DORANDO, A SPANISH TALE.

IN the rich and beautiful province of Andaluſia lived the prince of Dorando, of the race of the ancient kings of Arragon. His family had long ſubſiſted in ſplendour, and ſe⯑veral branches of it were eſtabliſhed in different parts of Europe. But Don Carlos, the laſt of the male line, hav⯑ing in his youth had ſome difference with his ſovereign, quitted the court, and taking a diſguſt at the world, ſhut himſelf up in the caſtle of his anceſtors.

Here he lived in retirement for up⯑wards of thirty years; and although a prince of admirable parts, yet in [6] this gloom of ſolitude his mind loſt its natural vigour; and, indifferent a⯑bout his affairs, he reſigned himſelf to the guidance of people who were artful enough to inſinuate themſelves into his favour.

Don Carlos had no brothers; but an only ſiſter, amiable and accom⯑pliſhed, educated by the princeſs her mother in the ſtricteſt honour and piety. This lady refuſed many ad⯑vantageous offers of marriage from ſentiments of delicacy rarely to be found in one of her rank. She was often aſked by her brother to marry; but ſhe diverted the diſcourſe by tel⯑ling him, that it was his duty to con⯑tinue his illuſtrious line. At laſt ſhe liſtened to the addreſſes of Don Spiri⯑toſo, a cavalier of good family, ſome⯑what advanced in life, but of very en⯑gaging manners. The princeſs Ma⯑ria [7] herſelf, was then in her forty ſe⯑venth year.

Their nuptials were privately ce⯑lebrated by the biſhop of the city where they lived: for, underſtanding that the prince of Dorando had taken up ſome prejudice againſt Don Spiri⯑toſo, they reſolved to conceal their marriage; and accordingly ſet out for France, taking with them Donna Ju⯑ſtina, who had lived both with the princeſs and her mother in the cha⯑racter of a waiting-woman.

They reſided for ſome time in a pleaſant village in France, till the princeſs became pregnant, and her marriage could no longer be conceal⯑ed; while at the ſame time ſhe hop⯑ed, that the prince her brother could not be offended at an event, of which he ſhould no ſooner hear, than he ſhould alſo be informed of its happy conſequences.

[8] The princeſs therefore wrote an affectionate letter to her brother, ac⯑quainting him of her ſituation, and begging his kind protection; but a⯑las! the worthy prince had already been moſt unhappily impoſed upon.

For in the neighbourhood of Do⯑rando lived the prince of Arvidoſo, who by an intermarriage of the fa⯑milies entertained ſome hopes of ſuc⯑ceſſion to the eſtate of Dorando. The adherents therefore of the family of Arvidoſo did all in their power to poi⯑ſon the ear and vex the noble ſpirit of the unſuſpecting Dorando. The principal of theſe adherents were Don Stocaccio, Don Tipponi, and Don Ro⯑domontado. Theſe three never ceaſed to throw the moſt injurious ſuſpicions upon the character of the abſent prin⯑ceſs. They exaggerated every impru⯑dency in the conduct of Don Spiri⯑toſo, [9] ſo as to prevent any hope of the prince being reconciled to his mar⯑riage with the lady Maria. At laſt the princeſs went to Paris, where ſhe was ſafely delivered of two ſons.

This event was an alarming ſtroke to the family of Arvidoſo with all its train. They therefore formed a ſcheme, the moſt unjuſt and cruel both to the princeſs Dorando and to her brother, by which they endea⯑voured to prevent that lady and her ſons from inheriting the family poſ⯑ſeſſions, and at the ſame time to de⯑prive her brother of the happineſs he muſt have had to ſee his family car⯑ried down by the iſſue of his beloved ſiſter.

This ſcheme was no other than a downright accuſation againſt the lady Maria, of what is called in the law Partus, Suppoſitio counterfeiting a birth. [10] A report of which they induſtriouſly propagated. Few indeed would give credit to ſo black an aſperſion.—It was however fatal to the repoſe of the prince of Dorando. For theſe de⯑ſigning people repreſented him as a kind of melancholy madman, to whom no body could have acceſs; ſo that they might have a full opportu⯑nity of practiſing upon his mind. Stocaccio who conſtantly reſided with him in the caſtle, though a dull ani⯑mal, had cunning and wickedneſs enough to affect a thorough convic⯑tion of the princeſs's impoſture, and to repeat it continually to her bro⯑ther. Tipponi told him a variety of ſtories which he had heard over his cups; and Rodomontado bluſtered and ſwore, that the whole matter was as clear as the ſun in the fir⯑mament.—Blow out my brains, [11] moſt mighty prince, would he ſay, and toſs me from the tower of Tole⯑do, if ever a more arrant cheat was attempted ſince the day that Noah went into his Ark.

The unfortunate Dorando believed the barbarous tale. He did not ima⯑gine that any man alive could have dared to tell the prince of Dorando, that his ſiſter was an abandoned and infamous woman, had it not been true beyond a poſſibility of doubt. He felt the deepeſt anguiſh; but his ſpirit was rouſed with indignation; and he reſolved never again to ſee his ſiſter, and to ſhow her every mark of his diſpleaſure.

Having brought him to this ſtate of mind, the adherents had no diffi⯑culty to accompliſh their deſigns. The gentleſt hints were ſufficient; ſo that the prince of Dorando ſettled his [12] opulent domains on the houſe of Ar⯑vidoſo, and ſunk a family which had been illuſtrious for ages.

The princeſs Maria immediately returned to Spain with her husband and children. Her brother had with⯑drawn from her even the appoint⯑ments which he had aſſigned for maintaining her court; and had it not been for the generoſity of ſome of the neighbouring princes, the la⯑dy Maria Dorando muſt have been reduced to actual want.

All who lived under her brother lamented her ſituation. They croud⯑ed to ſee the children, and it was u⯑niverſally agreed, that Don Ferdi⯑nand, the eldeſt, had a ſtrong reſem⯑blance to the prince his uncle; and that Don Philip, the youngeſt, was the very picture of his mother. The honeſt peaſants kiſſed the hands of [13] the young princes with the ſincereſt marks of joy and affection, wiſhing that the prince could only ſee his ne⯑phews, as that would be ſufficient to convince him how falſe were the ſuſ⯑picions againſt them.

But the prince had received too ſtrong impreſſions, and was too cloſe⯑ly watched. Often did the lady Ma⯑ria write to him in the moſt moving terms; but all in vain. She at laſt reſolved to make a deſperate effort, and went to the gate of his caſtle with her two children. And there did the princeſs Dorando and her ſons ſtand like the loweſt ſupplicants, till the prince ſhould return an an⯑ſwer to a pathetic letter which ſhe ſent up to him.—The prince began to relent. He walked through his caſtle muſing with much agitation, while the big tear ran down his [14] cheek. But Stocaccio, like a hell⯑hound, dogged him from room to room, and with a villainous appear⯑ance of concern, bid him be firm, nor weakly yield to the whining of a wo⯑man, who had forfeited every claim to his regard. The prince overcome with a tumult of contending paſſi⯑ons, retired to his cloſet; and Stocac⯑cio deſired the ſervants to tell the la⯑dy Maria, that ſhe could have no ad⯑mittance there.

Treatment ſo harſh and ſevere from him who had formerly been a fond brother, was beyond meaſure diſtreſ⯑ſing to the princeſs; but ſhe behaved with calmneſs and moderation, for her hope was fixed on heaven.

Soon after this her youngeſt ſon died. She was in the deepeſt afflic⯑tion, and the bitterneſs of her ſorrow ſo affected her ſpirits that ſhe never [15] recovered. When ſhe felt the ap⯑proach of death, ſhe received the ho⯑ly ſacrament with much devotion. She called to her bed-ſide the prince Ferdinand her firſt born, and now on⯑ly child, and, after leaving with him many pious leſſons, ſhe raiſed herſelf a little, as if animated with extraor⯑dinary life; ‘'My ſon, ſaid ſhe, be not caſt down. God bleſs you. God make you a good and an honeſt man; for riches I deſpiſe. Take a ſword in your hand, and you may one day be as great a hero as ſome of your predeceſſors.'’ Having thus ſpoke, ſhe reclined her head with peace and complacency; while Don Ferdinand ſtood by her like ‘'the young eaglet of a valiant neſt,'^*’ in an atti⯑tude as if already facing all the dan⯑gers of the field, and at the ſame [16] time touched with the deepeſt con⯑cern for his dying mother, who ex⯑pired a few minutes after.

Don Spiritoſo, whoſe liberality of diſpoſition far exceeded his fortune, was unable to ſupport his ſon; but a princeſs of great worth, the friend of lady Maria, took under her protecti⯑on the young Don Ferdinand, and gave him an education ſuitable to his real birth. And in whatever way it is, that the qualities of nobility are tranſmitted, it is certain, that this prince by his ſentiments, his man⯑ners, and his air, could not but be ac⯑knowledged as of ſuperiour rank. His uncle however remained inexorable, and Don Ferdinand never flattered himſelf with any expectation of hap⯑pier days.

But Providence, whoſe awful de⯑ſigns cannot be penetrated by mor⯑tals [17] —Providence, who is ſometimes pleaſed to manifeſt his juſtice, even in this world of imperfection, where we are not always to expect it—Provi⯑dence determined to reward the piety of the princeſs Maria Dorando, by reſ⯑cuing her memory from reproach, and vindicating the honour of her ſon by means the moſt extraordinary.

Not far from the caſtle of Doran⯑do was the ſeat of a knight, who claimed a diſtant connection with the illuſtrious houſe, having the honour to bear the name; but he was never allowed to approach the caſtle, as he was well known to be inviolably at⯑tached to the family from whence he ſprung, and had even fought ſeveral duels with perſons who ſaid in his preſence, that the lady Maria had brought home ſuppoſititious chil⯑dren.

[18] The daughter of this knight was Donna Eleanora, of uncommon ta⯑lents, and all the high ſpirit of her race. Her brother was an officer in the ſervice of Naples, during the mo⯑narchy of Don Carlos, when king of the two Sicilies, and as the prince of Dorando had been baptized the ſame day with his majeſty, received the ſame name, and been ever intimate with him, Donna Eleanora deter⯑mined to ſolicite his intereſt in fa⯑vour of her brother, and as Stocac⯑cio was juſt dead, ſhe reſolved to im⯑prove a favourable interval.

She accordingly went to the caſtle, and was allowed admittance to the prince.—Dorando roſe and received her with an eaſy dignity, as if he had not been a day abſent from court. ‘'Fair lady, ſaid he, how am I ſo for⯑tunate.—To whom am I indebted [19] for ſo agreeable a viſit?'’ Donna E⯑leanora told him her name and Fa⯑mily, and why ſhe had preſumed to come into his preſence; and ſhe ſpoke with ſuch openneſs and unaffected vivacity, that the prince was charm⯑ed with her behaviour,—told her that ſhe might command his ſervices in every thing, and that he would the very next morning diſpatch a ſpecial courier to Naples, with the ſtrongeſt recommendations of her brother to his Sicilian majeſty. He inſiſted that ſhe ſhould ſtay with him a day or two, and very pleaſantly ſaid, ‘'I hope, couſin, you are not afraid of being eaten alive by the wild man. God forbid, Sir, ſaid Donna Eleanora, that I, whoſe veins are warm with the blood of Dorando, ſhould be af⯑fected by ſuch imaginations. I am a woman, but, I hope, I am free [20] from the weakneſſes which render our ſex contemptible.—Will your highneſs allow me to ſee the caſtle.'’

The prince conducted her through the apartments with the moſt cour⯑teous affability. Donna Eleanora ad⯑mired their grandeur; but her atten⯑tion was chiefly fixed on the portraits of the renowned heroes of the houſe of Dorando. ‘'Ah prince! ſaid ſhe, is it not ſacrilege to let ſo glorious a ſun ſet for ever?—Your highneſs will forgive me for mentioning the name of the lady Maria.—My tears muſt plead my excuſe.'’—The prince fetched a deep ſigh, and ſtood for a minute or two as if looking towards heaven, but made no reply. Don⯑na Eleanora aſſumed a gayer tone;—‘'Well then, prince, is there no la⯑dy in Spain who deſerves the ho⯑nour of having her picture placed [21] in this gallery? Are women ſo de⯑generated, that the houſe of Doran⯑do muſt fail for want of a conſort?'’ The prince kiſſed her hand, and walk⯑ed a-croſs the room, as if he had ſomething in his mind which he could not communicate. Donna E⯑leanora was not at all diſcompoſed. Though ſhe had heard many reports, that the prince was ſubject to furious fits, ſhe conſidered them as the in⯑ventions of intereſted people; and ſhe ſtood fearleſs and unconcerned, till he recovered from his reverie; and aſking her ten thouſand pardons, led her to the room where dinner was ſerved up.

Donna Eleanora appeared at table with ſuch gracefulneſs and majeſty, that the prince often fixed his eyes upon her, and then haſtily withdraw⯑ing them, was heard to ſay,—‘'This [22] is ſtrange!—This is ſtrange!'’—Af⯑ter dinner ſhe was ſhewn to her a⯑partment to take a ſieſto, or gentle ſleep, as is the cuſtom in Spain. She dreamed that a lady appeared to her with a celeſtial countenance, inform⯑ing her, ſhe was the princeſs Maria, and ſaying, ‘'Noble lady, I am come to tell you, that Donna Eleanora was born for the deliverance of my injured ſon.'’

This viſion left a wonderful im⯑preſſion on the mind of Donna Elea⯑nora; ſhe wiſt not well what to think of it.—She roſe and went to the draw⯑ing room, where ſhe found the prince reclined on a ſofa, and playing on the lute with inimitable taſte; ſhe begged that he would continue his muſic, of which ſhe was very fond. The prince did ſo, and touched the inſtrument with ſuch delicacy, that [23] Donna Eleanora thought herſelf in an enchanted region. His airs were moſtly melancholy; but he would now and then entertain the lady with a favourite love-ſong. After this they talked together till ſupper; and the prince ſeemed more and more delight⯑ed with her converſation. When ſhe retired to her room at night, ſhe could hardly ſleep for reflecting on the extraordinary ſcene of the former day: but how much was ſhe ſurpriz⯑ed next morning, when, on coming down to breakfaſt, ſhe found the knight her father ſitting with the prince of Dorando.

His highneſs accoſted her with true Spaniſh gallantry. ‘'Donna E⯑leanora, it would ſeem that heaven has deſtined you for my happineſs. I ſent an expreſs at midnight for your father, whom I rejoice to ſee [24] under this roof. If your affections are not engaged, I hope you will accept the hand of the prince of Dorando.'’

Donna Eleanora was ſtruck with wonder. The viſion came full in her mind; and ſhe adored the benignity of Providence. Then turning to the prince; ‘'My affections, ſaid ſhe, are no otherways engaged than to this illuſtrious houſe. They have long been ſo engaged; and they are now a thouſand times more ſo ſince I have ſeen the repreſentative of the family.—Your highneſs does me an honour which I cannot find words to expreſs.—It ſhall be the ſtudy of my life to deſerve it.'’—His high⯑neſſes prieſt was called in to his pre⯑ſence, and the ceremony was imme⯑diately performed. Now madam, ſaid the prince, I can ſhow you my galle⯑ry [25] without being afraid of any re⯑proof from you.

The news of this marriage flew o⯑ver the country, and filled every ho⯑neſt heart with joy: but it was like a clap of thunder to the houſe of Arvi⯑doſo. They feared that their hopes were blaſted. The adherents could not conceal their vexation, but went about curſing the day that Stocaccio died, and imprecating vengeance on Donna Eleanora.

The prince Dorando now reſumed in a great meaſure his former chear⯑fulneſs. All the nobility around came and paid their court to him: and he found himſelf as fit for ſociety as e⯑ver. He went to Sevile with his prin⯑ceſs, and reſided a part of the winter. His levee was continually crouded. A celebrated tragedy, in honour of his family, was performed in the [26] public theatre, where the prince him⯑ſelf appeared amidſt the acclamations of the audience.

Something was ſtill wanting to render the felicity compleat. The princeſs Dorando could have wiſhed to have brought the prince a ſon of his own to take up his ſucceſſion; but in the mean time ſhe was anxi⯑ous to undeceive him with regard to his nephew; and when ſhe deſpaired of her own offspring, ſhe became ſtill more anxious. She took every opportunity of talking to the prince concerning his ſiſter, and ſhe con⯑vinced him of the falſity of many of the ſtories that had been told him.

It was now ten years ſince his ne⯑phew's birth, but Donna Juſtina was ſtill alive in obſcure apartments at Sevile. The prince was prevailed with to viſit her, and was alone with [27] her for a conſiderable time, when he examined her as to the whole affair, with that keen penetration for which he was diſtinguiſhed. The accounts which he heard from Donna Juſtina, were ſo direct, and enforced with ſuch ſerious and ſolemn aſſeverati⯑ons, while his ſtrict attention made it impoſſible for her to diſſemble, that the prince was much perſuaded of his ſiſter's innocence, and of the honour of his nephew.

He owned this to the princeſs his conſort, who inſiſted that he was cal⯑led upon to ſhow his conviction to the world, and to do juſtice to his injur⯑ed heir. And when the prince ſeem⯑ed ſtill to heſitate, her eagerneſs for the young Don Ferdinand would ſometimes throw her into tranſports of paſſion, which her enemies repre⯑ſented as groſs affectation, but which [28] the prince ſaw to be real. He there⯑fore committed to the flames his ſet⯑tlements on the houſe of Arvidoſo, and deviſed his ſucceſſion to his nephew Don Ferdinand.

He was often aſked by the prin⯑ceſs to ſee his nephew, but he would not agree to it, crying, ‘'Ah madam! Theſe wretches—Theſe wretches—They have planted thorns in my mind, which have taken root for ſo many years, that I cannot entire⯑ly pull them out, without tearing myſelf to pieces. Let me alone! I cannot bear to think of the ſubject. It opens afreſh the wounds of my heart—I have been impoſed upon—I have been unjuſt—I have been cruel—But God knows, my inten⯑tions were upright—I have made reparation, and my ſoul ſhall reſt in peace.'’

[29] Soon after this, the prince Carlos Dorando died, and was carried in great funeral pomp to the tomb of his anceſtors.

The family of Arvidoſo would not yet give over their deſigns upon the wealth of Dorando. Its prince was then in minority, and he had ſeveral guardians of high rank and charac⯑ter, but ſo extravagantly keen to ag⯑grandize their pupil, that they graſp⯑ed at a tempting appearance, with⯑out perceiving that it was only a bubble raiſed by the breath of ma⯑lignity.—They fondly wiſhed to commence a proceſs of Partus Suppo⯑ſitio, againſt Don Ferdinand; and to make enquiries for it, they ſent pri⯑vately to Paris Don Stivalbo, a lawyer, who lay under great obligations to the family of Arvidoſo, and was pre⯑vailed [30] with to undertake the ungra⯑cious taſk.

Don Stivalbo was a man of prin⯑ciple, and he reſolved to conduct him⯑ſelf with the utmoſt impartiality; but when he arrived at Paris, he was ſoon ſurrounded by French prieſts, advo⯑cates, and agents of all kinds, who wiſhed no better than ſo fat a ſub⯑ject as the domains of Arvidoſo and Dorando to feed upon. The gallant Stivalbo underſtanding little of their language, with true Spaniſh genero⯑ſity, truſted to the reports of theſe gentry; who with many bows, ſhrugs, and compliments, pretended they had made aſtoniſhing diſcove⯑ries, till Stivalbo had his imagination ſo warmed, that he himſelf gave credit to the impoſture, and a ſuit was immediately raiſed before the ſenate of Sevile.

[31] In the meantime the guardians of Don Ferdinand began to be ſome⯑what apprehenſive, knowing that it was not difficult to bring very extra⯑ordinary proofs from the Gavaccios, as the Spaniards call the French, whom they deteſt.—The princeſs dowager was determined to be at the bottom of the affair, and ſet out her⯑ſelf for Paris, carrying with her ſeve⯑ral lawyers of great eminence in their profeſſion, and remarkable for their honour as private gentlemen. She had the ſatisfaction to find, upon a careful enquiry, that the houſe of Ar⯑vidoſo had been led a wild-gooſe⯑chace, and that there was nothing to fear.

The Arvidoſo party, however, ſtill continued their purſuit, changing their ground, and taking up a varie⯑ty of different plans; ſo that the prin⯑ceſs [32] was obliged to make no leſs than three or four journeys a-croſs the Py⯑renees, in order to get every new ſto⯑ry refuted; and indeed this was eaſy enough, for no ſooner did the prieſts of Arvidoſo conjure up a ſpectre, than the princeſs Dorando found prieſts who as cleverly laid it. Such, how⯑ever, was the ingenuity of the ſharp⯑ſet emiſſaries in France, that they con⯑trived to keep the affair afloat for ſeve⯑ral years, while they were magnifi⯑cently entertained by both parties, who, according to the Pariſian phraſe, avoient beaucoup d'eſprit, et donnoient bien à manger.

While all this was tranſacting, it was thought proper to call Don Spi⯑ritoſo before the ſenate of Sevile, to have him examined concerning the particulars of the delivery of the prin⯑ceſs his ſpouſe. He was then very [33] old, and brought low with ſickneſs; but the livelineſs of his temper ſtill continued, and he anſwered every queſtion that was put to him with frankneſs and readineſs; at the ſame time telling the judges, that he had all his life-long had an irregular and imperfect memory, which was now grown ſtill worſe; and therefore it would not be fair ſhould every ad⯑vantage be taken of his inconſiſten⯑cies againſt his ſon, whom he had always acknowledged. Not long af⯑ter this examination, Don Spiritoſo died, and with his dying breath con⯑firmed the legitimacy of Don Ferdi⯑nand.—Donna Juſtina alſo died, and ſtept into eternity declaring, that ſhe had been preſent at the birth of the prince.

During the dependance of this te⯑dious proceſs, Don Ferdinand behav⯑ed [34] with a manly compoſure and de⯑cent gravity, which ſhowed his good ſenſe and proper feelings. He one day called aſide one of his lawyers, and inſiſted with him to tell his real opinion of the cauſe; ‘'For, ſaid he, whatever opulence I might gain by it, I ſhould be ſorry to contaminate the blood of a family which I re⯑vere. But I have another reaſon for inſiſting to know the event of the cauſe; I am yet a young man, and if you think I ſhall be proved an impoſtor, I would loſe no time, but go immediately to the Indies, where my diſgrace will not be known, and where I may paſs my days with ſome reputation.'’—The lawyer was greatly moved by this ſpeech of the prince; but aſſured him that he need be under no concern.

The cauſe was at length ready for [35] determination; volumes of proofs and memorials were laid before the judg⯑es; and a day was appointed for its deciſion in the ſenate of Sevile.

Never was there a more intereſt⯑ing ſcene. The judgment-hall was filled with a croud of ſpectators, moſtly people of rank, who waited in the greateſt anxiety and trepida⯑tion, to hear the fate of Dorando. When the ſenators took their places, not a murmur was heard, all was fixed attention.—The ſenators ſat for ſome minutes in awful ſilence.

The chief juſtice was a man of great knowledge in the laws of his country; of a clear head and a ſound underſtanding. He was deſcended of a diſtinguiſhed houſe in Andaluſia, which had produced ſo many ſena⯑tors, that the office ſeemed to be he⯑reditary in the family.—He at laſt [36] addreſſed his brethren—‘'It is not my cuſtom, reſpected ſignors, to ſpeak in this court, till I have firſt heard your worſhipful ſentiments; but I now feel myſelf called upon to take the lead, and to offer, with humble deference to your mighti⯑neſſes, my opinion on the manner in which we ſhould take up this very important cauſe.—I am a lawy⯑er it is true,—but I am alſo a noble⯑man,—and it is for the honour of Spain that our lawyers are ſuch.—I find here before me, a proceſs, the intention of which is to ſtigmatize with infamy a princeſs of the nobleſt blood in Europe. We have the con⯑tinued acknowledgment of pa⯑rents.—We have their poſitive and dying teſtimony; with the poſitive and dying teſtimony of a woman who was preſent at the birth of the [37] defendant.—I lay my hand upon my heart, and I judge as I would wiſh to be judged. Can I then ſup⯑poſe all this to be a complication of guilt, of deliberate and down⯑right perjury?—No, ſignors;—I can⯑not, unleſs upon a ſtrong proof in⯑deed. And what is the proof that has been brought? Theſe teſtimo⯑nies remain untouched.—They are uniform and conſiſtent in the grand point. Upon what then do the plaintiffs reſt their extraordinary plea?—They have embarked us in a mare magnum of circumſtances, picked up at the diſtance of four⯑teen years. And I muſt ſay, picked up from the ſtreets of Paris, from the very dregs of the French Ca⯑naille. It is true, that the defendant has alſo his ragged evidences; but let us conſider who firſt called in [38] the lame and the blind. Had not the plaintiffs built, the defendant had not been obliged to pull down.—Signors, I am only ſurpriſ⯑ed to ſee Don Pedro here. I know him, and I regard him; and it has all along been moſt difficult for me to reconcile the cauſe and the lawyer; but when I conſider how imperceptibly he has been led a⯑way, I excuſe him; and I here pu⯑blickly acquit his honour. For my own part, ſignors, I have no diffi⯑culty; and were not the prince of Arvidoſo a minor, theſe plaintiffs ſhould not go without paying coſts of ſuit.'’

Thus ſpoke the chief juſtice, with a warmth of feeling which went to the heart of every ſpectator. Several of the ſenators delivered their ſenti⯑ments in terms a little different, but [39] to the ſame purpoſe with their head; and only one or two remained ſtill under the cloud of prejudice, but did not venture to ſay one word.

The ſpectators could not contain their joy, but ſhouted as at a bull⯑fight, or any other of the ſuperb ſpectacles of Spain. Moſt of the win⯑dows of Sevile were that evening il⯑luminated, and bonefires blazed in every corner of the city, while health and proſperity was drunk to the prince Ferdinand of Dorando.

Stung to the quick, the Arvidoſo train gnaſhed their teeth in rage and deſpair. They however carried their cauſe by appeal, before the grandees of Spain at Madrid; but it only ſerv⯑ed to make their deſperate ſcheme fall upon their own heads with re⯑doubled vengeance. That illuſtrious aſſembly could hardly hear them [40] with patience. One of the grandees muttered, that the Arvidoſo party had ſaid ſtrong things,—that they had a heavy memorial.—‘'Heavy! cryed the chancellor of Spain, with a violence that made his brother ſhrink with⯑in himſelf.—Heavy! yes it is hea⯑vy; but heavy as was chaos,'’

An illuſtrious grandee—the great⯑eſt miniſter that Spain ever ſaw, and whoſe eloquence vied with that of the orators of Greece and Rome, roſe up, and looking around him with a piercing eye—he thus be⯑gan—‘'Though long accuſtomed to hold with a ſteady hand the ba⯑lance of Europe, and mark the fate of nations; I confeſs, moſt mighty ſignors, that I have at no time been more affected than I now am by [41] this private queſtion—Private, did I ſay?—I recall the expreſſion—It is a queſtion of the moſt public na⯑ture—in the event of which every thing that is dear and valuable to humanity is concerned—What is Spain? What is our country? It is not the valleys though ever ſo gay—It is not the fields, though e⯑ver ſo rich, that attach us to our native land—No. It is our fami⯑ly—It is our wives—It is our chil⯑dren—And what have we before us? A daring attempt to render our children uncertain. If adulterers have been thought worthy of death, what puniſhment do thoſe deſerve, who would introduce what is ſtill more dangerous to ſociety? A few wives may be unfaithful; but every wife may be attacked like the prin⯑ceſs of Dorando. Have we not here [42] the conſtant acknowledgment of pa⯑rents unredargued, unconcuſſed; but by vague ſuſpicions muſtered up twice ſeven years after the birth of the prince? And muſt we then prove the birth of our children? I tremble—I ſhudder at the conſe⯑quences. They are big with dan⯑ger and deſtruction to ſociety. Shall thoſe brave officers whom I have choſen—whom I have ſent out—whom I have inſpirited—ſhall thoſe ſouls of fire who have carried the Spaniſh arms to the moſt diſtant corners—who have been victori⯑ous—who have ſhook the thrones of Europe—ſhall thoſe brave offi⯑cers, nay ſhall any of the gallant ſoldiers who have had children born abroad—ſhall they, when returned home to enjoy the bleſſings of peace, every man under his own vine, and [43] every man under his own fig-tree—ſhall they be obliged to bring legal evidence of the legitimacy of the children whom they acknowledge, before they can be received as citi⯑zens? And if a ſucceſſion ſhould o⯑pen to theſe children—ſhall we at the diſtance of twelve, fourteen, or perhaps twenty years, allow foreign proofs to be imported to deprive them of their eſtate, and their very name? No, ſignors! While my blood is warm, I hope Spain ſhall never adopt ſuch unjuſtifiable meaſures. I ſpeak with more confidence, that upon this occaſion, I ſee not the leaſt doubt. The defendant's honour is cleared from every ſtain; and as I heartily diſapprove of the temerity of the plaintiffs, I think we ſhould award the defendant very large coſts of ſuit, that thoſe who bring ſuch [44] odious actions before us may ſee what ſort of a reception they are to meet with—The court of Sevile has been too indulgent—It is true, the prince of Arvidoſo is a minor; but let him call his guardians to ac⯑count when he comes of age. In this great aſſembly we are moved by no particular conſiderations—we know no private parties—our views are enlarged and extenſive—let our ſentence be iſſued with the proper authority of the grandees of Spain.'’

The whole aſſembly, except a very few, unanimouſly agreed with the e⯑loquent miniſter—and by a great majority it was carried, that the plaintiff ſhould pay 50000 zechins as coſts of ſuit. Thus was the prince Ferdinand of Dorando raiſed to the illuſtrious ſtate of which he had been ſo long deprived. His dignity ſat ve⯑ry [45] eaſy upon him, for it was natural to him. Envy and malevolene gra⯑dually decayed; and even his bittereſt enemies began to repent.

He was one day out a hunting in a large foreſt, which belonged in common to him and to the prince of Arvidoſo, who was now come of age, and was a prince of great virtue and accompliſhments; but was prevented by thoſe about him from ever having any intercourſe with the prince of Dorando, though they had often ſeen each other at court. The prince of Arvidoſo was alſo out a hunting that morning, and his dogs happened to catch the ſcent of the wild boar which was purſued by the prince of Doran⯑do. The ſpirited Arvidoſo followed hard in the chace; but juſt as the boar ſtopped to turn upon the dogs, his horſe fell within half a yard of [46] the furious animal. At that inſtant the prince of Dorando came up, and ſeeing the prince Arvidoſo engaged with the boar, in whoſe mouth he had broke his ſword, and was now in the moſt imminent danger; he run to his relief, and attacking the boar with great ſtrength and agili⯑ty, he ſoon laid him dead upon the ground.

During the heat and hurry of this adventure, the two princes had total⯑ly forgot all family differences; and indeed had hardly time to recollect their own quality.—They now ſtood for a minute and looked at each o⯑ther, when Arvidoſo, with tears of gratitude in his eyes, run up, and throwing himſelf into the arms of Dorando; ‘'Generous prince, ſaid he, forgive what is paſt, I am not to blame; let there be henceforth an e⯑verlaſting [47] friendſhip between us.'’—Dorando embraced him with equal cordiality and told him ‘'That he wiſhed for nothing more than what he now had obtained—The friend⯑ſhip of ſo amiable a prince.'’

In the mean time the attendants of Arvidoſo, who had been left far behind, came up.—They had been in great apprehenſions for their prince. But how were they aſtoniſh⯑ed and confounded, when they ſaw him with the prince of Dorando!—They ſtopt ſhort and were at a loſs what to do.—The prince of Arvido⯑ſo perceived it, and calling to them to approach, he advanced walking arm in arm with the prince of Do⯑rando, and told his attendants what had happened, ſaying, ‘'Gentlemen, you now ſee my deliverer and beſt friend.'’

[48] The prince of Dorando ſaluted the company with a graceful eaſe; and turning to the prince of Arvidoſo, ‘'Sir, ſaid he, your highneſs has been pleaſed to call me your friend—Let me have a proof that you are in earneſt. My caſtle is nearer than yours, and I hope you will do me the honour to be my gueſt for this night? And I inſiſt upon it that your company ſhall alſo go with us.'’

It was accordingly agreed, and they all went to the caſtle of Doran⯑do, where they were ſumptuouſly entertained.—After ſupper, when warm a little with wine, the two princes retired to a window, where, after talking a few minutes in pri⯑vate, prince Arvidoſo made a ſign to Don Pedro to join them. When he came, the prince Arvidoſo ſaid to the [49] prince Dorando, ‘'Allow me to pre⯑ſent to your highneſs this gentle⯑man, he is worthy of your eſteem, and his candour is ſuch, that I have convinced him he was in the wrong to you; for young as I am, I have ſtudied with great application the cauſe in which both of us were ſo much concerned; and I give you my word, that I have always de⯑clared my opinion, that it was an injurious proceſs. I have only to aſk one favour of you, my dear prince, which is, that you may not give my mother as much trouble as our family has given yours.'’

Dorando aſſured Don Pedro that he heartily forgave him, and as he knew him to be a man of parts would be glad to ſhow him every mark of his attention. This done, they returned to the table. Dorando [50] grew exceedingly g [...]y. He gave them ſeveral ſtrokes of pleaſantry on their famous cauſe; and turning to Rodo⯑montado, ſaid with a very ſly look, ?‘'What ſay you to it, my old Trojan? Will you be toſſed from the tower of Toledo now?'’

From that time foreward, the greateſt intimacy ſubſiſted between the two families. The prince of Dorando married a lady of great beauty and merit and continued in dignity and in luſtre the race of his anceſtors.