. To his intimates he was more ſincere; he related to them the mighty promiſes of Mahomet, the honours he would con⯑fer on all thoſe who ſhould be inſtrumental to a re⯑volt, and the great eaſe with which it might be then effected. He was heard by them with aſtoniſh⯑ment and pity, but, to their glory be it remember⯑ed, without ſucceſs: he, therefore, thought it ſafeſt to fly, which he did, accompanied only by a few of the loweſt and moſt diſorderly of the common ſol⯑diers, and after procuring ſafe conduct from the go⯑vernor of Sfetigrade, arrived at Conſtantinople, when he was joyfully received and greatly careſſed by Ma⯑homet.

When Scanderbeg firſt learnt the news of the re⯑volt of Moſes, ſo great had been his opinion of his fidelity, that he ſtood ſpeechleſs with aſtoniſhment. After a little reflection, however, and finding the fact really to be ſo, he, with true dignity, endea⯑voured to palliate inſtead of magnifying the crime: he remembered the former virtues and ſervices of Moſes, and ſaid, his temptations had been ſuch as might cauſe a truly great and conſtant man to err; he would not liſten to thoſe who appeared willing to aggravate the offence, but ſaid, he only wiſhed that all treaſon and ill fortune were fled with Moſes out of Epirus; he remembered the loyalty of thoſe [178] whom Moſes had tried to ſeduce, and rejoiced in the faith and love of his ſubjects.

Though Mahomet gladly received the fugitive Epirot, he was not at firſt without ſuſpicion; he knew the former ſtratagems of Scanderbeg and of Moſes; he dreaded a counterplot, and refuſed, for ſome time, to liſten to the ſolicitations of Moſes, who was eager to put himſelf at the head of the Turks, and invade his promiſed kingdom: after, however, having placed ſpies upon him, and having watched him himſelf, and diſcourſed with him upon the mode of conducting the war in Epirus, and find⯑ing him devoted to ambition, and eſtranged from Scanderbeg, he gave him the command of fifteen thouſand horſe, which was all Moſes deſired for this con⯑queſt, and ſent him againſt the foe that Mahomet moſt hated and moſt feared. The ſoldiers appointed for this ſervice were but half willing to go; they dreaded the fatal country of Epirus; they remembered how many Turks had gone there, never to return; they thought the preſent army far too ſmall, though ſuperior to that of Scanderbeg; and nothing gave them hopes of ſucceſs, but the great opinion they had of their commander.

Thus furniſhed, with a fine army, and every warlike appointment, Moſes ſet forward to carry deſolation into the land of his nativity, and to op⯑poſe his former deareſt friend, the ſovereign he once had loved and aſſiſted with all his powers. [179] Scanderbeg, who was informed of his route, met him upon the frontiers of his kingdom, determined to give him fair and open battle; for he knew Mo⯑ſes was too intimately acquainted with the ſtrata⯑gems by which he had formerly beat the Turks, and likewiſe with the whole face of the country, to be ſub⯑dued by policy. The battle was long and deſperate; both commanders did every thing that could be ex⯑pected from their courage and experience; they fought with the moſt daring intrepidity, and directed with coolneſs and determined fortitude: at length the valour and fortune of Scanderbeg prevailed, the Turks were routed, and a terrible ſlaughter enſued. In vain did Moſes exhort them by his words and his example to continue the fight; the arms of Scan⯑derbeg and the ſcimitars of his illuſtrious ſoldiers, who were an army of heroes, carried death at every ſtroke, and gave deciſive victory. Eleven thouſand of the Mahometans were left upon the field, and the reſt eſcaped, conducted by Moſes through moun⯑tainous paſſages, with which he was perfectly ac⯑quainted. This ſudden and entire defeat lowered his character ſo much in the opinion of the Turks, that they held him afterwards in the utmoſt deriſion. He could by no perſuaſions prevail on the remainder of his troops to accompany him in an attempt upon Dibra, where he ſtill hoped he had friends, and by whoſe help he thought ſtill to occaſion a revolt. Finding no remedy, he marched them back to Con⯑ſtantinople with a heavy heart and a dejected coun⯑tenance, [180] deſpiſed by the Turks and threatened by the ſultan, who, had it not been for the advice of his viziers, who ſhewed him the impolicy of ſuch a meaſure, would have put him to death.

Of ſo little eſtimation was he now become in the Ottoman court, that his allowance was ſcarcely ſufficient for his maintenance; and though he ap⯑peared to bear his misfortunes patiently, he was inwardly ſo afflicted, that he could neither eat nor drink: the remembrance of his former treaſon was continually before his eyes, and the diſgrace he ſuf⯑fered at the Turkiſh court, tormented him with in⯑tolerable grief. He was conſcious of having done every thing in his power in the late battle; and the frowns of Mahomet, who eſtimated abilities by events only, filled him with a ſecret indignation. Sometimes he thought of eſcaping from Conſtan⯑tinople, and throwing himſelf upon the clemency of his prince, whom he knew to be of a noble and for⯑giving nature; but when he recollected the extent of his ingratitude, he was ſtruck with ſhame. How⯑ever, after an afflicting ſtruggle of contending paſ⯑ſions, he at laſt reſolved to ſubmit to the mercy of Scanderbeg, rather chooſing to ſtand the chance of ſuffering the deſert of his crimes in his own country, than to have the deriſion of a people he deſpiſed. He accordingly fled to Dibra. When the ſoldiers be⯑held their old governor thus deſpondent and repent⯑ing, they forgot the evils he had been the occa⯑ſion of, and moved with compaſſion, received him [181] with tears and friendly embraces, and brought him to Scanderbeg, who lay encamped not far from them. The manner in which Moſes approached him was awful and humiliating. He put his girdle round his neck, in token of his deſerts, as was the cuſtom of the Epirots, and with the moſt ſenſible contrition fell upon his knees before Scanderbeg, who was walking in the front of his tent. Scan⯑derbeg, as benevolent in peace as terrible in war, raiſed him from the earth, embraced him, and, as a certain token of forgiveneſs in Epirus, kiſſed his cheek. He did not ſtop here; he cauſed all his lands and riches to be reſtored, re-inſtated him in all his former truſts and employments, and, by open proclamation, commanded that no man ſhould here⯑after mention the treſpaſs.

After this Moſes ſerved Scanderbeg in his wars with ſtill greater zeal and aſſiduity, than he had for⯑merly done; but happening in a ſkirmiſh, contrary to the advice of Scanderbeg, to purſue a flying party of Turks too far, he fell into an ambuſcade, was taken priſoner, carried to Conſtantinople, and, by the command of Mahomet, put to a cruel death; a fate which in all probability he would never have ſuffered, had he never been a Traitor.

PRIDE. The extraordinary Hiſtory of BIANCA, a Venetian Lady, from the French of M. DE LA LANDE.

ABOUT the end of the fifteenth century, Thomas Buona Venturi, a young man of Florence, of a creditable family, but without fortune, went to live with a merchant of the ſame country, who had ſettled at Venice. The merchant's houſe was over-againſt the back-door of one that belonged to [253] a noble Venetian, whoſe name was Barthelemi Capello. In the houſe of Capello there was a young lady of great beauty, whoſe name was Bianca. She was watched with great circumſpection, but Buona Venturi frequently ſaw her at the window. He had not the leaſt hope of an interview, yet by a natural, and almoſt neceſſary impulſe, he did all that could be done in ſuch circumſtances, to amuſe her, and ex⯑preſſed the paſſion with which ſhe had inſpired him. He was young and amiable; ſhe very ſoon ceaſed to be indifferent; and after long negociation, the par⯑ticulars of which are not related, the lovers found means to accompliſh their wiſhes. Bianca went every night after the family were retired and aſleep, to the chamber of Buona Venturi, in the merchant's houſe, by means of the little back-door, which ſhe left a-jar, and by which ſhe returned before day, without being ſeen by any body. After this had continued ſome time, cuſtom made her leſs cautious, and one night ſhe ſtaid with her lover till the morn⯑ing was farther advanced than uſual: it happened that a baker's boy, who, according to the cuſtom of the country, was taking bread from a neighbour⯑ing houſe to carry it to the oven, perceived the little back-door by which Bianca had come out, to be a-jar, and ſuppoſing it to be left open by accident, ſhut it. The young lady came a few minutes after⯑wards, and found it faſt; in the conſternation and diſtreſs which this accident produced, ſhe returned to the houſe ſhe had juſt quitted, and knocking ſoftly [254] at the door, was let in by her lover. Gratitude and love inſtantly determined him to ſacrifice every thing to her ſafety; he immediately quitted his ſituation, and retired with the lady to the houſe of another Florentine, where they remained hidden with the utmoſt care and precaution, till they found an op⯑portunity of eſcaping to Florence. At Florence he had a little houſe in Via Larga, near St. Mark's, and over-againſt a convent of nuns, of the order of St. Catherine. To this little dwelling he retired with his wife, and lived ſome time in great privacy, for fear the republic of Venice ſhould, at the ſolicita⯑tions of Capello, cauſe him to be purſued. Francis Maria, the great duke of Tuſcany at this time, was a native of France, the ſon of Coſmo the Firſt, and father of Mary de Medicis. He had married Jane of Auſtria, daughter of the emperor Ferdinand, and widow of the king of Hungary. She was a prin⯑ceſs of high eſtimation, but being at this time paſt her youth, the duke neglected her for other women. One of the officers of his court was the confident of his pleaſures, who had a wife not leſs zealous to render herſelf uſeful than himſelf. The arrival of the fair Venetian was known at Florence, and the rumour of her adventure and her beauty, excited a ſtrong deſire in the Duke to ſee her, to which the great privacy of her life contributed not a little. He uſed every day to walk before the houſe to which ſhe had retired, and as ſhe had no amuſement but look⯑ing out of the window, it was not long before his [255] curioſity was gratified. She was indeed half veiled, but he ſaw enough to judge of her beauty, of which he became violently enamoured. His confidante perceiving his paſſion to be unſurmountable, began to concert meaſures for the gratification of it, and engaged his wife to aſſiſt in the project. The miſ⯑fortunes which Bianca had already ſuffered, and thoſe to which ſhe was ſtill expoſed, gave this good woman a pretence to inſinuate that ſhe had ſome⯑thing of importance to communicate to her, and for that purpoſe invited her to dinner. Buona Venturi was ſome time in ſuſpence whether he ſhould ſuffer Bianca to accept the invitation; but the rank of the lady, and the need in which he ſtood of protection, at length got the better of his caution and doubts. Bianca was received with the moſt flattering kind⯑neſs and attention; was prevailed upon to relate the ſtory of her diſtreſs, and was heard with an appear⯑ance of the moſt tender concern; obliging offers were made her, and preſſed with ſo generous a friendſhip, that ſhe could not refuſe to accept of ſome preſents from the lady. The duke, informed of the ſucceſs of the firſt viſit, hoped that he might be preſent at the ſecond. Another invitation was immediately ſent to Bianca, and after new marks of eſteem and regard, new pity of her misfortunes, and new praiſes of her beauty, ſhe was aſked if ſhe had no deſire to make her court to the grand duke, who, on his part, was impatient to become acquainted with her, having already found an opportunity to ſee [256] and admire her. Bianca had not fortitude and virtue to reſiſt this new honour, which, though ſhe at firſt affected to refuſe, her crafty ſeducer diſcovered, by her eyes, that ſhe wiſhed to be urged to accept. Juſt at this criſis it was contrived that the grand duke ſhould come in, without any appearance of deſign; and Bianca was charmed with the modeſty of his addreſs, the warmth of his praiſe, and the libe⯑rality of his offers. Other viſits ſucceeded, and a familiarity inſenſibly came on; ſome preſents which ſhe could not refuſe from her ſovereign, improved the duke's advantage; and the huſband himſelf did not think it prudent to break a connexion which might be at once innocent and advantageous. The duke was not likely to ſtop ſhort in ſo good a road; he gained new influence over the wife by advancing the huſband, and at laſt accompliſhed his wiſhes ſo much to the ſatisfaction of all parties, that, as the Italians expreſs it, he and Bianca and Buona Venturi, made a triangulo equilatero. The huſband ſoon became familiar with his new condition, and removed with his wife to a houſe in the fine ſtreet that leads to a bridge over the Arno, called Trinity Bridge. This houſe is ſtill ſtanding; it is diſtinguiſhed by the arms of Medicis ſurmounted by a hat, and belongs at preſent to the Ricardi family. Buona Venturi ſolaced himſelf for the loſs of Bianca, by forming new connexions, and aſſociated with the nobility of the country; but a change of fortune ſo ſudden, and ſo great, rendered him inſolent, over⯑bearing, [257] and preſumptuous even in his behaviour to the duke himſelf, and created him ſo many enemies that he was at length aſſaſinated near the bridge that led to his houſe. The duke and his new miſtreſs were not much afflicted at this accident. She totally loſt her reſerve and timidity, and appeared in public with a magnificent equipage, ſetting honour and ſhame at defiance. Jane, the grand dutcheſs, was extremely mortified at the conduct of her huſband, and provoked by the pride of her rival, yet ſhe ſup⯑preſſed both her grief and reſentment, which, how⯑ever, ſecretly ſubverted her conſtitution, and at length put an end to her life. The death of the grand dutcheſs opened new views to the ambition of Bianca, who had acquired an aſcendancy over the Duke, which rendered him wholly ſubſervient to her will, and ſhe now exerted all her art to induce him to marry her. The cardinal Ferdinand de Me⯑dicis, who was next heir to the dukedom if his bro⯑ther ſhould die without iſſue, oppoſed this marriage in vain, and Bianca, in a ſhort time was made grand dutcheſs of Tuſcany. After ſome time ſhe became very deſirous of a child who might ſucceed the grand duke in his dominions; ſhe cauſed maſſes to be ſaid, and aſtrologers to be conſulted, but theſe, and many other expedients proving ineffectual, ſhe reſolved to feign a pregnancy, and introduce a ſpurious child, of which ſhe would at leaſt have the honour. To aſſiſt her in the execution of this project, ſhe applied to a cordelier of the monaſtery of Ogni Sancti, who [258] readily undertaking the affair, ſhe feigned tranſient ſickneſs, nauſeas, and other ſymptoms of pregnancy; took to her bed, received the compliments of the court, and the duke himſelf expreſſed great ſatisfac⯑tion upon ſo happy an event. Her pretended reckon⯑ing being up, ſhe ſuddenly alarmed her people in the middle of the night, complained of labour pains, and enquired impatiently for her confeſſor. The cardinal, who ſuſpected the artifices of his ſiſter-in-law, had her ſo diligently watched, that he knew all her motions; as ſoon as he was informed that her confeſſor was ſent for, he repaired to her anti-cham⯑ber, in which he walked to and fro, repeating his breviary. The dutcheſs hearing he was there, ſent him a meſſage, intreating that he would retire, becauſe ſhe could not bear that he ſhould hear the cries which might be forced from her by her pains. The cardinal anſwered, "let her highneſs think only of her own buſineſs as I do of mine." As ſoon as the confeſſor arrived, the cardinal ran to him, crying out, "welcome, welcome, my dear father, the grand dutcheſs is in labour, and has great need of your aſſiſtance;" at the ſame time catching him in his arms, and embracing him, he perceived a jolly boy, juſt born, which the good father had got in his ſleeve. He inſtantly took the child from him, and cried out loud enough to be heard by the dutcheſs, "God be praiſed, the princeſs is happily delivered of a ſon;" at the ſame time ſhewing him to all that were preſent. The grand dutcheſs, enraged almoſt [259] to diſtraction at this inſult and diſappointment, de⯑termined to be revenged on the cardinal, and the grand duke, whoſe paſſion had ſuffered no abatement, ſoon gave her an opportunity. They were all three on a country party, at Poggio a' Caino, and eat at the ſame table. The cardinal was extremely fond of blanc-manger, and the dutcheſs procured ſome that was mixed with poiſon, and had it ſerved up. The cardinal, who had many ſpies about her, was in⯑formed of it. He ſat down at table, however, as uſual, but notwithſtanding the moſt preſſing ſolici⯑tations of the dutcheſs, he would not touch the blanc-manger. "Well, ſaid the Duke, if the car⯑dinal will not eat, I will;" and immediately took ſome into his plate. The dutcheſs not being able to prevent his eating it without diſcovering her crime, perceived herſelf to be undone for ever; and to avoid the reſentment of her brother-in-law, the cardinal, ſhe ate the remainder of the poiſoned diſh herſelf, and died with her huſband.