IBRAHIM. OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA.  
AN EXCELLENT NEW ROMANCE.  
THE Whole Work, In Four Parts.  
Written in FRENCH by Monsieur de Scudery, AND NOW ENGLISHED BY HENRY COGAN, Gent.  
LONDON, Printed for Humphrey Moseley, at the Prince's Arms in St. Paul's Churchyard; William Bentley, and Thomas Heath, in Cavent-Garden. M.DC.LII.   

TO THE HIGH AND EXCELLENT LADY MARY, Duchess of RICHMOND and LENNOX.  
Madam,  
MY Author, having in this his Work represented a Lady, transcendent in all perfections, both of body and mind, in the person of his incomparable Isabel, selected out of all the choicest beauties of France, the great and virtuous Duchess of Rohan, as her nearest parallel, to dedicate it unto. In imitation of whom I have presumed, from amongst the most accomplished Ladies of England, to make choice of your Grace to present this Illustrious Princess of Monaco unto, as the true picture of yourself, wherein you may behold lively portrayed forth all the many rare, and excellent graces and virtues, wherewith Heaven hath so happily beautified you. Be pleased then, great Duchess, to accept thereof, not according to the unworthiness of the presenter, but according to the merit of the present, which exhibites to the view of the world, besides many other remarkable passages, all that is most eminently desirable in that Sex, whereof your Grace being one of the chief, will no doubt, out of that innated goodness, and sweetness of disposition, which is naturally incident thereunto, vouchsafe graciously to receive this mean, but hearty offering of  
Madam Your Grace's most humbly devoted servant Henry Cogan.   

THE PREFACE.  
I Do not know what kind of praise the Ancients thought they gave to that Painter, who not able to end his work, finished it accidently by throwing his pencil against his Picture; but I know very well, that it should not have obliged 〈◊〉, and that I should have taken it rather for a Satire, than an Elogium. The operations of the spirit are too important to be left to the conduct of chance, and I had rather be accused for failing out of knowledge, than for doing well without minding it. There is nothing which temereity doth not undertake, and which fortune doth not bring to pass; but when a man relies on those two guides, if he doth not err, he may err; and of this sort; even when the events are successful no glory is merited thereby. Every art hath its certain rules, which by infallible means lead to the ends proposed; and provided that an Architect takes his measures right, he is assured of the beauty of his building. Believe not for all this, Reader, that I will conclude from thence my work is complete, because I have followed the rules which may render it so: I know that it is of this labour, as of the Mathematical Sciences, where the operation may fail, but the art doth never fail; nor do I make this discourse but to show you, that if I have left some faults in my Book, they are the effects of my weakeness, and not of my negligence. Suffer me then to discover unto you all the resorts of this frame, and let you see, if not all that I have done, at leastwise all that I have endeavoured to do.  
Whereas we cannot be knowing but of that which others do teach us, & that it is for him that comes after, to follow them who preced him, I have believed, that for the laying the ground-plot of this work, we are to consult with the Grecians, who have been our first Masters, pursue the course which they have held, & labour in imitating them to arrive at the same end, which those great men propounded to themselves. I have seen in those famous Romanzes of antiquity, that in imitation of the Epique Poem there is a principal action whereunto all the rest, which reign over all the work, are fastened, and which makes them that they are not employed, but for the conducting of it to its perfection. The action in Homer's Iliads is the destruction of Troy; in his Odysseas the return of Ulysses to Ithaca; in Virgil the death of Turnus, or to say better, the conquest of Italy; nearer to our times, in Tasso the taking of Jerusalem: and to pass from the Poem to the Romanze, which is my principal object, in Heliodorus the marriage of Theagines and Carielia. It is not because the Episodes in the one, and the several Histories in the other, are not rather beauties, than defects; but it is always necessary, that the address of him which employs them should hold them in some sort to this principal action, to the end, that by this ingenious concatenation, all the parts of them should make but one body, and that nothing may be seen in them which is lose and unprofitable. Thus the marriage of my Justiniano and his Isabel, being the object which I have proposed unto myself, I have employed all my care so to do, that all the parts of my work may tend to that conclusion; that there may be a strong connexion between them; and that, except the obstacle which fortune opposeth to the desires of my Heros, all things may advance, or at lestwise endeavour to advance his marriage, which is the end of my labour. Now those great Geniusses of antiquity, from whom I borrow my light, knowing that well-ordering is one of the principal parts of a piece, have given so excellent a one to their speaking pictures, that it would be as much stupididitie, as pride, not to imitate them. They have not done like those Painters, who present in one and the same cloth a Prince in the Cradle, upon the Throne, & in the Tomb, perplexing, by this so little judicious a confusion, him, that considers their work; but with an incomparable address they begin their History in the middle, so to give some suspense to the Reader, even from the first opening of the book; and to confine themselves within reasonable bounds they have made the History (as I likewise have done after them) not to last above a year, the rest being delivered by narration. Thus all things being ingeniously placed, and of a just greatness, no doubt but pleasure will redound from thence to him that beholds them, and glory to him that hath done them. But amongst all the rules which are to be observed in the composition of these works, that of true resemblance is without question the most necessary; it is, as it were, the fundamental stone of this building, and but upon which it cannot subsist; without it nothing can move, without it nothing can please: and if this charming deceiver doth not beguile the mind in Romanzes, this kind of reading disgusts, in stead of entertaining it: I have laboured then never to eloigue myself from it, and to that purpose I have observed the manners, customs, Religions, and inclinations of people: And to give a more true resemblance to things, I have made the foundations of my work Historical, my principal personages such as are marked out in the true History for illustrious persons, and the wars effective. This is the way doubtless, whereby one may arrive at his end; for when as falsehood and truth are confounded by a dextrus hand, wit hath much ado to disentangle them, and is not easily carried to destroy that which pleaseth it; contrarily, when as invention doth not make use of this artifice, and that falsehood is produced openly, this gross untruth makes no impression in the soul, nor gives any delight: As indeed how should I be touched with the misfortunes of the Queen of Gundaya, and of the King of Astrobacia, when as I know their very Kingdoms are not in the Universal Map, or, to say better, in the being of things? But this is not the only defect which may carry us from true resemblance, for we have at other times seen Romanzes, which set before us monsters, in thinking to let us see Miracles; their Authors by adhering too much to wonders have made Grotesques, which have not a little of the visions of a burning Fever; and one might demand of these Messieurs with more reason, than the Duke of Ferrara did of Ariosto, after he had read his Olando, Messer Lodovico done diavolo havete pigliato tante coyonerie? As for me, I hold, that the more natural adventures are, the more satisfaction they give; and the ordinary course of the Sun seems more marvelous to me, than the strange and deadly rays of Comets; for which reason it is also that I have not caused so many Shipwrecks, as there are in some ancient Romanzes; and to speak seriously Duke Bartas might say of these Authors, 
That with their word they bind,  
Or lose, at will, the blowing of the wind.   
So as one might think that Aeolus hath given them the Winds ●nclosed in a bag, as he gave them to Ulysses, so patly do they unchain them; they make tempests and shipwrecks when they please, they raise them on the Pacifique Sea, they find rocks and shelves where the most expert Pilots have never observed any: But they which dispose thus of the winds, know not, how the Prophet doth assure us, that God keeps them in his Treasures; and that Philosophy, as clear sighted as it is, could never discover their retreat. Howbeit I pretend not hereby to banish Shipwrecks from Romanzes, I approve of them in the works of others, and make use of them in mine; I know likewise, that the Sea is the Scene most proper to make great changes in, and that some have named it the Theatre of inconstancy; but as all excess is vicious, I have made use of it but moderately, for to conserve true resembling: Now the same design is the cause also, that my Heros is not oppressed with such a prodigious quantity of accidents, as arrive unto some others, for that according to my sense, the same is far from true resemblance, the life of no man having ever been so crossed. It would be better in my opinion to separate the adventures, to form divers Histories of them, and to make persons acting, thereby to appear both fertile, and judicious together, and to be still within this so necessary true resemblance. And indeed they who have made one man alone defeat whole Armies, have forgotten the Proverb which saith, not one against two; and know not that antiquity doth assure us, how Hercules would in that case be too weak. It is without all doubt, that to represent a true heroical courage, one should make it execute some thing extraordinary, as it were by a transport of the Heros; but he must not continue in that sort, for so those incredible actions would degenerate into ridiculous fables, and never move the mind. This fault is the cause also of committing another; for they which do nothing but heap adventure upon adventure, without ornament, and without stirring up passions by the artifices of Rhetoric, are irksome, in thinking to be the more entertaining. This dry narration, and without a●i, hath more of an old Chronicle, than of a Romanze, which may very well be imbelished with those ornaments, since History, as severe and scrupulous as it is, doth not forbear employing them. Certain Authors, after they have described an adventure, a daring design, or some surprising event, able to possess one with the bravest apprehensions in the world, are contented to assure us, that such a Heros thought of very gallant things, without telling us what they are; and this is that alone which I desire to know: For how can I tell, whether in these events fortune hath not done as much as he? whether his valour be not a brutish valour? and whether he hath born the misfortunes that arrived unto him, as a worthy man should do? it is not by things without him, it is not by the caprichioes of destiny, that I will judge of him; it is by the motions of his soul, and by that which he speaketh. I honour all them that writ at this day; I know their persons, their works, their merits; but as canonising is for none but the dead, they will not take it ill if I do not deify them, since they are living. And in this occasion I propose no other example, than the great and incomparable Urfé; certainly it must be acknowledged that he hath merited his reputation; that the love which all the earth bears him is just; and that so many different Nations, which have translated his Book into their tongues, had reason to do it: as for me, I confess openly, that I am his adorer; these twenty years I have loved him; he is indeed admirable over all; he is fertile in his inventions, and in inventious reasonable; every thing in him is marvelous, every thing in him is excellent; and that which is more important, every thing in him is natural, and truly resembling: But amongst many rare matters, that which I most esteem of is, that he knows how to touch the passions so delicately, that he may be called the Painter of the soul; he goes searching out in the bottom of hearts the most secret thoughes; and in the diversity of natures, which he represents, every one finds his own portrait, so that 
If amongst mortals any be  
That merits Altars, Vrfé's he  
Who can alone pretend thereto.   
Certainly there is nothing more important in this kind of composition, than strongly to imprint the Idea, or (to say better) the image of the Heroes in the mind of the Reader, but in such sort, as if they were known to them; for that it is which interesseth him in their adventures, & from thence his delight cometh; now to make them be known perfectly, it is not sufficient to say how many times they have suffered shipwreck, and how times they have encountered robbers, but their inclinations must be made to appear by their discourse: otherwise one may rightly apply to these dumb Heroes that excellent mot to of Antiquity, Speak that I may see thee. And if from true resemblance, and inclinations, expressed by words, we will pass unto manners, go from the pleasant to the profitable, and from delight to example, I am to tell you, Reader, that here virtue is seen to be always recompensed, and vice always punished, if he that hath followed his own unruliness hath not by a just and sensible repentance obtained grace from Heaven; to which purpose I have also observed equality of manners in all the persons that do act, unless it be whereas they are disordered by passions, and touched with remorse. I have had a care likewise to deal in such sort, as the faults, which great ones have committed in my History, should be caused either by love, or by ambition, which are the noblest of passions, and that they be imputed to the evil counsel of flatterers; that so the respect, which is always due unto Kings, may be preserved. You shall see there, Reader, if I be not deceived, the comeliness of things and conditions exactly enough observed; neither have I put any thing into my Book which the Ladies may not read without blushing. And if you see not my Hero persecuted with Love by Women, it is not because he was not amiable, and that he could not be loved, but because it would clash with civility in the persons of Ladies; and with true resemblance in that of men, who rarely show themselves cruel unto them, nor in doing it could have any good grace: Finally, whether things ought to be so, or whether I have judged of my Hero by mine own weakness, I would not expose his fidelity to that dangerous trial, but have been contented to make no Hilas, nor yet an Hippolytus of him. But whilst I speak of civility, it is fit I should tell you (for fear I be accused of failing therein) that if you see throughout all my Work, when as Soliman is spoken unto, thy Highness, thy Majesty, and that in conclusion he is treated with thee, and not with you, it is not for want of Respect, but contrarily it is to have the more, and to observe the custom of those people, who speak after that sort to their Sovereigns. And if the authority of the living may be of as much force, as that of the dead, you shall find examples of it in the most famous Othomans, and you shall see that their Authors have not been afraid to employ in their own Tongue a manner of speaking, which they have drawn from the Greek and Latin; and then too I have made it appear clearly, that I have not done it without design; for unless it be when as the Turks speak to the Sultan, or he to his inferiors, I have never made use of it, and either of them doth use it to each other. Now for fear it may be objected unto me, that I have approached some incidents nearer than the History hath showed them to be, great Virgil shall be my warrant, who in his divine Aeneads hath made Dido appear four Ages after her own; wherefore I have believed I might do of some months, what he hath done of so many years, and that I was not to be afraid of erring, as long as I followed so good a guide. I know not likewise whether some may not take it ill, that my Hero and Heronia are not Kings; but besides that the generous do put no difference between wearing of Crowns, and meriting them, and that my Justiniano is of a race which hath held the Empire of the Orient, the example of Athenagoras, methinks, aught to stop their mouths, seeing Theogines and Charida are but simple Citizens. Finally, Reader, such Censors may set their hearts at rest for this particular, and leave me there, for I assure them, that Justiniano is of a condition to command over the whole Earth; and that Isabel is of a House, and Gentlewoman good enough, to make Knights of the Rhodes, if she have children enough for it, and that she have a mind thereunto. But setting this jesting aside, and coming to that which regards the Italian names, know that I have put them in their natural pronounciation. And if you see some Turkish words, as Alla, Stamboll, the Egira, and some others, I have done it of purpose, Reader, and have left them as Historical marks, which are to pass rather for embellishments than defects. It is certain that imposition of names is a thing which every one ought to think of, and whereof nevertheless all the world hath not thought: We have oftentimes seen Greek names given to barbarous Nations, with as little reason as if I should name an English man Mahomet, and that I should call a Turk Anthony; for my part I have believed that more care is to be had of one's labour, and that upon this subject men and books are to be consulted with; and if any one remarks the name of Satrape in this Romanze, let him not imagine that my ignorance hath confounded the ancient and new Persia, and that I have done it without Authority, I have an example thereof in Vigenere, who makes use of it in his Illustrations upon Calchondila; and I have learned it of a Persian, which is at Paris, who saith, that by corruption of speech they call yet to this day the Governors of Provinces, Soltan Sitripin. Now lest some other should further accuse me for having improperly named Ibrahim's House a Palace, since all those of persons of quality are called Seraglioes at Constantinople, I desire you to remember, that I have done it by the counsel of two or three excellent persons, who have found as well as myself, that this name of Seraglio would leave an Idea which was not seemly, and that it was fit not to make use of it, but in speaking of the Grand Signior, and that as seldom as might be. But whilst we are speaking of a Palace, I am to advertise you, that such as are not curious to see a goodly building, may pass by the gate of that of my Hero without entering into it, that is to say, not to read the description of it; it is not because I have handled this matter like to Athenagoras, who plays the Mason in the Temple of Jupiter Hammon; nor like Poliphile in his dreams, who hath set down most strange terms, and all the dimensions of Architecture, whereas I have employed but the ornaments thereof; it is not because they are not beauties suitable to the Romanze, as well as to the Epique Poem, since the most famous both of the one and the other have them; nor is it too because mine is not grounded on the History, which assures us that it was the most superb the Turks ever made, as still appears by the remains thereof, which they of that Nation call Serran Ibrahim. But to conclude, as inclinations ought to be free, such as love not those beautiful things, for which I have so much passion, may (as I have said) pass on without looking on them, and leave them to others more curious of those rarities, which I have assembled together with art and care enough. Now, Reader, ingenuity being a matter necessary for a man of Honour, and the theft of glory being the basest that may be committed, I must confess here for fear of being accused of it, that the History of the Count of Lavagna, which you shall see in my Book, is partly a Paraphrase of Mascardies; this Adventure falling out in the time whilst I was writing, I judged it too excellent not to set it down, and too well indicted for to undertake to do it better; so that regard not this place but as a Translation of that famous Italian, and except the matters, which concern my History, attribute all to that great man, whose Interpreter only I am. And if you find something not very serious in the Histories of a certain French Marquis, which I have interlaced in my Book, remember if you please, that a Romanze aught to have the images of all natures; that this diversity makes up the beauties of it, and the delight of the Reader; and at the worst regard it as the sport of a melancholic, and suffer it without blaming it. But before I make an end, I must pass from matters to the manner of delivering them, and desire you also not to forget, that a narrative stile ought not to be too much inflated, no more than that of ordinary conversations; that the more facile it is, the more excellent it is; that it ought to glide along like Rivers, and not rebound up like Torrents; and that the less constraint it hath, the more perfection it hath; I have endeavoured then to observe a just mediocrity between vicious elevation, and creeping lowness; I have contained myself in narration, and left myself free in orations, and in passions, and without speaking as extravagants, and the vulgar, I have laboured to speak as worthy persons do.  
Behold, Reader, that which I had to say to you, but what defence soever I have employed, I know that it is of works of this nature, as of a place of war, where notwithstanding all the care the Engineer hath brought to fortify it, there is always some weak part found, which he hath not dreamed of, and whereby it is assaulted; but this shall not surprise me; for as I have not forgot that I am a man, no more have I forgot that I am subject to err.   

IBRAHIM, OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The First Part.  

The First Book.  
SCarcely had the first beams of the Sun dissipated the darkness of the night on the Bosphorus of Thrace, when as a great voice of Trumpets and Atabales awaked every one in the Imperial City of Constantinople, and made them known that the Triumph of great Soliman was then beginning. All the people ran instantly to the Hipodrome, and the least curious would see the magnificent entry of that Prince, who returned conqueror from Persia. Roxelana the Sultana Queen, followed by all the rest, parted from the Seraglio in Chariots of Scarlet embroidered with gold, and went to the stately standing prepared for her. All the Christian Princes Ambassadors took their places there; first that of the Emperor; then that of France; next to them sat those of Spain, and Poland; and after them the Baglioes of Venice, and Rhagousa. But those of the Mahometan Provinces, as being of the same belief with Soliman, were on the left hand, which amongst the Turks is always the place of honour: That of the Tartars appeared there with a barbarous pomp in a Cap and Robe of Sables, all his Train clad with the skins of Bears, Foxes, Wolves, and Tigers: And those of Morocco, and Fez, were there too, with all the magnificence, and gallantry, that Moors make profession of. As soon as each one had taken his place, the Governor of Constantinople, whom the Turks call Capitan Bassa, and as one of the four prime Officers of the Empire, went out of the City to the Seraglio Daut, an house of pleasure of the Grand Signiors, some two miles off, for to advertise his Highness, who was come thither the night before, that all things were in a readiness to receive him. Soliman gets immediately to horse, and this great Emperor after so glorious a conquest goes to revive the stately seat of his Empire. Fifty Trumpets, and fifty Atabales, attired in Cassocks of Damask, embroidered with gold, appeared first in the Hipodrome, and made all the City to ring with the warlike harmony of their silver instruments. They were followed by two thousand Archers on horseback, in liveries of carnation satin, laid thick with gold lace. Bows of ebony in their left hands, and ivory quivers hanging on scarves. Fifty Oboe, and fifty players on cimbals, followed this first troup, habited after the Greek fashion, in blue velvet embroidered with silver. The Aga of the Janissaries marched on foot alone after them in the head of six thousand of his companions, having on a robe of cloth of gold, a jewel of rich stones, and a plume of Hearons' feathers in his Turban, with a China battoon in his hand, which is the mark of his Charge: All this Troop was clothed in that kind of robe by them called Doliman, with scymitars by their sides, and muskets on their shoulders. They were followed by fifty Drums, and fifty Fyfes, attired in short coats of white taffata, wrought with lively flowers set out with gold. After them an hundred black Slaves, with chains of silver, and bracelets of the same about their arms and legs, carried Tachmas the Sophy of Persiaes' Throne of massy gold, which had been found in Tauris; and all the rich vessel of Agate, and Turqueys, wherewith that Monarch was served. Next to them were twelve Elephants, and twelve Camels led, laden with silver, gold, jewels, and precious stones, which had been taken out of the Sophy's Treasure. A great Chariot, drawn by twelve Barbes, followed, where hung an hundred displayed colours, which the Turks had gained from the Persians; in the midst whereof was a stately Trophy, composed of Curiaces and Murrians of silver engraved; Targets of gold and Turqueyses; Scymitars and Poignards, whose hilts and scabbards were of Agates and Cornalines; Bows of Ebony inlaid with gold; Quivers of gold set with pearl; Pikes, Darts, and Arrows of Cedar wood, and Indian Cane; all intermingled with a disorder so agreeable, & so full of art, and a confusion so rich and beautiful, as nothing could come near to the magnificence of this Trophry. Thirty satraps, sumptuously apparelled after the Persian manner, with their Cuselbas', or red Turbans, went after that Chariot, tied two and two with golden chains, their hands behind their backs. These illustrious wretches were followed by five hundred Volunteers, which the Turks call Dellis, mounted on horses barbed and caparisoned with Lion's skins, having the tail of that generous beast on the frontstalls of them, in stead of a feather; their habits were of the skin of a Bear, their bonnets of that of a Leopard tightly spotted; in those bonnets the train of an Eagle, and on their Targetts the wing of the same bird; they had scymitars by their sides, battleaxes at their saddle bows, and Lances in their hands, at the end whereof was an eagle's feather in stead of a pennon. This fantastic troop was followed by a mixture of Trumpets, Attabales, Oboes, European Drums, cimbals, and Fyfes, which composed a music little less extravagant, than the equipage of those that preceded them. An hundred Pages road after these same, mounted on white Barbes, and suited in white velvet, studded with silver. Behind these Pages twenty A●apes lead in their hands ten Horses, royally harnessed, whereof the last, which was called the Horse of the Body, or the Horse of Battle, had the bit of the bridle, and the stirrupps of massive gold, all beset with precious stones; the Saddle white all over with pearls, and sparkling with diamonds; the Sultan's Target hung at the Saddle bow by strings of gold, at the ends whereof great tenrils of Oriental pearls trailed to the ground. Next to these horses marched even together the Tubenter Aga, and the Chiodar Aga, who carried the Turban and Mantle Imperial. Behind them Ibrahim Bassa, the the Grand Visior, road alone, mounted on a black Barbe, whose furniture was of velvet of the same colour, as well as the habit of that illustrious Bassa, all embroidered with great pearls, he carried in his hand, & without a Scabbard, the Scymitar Imperiall. The hundred Peikes, or footmen of the Grand Signior, followed next, but in order, with bonnets of massive silver on their heads, in the midst whereof white feathers of an extraordinary greatness stuck in a quill covered with precious stones. Fifty Archers on foot went after them, with bows & arrows in their hands, in the midst of whom was Sultan Soliman, arrayed in a robe of cloth of gold, embroidered with pearls, and diamonds; his Turban was ardorned with five plumes of Hearons, and as many great jewels of rich stones; and the furniture of his Horse was all covered over with Emeralds and Rubies. He was followed by all the Bassas and Beglierbies of the Empire. After whom a Boluch Bassa marched in the head of two thousand Janissaries, which were the last Troops of this stately Entry. After that this marvellous Triumph had made a turn about the Hipodrome, all ranked themselves on the right and left hand, and the Sultan went and lighted at a Tent of cloth of Gold, which had been pitched for him under the windows of the Sultana Queen. All the Grandees of the Port stood on both sides; Ibrahim alone was set at his Highness' feet, on a Cushion of cloth of Silver. When every one had taken his place, the Bassa of the Sea, who that day exercised the Charge of the Master of the Ceremonies, advertised the Ambassadors that they might go to the Baise-main, and offer their presents, which they had no sooner done, and were returned to their seats, but the Mufti appeared, sitting on a Throne that was carried on the back of a Camel, and holding in his hands the Book of the Alcoran. He was waited upon by all the Alfaquis, Calendars, and Dervis of the City of Constantinople; all these Religious men cried and howled with a dreadful poise, and to accompany their voices, and their dance, they beat upon kettles and basons, and rung little bells; so that this modest Clergy resembled not a little the Orgies of ancient Greece, and the Bacchanals of old Rome: When they were before the Sultan they stood still, made prayers for the prosperity of his Highness, offered him a Book of their Law, covered with Gold and Turquesyes; and after they had slashed their arms and their faces with great knives, for the love of their Prophet, and the Sultan, they retired, and gave place to those that were to succeed them. The Turkish, Christian, and Jewish Merchants appeared then richly attired, and in the midst of them a Chariot drawn by twelve Cupids, crowned with flowers, upon the which was erected a shop of cloth of Gold, and Persian Tapestry, which they presented to the Sultan. The Goldsmiths followed them with a Cupboard of Gold Plate engraven, upon a frame of unpolished Silver, drawn by four white Horses, which they gave to his Highness. Every Trade appeared one after another, each of them making show of some rich piece of workmanship of their profession; but with so extraordinary a diligence, that before the turn of the place was finished, the Present was in estate to be offered to great Soliman. He received them all very graciously, and instantly gave them to his dear Ibrahim, to whom he said they were justly due, since it was by his courage and conduct, that he had obtained the Victory, and this Triumph. After that all these liberal Troops were passed, as Turkey is the only place in the World, where the most Jugglers and Tumblers are, there appeared above two thousand of them, who in the presence of the Grand Signior did all, that the sleight of the hand, and all, that the address and force of the body, could naturally permit men to. Next to them was seen the great Frame, representing the City of Tauris, whereof the Towers were covered with Persian Colours, as was known by their ancient Images of the Sun, which they all had; it was followed by two hundred Slaves, belonging to the Bassa of the sea, half of them armed after the Turkish, and half after the Persian manner, with scimitars and bucklers of Silver; who to the sound of fifty Oboes danced that which the Greeks called the Pirrhique dance, and that which might be termed an armed dance; the blows were given and received in a due cadence; the changing of figures therein, represented the advantages, and flight which fall out in battles; and the noise of bucklers and scimitars marked out the measure of paces with as much even time, as the instruments. Amongst these Slaves there was one in the Turkish Troop, which by his good aspect and behaviour, drawn the eyes of all the beholders upon him; the Grand Visier no sooner perceived him, but he trembled with amazement and joy, no way doubting but that it was he whom he thought he knew: In the mean time the Frame, and the two Troops, having made a turn about the place, the City was set down just against the Grand Signior, and the Persians cast themselves into it; Then at the sound of all the Trumpets, Atabales, Drums, Oboe, Fifes, and Cymbals in the Assembly, the Turks gave an assault to that feigned City of Tauris: If the assault were vigorous, the defence was no less; the Persians were seen to give ground; the Turks were also seen to be repulsed; and this false Image of of war had all the apparences of a true fight: But at length, after a great resistance, the well-made Slave forced the gates, mounted first on the walls, and plucking down the Sophy's Colours for to set up those of the Sultan, his valour and address were the cause, that the Moon made the Sun to be eclipsed; his victory was seconded with a great shout of the Janissaries, and of all the people, and nothing was heard over all the Hipodrome, but long live Sultan Soliman. In the mean time Ibrahim Bassa, who knew his friend no less by his address, than by his face, was ravished to see, that all the glory of this action could not be disputed with him. When the noise of so many voices was dispersed, there appeared a Troop like to Christians, and observed for such by the Crosses, which were seen in their Colours; they represented certain Christians, who living under the Empire of the Sophy thought they were obliged to defend that Prince, though he were not of their Religion, and indeed had fought so generously for him, as they had been the first in the war, and yet the last that were vanquished. This feigned Troop had order from the Bassa of the Sea to resist for some time that of the Turks, which came at that very instant out of the City, and then to suffer themselves to be vanquished; and they that were attired like Turks were commanded to chain them, and to trail their Colours on the ground: But when the fight began, that generous Slave, who had drawn the eyes of all the Assembly upon him at the taking of the feigned City of Tauris, fell suddenly from jesting into a more serious thought, and being carried away by the zeal of his Religion, he passed from the Turkish Troop into that of the Christians, and by changing of party made the face of things to change: The Turks, whom he had left, laboured to vanquish him with the rest, but he beat them back to the very gates of the City; and albeit they made three sallies more upon him, he repulsed them all the three times, even to the same gates. All the world was surprised with this adventure, and Soliman, not being able to comprehend the matter, demanded of the Bassa of the Sea, what it meant? But the Bassa, casting himself at the feet of his Highness, assured him that this criminal action came not from his order, but that it proceeded from the insolency of his Slave; whereupon a motion of choler seizing on the mind of the Grand Signior, he commanded that this Slave should be instantly impaled. But the grand Vifier, rising from the place where he sat, and falling on his knees, besought the Sultan that he would not mark the day of his Triumph with blood; but remember that clemency is properly the virtue of the Victorious; that in saving the life of this inconsiderate he should be assured, that he would lose it for his service; and that he was of a birth and humour never to be ingrateful; that knowing him as well as himself, he would be responsable for him to his Highness; and that being so far obliged unto him as to die for to save him, he besought the Sultan to take his life instead of his, if his fault could not obtain pardon. Soliman reached out his hand to the illustrious Bassa, and in raising him up, said unto him, that were the Lightning in his hand, his prayers should arrest it; and that being unable to refuse him any thing, he granted him both the life and the pardon of that rash man. Ibrahim cast himself again at the feet of the Sultan for to render him thanks, and after he had obtained of the Bassa of the sea that this slave should come and pass the night with him, he sent him a commandment to attend him. All the magnificences of this Triumph being finished, Soliman was going to rise, and to prepare himself for his return unto his Seraglio, when as he perceived Osman, the Bassa of the seas only son, who breaking through the press, and leading a woman in his hand, came and threw himself together with her at his feet. I know well, my Lord, said he unto him, that my presumption is extreme, but withal I know too, that thy goodness is infinite; nevertheless I have no other need of it in this encounter, than that thou wilt be pleased to permit me to acknowledge thee for a Judge, and to obtain of thee, that in a day wherein thou receivest such glorious marks of thy Valour, thou wilt render us one of thy Justice. The Bassa of the sea knowing that he was the most interessed in the matter in hand, approached near to the Grand Signior for to beseech him with a great deal of earnestness not to give ear to the complaints of a man, who had been so bold as to come and interrupt his Triumph; that for his part, although he were his son, he would crave no favour of him for his fault, but contrarily he should be obliged to his Highness if he would give him a chastisement, that might punish him, not only for his crime, but for all others whereof he was also culpable. A discourse so violent, and so far distant from the apprensions of a father, made Soliman willing to be cleared therein, being loath in a day of his glory his people might say, that he had refused to hear the complaints of the oppressed. Howbeit he would first demand the advice of the grand Visier Ibrahim, who having no other aim but the glory of his Master, said unto him, that in a time wherein Heaven had done him justice in giving him the victory over his Enemies, he should in some sort be unjust to deny it to them that craved it of him. The first sense of Soliman having been confirmed by the counsel of a man, who might do all things with him, he commanded the Bassa of the sea to hold his peace, and the woman whom Osman had brought to his feet, to tell him what interest she had in the fortune of that man; to the end that understanding the matter from a person that seemed least capable of disguising it, he might also give a more equal judgement therein. That woman then having heard this commandment, could not for all that resolve to obey it, before she had looked on Osman, as it were to demand permission of him to answer unto it; but he having made a sign unto her that he desired it, she turned herself towards Soliman, with both a modest, and a confident countenance, which began already to obtain for her the goodwill and attention of all that could hear her. Alibech, so was this woman called, was young and fair, and one might have said that her beauty had been without compare, if her complexion had not been a little tanned with the Sun; she had a stately look, but without pride, and such ingenuity in her face, as could not permit one to doubt of her words. After that by Osmans' countenance she knew he had permitted her to speak, she began in these terms; for though she was originally of Persia, yet spoke she perfectly the Turkish tongue, which she made use of in this occasion.  

The History of Osman and Alibech.  
I doubt not, my Lord, but thy Highness will find it strange, said this woman, her eyes full of tears, that in a day wherein tears of joy are to be shed, I begin my discourse with tears of sorrow; but the cause of it is so pressing, that it is impossible for me to retain them; for, my Lord, thou seest before thine eyes, said she, showing Osman, two of the most infortunate persons that ever were; we have enemies whom we cannot, whom we ought not hate; to whom we owe respect; to whom we owe obedience; to whom we owe affection; enemies, I say, to whom we owe our lives, and for whom also we would lose them with joy if there were occasion for it: Nevertheless it is against such dear persons, my Lord, that I am to speak at this time; and for obtaining the justice which we demand of thee, and whereupon depends the happiness or unhappiness of our lives, I must discover the cruelties of my father, and Osman must accuse his: Judge then, my Lord, whether my tears be not just, and whether loving our enemies, as we do, we be not exposed to an extreme misfortune in being thus constrained to publish their shame, to accuse them, and to demand justice against them. Alibech found herself so oppressed with sorrow, that she stood a good while unable to speak. But Soliman having commended so sweet a resentment in her, and having commanded her once again to let him understand their differences, she continued her discourse. Since I must, said she, obey, and that I cannot conserve my husband without discovering the misfortunes of my father, I must, I say, let thy Highness know, that his name is Arsalon; that he was born the subject of the Sophy of Persia; and that in the time he was in that Court he was Satrap of Aderbion, and so considerable with Tachmas, as there was not any person in that Empire, who was more than he; but whereas his humour hath been always violent in every thing, being become desperately in love with a maid of excellent beauty, of great virtue, and of much spirit, he espoused her, though she were of base condition: And whereas the Laws of the State do not permit a Gentleman to marry a wife that is not noble, they also will that the great ones, which commit such like offences, shall lose the honours and charges they possess, and be declared ignoble, and uncapable of all manner of dignities. My father was not ignorant of this custom and law; but he was persuaded that Tachmas would have infringed it for his sake; and if he would not, that want of affection would be a reason strong enough to oblige him to make the Province revolt, where he commanded, and whereof he believed he was absolutely the Master; howbeit the matter succeeded not so, for the enemies which my Father had made him by his violences, meeting with so fair an occasion to hurt him, they represented unto the Sophy, that if he pardoned him this fault, it would make him the more insolent for the future, yea and that it would even overthrow all that Empire, the glory and force whereof consisted in the valour of noble persons, wherewith it is replenished; at length they wrote in such manner, that my Father was declared guilty, as contravening the fundamental Laws of the State, and constrained to undergo the chastisement, which I shall come to speak of, by reason that the Province, where he commanded so absolutely when he was in grace, revolted against him, and left him not scarcely the liberty to seek a refuge otherwhere; for I forgot to tell thy Highness, that the same Law which commanded the utter ruin of my Father, commanded also that he should pass his life in a perpetual prison, and the person whom he had married in another, for fear that living together, and having children, it might one day cause disorders in the State. My Father seeing himself in so pitiful a fortune, went not about to move the heart of Tachmas with payers and submission, but contrarily sent him word, that deserving not to be served by a man of his courage and valour, he would go out of his Estates, with an intention never to re-enter into them again, but to bring war along with him. Being then in Mingrelia, he bought a Man of War, wherein he embarked himself on Mare major, with his wife, who as she was the cause of his misfortune, so would she not abandon him in his exile. They continued some time in this sort, not knowing what resolution to take, nor having any other design in the course that they held, than to cloign themselves from Persia; my Father's great heart not permitting him to go and seek unto the enemies of Tachmas for a place of retreat; for though he be somewhat cruel, yet is he notwithstanding generous; neither would he likewise address himself to the Princes that were allied to our Empire, for fear he should not be favourably received by them. In the mean time these irresolutions having no end, the provisions of the ship diminished daily: The Pilot was well hoped up to ask him where he would land, when as he found no place in the whole universal Map whither ro go. Six months passed away in this sort in running over all the Seas of the Levant; and whereas my mother was with child of me, at such time as she embarked herself, she was not far from the term wherein I was to see the light, when as Arsalons' victuals utterly failed him; and having employed all his money in the buying of the Vessel, and such provisions of War, and for the mouth, as he had laid into her, he knew not what part to repair unto for the supplying of himself in so adverse an adventure. The soldiers and Mariners consulted together, and having gained the Pilot, they wrought so with him, that maugre the command my Father had given him to the contrary, he steered directly to an Island which they had discovered; whereupon Arsalon being in a rage to see his authority contemned, went and pushed away the Pilot so rudely for to make him abandon the helm, as the poor wretch fell into the Sea; and my Father becoming his own Pilot, he took his scimitar in his right hand, and the whip of the rudder in his left, and menacing them that would oppose his will, he made his Vessel take a quite contrary course, choosing rather to die by famine, than expose his misery to the eyes of the world, fearing nothing so much as that Tachmas should come to understand his misfortunes. He had already lost sight of that Hand, which he had beheld as a rock, and his soldiers being no longer retained but by the tears of my Mother, might at length peradventure have been carried to some strange resolution, without an adventure that befell them, which was, that my Father discovered a Vessel coming towards his, which bore a Flag of Persia in her top, as he thought, and as indeed it proved to be: Upon the sight of her he began to think, that he should be revenged of Tachmas in revenging himself upon his Subjects; and this desire of revenge, joined to the present necessity, made him propound to his soldiers the attacking of that Vessel, who animated more by the fear of famine, than by their courage, resolved to obey his pleasure. After my Father had shut up my Mother in the Captain's , where with fright she was brought to bed of me by the assistance of her Nurse, who had never abandoned her, they set upon the Vessel, and after two hours fight rendered themselves absolute Masters of her, wherein they found extreme riches, and abundance of Victual. This victory gave new life to his soldiers, who for the valour which my Father had showed in this occasion, grew so devoted unto him, as they craved pardon of him for resisting his will, and swore never to forsake him; he to win them the more, divided the booty amongst them, reserving nothing for himself but the glory of having vanquished. After this, my Lord, he took a resolution to have no other Country but his ship, and to pass all the rest of his life upon all the Seas of the world, to seek out all occasions of fight, and to take all the Vessels that should carry the Colours of Persia, or all that belonged to the Enemies of our Religion, which are the Christians: He propounds this design to his soudiers, who approve it, and albeit my Mother withstood it, he settled this resolution at last. Behold, my Lord, in what sort my Father hath lived for the space of eighteen years that I have been in the world, and that which hath gotten him so much fame under the name of Arsalon the Pirate throughout all the Seas that are known to us. I have not for all that been always brought up in so wild an element, for whereas he divers times arrived at Hands to sell off the commodities which he had taken, he left me from the age of six years until fourteen, at which time he took me to him again, under the government of a woman of the Isle of Cyprus, who truly had a great deal of care of me. Thy Highness may be pleased to dispense with me for the relating to thee all the sad victories which my Father hath obtained in so long a time, and withal wilt pardon me if I have extended myself in this discourse more than I ought, for to make it appear, that the life which my father hath led, hath rather been an effect of his great heart, and of his despair, than of the baseness and viciousness of his mind: But, my Lord, to come unto that which directly regards me, it was not full six days after my Father had taken me away from the Isle of Cyprus, whenas my Mother fell sick, and died in my arms; this loss no doubt was very sensible unto me, and Arsalon was so afflicted with it, as no man could be more; howbeit this grief produced very different effects in us; I shed tears, and he spilt blood, for melancholy being joined to his violent humour, he sought no other remedy for his affliction than to make others miserable like himself. We ran then over all the Archipelago, and all the Sea of Tuscany; and during that voyage he made many fights, and took many prizes, amongst the rest a little Bark, where a man of a good aspect, and that was an Italian, defended himself so courageously, that Arsalon, vex● at his resistance, had peradventure caused him to be slain, if I had not obtained his life. When he was in the hands of my Father, he was chained amongst those whom he judged were handsome enough to be sold in places where he had accustomed to traffic; but he soon changed this design, for this new Slave having given him to understand by an Interpreter, which my Father had, who spoke most languages, for the commodity of his Commerces, that he was a man of quality, he agreed with him on a price for his ransom, and gave him his word, that if the sum which he had promised, were paid him at the Isle of Cyprus, he would set him at liberty: This Slave having confirmed this promise unto him, my Father permitted him to write unto the place whence he said he was of, and so going to the Isle of Cyprus, he gave this Letter to Merchants, with whom he held correspondence, that undertook to cause it to be delivered; my Father promising this Slave, that within three months he would return thither for an answer of it; but in the mean time that he must for his security go along with him: This man not knowing what to do, but to follow the Law of the Vanquisher, resolved to submit to that which he could not avoid. Not long after we encountered a great man of War, in whose Flag my Father observed half Moons; and whereas all his prizes were seldom or never made of any save of Persians, or Christians, he purposed not to meddle with her, but contrarily commanded his Pilot to quit his course, that so he might decline her; but whereas Arsalon was taken for a Pirate, and this change of course seemed to be a flight unto him who commanded that Vessel, he made up with full sails unto us, the better to discern ours, and having well discerned her, he came presently and grappled himself fast unto us. I cannot say, my Lord, what this fight was, because the fright I was in kept me from marking it, howbeit I know that at the very first, they of that Vessel leapt into ours; and whereas there were many of my Father's soldiers sick, they might peradventure have rendered themselves Masters of her without the valour of the Italian Slave, who seeing that they which attacked us were not Christians, demanded leave of Arsalon to fight, who having given him arms, gave him wherewithal to gain us the victory; for he performed such marvellous things in this fight, as after he had repulsed the enemy, he leapt into their Vessel, followed by my Father, and some of his, put very near all that he met with there to the sword, rendered himself Master of her, and with his own hand, after a long resistance, took Osman, who commanded her, and who by his Father's order was going to Alexandria. After this brave exploit, this Slave was the favourite of Arsalon, of which grace notwithstanding he was not much sensible; for though my Father caressed him extremely, yet left he not to be exceedingly afflicted, when as he knew that the reward of his victories should be a perpetual slavery; for albeit my Father had promised to give him his liberty, when as he should have received his ransom, he had resolved nevertheless to break his word with him, for that he might not, said he, part with a man which could make him invincible by his wonderful valour. In the mean time, my Lord, Osman finding himself wounded, and my inclination having always carried me to the comforting of others miseries, I visited him whilst he was ill, and more for the care that I had of his person, as long as he was so, than for any beauty was in my face, he bore an affection to me; and if I dare say it, the knowledge which I had thereof, together with his merit, and the compassion I had of his misfortune, very much disposed me to accept of it; the constancy which he shown was partly the cause of my weakness, if at leastwise one may call an affection so, which hath no other object but virtue. As soon as Osman was taken, he told Arsalon what he was, who gave him the means to let the Bassa of the Sea understand what ransom he was set at, and how he might deliver him; in the mean time, his hurts being cured, he contracted a great friendship with that generous Slave, speaking a certain corrupted Italian unto him, which, they say, is very much in use here in Constantinople. As for me, after I parted from the Isle of Cyprus, my chiefest entertainmen was to talk with the Interpreter, whom my Father carried always along with him, and by the continual conference which we had together, touching the diversities of Languages, I had almost learned two or three, if not for to speak them well, at leastwise to understand them perfectly; and whereas the Turkish and Italian were of that number, I did also many times converse with those two infortunate ones, thinking I had passed away the day exceeding well, when I could avoid the company of those men of blood and slaughter that followed my Father. Thus I spent most of my time, either in the Captain's  with my Mother's Nurse, or in their conversation. They known well enough by my sadness, that the life which I led was grievous unto me, yet had they the goodness not to speak to me of it but modestly, nor to complain of their own misfortunes in consideration of me: This compliance and advisedness of theirs made me to esteem much of them both; and the belief I had that I was beloved of Osman possessed me both with joy, and with unquietness; for I perceived sufficiently, that his heart yielded not without resisting, and that he was ashamed to wear the fetters of a Pirate's daughter: This generous disposition of his for all that displeased me not, and making great account of him already, I interpreted every thing to his advantage; I found that he had reason to revolt against himself, and not to give way to a passion unworthy of him, yet forbore I not to make vows in secret, that he might know how far my disposition was from that of my fathers, but yet I durst not bring any care to justify myself therein, because I could not do it without blaming him that gave me life. We lived in this sort with some delight, and a great deal of unquietness; the Italian Slave was afflicted to see my father break his word with him, and seemed also to be so for that he could have no tidings of a friend of his whom he infinitely regretted; as for Osman, and myself, we knew not what to wish for; he was grieved for that he could not hear from his father, and yet feared to quit me; I likewise made vows for his liberty, and yet feared nothing more. What, said I to myself sometimes, shall I pass my whole life with men, whose cruelty is all their virtue? shall I always be exposed to tempests? Shall I never see other than miserable wretches? And it may be too after that I shall die the Slave of a Pirate. I vow to thee, my Lord, this thought was a torment unto me; and albeit the conversation of Osman gave me some pleasing hours, yet could I say that I was most unhappy: But I was a great deal more a little after, because the term, which my father had given the Bassa of the Sea for the redemption of his son, being past, he was treated more harshly than before, and kept in the rank of those Slaves, which he meant to sell in Christian land. This resolution, being known to Osman, and me, wrought a strange effect in us, and the love which we bore one to another, and which we had both of us concealed as much as we could, began then to break forth. I could not speak to him of my father's designs but with tears in mine eyes, nor could he talk to me of an eloignment, which he believed to be inevitable, without declaring his affection openly unto me; I believed, my Lord, that it was true, thinking it was not a time fitting to dissemble in; he assured me that his irons did not seem heavy unto him, as long as he was with me, but the thought of being separated from me for ever, and to be constrained to carry chains otherwhere, was insupportable to to him; he swore to me further, that he had not desired his liberty but to obtain of his father, against whom he had never so much as once murmured, the means to deliver me out of the hands of mine. A discourse so obliging found not an ingrateful soul, and I resolved to do what I could to keep my father from executing so ignoble a design; I cast myself then at his feet, I begged this grace of him with tears, but for all the effect of my request I got nothing, save an express inhibition never to speak to him more of it. After that he always treated me ill; I had no longer the liberty to entertain Osman as before; and we were all three for a long time together the most unhappy persons that ever were. This constraint for all that kept me not from letting him know at length, that if he would promise to marry me I would undeavour to deliver him, so as he would be ruled by me: Osman answered thereunto very obligingly, that loving me so much, as to hazard his life for to make me his, I was not to doubt, but that meeting with two such great benefits together, he would do whatsoever I would have him for to obtain them. After he had sworn more than once to me, that if I would procure him his liberty, and would follow him, he would receive me for his wife, I required some time for the execution of my design; but whereas I could not finish it without betraying in some sort my father, it is certain that I almost repent me of my engaging myself therein: I was persuaded notwithstanding that virtue and reason were of my side, and that regarding Osman as my husband, I might be permitted to follow him, desiring nothing of all my father's riches, than this only Slave, which I rob him of. Being well confirmed then in my design, I examine, I consider the difficulties of it, and find no other way to execute it, than to stay till we came to the Isle of Chio, whither my father was to go, and there to cast anchor; for whereas he had caused the Captain's  to be divided in the midst, to the end that I should lie on the one side, and he on the other, and that Osman also was every night locked up with a key, which Arsalon himself always kept by him, I resolved to steal it as softly as I could from him; but the difficulty was, that ever since he purposed to retain the Italian Slave, he for to favour him, but indeed to assure himself of him, made him to lie with him. I resolved then to propound unto him his escaping out of my father's hands; at first he doubted it was but to try him, that I spoke so to him, and withal his own generosity withstood it, but having acquainted him with the truth of the matter, he believed me, and said, that seeing my father had broken his word with him, he might fail in his fidelity to him also; and on condition that Osman would promise him his freedom, he would expose himself to any thing for my sake. I assured him of what he desired, and having so good a second it was not hard for me to finish my enterprise. But without importuning thy Highness, my Lord, by a long relation, let it suffice to say, we were no sooner at the road of Chio, where Osman had some acquaintance, but night being come, and my father a sleep, I went and stole away the key of the , wherein Osman was lo●ked; and the generous Slave, having shut up my father in his, where he sound slept, came along with me to unlose his friend, snatched away a sentinels arms that would have cried out, and having killed him, as well as the Pilot, we got into the skiff, and for the more surety, the generous Slave with a blow of his scimitar cut asunder the cable that held the vessel at anchor, which by the light of the Moon we saw fall away from us, and float at the pleasure of the wind, without a Pilot, or any man awake in her. In the mean time Osman and that Slave rowed with such speed, as we soon approached to land, where we happily arrived; and meeting with a sanctuary in the house of one, who knew Osman ●t Ch●o, we in a little time found the means to come unto Constantinople, leaving Arsalon no doubt in an extreme rage at our flight, which was made with much the more security, for that my father seldom suffered his great Vessel to enter into any Port that was suspected unto him, but sent a Bark in for the dispatch of such business as he had to do there, and upon that it was that I had grounded my enterprise. Now, my Lord, after I had delivered Osman with the help of the generous Slave, and had brought him back to his paternal house, when he would have made good his word which he had given us, this incensed father hath entreated me as an infamous person, and a vagabond, and hath put that Slave into irons, to whom his son oweth his liberty, since that without him I could not have executed that which I had promised; it is that Slave, my Lord, whom thou hast so lately pardoned, and of whom the Illustrious Ibrahim hath undertaken the protection. Behold, my Lord, the difference that is between the Bassa of the Sea, and his son, whose sense I will not deliver, for fear I should be suspected to interpret it too advantageously for myself; wherefore it is for thy Highness to understand it from his own mouth, and absolutely to dispose of my happiness, or of my unhappiness, of my life, or of my death. Alibech having given over speaking, a confused noise was heard, which seemed to judge the matter for her advantage; but Soliman, desiring to render equal Justice, commanded the Bassa of the Sea to speak his intentions. I have no other, my Lord, said he, than to chase from my house a woman, that aught to be driven from all the earth, and whose disposition is so base and unjust, that she could love a captive, when she knew him not for that which he was, and betray her father; a woman descended from a Pirate, nourished amidst blood and cruelty, brought up amongst wicked villains whom the earth cannot bear, and the daughter of a Persian thy Highness' enemy: Behold what this woman is whom my son will marry, and for all her estate brings nothing with her but infamy; he will tell me, it may be, that he owes his liberty to her, and I will answer him, that it is a good which she hath not done him, but to do it for herself; she knew he was the son of a Bassa, that he had Palaces, that he was rich, and that he was honoured with thy Highness' favours; she betrayed her father to possess them, and hath not so much followed my son, as she hath sought after his good fortune; and than who knows whether her hatred to Arsalon is not rather the cause of her flight, than her love to Osman? She was weary of living in a continual prison, and to speak truly of things, she owes her liberty rather to Osman, than my son doth owe his to her, since that at length a ransom might have redeemed him, whereas nothing could have drawn her out of her father's hands. What assurance can one place in a person, that gives no marks of her affection but treasons; that stifles all the motions of nature, to follow those wherewith she is inspired by a disordinate love; and that gins her marriage with an impiety? Believe me, Osman, said the Bassa beholding him, she that hath been so audacious, as to betray her father for to follow a Slave, may yet more easily betray an husband for a man of free condition; she that could so cunningly steal away the keys of a sleeping father, may peradventure, being become the more daring by the happy success of her former designs, stab a dagger into the heart of an husband, when as she shall be as weary of him, as she was of her father. And then, my Lord, said he, turning himself to Soliman, who knows whether all that she hath said be not a trick, and that being the daughter of a Persian, she comes not hither to observe what is done here, and seek occasion to hurt us? Howsoever it be, I find that she ought to be suspected of us, and that in this encounter my particular interest is the same with the public. As for the freedom of the Slave, whom thy Highness hath been pleased to pardon, I have no more to say, for to make it appear, that I am not obliged to render it unto him, than that he is the cause of all the pain I am in, seeing that he alone, as this woman herself says, made Osman the slave of Arsalon; let my son keep his word with him, if he can, but as for me, I have promised him nothing; I will retain him in irons, not only as a Christian, not only as a Captive, but also as an enemy. Behold, my Lord, what my sense is in this occasion, which, as I think, is not far from reason. Soliman seeing that the Bassa of the sea had done speaking, told Osman that he was to declare his mind. I am very sorry, replied he, that I must be constrained to contradict a man to whom I owe my life, and to have that cross conformity with the virtuous Alibech, as to have a father as inexorable as hers is cruel; but, my Lord, since the prime duty ought to prevail over all others, and that reason will have me speak without fear in this occasion, I will beseech thine Highness to consider, whether I can without ingratitude, and without being the basest of all men, abandon a person, who hath abandoned all for me, and that, as one may say, hath made herself a slave to deliver me, since that remitting herself to my conduct, and relying on my word, it was no longer in her power to alter her mind, but was necessarily to follow my will. Can I consider, that even at this present I should be laden with Irons, exposed to the insolency of Pirates, and the cruelty of Arsalon, if this woman had not broken my chains, and not have for her all the affection, and all the acknowledgement whereof I am capable? As soon as I was a captive, she began to do me good; I was wounded, she had a care of me, with her charitable offices she healed the wounds which her father had given me; I no sooner saw her, but I knew her virtue; she comforted the afflicted, took care to relieve them; and to say all in a word, she bewailed the Victories of her father, because she believed them not to be just. I confess ingenuously, that the beauty of her mind moved me more, than that of her face; and finding myself surprised by the lustre of so great a virtue, I engaged myself in such sort unto her, as nothing can be able to change it: But if virtue be the foundation of the love I bear her, that which she bears me hath had no less noble a cause: She saw me constant enough in my misfortune, she saw me wounded, a captive, and ready to be sold into a strange Country, and knew, though she seemed to be ignorant of it, that I loved her much; the gorgiousness of my clothes did not win her; for they were all torn in the heat of the fight; I was wan and disfigured; she saw me abandoned of my father, of whom I had no news; ill-entreated by Arsalon, because he had lost the hope of my ransom; and finally, in a more deplorable estate than ever man was seen: Love then did not enter into her heart by voluptuousness, but I can say it was introduced thereinto by goodness, acknowledgement, and compassion; for if she had not been pitiful, she had not assisted me when I was ill, she had not loved me; if she had not been acknowledging, she had despised the love of a slave, that had not the liberty to do her any service; and if her heart had not been tender, she had not been moved with my misfortunes, nor given an end to them. It is true, that she is the daughter of the Pirate Arsalon; that she hath quitted her father to follow me; that she hath been brought up amongst cruel and bloody men; and that she is the daughter, not only of a Pirate, but of a Persian. But, my Lord, all this, which seems to make against me, makes for me in this occasion: for what greater mark can one desire of a solid and  virtue, than to see a woman of eighteen years of age, whose inclinations are not corrupted amidst so many vices, and whose innocence is preserved so entire, as she could not so much as excuse cruelty in her father? It is true, that she hath followed me, but it was to see no more murders, nor fights, and because she saw a juster temper in my mind: She hath not betrayed her father to follow a slave, but she hath quitted the Pirate Arsalon to deliver a husband; for having promised to be so unto her, nothing but death alone can keep me from it. Moreover, my Lord, she is not to be suspected of thy Highness, for though she be the daughter of a Persian, it is of a Persian the enemy of Tachmas, who hath for these eighteen years waged War against him. I will not stand to say, that this woman, albeit the daughter of a Pirate, is for all that of a noble extraction, because the Mussulmans make Nobility personal, and believe that it ought not to pass unto children; but I will only say, that in the estate wherein my father's fortune now is, all that can be desired in a woman is contracted in this same; she is fair, she loves me, and she is virtuous. It is true, that she is without wealth, and without parents, but she hath lost them for the love of me; and whereas by thy bounty my father hath no need, either of support, or of riches, what can I wish for more in a Wife? If I take one that is rich, it may be she will abandon me if I should happen to fall into misery, but this that I have chosen will be the companion of all my misfortunes, without any fear that ever she will quit me. I know that I owe a great deal of respect to my father, but I know that I owe my life and my liberty to this woman; I must then love both the one and the other, or keep my word which I have given her; for if my father will not suffer himself to be persuaded, we will go voluntarily into banishment; we are already accustomed to misfortune, and the misery that we shall endure together will no doubt be more supportable to us, than greatness and riches would be if we were separated. As for the generous Slave, to whom I have promised liberty, I know not by what reason my father can pretend any right to deprive him of it; he is neither his slave nor mine; and by the severest law of War he can lay no claim at all unto him: He is a Christian I acknowledge, but all the Christians here in Constantinople wear not fetters; he is a captive, but that is to Arsalon, and not to him; and a captive too, who after a breach of promise might with justice break his chains; nor hath he sought for liberty but to give it me, and that is it peradventure that hath made my father his enemy. It is true also that he took me, but it was in a just fight; by that reason I am his slave, rather than he is mine. Let thy Highness so order it, if it be possible, that I may acquit me as I ought. Behold all the crimes, my Lord, that I have committed; my father would have me perfidious and ingrateful, and I had rather my father should hate me with injustice, than love me unjustly. The generous Alibech seeing that Osman had made an end of speaking, and having observed by the Bassa of the seas countenance, that the discourse had rather incensed, than persuaded him, turned herself to Osman, with tears in her eyes, and conjured him to obey his father; I will not, said she unto him, have you faulty for the love of me; and since our affection cannot be innocent, extinguish it in your heart, and leave me the care of conserving it in mine; remember that you are the son of the Bassa of the sea, and that you are not yet my husband; you cannot dispense with yourself for that first duty, and fortune doth dispense with you for the other; I hold you acquitted of the promise which you cannot perform to me without a crime, and I desire nothing of you but a will to obey your father; when I shall see you resolved so to do, I will get me away alone. Alas! said Osman, interrupting her, in what part of the World couldst thou find a place of refuge? All the Elements are contrary to us; the sea hath no security for us, nor is the land more favourable unto us; thy father and mine do banish us from them both, and nothing but death alone can finish our miseries. Soliman being touched with the pity of such tender apprehensions, would not leave them long in pain; and though the Bassa of the sea would have replied, he forbade him to withstand his pleasure; but whereas he knew, that the true reason wherefore he opposed the passion of his son, was avarice, so ordinary amongst the Turks, he told him, after he had consulted with Ibrahim, that the virtue of Alibech had charmed him in such sort, as he would adopt her for his daughter, and how in that quality he would give her three hundred thousand Sultannies in marriage with her, commanding him to receive her for the wife of his son, and to entreat her as if she were his daughter, assuring him that he would hold the place of father unto her, and that he would interess himself in all that regarded her. That for the Slave whom he had already pardoned, it was his pleasure, that he should remit him into the hands of Ibrahim to dispose of him as he would. The Bassa of the sea, who indeed had found no other defect in the virtuous Alibech, than poverty, seeing her to be rich by the bounty of the Sultan, changed his choler into giving of thanks, and assured Soliman that he should be obeyed. Osman and Alibech rendered him such acknowledgement as was answerable to the favour they had received, and went away with as much satisfaction, as they had had sorrow: But it was Soliman's pleasure, that Alibech should first go and kiss the Robe of Roxelana, who was still at the standing, where she had seen the Triumph. In the mean time, the day being near to an end, the magnificences of this Triumph ended also by a volley of Musket-shot discharged by the Janissaries, which was answered by all the great Ordnance of the seven Towers, and that of all the Galleys. Great Soliman then retired to the Seraglio, with the Sultana Queen, attended upon by all the Troops, which afterwards conducted the Grand Visier to his, he that by his valour and prudence had been the only cause of Soliman's Triumph.    

IBRAHIM, OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The First Part.  
The Second Book.  
IBrahim Bassa, being unable to vanquish the secret melancholy which he carried in his breast, could not amidst all his Victories, and all the honours he had received, keep it from being as visible in his eyes, as it was sensible to his heart. The Conquests which he had made of the Persians, the Battles which he had won against the Rebels of Asia, had indeed filled the whole extent of the Empire of the Mussulmans with gladness: but this general rejoicing made not his particular; neither were utility and glory considerations strong enough to give unto his mind only that first motion which precedeth joy. He was not ignorant, that fortune had not abased him, but to raise him infinitely; howbeit he knew likewise, that she had given him that which he desired not at all, and that she had taken from him the only thing which made up all his desires, and all his ambition; he perfectly knew, that the more happy he was for another, the more infortunate he was for himself; and a news which he had heard the day before from Arsalons' slave, had stirred up so great a trouble in his mind, and agitated it with so much violence, as forgetting all things to abandon himself to grief, he remembered not that he was obliged to be present at the rising of great Soliman, of whom he was beloved with so much tenderness, as he alone had permission to enter into the Seraglio as often as he pleased, a favour so extraordinary, that it had never been granted to any person. He had also made choice of our Illustrious Bassa to be not only his Grand Visier, but to repose himself upon him for all the affairs of the Empire. It was he that commanded the Armies; it was he that made the Sangiacs, and gave them the Government of Provinces; it was he that presided in the Counsel of State, and that alone form the resolution thereof in the Sultan's Cabinet: Ibrahim was so powerful, that he wanted nothing but the sole name of Emperor, to be the chief of all the Orient. In the mean time these favours of fortune could not keep him from holding himself the wretchedest of all men; it was in this irksome thought that the Aga of the Janissaries found him, when as he came to tell him, that the Grand Signior complained of his sloth, and that it was his pleasure he should come away unto him. Ibrahim, surprised with this commandment, which made him see the fault he had committed, did what he could to conceal his grief from the Aga; howbeit he perceived that there was some unquietness in his mind; Ibrahim told him notwithstanding that he would go straightway and justify himself to his Highness, and that if he durst he would rejoice for having committed this offence, since thereby he received so notable a favour. After this compliment he went to the Seraglio, where at first when the Sultan saw him, he observed some extraordinary matter in his face; and whereas the Bassa had past the night without sleeping, his countenance seemed to him to be changed, he appeared to him very melancholic, and his humour being more unquiet than usual, he pressed him to let him understand the cause thereof; but perceiving that Ibrahim answered not precisely, he demanded of him whether he had any ill news to tell him? Whether the Provinces which he had conquered were revolted? Whether the forces which he had left in the Frontiers of Persia, were defeated? Or whether he had discovered any conspiracy against the State, or against his Person? To all these things the grand Visier answered from point to point; that thanks be to Heaven, he had nothing to tell him that could be displeasing unto him; that the Provinces which his Armies had conquered were peaceable; that his Camp had nothing to fear, it being unlikely that the relics of two Battles, which the Enemies had lost, should be of so sufficient power, as to dare to present themselves before an Army victorious, as his was; that for the Conspiracies whereof he spoke, he besought his Highness to believe that his Empire was so well settled, as there was no force able to shake so great a Body; that for that which regarded his person, his Government was so just, as all strange people beheld it with envy, and all his Subjects with joy. The Bassa had no sooner made an end of speaking, but the Sultan said unto him very obligingly, Why then, Ibrahim, since thy melancholy proceeds not from any thing that regards me, it must needs be something that concerns thee in particular, and as I am no less sensible on that side, than on the other, I will know absolutely of thee, what it is that troubles thy mind; for though thou hast laboured to put on a joyful countenance in answering me, yet hast thou not for all that destroyed the opinion which I have conceived. Ibrahim, seeing himself so nearly pressed, could not forbear blushing, and thinking on what he was to say, he cast down his eyes, and seemed to be strucken dumb, which the Sultan having observed, embraced him, and said, No, Ibrahim, do not seek to disguise the truth unto me, I will know it of what importance soever it may be: Look not on me in this confidence, as on thy Sovereign, but as on Soliman, that is to say, as on a man that will partake with thee in all the good, and in all the evil that can arrive unto thee; thy courage hath made thee shed blood enough in my service to oblige me to pay it with some tears, if it be so that I cannot bring other remedy to thy grief. The Grand Visier casting himself at the Sultan's feet, rendered him thanks for all the bounty he had shown him; and whereas he had leisure during Soliman's discourse, to invent a pretext for his displeasure, he besought him to pardon him, if in obeying his Highness he should say something, that would clash in some sort with the respect which he owed him. After that the Sultan had made him to rise, and had sworn to him, that he would not be offended with any discourse he should use to him, Ibrahim began to speak in this manner; I know well, my Lord, that my melancholy is criminal; that the cause of it is unjust; and that thy Highness cannot know it without condemning me; but since thy Majesty hath commanded me to discover it, I must confess that I never turn mine eyes to behold the baseness from whence thy Almighty hand hath drawn me, but I tremble with amazement; the place where thou hast set me is so high, as it is not altogether without reason that I fear to be precipitated from it; and I find myself in the view of so many people, as I hold it almost impossible, but that the malice or envy of some should make me lose that which thou alone hast given me; nevertheless I am not ignorant that the same hand, which hath lifted me up, can sustain me; but, my Lord, if the respect which I owe to thy Highness, would permit me to represent unto thee the most remarkable changes which have happened in this Empire, thou wouldst acknowledge, that having received far more than I have merited, I have reason to apprehend that that may be one day taken from me by justice, which thou hast given me by bounty. The pitiful adventure of Achmat under Bajazet the second, hath furnished matter for all those that have succeeded in his dignity, never to think themselves secure: He had confirmed the Throne of Bajazet; he had been the only man that mounted him into it; in the mean time for a recompense of all his services he was strangled by two Slaves. But, my Lord, not to go so far to seek for examples, that of Chassan Bassa, Visier under the reign of an Emperor, who could not be but great, seeing he hath given birth to thy Majesty, is not he able to strike fear into the firmest and most innocent soul? since for giving good counsel, which had not been successful if it had been followed, he lost that life which he had so many times hazarded for the safety of this Empire: I should not have been so bold, as to have spoken of this adventure in this occurrence, had I not remembered, that I have heard thy Highness bemoan the misfortune of that great man: Now therefore demand no longer of me the cause of my grief, seeing thy Majesty knows it as well as myself; but if it be true that I am beloved of thee, as I cannot doubt of it without a crime, pardon only my weakness, and believe not that the discourse which I have made is an effect of my ambition. I know too well, my Lord, that I cannot go higher, and for that reason it is that I fear the inconstancy of fortune, who being unable to raise me more, shall be constrained to destroy me for to follow her natural inclination; it is an order which she hath kept in all ages, and I dare not hope that she will break it in favour of me. But, my Lord, were I assured that she would be contented with bereaving me of all the honours, which I have received from thy Greatness, and that she would leave me heavy laden with chains, as I was when it pleased thy Highness to free me of them, provided (I say) that she would not deprive me of thy Grace, I should be untroubled, and live more happily being thy Slave, than now I do being full of glory and favours. The Sultan having harkened to this discourse with a great deal of patience, could not at length forbear interrupting him; I thought, Ibrahim, said he, that I had opened my heart so well unto thee, and so thoroughly shown thee my Love, as there rested nothing more for thee, either to fear, or to desire; but since I am deceived in my conjectures, I will pardon thy weakness, and if it be possible I will cure thee of it. I could, if I would, find some excuse for the violences which my predecessors have used during their reigns, and tell thee, that in an Empire which was not as then well settled, it was in some sort convenient to lean rather towards rigour, than towards clemency; but I will not undertake to make their apology serve my turn against thee; that which was just in their times, would not be reasonable in these; wherefore I will employ other remedies, which, if I be not deceived, will make thee know, that Sliman can tell how to chain up fortune when he pleaseth, and that he is resolved, to measure thine with his life. The Bassa would have answered to so obliging a speech, but the Sultan staying him said; I think, Ibrahim, thou hast not forgotten, that it is by the means of the Sultana, my daughter Asteria, that I have the commodity to see thee in my service. I should be too ingrateful, replied the Bassa, if I should not remember, that I owe my life unto her, and that which is yet more precious unto me, I owe her the honour of serving the greatest Monarch of the world. That being, said Soliman, thou needest not doubt, that the design which I have, should not please her; seeing that in a time, when as she knew thee not but by thy good aspect, she judged thee worthy of her care; but to clear my thoughts unto thee, and to dissipate the fear that masters thee, know, that I am resolved to place thee in our illustrious alliance, by making thee marry Asteria; and to leave thee yet a more precious gage, receive the word which now I give thee, (thou know'st, being what I am, that it is inviolable and sacred) remember then, that I swear to thee by ALLA, that as long as Soliman shall be living, thou shalt not die a violent death; judge now whether I can do more, and whether thou hast not been too blame to doubt of the firmness of my affection. It is true, my Lord, said Ibrahim, that I am the most ingrateful, and the most faulty of all men; but, my Lord,— and as he would have proceeded, he was suffocated in such sort with grief, as it was impossible for him to speak in a long time, The Sultan, surprised with this unexpected emotion, knew not whereunto to attribute the cause of it. In the mean while Ibrahim, being somewhat come to himself again, resolved no longer to conceal the truth of his History; casting himself then once again at the feet of great Soliman: I know well, my Lord, said he unto him, that if thy Highness be just, thou wilt hate me as much as thou hast loved me; for after I have been so daring, as to disguise my thoughts unto thee; after I have been yet more in now telling thee that I am not in a condition to accept of the honour which thou presentest unto me, I dare not hope for so much patience from thy moderation, as to hear that, which might render me excusable. It seems to me, Ibrahim, answered the Sulttn, that after all the graces which I have conferred on thee, thou oughtest to expect any thing from me, and yet to add one more to that which thou hast craved of me, I promise thee to suspend my judgement, and not to think any thing to thy disadvantage, till I am forced thereunto by thine own confession; prepare thyself then no longer to conceal any thing from me, that concerns thee: Thou know'st that I have divers times endeavoured to oblige thee, punctually to recount unto me, both thy birth, and thy adventures; but having always observed how that discourse did not please thee, I have had so much goodness, as to speak to thee no further of it; but now that there is question of thy rest, and my satisfaction, thou must make a recital to me of it with as much truth, as thou hast used dissimulation heretofore. It is true, my Lord, replied Ibrahim, that all that I have told thee hitherto is but a fable; but it is true also, that all that which thy Highness is now to understand is the very truth: I cannot choose but blush to think, how I am going to discover all my weaknesses; and if I did not know, that Love doth oftentimes become the tyrant of the greatest spirits, and that thy Highness hath not been always insensible of that passion, I should not be so inconsiderate, as to acquaint thee with my miseries. The Sultan, desiring that none should come to interrupt this narration, went from his chamber into his Cabinet, where sitting down on Cushions of cloth of Gold, Ibrahim began to speak in these terms.  

The History of justiniano's and Isabel.  
THe City, where I took beginning, and that gives name to our Republic, is situated on the bank of the Sea, which the ancient Romans called Ligustique, and is at this day termed the River of Genova; this goodly City, I say, whereunto for the magnificence of Palaces of marble, Jasper, and Porphirie, is given, and that with reason, the title of Superb by all the people of Italy, is built on the bending of certain high and barren Mountains, which are so unfruitful, as all the industry of agriculture, joined to the heat of the Sun, the serenity of the air, and the sweetness of the dew, cannot make one tree to grow, one flower to spring, or so much as one herb to come up there. But if as nature had taken pleasure to show contraries opposed, there is leading toward France a Coast, all alongst the which, Final, Savonna, Saint Reme, and Monaco, are seen, whose fertility is so great, that it produceth abundantly Dates, Oranges, Pomegranads, jasemine, and Myrtle. The many Rivers, and Fountains, which are there, make not the  beauty of those places, for those waters are so pure and quick, as they furnish sufficient coolness to temper the extreme heat of the Sun. It is on that Coast, about two miles from Genova, in going out of a Gate called the Lanterna, that a Borough stands, by the Italians named Arena, where one may say that winter never comes, since it is certain, that the spring, and Autumn, reign there always together; the first causing flowers continually to spring, and the other fruits to ripen in it: But before I engage myself to a more particular description of the deliciousness of a place, that hath been the occasion of so much misfortune unto me, it will not be from the purpose to make an abridgement of the Government of Genova, to thy Highness, to the end thou mayst the more easily comprehend what the persons are, of whom I am to speak in my History. It is to be known then, that about two hundred years since the Genonese elected a Duke, according to the manner of the Venetians, who after he had conquered the Island of Cyprus, taken the King and Queen thereof prisoners, and performed many other brave exploits, died at length in the wars. After him they elected two more, whereof the first acquired by his valour the Isle of Meteline to the Genoveses; but at length after the death of the last they put themselves into the protection of Charles the seaventh King of France, of whom being weary, they not long after chose the Duke of Milan for their defender, who having not given them full satisfaction, it obliged them to choose a Duke once again; but that proceeding being not equally agreeable unto all, because some held the party of France, and others that of Milan, it happened that this disorder returned them absolutely under the Dominion of the French, which commanded them, until the time that Andrea Doria, who is of one of the most illustrious races of Genova, put our City into the estate which now it is, namely under the Government of the Nobility. I have made known unto thy Highness the divers mutations which have befallen our Republic, to the end thou mayst with the less difficulty comprehend that, which hath made all this Commonalty be divived a long while since into two principal factions; the Heads of these two parties are the Fregozes, and the Adorns, engaged, as well as all the rest of Italy, in two opposite factions, so known and famous under the name of the Gnelphes, and Gibelius, with whom the Fiesques, the Doriaes', the Spinolaes', the Grimaldi's, the Justinianoes', and all the other illustrious Families of Genova have taken part. But to come to that which regards me directly, I will not fear to tell thy Highness what my birth is, being confident of thy generosity: Thou mayst be pleased to understand then, that I am of the illustrious race of that infortunate prince, from whom the valour and fortune of Mahomet the second, thy great Grandfather, took his Empire, and his life, and who interred himself with all his glory, and with all that of the Paleologues under the ruins of this famous City of Constantinople: Thou art not ignorant, my Lord, that after so great a subversion of that State, and in so general a destruction, all that remained of the Princes of the Imperial House were dispersed over all the earth, and not able to conceal their unhappiness in general, some of them concealed themselves by changing a too famous name for their present fortune; Justiniano Paleologue, of whom I descended, was of that number; for seeing he had saved out of that shipwreck wealth enough for a particular, but not enough for a Prince of so illustrious a blood as his, he retired to Genova, retaining but the name of Justiniano, which since hath been the surname of our House, the very same with that of a Popular Family, which was before in the same City: And that poor Prince desiring to accommodate his quality to his misfortune, shut up that secret within his Family, and in this sort, though we be in effect Princes, yet have we passed ever since for Gentlemen. That which obliged him to choose Genova for his retreat, rather than any other place of Italy, was, for that he knew how the Genoveses had always been well affected to that Empire; how they had mightily succoured Michaelo Paleologue; and how in case it should happen that he should be known for that which he was, he should be in a place of safety: And truly he had some reason to fear it, for he had rendered himself so remarkable by the gallant actions which he had performed, and had so signalised himself on the day of the taking of Constantinople, as he was the last that was seen to defend the breach; but at length beholding the City taken, the Emperor Constantino Paleologue dead, and the whole Empire subverted, he stole away his person from the victory of his Enemies; and being retired almost alone he took the resolution which I have delivered. I know very well, my Lord, that it is too much temereity, in the estate wherein things are, for me to let thee understand, that I am of a blood, which gives me some right to pretend to the Empire that thou possessest at this present; but, my Lord, I am to tell thee, that in the disposition wherein I am for thy Highness, I would prefer my former chains before the Empire of my Ancestors; and that if I were the distributer of Crowns, I would set them all upon thy head, reserving nothing for myself, but the only glory to obey thee. Soliman, not able to endure that a discourse so generous should continue longer without an answer, took Justinianoes' hand, and wring it with a great deal of affection; I have always indeed believed, said he unto him, that thy birth was as high as thy mind, and I am glad that I have not been deceived in my conjecture; and without knowing the right which thou couldst pretend to this Empire, I have at least rendered thee all the justice that I could render thee; for I protest unto thee by all that is most holy, and most sacred unto me, that if the conveniency of things would permit me to yield thee up the title, as well as I have given thee the power of it, I would do it with joy, out of the knowledge which I have of thy virtues, and out of the affection I bear thee. But continue, I pray thee, the relation of thy adventures unto me. Ibrahim would fain have answered to these civilities of Soliman, but being kept from doing so by him, he proceeded in this manner. That last of the Paleologues, and that first of the Justinianoes', had a son, called Philippo, who retaining something of his birth, had an imperious spirit, that would give place to no man; this Philippo Justiniano, my great great Grandfather, finding himself always opposed to one Astolpho Grimaldi; the one having ever followed the party of the Fregozes, and the other that of the Adorns; it was his hap also to be a pretendant to the Charge of the Generalissimo, as well as he, so that their secret intentions breaking forth in this occasion, they fell to quarrelling so outrageously, that they engaged all their kindred, and all their friends in their interests; and as their ambition was extreme, so also was their violence: But without amusing myself in recounting this troublesome History to thy Highness, it shall suffice me to say, that following the detestable custom, which is observed over all Italy, that particular and persosonall hatred passed even to my father, who yet could never approve of that habit in his heart, that will have one receive with his life, the hatred of his Predecessors enemies, which being just for them, becomes unjust in their children, since it is addressed to innocency; but at length to follow the custom, rather ●han his inclination, Ludovico Justiniano (so was he called that gave me being) had never any commerce with Rhodolpho Grimaldi, the chief of that other Family; contrarily knowing that his enemy was of an haughty humour, and that he might draw some advantage from his goodness, he always took care to conceal it from him, and both on the one, and the other part, they did all that an irreconcilable enmity could suggest to two vindicative and powerful men. Behold, my Lord, the order wherein I found things at my coming into the World; but without speaking of my infancy to thy Greatness, I will only say, that as soon as I had attained the age, wherein strength began to permit me to travel, I obtained of my father the means to content the extreme desire I always had of going to admire the pompous ruins of the ancient Rome, and the grandeurs of the new; away I went then with an Equipage answerable to my condition; but my curiosity not being limited by the view of one only City, I resolved to give no obedience to the commandment which I had received to return unto Genova with in six months after my departure; and as if fortune had taken pleasure to favour my design and inclination, she wrought so, that the Emperor of the Christians came to Lucca, where I then being for to see the interview of the Pope, and that Prince, I understood that preparation was making for the War of Algiers; I will not fear, my Lord, to confess unto thy Highness how joyful I was to meet with an occasion, whereby I might learn a trade, which I was resolved to exercise all my life; I will therefore acknowledge freely, knowing thy generosity, that he, who would now spend all his blood for thy service, was thine enemy in that action. This resolution taken, I had not much ado to execute it; for whereas Andrea Doria, Prince of Melphi, was powerful with the Emperor Charles, he did me the honour to make me known unto him, and promised me to write unto my father, for to get him to be pleased with my design; the care that he took thereof was not in vain, for as soon as he was advertised of it, being good and generous, he furnished me with means to perform that voyage with magnificence. I will not tell thee the lamentable success of that War, because the tempest which shipwrackt our Army, was not of so small importance, but that it may be imprinted in thy memory; the loss of two hundred vessels, and above fifteen thousand men, that were all swallowed up of the waves, or dashed in pieces against the Rocks, was so dreadful an adventure, as the only remembrance of it strikes horror into me: At length, my Lord, I escaped that danger, after I had an hundred times seen death, for which I have been very sorry I know not how often since; but whereas we had scarce any leisure to have other enemies to fight with than the winds and the seas, I could not resolve to return to Genova before I had found some opportunity, that might make me known, whether I was worthy to carry the name of the Justinianoes'; so that the relics of our Army parting from Bugia, where they had sought for a shelter, I would not follow them that were discharged; contrarily I embarked myself with the Emperor of the Christians, who took the way of Majorica, and from thence went and landed at Carthagena. But hardly was he arrived there, when as he saw himself constrained wholly to quit all his designs of Africa for to think of defending himself from the French. It would be unjust to abuse thy patience with the recital of a War which no way servs to my discourse, it will suffice then that I say, how I followed him three whole years together, except when he was at Genova, whither I would not go for fear of being retained by my parents. But at last, after I had been a witness of all the brave actions which he performed in Navarre, in Germany, in Luxemburg against the Duke of Cleves, and in Guelderland, I received express order from my father to come home to him, which I presently did, though the Emperor was loath to let me go. But, my Lord, what cause of misfortune hath that return been unto me? Ah! how much better had it been for me that I had died in the Wars, than to have gone to a place where so many grievous adventures were to befall me? It was not, for that I was not received with joy, caressed by my kindred, embraced by my friends with all kindness, and if I dare say it, regarded by the enemies of our house with more esteem, than that inveterate hatred, which had been long between us, would permit; but contrariwise it seemed, that the Fates had resolved to let me taste all the content of a quiet and delicious life, for to make me feel at once, both the privation of the good, and also the evil which was prepared for me. After I had then bestowed some time in receiving the caresses of our family, and that I had answered all the questions which my father made me touching the War, and my Voyages; after, I say, I had recounted unto him an hundred times over all the occasions wherein I had been present, I desired to make it appear, that War and Gallantry were not incompatible, and that after having been three years in slaughter and blood, I was not returned from thence, nor more wild, or more uncivil; I took care then to inform myself from my friends, whether there were not some Assembly shortly to be, where I might make comparison between the Beauties of our Ladies, and those which I had seen in Spain? Thereunto they answered me, that I might in a little time content my curiosity, for that in three or four days the Nuptials of two persons of quality in our City would be solemnised. I further demanded of them whether a Niepce of Andrea Doriaes' held not still the Empire of beauty? Or whether since my departure some other had not bereft her of that advantage, which had been given her with so much justice? They told me, that she was fair, as I had seen her, but as for the prime place, she had been constrained to yield it up to a springing beauty, which made all that came near it to die for love; and that they accounted me most happy for not being exposed to that danger. But when as I demanded of them by what false consequence they conjectured that I was insensible of love? they answered me then, that Isabel Grimaldi, the only daughter of Rhodolpho, was that same admirable person, who could not be sufficiently praised, and of whom they had spoken unto me; and that knowing the terms wherein we stood, they believed that I was so generous, as I would not suffer myself to be vanquished by mine enemy. This discourse stirred up such an emotion within me, as hath made me to understand since, that there is a supreme power which forceth us, whether we will or no, and without the aid of our knowledge, oftentimes to love a person whom common reason forbids us to regard. And consider, my Lord, the extravagancy of my adventure, I took a resolution then carefully to seek out all occasions to see the incomparable Isabel; and to show that there was already something extraordinary in this motion, I concealed my curiosity, and my design from my friends, and I made a secret and a mystery of a matter, wherein according to all likelihood there would never be any; and indeed soon after I quitted them, and without further delay I went and passed two or three times before the windows of mine enemy. It was not because I knew not well enough that I should not see her; for it is the custom of Italy, as well as of Constantinople, that all the windows of the Ladies have an iron-grate before them, which permits them to see, but suffers them not to be seen, unless they will draw up the grate, which is a grace they seldom show, and was not to be expected of me; howsoever I went thither, because I could do no otherwise. The next morning I failed not to be more diligent than I was want, and I did all that possibly I could to encounter her, for knowing her mother, I was certain that I should have no need to ask her name; but whether it were, that whilst I was in one place, she was in another, or that fortune would defer my captivity, I could not meet with her any where, how careful soever I was to do it. I demanded of my reason an hundred times over, what aim I had in this design; but after I had reflected on this unquietness, I condemned myself, and resolved patiently to attend the hap of encountering her, who was to content my curiosity. I passed some days then after this manner in all the entertainments of a man of my age and quality; the conversation of my friends, walks, and music were my occupations, and the last quiet pleasures that I have tasted in my life. But, my Lord, since I must recount my undoing to thy Greatness, and let thee see the field of my defeat. I must say then, that Arena, whereof I have already spoken, is a Burrow where all the persons of eminent condition have houses of pleasure, the least whereof may strike admiration into them that understand gallant things; for all that is beautiful in Architecture, all that is excellent in Painting, and all that is marvelous in Sculpture, are there to be seen in such perfection, as neither the eye nor the wit of the most skilful can find any thing to reprehend therein. The Terraces, the Grots, the Waterworks, the Galleries, and Balustrades, a●e there so superb, as one can hardly believe the first time that one beholds such wonders, but that they are of those inchantad Palaces, whose descriptions, though fabulous, leave not for all that to please our imagination. To conclude, all that Art, and Magnificence can add to a place, whereunto Nature hath given all her beauties, are eminently found in this same. It is here so near unto the City, whither all the women of quality use to go and walk; their liberty being far greater at Genova, than in all the rest of Italy, the neighbourhood of France having contributed a part of their customs to it. It happened then one day, that one of my dearest friends entreated me to go and hear a consort of Lutes and Voices, wh●ch was to be the next day at an house he had in that delicious abode; and whereas I have always been touched very sensibly with Music, I failed not to be there accordingly: it is certain nevertheless, that I came thither with a secret melancholy, which doubtless advertised me of the misfortune that was to betid me there; but I was not able to make any profit by this involuntary motion, whereof the cause was unknown to me; I suffered myself notwithstanding to be charmed with the sweetness of the harmony, and as it was at that time the only passion that mastered my mi●d, me thought it had dissipated my heaviness, and roused up my joy; this agreeable transport was the last moment that preceded my ruin: For, my Lord, when as the Sun was so low, as it could no longer incommodate either with his rays, or with his heat, the Master of the house told me, that before I went down into the Garden, he would let me hear a marvellous Echo, which he had found out a little before, and which one of his neighbours had given him without thinking of it; how he had done him that good office, by causing a Grot to be made just against the windows of his Cabinet, and hollowed in the mountain in the form of a half Moon, which collected, and returned back the voice so admirably, that the seventh repetition which the Echo made, was distinguished perfectly. Scarcely was this discourse ended, but that devancing all the company I entered alone into the Cabinet, resolving to try the Echo first of all; howbeit, my Lord, I had no sooner opened the window, but instead of obliging the Echo to answer me, I myself lost the use of my voice, by the rapture wherewithal I was seized, in beholding the fairest creature that ever Nature made; she was leaning on a Balustrade of Jasper and Porphirie, which form a Quadrant, in the midst whereof stood a Fountain, wherein four Nymphs of white Marble seemed to play together in bathing themselves; for by a marvellous artifice there parted from their hands in different actions, an abundance of water, which wetted them, and made one believe that they cast it upon one another, making withal a very pleasing noise. If I had never seen this Fountain but in this encounter, I should not have heeded it so much, as to be able to describe it; for I was so surprised with the charms of this unknown fair one, as I had no eyes but for her: I changed colour twenty times in a moment, and hiding myself for fear of being perceived, I considered her with all the attention that a man could have, who from admiration was already passed even to love; it being most certain, that from the very first instant I see her, I felt myself forced with so much violence to love her, as I then fully resolved to die, or to possess her. As I was in this estate all the company arrived, and shown me that they were sorry I had quitted them so soon, because there had been a dispute about the nature of the Echo, which would have pleased me very much; after I had heard this discourse, without answering unto it, I asked whether there were any that could tell me the name of that fair one, who sat musing on the brim of the fountain, which I saw in the midst of the Garden; in saying so, I softly opened the window, which I had half shut, and praying them to make no noise, I shown them that prodigy of beauty: I had no sooner made an end of speaking, but by an hidden knowledge, which prevented their answer, I felt something within me, that told me how it was the divine Isabel; scarcely had this thought excited some trouble in my mind, when as one of my friends confirmed this truth unto me, and demanded of me, if it was possible that I should not know mine enemy? Why, said I, interrupting him, is she that I see, the daughter of Rhodolpho? I spoke this so loud, that I made her turn her face towards the place where we were, so that having perceived us she pulled down her veil, and began to go away unto two women that were walkieg in an Alley a good way off. To tell, my Lord, what became of me in this occasion, would be a difficult matter; my reason proved so weak, and my passion so strong, as little wanted, but that forgetting all kind of good manners, I had at the very instant departed from a place that had been so fatal unto me, as to let me see in one only person the object of my hate, and of my love: But at length, the spite and the shame of being seen with so much weakness, made me resolve to try to conreal it; I said then to him that had spoken to me, that I was ravished with having so fair an Enemy, and that though she had arms which would easily render her victorious of all them that she would subject, yet was I generous enough, for to combat a person by whom one might be vanquished without shame. After this they amused themselves in seeking out the beauties of the Echo; those of the company who had the worst and the hoarsest voices, forbore not forcing this Echo to reproach them with their defect, in imitating them: As for me, who had it not unpleasing at that time, it was impossible for me to sing, and howsoever I constrained myself, I could not call to mind so much as one air, albeit I knew many. This entertainment lasted so long, that at length, the hour of our departure being arrived, I returned to Genova, but so sad and melancholic, that to conceal my unquietness from my Father, I resolved not to see him all that evening: I retired then to my chamber as soon as I was come home, and gave my people order to say, that finding myself somewhat ill I was gone to bed, having first expressly charged them to make no noise: After this I went into my Cabinet, where I was no sooner alone, but the portrait of Isabel presented itself again before mine eyes; my imagination figured her so perfectly unto me, as I began to believe, that this adorable Phantasi● appeared to me by the force of some charms; but after I known that it was a pure effect of my memory, and of my love, I passed from that thought to another, and regarding her no more as my Mistress, I considered her as the daughter of Rhodolpho; What, said I, to myself, shall I love mine enemy? Shall I choose for the object of my affection, her, who ought to be the object of my hatred? Shall I be so unworthy as to give all my services and my cares to a person, whose father employs all his for the ruin of my house? No, no, I am more sensible of mine honour, than of my passion; and how charming soever Isabel is, glory is yet more When this resolution seemed to me to be well enough settled in my mind, I called a Groom of my chamber, whom I had stayed to attend me, and letting myself to be made unready, without knowing what I did, I laid me down in my bed; but alas! it was in vain that I sought for rest there, for whereas my thoughts were divided all the day by the diversity of objects, silence and obscurity made them amass all their forces to persecute me; and the same reason that had opposed my love, began to speak in favour of my passion: It represented unto me, that Isabel was not guilty of her Father's crimes; that there was injustice and cruelty in going about to eternize hatred; that a more noble occasion to make it cea●e could never present itself; that my design would be always approved of by wise men; that after all it concerned my content, and not that of others; that we live not for another, but for ourselves, and that by consequence I was not to forget any thing that might give me satisfaction. This reasoning seemed so just unto me, that I spent the rest of the night in thinking on the means to execute it; but the more I considered this enterprise, the more I judged it impossible; the arrogant humour of Rhodolpho, and the generosity of my father, seemed two obstacles very difficult to be forced; but that which put me into further despair, was th● thought that Isabel herself would be inflexible to my Love: For, said I, is it possible, that a maid, who hath been brought up with the hate of the Justinianoes', who no sooner opened her eyes, but she beheld my house as her enemy, can resolve, I do not say, to love, but only to endure that I should adore her. These divers agitations troubled me in such sort, as I could not form any design; but whereas love cannot subsist without hope, I think that in the end I had surmounted my passion, and broken my chains, if that fatality which will have me ruined, had not exposed me once again to a new danger. I was scarcely out of my bed, when as my people told me, that I was invited to the Wedding of one of my Father's friend's, who was to be married to a maid all●●d to Isabel; this news filled me with extreme joy, and preparing to go thither, I took more care of myself, than ever I had done in all my life before: But being resolved to see the arrival of mine enemy, I got me in good time to the place appointed for the Ball; I was no longer there than to make the compliments, which are usual in such like occasions, whenas I saw Isabel enter with such a dazzling Majesty, as imposed silence to all the company, and it seemed that she had inspired every one with modesty and respect. After that this dumb admiration had continued a while, there was a confused noise heard of acclamations and praises, which were given to her beauty; and the truth is, that envy itself could not find any thing in her to be amended. She hath a stature so advantageous, and a port so majestical, as never was there woman seen of a better presence. Her hair is of colour brown, but so beautiful, as all those threads of burnished gold, wherewith our Poets use to describe such, cannot represent them; they fell that day carelessly upon her cheeks, and thence descended in thick curls down her neck and bosom, but with a negligence so replenished with address, that it defaced the handsomest curiosity of all the women of the Assembly. She hath a complexion so white and vive, as there is no whiteness that seems not sallow unto it; but the same is mingled with so dainty a Carnation, which i● shed abroad in her cheeks, that the mixture of Lilies and Roses, of Oynoper and Snow, could make but a slight Idea of her beauty. Her eyes are black, but so full of spirit and sweetness, as it is impossible to behold her, and not be taken with them; yet are her looks so modest, and so far from all artifice, as it is very easy to know that they are innocent of all the evils which they make one endure. She hath a mouth neither too great nor too little, but so composed, and of so Vermilion a hue, as there is no coral that comes near it. Her teeth are so evenly set, and so white, as never were smiles so full of charms as hers; and her bosom so delicate and so comely, as imagination cannot represent it to itself such as it is: There is also a gracefulness mingled amongst all these marvels, which cannot be expressed, and which renders her more amiable than all that which I have delivered. To conclude, be it for the whole form of the face, or for all the features of it in particular, or for the air in general, it is the most perfect beauty that ever Nature produced. But, my Lord, had the soldiers that took me, left me the picture which I had of her, and the Letters which she had written to me, I could have made thy Highness see the truth of my words, and that the graces of her mind do no whit give place to those of her beauty: It was then, my Lord, that Isabel with all those allurements, appeared in that Assembly. She was apparelled in a Gown of Carnation Satin, embroidered with gold and pearls, whereof the sleeves were buttoned up with great Diamonds; the rest of her habit was of cloth of silver, embroidered with Pearls and Emeralds intermixed. She appeared so charming unto me in this estate, as I could not for all that evening take mine eyes from off her; and as I carefully observed her, me thought she perceived that I did not behold her as an enemy, and to render my joy yet more accomplished, I marked how she blushed every time that we met together in the same Brawl, but in a fashion which persuaded me, that it was neither for hate, nor for anger. And whereas it is the custom of Genova not to converse with the women of an Assembly, but in leading them to dance, I took out one of my kinswomen, whom I had seen all the evening with Isabel, and that I might oblige her to speak to me of her, I said unto her, that I found it very strange she should hold such intelligence with mine enemy; but without giving me leave to finish my speech, she answered me that the talk they had together was so advantageous for me, as I had no reason to complain of it; and that as the praises which are given us by our enemies, are more glorious for us, than others, because they cannot be suspected of flattery, I was no longer to doubt of my good me●n and address, since Isabel herself had judged of it in favour of me, upon speaking of the grace and dancing of every man of the Company. This discourse ravished me in such sort, as I could not forbear looking on Isabel, as if I would thank her for so favourable a judgement; and as she hath a quick and piercing wit, she knew both by my demeanour and joy, that my kinswoman had given me an account of their talk, which possessed her with so much confusion, as it was impossible for me all the rest of the evening to encounter her eyes. At length, my Lord, the company being separated, I returned home, but so full of joy and hope, that my reason found not itself any longer strong enough to oppose my passion. But not to stand on the recital of these first proceed of my affection, wherewith I have already but too much importuned thy Highness, it will suffice to let thee understand, that in the continuance of this happiness I saw Isabel in two or three Assemblies more, from whence I always went still better satisfied; and after I had been so hardy, as to write divers times unto her, and ready enough to find the means to do it, I knew at length that my vows were not rejected, and that my temereity should not be punished. I obtained then the permission to serve her, provided I were discreet, and that neither by my actions, nor by my discourse, I should give any cause of suspecting our intelligence: I observed this order so religiously, that albeit there passed not a day wherein I saw her not at her window, or an evening wherein I had not a Letter from her, or she from me, yet was no body ever ware of our commerce. And to render my good fortune more accomplished, it happened that the people being fallen into a mutiny in the Isle of Corsica for some Contribution that should have been established here, the Signora deputed Rhodolpho for to go and appease that disorder; but whereas his wife, named Julia, had been extreme sick, he would have her for the recovery of her strength to pass the time of his absence at the Borough of Arena, where the purity of the air would restore her to her health sooner than at Genova. I was advertised of this resolution the very same day that it was taken; but at first this news so grieved me, that I could not answer Isabel, who had sent it to me, for I imagined that I should be deprived of all the means of seeing, and of being seen of her: As I was profoundly musing on this adventure, all on a sudden I began to call to mind the window of the Cabinet where I had lost my liberty, which made me think, that if Isabel would permit me to discover one part of my design to the Master of that house, who, as I have already said, was the dearest of my friends, I should be the happiest of all men, since I might not only see, and be seen, but talk with her as long as she pleased. I wrote instantly unto her then to propound her my design, but with terms so full of love, and with such strong reasons for the prevention of all might happen to us thereby, as at length she consented unto it, though, as she told me afterwards, it was not without much repugnancy. I no sooner received her answer, but I went to seek out my friend, of whom I desired leave to go and pass some time at that house of his; but whereas he pressed me to tell him, whether his presence would not be necessary for me there, I believed, that for the obliging of him to be faithful and secret, I was to confide in his discretion and fidelity; wherefore I acquainted him that I desired his house, only to receive Isabellaes' Letters by the Cabinet-window, which opened towards the Grot of the Echo, and that in the same place I hoped to see and speak with her. He was so surprised with this discourse, that he stood a good while beholding me without making any answer; but to keep him from endeavouring to oppose my passion, I entreated him to give no ear to any reason that could speak to him against me, but to hearken to my request; and seeing that it was by his means that I was undone, he was obliged to have pity of the evil which he had caused; I likewise recounted unto him all that had befallen me, so that judging by the violence wherewith I spoke to him, that I was too far engaged in this design to be diverted from it, he promised to yield a blind obedience to all that I would desire of him. In this sort we parted, and albeit Isabel had not permitted me to make use of the Cabinet, but only to give her Letters, to receive hers, and to speak to her at such times as we could not be heard, yet I purposed not to rest there, and without advertising her of it, I caused a ladder of silk to be made, that thereby I might descend into the garden when I thought fit, being out of hope of ever meeting with a more favourable occasion to talk with her of my love. But not to lose time, as soon as I known that Rhodolpho was departed, and that Isabel was at Arena with her mother, I resolved to go thither the same evening; now to do that secretly, I told my Father, that having made a match with Caesar Doria, (for so was that friend of mine called) we intended to go and pass away some time at an house which he had near to Gani, to hunt the wild Boar, and to enjoy all the delights that the fields and solitude could give us. He approved of my resolution, told me that the season was too fair to be passed wholly in the City, and permitted me to go away that very day; I went then and found out Doria, who for his part had taken care to make the same thing to be believed; and having but one Groom of the chamber with us, we took the way of Gavi, but as soon as we were out of the sight of Genova, we crossed the Mountain to get to Arena, where, notwithstanding all the hast we could make, we did not arrive till ten of the clock at night; for whereas we kept no way, we strayed three or four times. A● soon as I was come into Doria's house, and that he had commanded the Keeper thereof to silence, I left him in his garden, for to go with much impatience to his Cabinet, where I no sooner was, but I heard the voice of Isabel, who indeed imagining that I would not fail to be at the window, had for a pretext to get thither, and be alone there, taken a Lute, saying that she would at leisure study an air, which she had not very perfect, therewith to divert her Mother's melancholy. She was then leaning on the same Ballustrade, where I had seen her before; but if at the first time she charmed me by the eyes, at the second she charmed me by the ears; I was so ravished to hear her, that notwithstanding the desire I had to speak to her, yet would I not interrupt her, though I infinitely feared lest she should be called away before I had been seen of her; but in the end the fruition of a present pleasure prevailed over the fear of an uncertain evil. I heard her then with all the admiration I was capable of: For, my Lord, she hath a voice so strong, so clear, so sweet, and so charming, as she inspires the minds of those that hear her, with the same passions which she expresseth by the airs she sings; and whereas night and silence are the friends of Music, there rested nothing more to make my contentment perfect, than to add to the delight of hearing, that of seeing distinctly: I was not l●ng without enjoying that happiness, for the Moon, which had been a pretty while up before, made an end of dissipating of the shadow that had reigned all over the Garden, and in rendering me that good office, she made me also to be perceived of her, so that she presently gave over singing, and approached to the place where I was, but with so much circumspection, and so much fear, as made me greatly to pity her. She prayed me with a trembling voice to give her a Letter if I had any, and that the next day, if I would let her down a string, she would fasten her answer to it. After I had laboured to assure her as much as possibly I could, she made me to understand, that we could not have any long conversation in that same place without being discovered, because if we spoke softly it would be unprofitable unto us, not being able to hear one another; and if we raised our voices, it were to be feared that we should be overheard from a close ally that was not far off. I consented then to be contented with seeing her, and receiving her Letters by the way she had propounded unto me; but whereas I had my design concealed, I besought her to tell me in what part her lodging was, to the end I might at leastwise have the pleasure to imagine to myself the place where she would be writing. But before she answered me, she looked round about, to observe whether she might not be overheard; after which she demanded of me, if I did not see on my lefthand a Turret athwart the trees, which was joining to the end of a Gallery, that made up one front of the Garden, and that answered to another altogether like unto it? and having told her that I saw it, she added that her chamber was of an even floor with that same place; and that the perron of it was just against the end of the close alley, from whence she feared to be overheard; and that if I would advance forth my head a little, I might see the grate of her window. As soon as she had said this, she went away, having first assured me, that such evenings as she could not come herself to receive my Letters, she would send a maid to me that lay in her chamber, in whom she absolutely confided. After she was retired, and clean out of sight, I went presently and found out my friend, to whom I gave an account of our conference. But, my Lord, seeing I must obey thy Greatness, in recounting all my adventures unto thee, I must say, that after I had been three or four days obedient to Isabellaes' pleasure, one evening she sent me that maid which she made use of, with a Letter, desiring me to excuse her if she came not herself; for that being somewhat ill in the morning, she could not invent a pretext to obtain permission to come into the Garden according to her custom. This news grieved me exceedingly, and so throughly confirmed me in my design, that to execute it, I enquired whether Isabel were retired to her chamber? The maid told me, that she had left her at her window, staying till she returned, which she was instantly to do, because the doors would suddenly be shut, for the keys were to be carried to her mother, who had commanded that to be exactly observed. I threw her down my Letter then, and having dismissed her, I went and desired Doria to ass●st me in the resolution I had taken to descend into the Garden. He did all that he could to hinder me from it, but after I had told him, that I exposed myself to no danger, seeing that Rodolpho was not there, that Julia was sick, and that in conclusion, I should enter into an house where there were none but sleeping Women, the rest of the train being at Genova, or gone with Rhodolpho; I entreated him that he would only attend for me at the window, to the end that if by ill fortune I were seen, I might save myself before they had time to open the door for to follow me. Our contestation lasted long enough to persuade me that it was shut, but yet I believed that Isabel was not gone to bed, and that my Letter would entertain her until such time as I should come unto her, because by good hap it was very long. So I began to fasten my Ladder, and Doria, more vanquished by my entreaties, than by my reasons, set himself also to help me; and whereas I feared nothing in this enterprise but Isabellaes' displeasure, I never thought of mine own safety, howbeit Doria made me take a brace of Pistols, and my sword with me, whereupon I descended into the Garden, and calling to mind that the close alley was corresponding to Isabellaes' lodging, I went along through it, for fear of being perceived, either from the Gallery, or the mother's chamber; when I was arrived at the end of the alley, I observed that there was no light in all that Turret, but in one window that had a grate, which I imagined to be Isabellaes' Cabinet; I approached thereunto then as softly as possibly I could, and whereas the window was low, I might easily see all that was done in the room through the glass, so that I perceived Isabel, but with so much grace in the negligence wherein I saw her, as I knew well, that art added nothing to her beauty. She was leaning on her left elbow upon a little table, where my letter lying open before her, she had her eyes fixed on it, whilst Feliciana (so was the maid that served her called) undoing of a string that tied up her headgeer, covered her almost all over with her hair; but Isabel, coming as it were out of a dead sleep, and putting it aside with her hands, told her she would not go to bed yet, for that she was resolved to write unto me first. It were better, said I unto her, pushing the casement that was not shut, that you would grant me the honour to entertain you a while. She was so surprised with seeing me in that place, as she could not forbear shrieking out, whereupon she would have passed into her chamber, but not able to op●n the door thereof so quickly, I had leisure to tell her, that if she put me into despair, I was apt enough to kill myself before her window: She fell down then upon the cushions not able to speak, which gave me time to crave pardon of her for my boldness; I besought her to remember the discretion I had always used since the day she had permitted me to serve her; that this was the only disorder whereunto my passion had carried me; and that if she would take the pains to consider it, she would not judge this fault irremissible. Do you believe then, said she, in approaching to the window, that to put my glory and your life in hazard is a crime of small importance? But at length, after I had made her to comprehend, that there was less danger in speaking with her, when all the World was retired, than at such time as she of her goodness had granted me, I got her to consent, that from thence forward I should always see her in that sort. Our conference was so long, as the awaking of the birds made me know, that it was time to let her go to sleep; but before I left her she gave me her picture, which she had drawn in imitature, by beholding herself in a glass; for this divine person is skilful in all excellent Arts and Sciences: She also permitted me to kiss her through the grate, a favour which I may well say, was the only privacy that ever she accorded me during all the nights which I have passed in entertaining of her. I withdrew then by the same way I came, but so satisfied with the wit of Isabel, that I began to love her more for her virtue, than for her beauty. I found my friend in an extreme impatience for my return, and ready to come and seek me out for to know whether any misfortune had befallen me; but to recompense him for this pain, I recounted unto him all that Isabel had the most obligingly said unto me; the vows she had made to love me everlastingly, and absolutely to renounce the world rather than be any others than mine; and that whereas I would have persuaded her to suffer herself to be carried away for the avoiding of our father's tyranny, who would be forced to agree together rather than lose us, she had withstood it with so much prudence and sweetness, as I was constrained to confess, how strong soever my passion was, I could not merit Isabel. It was in this manner then, my Lord, that I passed away that lucky absence of Rhodolpho; but at length his return changed the order of things, and Isabel went back to Genova with her mother, as melancholic, as I was afflicted; we had been so accustomed to see and speak to one another, that the privation thereof was insupportable to us; and although I went every morning to receive a Letter at her window, and to give her one of mine; yet could we not comfort ourselves against the constraint wherein we lived. And as if it were not enough that we were persecuted by our own misfortune, Isabel saw herself also troubled for a mishap of her fathers, who in executing the Commission which he had to go into Corsica, had procured unto himself the enmity of the family of the Spinolaes', by saying at his return, that the Governor, who was of that house, had contributed in some sort to the mutiny of the people, and that if he would he might have hindered the sedition that was raised there: This report obliged the Signiora to cite the Governor to come and give an account of his action, which made Isabel to fear that this man's revenge would fall heavy upon her father. As for me, who had no other interest than that of the incomparable Isabel, I was even mad for that I durst not offer my sword to Rhodolpho, who was at that very time plotting my death; for whether it were, that he was advertised how I went every night about his house, or that he known of my being at Arena by some way unknown to me, one evening, as I was alone with my sword under Isabellaes' Window, he came thundering upon me, with eight men armed, in such fury, as I had hardly the leisure to put myself into defence; now though it was very dark, yet chanced I to know him, and thereupon resolved, rather to be killed, than dip my hand in the blood of the father of Isabel: I did nothing therefore but ward the blows which he laid at me; but two of his advancing towards me, I had not for them the same respect that I had for him, so that collecting all my forces together to oppose their violence, I extended them dead at my feet; the rest, who saw this so sudden an execution, made a little stand, during the which I got me to the end of a narrow street, that was not above two or three steps from me, for fear of being enclosed, where I fought a good while without receiving any more than two wounds, which I got because I would not strike Rhodolpho; but at length I should have fallen in this unequal combat, had it not been for a succour that arrived unto me. And consider, my Lord, the strangeness of my adventure; that which should have been the cause of my undoing, was the cause of my making: for it happened, that at such time as I was pressed most by mine enemies, the same offended Governor, of whom I have already spoken to thy Highness, came, accompanied with fifteen or sixteen, and assaulted them behind. In this disorder I never stood doubting which part I should take, but siding myself with Rhodolpho, I said unto him, that I was come to lose that life for him, which he would have taken from me. And whereas I fought then for Isabel, since it was to save her father, I found my forces redoubled, and my courage increased; whereupon being to employ my best endeavour in the action, I attacked the chief of the enterprise with such ardour, as albeit he were one of the valiantest men of our age, yet by the good fortune of arms I surmounted him. As soon as he fell, one of his followers cried out, that his Master was slain; this voice put all that troop into such disorder, as they thought of nothing but flying, although they were in a condition to have destroyed us; for whilst I was engaged with their Chieftain, they had killed three of Rodolphoes' men, who in the heat of the fight had observed how I had guarded him with mine own body, and that by my hand his enemy lost his life. After I had pursued them that fled a good way off, for to keep them from making head again, I saw Rhodolpho come towards me with open arms, and as soon as he could embrace me, he demanded of me, whether after I had been so generous as to save his life, I could be so likewise for to pardon him; and how, if that might not be, he judged himself unworthy to live; how he knew well enough that he had committed a barbarous and cruel fact against me, but how I knew also that he was the father of Isabel: He said this to me with so much resentment and tenderness, as being no longer able to keep me from interrupting him, I assured him, that I should never be mindful of any thing hereafter but of the goodness which he had showed me; that the grace which he did me in promising me his friendship, was far greater than the outrage I had received; and that on the contrary one might say, he had done an act of justice in going about to punish my temerity; and that now he did one of clemency, in accepting of the service which an enemy had rendered him. This while Rhodolphoes' people would have carried away their dead men, hoping that they which were in this fight, should not be discovered, if no mark thereof were left in the street; but Rhodolpho commanded that they should not touch them, for that he was resolved to complain the first; and observing that I did not bear up very well, he asked me whether I were hurt? I answered him that I thought I was, but it was slightly, and that when I had put him into a place of safety, I would go home and see how it was with me. No, no, my son, said he embracing me, it would be unjust, that the father of Isabel should be the cause of your hurts, and she not be your Chirurgeon. In saying this he made me enter in at his gate, where I no sooner was, but, the loss of blood having extremely weakened me, I swooned in his arms, whereat Rhodolpho cried out so loud, as I understood afterwards, that his wife and daughter believed his enemies were still pursuing him into his house; they ran in then affrighted in all haste: but whereas they knew not the particularities of that which had passed, they were mightily astonished to see me in that place, and in that estate. Isabel believed at first, that her father, having gotten some notice of our love, had brought me thither to put me to death before her eyes, but she was mightily surprised, when as she heard him give order for the speedy fetching of Surgeons, and beheld me led to his chamber, and he himself helping to sustain me. Isabel was so skared with that she saw, as if her mother had not held her up, she had fallen down by me. Her father seeing her in that case, said to her weeping, as I was told afterwards, you have reason, daughter, to love the most generous of men, and if I be so unfortunate as to be the cause of his loss, I consent that you shall hate me as much, as I have hated him; but without further lamenting, let us endeavour to succour him. The voice of Rhodolpho having brought Isabel to herself again, she would have made some excuse, but enjoining her to silence he commanded her to follow him to his chamber, whither I had been carried before. As soon as they had laid me on a bed I began to open mine eyes; and consider, my Lord, what my apprehension might be, when I saw myself between Rhodolpho, Jsabella, and Julia, who came to know, by one of those that were in the action, that I had saved her husband's life, it was so great, that I thought I should have swooned again, but the Chirurgeons, being arrived, applied remedies that kept me from it. After they had searched my wounds, they assured them that there was no other danger in me but loss of blood, so that if I were suffered to rest they hoped to cure me very speedily. As soon as I was dressed, and that Rhodolpho had been acquainted with their report, he came to me with a smiling countenance, and said, that seeing he was assured of my life, he was not in despair of recompensing me for the service I had done him; that in the mean time he would go and advertise my father of all that had passed, to the end that after they had embraced one another, they might conjointly think of what they had to do. But having told him, how I held it not fit, that he should go forth, I besought him to permit me to write two or three words to Doria for to come to me, and that when he was come we would send him to my father. Isabel approved this counsel, so as it might not incommodate me; and having assured her that I found myself strong enough for it, she gave me paper, wherein I wrote, without seeing that which I did, so weak I felt myself, when I tried to lift up my head. But I●hodolpho, desirous exactly to observe what the Chirurgeons had enjoined, gave order to Julia and his daughter to keep me from speaking, to draw my curtains for fear the light should annoy me, to have as great care of me as of him, and not to leave me till I was in a better estate. I besought him then to permit me to say one word more unto him; whereupon he approached to me, and pressed me to give him some occasion to serve me. I answered him, that the grace which I desired to obtain was, that he would not speak, either to Doria, or to my father, of our first encounter, but would be pleased to say only, that good fortune had brought me by chance into the street where he was set upon. Rhodolpho was so ravished with this discourse, as he could not forbear embracing me, and saying aloud, that as the conservation of his honour was more dear unto him, than that of his life, the care I took to deface the stain which he had made in it, obliged him more straight, than the blood I had shed to save his. As I would have answered, he stayed me, and went away to give order for all that he thought was necessary, both for his safety, and mine. And whereas Doria dwelled not far off, he came not long after into the chamber where I was, but so surprised, and so amazed, to hear that I was wounded, to see me in Rhodolphoes' house, and to find Jsabella and Julia sitting by my bed's side, that he was a long time in a doubt, whether he was well awake, or no. Rhodolpho, having been advertised that he was arrived, came and entertained him with so much civility, and spoke so advantageously of me, as I was constrained to pray him to change his discourse, and to think rather of the necessity of our affairs, than of praising me unjustly. Doria was instructed then in the estate of things, and of our intentions; Rhodolpho desired him to tell my father, that he would have gone home to him, if I had not hindered him, to crave pardon for all that had passed betwixt them, and to entreat him to think well of it, that his daughter might be the reward of the combat, which I had so happily undertaken for his defence; how he was not ignorant, that Isabel had been more equal than he, in esteeming of me as soon as she knew me; and that for him he was not so ill informed of my design, but that he had been advertised of those which I had for his daughter; in the end so to do, said he to Doria, that the Families of the Justinianoes' and the Grimaldi's may be united with an indissoluble knot: More than this I have not to say, Lodovico knows the Nobility of my House, understands the riches of it, and cannot doubt but that the Principality of Monaco will one day be Isabellaes'. Doria promised to employ all his address to make the matter succeed according to our desires. Rodolpho instantly requested him, I earnestly conjured him, and Isabella with her eyes only entreated him thereunto. He went then to my Father, who was so surprised with every thing that Doria imparted unto him, as he divers times asked of him, whether he had not lost his understanding: what, said he, as I knew afterwards by Doria, in one very hour hath my son saved the life of his enemy? hazarded his own by the wounds which he hath received? killed the enemy of Rodolpho? made peace between the Justinianoes' and the Grimaldi's? and for a conclusion, hath Isabel and the Principality of Monaco been offered him by Rhodolpho? No, no, Doria, all that you tell me is far from all likelihood; you talk to me of blood, of murder, of slaughter, of reconciliation, and nuptials all at once; how do you think that I can accord all these things, and can joy and grief be compatible? But in the end, my Lord, that first transport being over, Doria assured the matter so seriously unto him, as he was constrained to make no longer doubt of it. I confess that in this encounter I was more happy than I hoped; for as soon as my father was persuaded to this truth, Doria found his mind in the terms that I desired. I think, my Lord, I have already told thy Highness, how Lodovico never approved of that unjust hatred, which passeth with the succession of Kinsmen, and that was the reason why he was so easily carried to what I wished. He came then accompanied with Doria and some of his servants; to the house of Rhodolpho, who received him with a free and open countenance, and with such strong protestations of acknowledgement and amity, as it was easy to observe, that his eyes and his mouth expressed the meaning of his heart; and as my father would have been very sorry, that his ancient enemy should have surpassed him in courtesy and generosity, he returned his compliments with so much civility, as it would have been hard to imagine, that those two men, who so kindly embraced one another, had been mortal enemies all their life-time before. Rodolpho having brought Lodovico to my bedside, said unto him, that he was much grieved to render him his son in that estate wherein he saw him; but to repair that misfortune, he besought him to accept of a present that he would tender him; whereupon he caused Isabel to approach, and presented her to my father, who beheld her with so much admiration, as I doubted not but that he approved of the choice I had made of her; and presently speaking he assured Rhodolpho, that though he and I had hazarded our lives a thousand times over for his service, yet could not all that countervail the price and merit of so fair a maid. Rhodolpho interrupting him said, that giving himself, together with Isabel, and all his estate, yet should he be infinitely indebted unto me, that my modesty forbade him to extend himself on the obligations wherein he stood engaged unto me, but how that could not hinder him from resenting them as he ought; in the mean time he requested him to receive Isabel for his daughter-in-Law, upon such conditions as he pleased, to the end that after he had his word for it, they might think of that which was necessary to be done for their safety. My father turning himself then to me, said, that he held it superfluous to ask my advice in a matter that was so glorious for me, and that I had so happily resolved upon without him; so that, said he, taking Isabella by the hand, it is on you that the conclusion of this important affair doth depend. But Rhodolpho seeing her blush, without daring to answer, told Lodovico, that his daughter could no better express her consent, than by that shamefacedness, which made her to blush and be silent; the modesty of her sex, and of her disposition not permitting her to testify her joy, but in such a manner. Rhodolpho and my father then promised an inviolable friendship one to another, and ordained us to do the like in their presence; and for a gage of this promise, Lodovico, who ordinarily wore a rich ring on his finger, took it to me for to give to Isabel, as a pledge of the faith which we had promised to each other. I observed this ceremony with so much pleasure, as spite of my misery; and hurt I never felt the like before, nor since; but at length, after this happy accord, they retired into another chamber to think of what they should do: My Father was of the opinion, as well as Rhodolpho, that he should send to make his complaint as soon as the council should be assembled; but that he held it not fit either for him or me to stay in his house; that the Family of the Spinolaes' were powerful enough to keep themselves from having any manifest injustice done them; and that albeit their kinsman had been the agressor in that fight, yet the Laws would have the dead always to be favoured, and that he which had killed any one should be always punished; that for this reason he was to retire to his Principality of Monaco, where he might attend safely and commodiously the success of things; that place being in a situation so advantageous, and so well fortified, as it could keep out a Royal Army; that as for me, I should find an inviolable sactuary in the Army of the Emperor Charles, whom I had already served; but whereas I was not in an estate to travel, by reason of my wounds, which peradventure would keep me a long time in my bed; and for that also he could not go out of the City presently, because the gates were shut, he advised that without further delay, and before the day appeared, I should be transported into some other house, whereof the Master was so much respected, as no violence might be feared there. Rhodolpho and Doria approved of this proposition, and began to bethink them what place would be proper for the same; but Lodovico told them, that he was not troubled about it, for that the Palace of Sinibaldo, Count of Lavagna, chief of the Family of the Fiesques, would be an assured retreat for them; that the high rank which those of that House had held in Genova for so many ages, would not permit that either the insolency of their enemies, or the rigour of justice, should enterprise any thing upon them; that for the rest he doubted not but that he should obtain that grace of them as soon as he should demand it; that they had always favoured him in all things; and that generosity was so natural unto them, as in all times their Palaces had served for a retreat to all worthy persecuted persons. It was then resolved, that Lodovico should go immediately and entreat him thereunto, Doria went also along with him, and they found him fast asleep; but my Father having told his people, that he was necessarily to be awakened about an important affair, they knowing Lodovico made no difficulty to do it. As soon as he saw my Father by his bedside at such an hour as then it was, he doubted that some urgent matter had brought him thither; wherefore he demanded of him, whether he were so happy as to be able to serve him? Then my father recounted unto him in few words all that had befallen me, wherewith he was so strangely surprised; but without giving him leave to make his request he to told him, that he was too blame in not causing him to be brought to his house. And when my father answered him, that he durst not do it before he had entreated him thereunto, Sinibaldo seemed to be offended with that circumspection, but since the fault was done, he would pardon it upon condition, that himself might go and help to convey me thither. And so calling to his servants he commanded them to make him ready with all speed. My father did all that he could to stay him from going, but could not prevail, for Sinibaldo told him, that the Spinolaes' were violent, and that peradventure meeting them in the street a second misfortune might happen, that when he should be present with all his train, he could not believe they would be so daring, or so strong, as to set upon us. My father then consented to what he pleased, and he being quickly ready, they parted instantly to go to Rhodolpho, who in the mean time had settled his domestic affairs. When Sinibaldo was arrived, and had represented to Rhodolpho how glad he was of our reconciliation, he prayed my father and him to arm all their people, and to give order for whatsoever was necessary for the transporting of me, during the which he approached to the bed where I lay, exceedingly afflicted to see them going to separate me from Isabel, who was withdrawn to the other end of the chamber, when as Sinibaldo entered; but as soon as he perceived it, he told me that he would not deprive me of an happiness, which I was so suddenly to forego, and that he should have leisure enough at home to commend my valour; that if he durst he would have desired Isabel to return thither again, but that he thought it fit to leave us at liberty together; herewith he went forth without giving me time to answer him; and he was no sooner out of the chamber, but putting by the curtain I saw that Isabel was alone there; for the confusion, wherein the house than was, had so busied Julia, as she never thought of that civility; I besought her then to come nearer unto me, that I might bid her adieu; at that word the tears came into her eyes, and my speech failed me; she came then and sat down by my bed side, with so much sadness painted in her face, as much augmented mine; but after I had enforced myself to speak, I said unto her: At length, my dearest Isabel, fortune hath joined us, and fortune doth separate us, but what rigour soever she doth exercise towards me, she cannot longer keep me from dying with glory, now that I have the honour to be yours; she may indeed separate our persons, and it may be for a long time, but she cannot disunite our hearts, if so it be true, that your affection is answerable to mine. You may judge, said she interrupting me, whether a maid, that hath not feared to offend her glory, in loving her enemy against the will of her Parents, be capable of change to a man that exposeth his life for her sake, and to save her fathers; believe then, and without ever doubting, that all the powers of the earth, opposed against my design, shall not so much as make me waver; and that Jsabella will be absolutely yours, or never will be any bodies. Her sighs suffocated her in such sort, as it was impossible for her to say more; and as I was about to give her thanks for so obliging a speech, and mingle my tears with hers, Sinibaldo, Rhodolpho, Julia, Doria, and my father came again into the chamber, so that all I could do, was to say unto her, wring her hand, that she should always remember her promises, and that then she should be most assured, that nothing but death should separate us. Immediately hereupon they, which had order to carry me away, approached to my bed, and by the commandment of Sinibaldo, seated me in a chair, that was prepared for me. Rhodolpho, who most tenderly loved his wife, and daughter, began then to bid them farewell: Jsabella, who till that instant had kept herself from weeping, seeing she had a fit opportunity for it, shed so many tears, and fell a crying in that manner, as moved all the assembly to pity: I knew for all that, manger my sorrow, that I shared therein with her father; who, willing to show some constancy in this occasion, bade her to come unto me, and give me her hand. To tell thee, my Lord, what I felt in the moment of our separation would be impossible for me, since it is certain that I had never so much grief, as I had at that time, in eloigning myself from Jsabella, but in the end I was to resolve for it; and after I had kissed her hand without speaking to her but with my eyes, I was carried away, so lost, as I do not remember the order that we held in the streets; howbeit I was told afterwards, that Sinibaldo divided his men into two parts, and that I was placed in the midst of them, where Rhodolpho and Doria had in charge not to abandon me, whatsoever should arrive; Sinibaldo put himself into the head of the Troop, and my father marched in the rear, to the end that on what side soever they were assaulted, a man of command and courage might still be there. But whereas the Spinolaes' known not that we were retired to Rhodolphoes' house, they never thought of lying in wait for us, so that we got to Sinibaldoes' without any bad encounter; After I was laid in bed, he and my father advised, that it would be easier for Rhodolpho to get away to Monaco as soon as it was day, than if he stayed longer, because his enemies had not had leisure yet to think and consider of all, that might hurt, or help them; to that purpose they judged it fit to disguise him like a Mariner, and to put him into a Feluca, which might easily carry him to that place of safety. Rhodolpho consented to whatsoever they thought good, and Sinibaldo took upon him the care of dispatching the business: He sent then to the Port as soon as day began to appear, to hire a Feluca, upon condition it should part presently, and that the Master of it should lend one of his habits; the money which was offered to this man, was so much, as ravished with this encounter, and without further inquiry, he said that he was ready to part, and that for one of his habis he would lend it, so as he might be permitted to go home to his house, because he had none there. He that made the bargain agreed he should do so, but for fear he should discover any thing he would go with him. The Master of the Feluca, who thought of nothing but his gain, was contented with it; away they went together to fetch that habit, and that done, he left that man in the guard of one of his fellows, whom he had brought thither with him, and came and rendered an account of his voyage. Immediately Rhodolpho disguised himself, and seeing it pretty far day he took his leave of Sinibaldo and my father, who both of them promised him to do in his name all that they had resolved on, and whatsoever else they judged would be requisite to procure his liberty. Lodovico and he shown so much generosity in this separation, and spoke so obligingly one to another, as Sinibaldo could not forbear telling them, that Spinola could not have been lost more profitably for the Commonwealth, seeing his death had served to make two so great and excellent men become friends. When they had answered to this civility, Rhodolpho came to me, with so much kindness, and such testimony of acknowledgement and friendship, as I was sensibly touched therewith: He assured me once again with oaths, that his daughter should be the reward of the blood which I h●d shed for him, provided I did not change my resolution. The weakness wherein I was, did not keep me from rendering him thanks, as I ought, for so obliging a discourse; but at length he went away to find out the Master that waited for him: Sinibaldo did not let him go without a guard; he caused six of his servants to follow him a loof of, and he himself went to the Port for to see him part. Rhodolpho was so fortunate, that he crossed through the City without meeting any one that knew him; he embarked himself then with all possible speed, and in a little time arrived safely at Monaco, where he was received by his subjects with joy. As soon as the Council was set, they would have complained in Rhodolphoes' name, but they found themselves prevented by the space of a quarter of an hour only; and that the father of him whom I had killed, had accused me for the death of his son: for though our fight was in the night, yet was I known by my voice, and the followers of him that was slain had marked, how he and I were engaged in a particular combat. This accusation appeared at first so unlikely to the Judges, as they gave no credit at all unto it; and whereas they were not ignorant of that inveterate hatred which was between the Justinianoes' and the Grimaldi's, they could not comprehend how I should be induced to fight for mine enemy. As they were in this pain, my Father presented himself to demand justice of them for the violence had been done me, and to colour the matter he told them, that passing by chance along the street, I had seen Spinola set upon Rhodolpho with so much advantage, as my generosity not able to endure it, I presently resolved to labour the hindering of that mischief, or if I could not, to side with the weaker party, as I have done; that in this occasion I had been dangerously hurt; that nevertheless knowing the power of the Spinolaes', and fearing lest the Senate should be misinformed of the truth of the matter, I had absented myself till such time as justice was done me. My Father made this discourse with such earnestness, and so advantageously for Rhodolpho, as it was easy to discern that he was no longer his enemy. But whereas the affair was important, in regard it concerned three of the principal Families of the City, they resolved nothing for the present, but referred the matter to the next day, with order notwithstanding to the Spinolaes' to cause their witnesses to be examined the day following. This news was instantly spread over all the City, with so much admiration and astonishment, as no body could believe it the first time they heard it; contrarily all those of Genova said openly, how it could not possibly be, for that the hatred which passeth successively into the minds of men cannot be extinguished in a moment, and that by consequence it was not credible, that I could pass from one extremity to another in an instant, and that I should render to the greatest of mine enemies all that the dearest of my friends could expect from me. But as nothing can be long concealed, it was quickly known, that love had begot friendship, and that the passion which I had for Isabel, was the noble cause of this adventure. In the mean time the whole Commonwealth was divided; and although the faction of Sinibaldo were the stronger and most considerable, and that it was absolutely for us, yet could it not hinder the passing of an express order for the searching out, and apprehension of us. And whereas the dead party is always regarded, all the grace we could obtain was, that the affair should not be precipitated, and that it should be prolonged as much as the forms of Justice would permit. Whilst things passed in this manner, I wrote every day to Isabel, who answered me with so much wit and sweetness, as I could not be but happy in the constraint wherein I lived. But at length my wounds being cured, I was ashamed to remain shut up in a house at a time wherein I might make use of my courage, and show my Judges that I was not a man to be cast away; howbeit I felt an extreme violence for the executing of this resolution; for though I were deprived of the sight of Isabel, as well within Genona, as if I had been further off, yet found I for all that some content, in thinking that we were within the enclosure of one and the same City; but sense was to give place unto reason, and I was to follow the will of Isabel, which served much to make me departed the rather, for knowing the violence of my passion, she imagined that being thoroughly well, I would have much ado to keep myself from stealing unto her some evening, according to the proposition I had made her to that purpose; so that to avoid the mischief that might arrive to me thereby, she pressed my departure: I propounded it to my Father, who approved of it; the difficulty was to get forth of Genona without danger; but whereas Sinibaldo never found any thing difficult to serve his friends, he told us, that he had an infallible means for to do it; that I should but only get me in the night to his Galley, which being ready to set sail, to go and join with the Squadron of Corsica, should for my occasion take the course of Sestra, where I should be received as in a place that depended on him, and from thence I might easily go to Leghorn in a Tartana. This order was exactly observed, but before my departure I desired to confer with Doria in private; I conjured him then to take a special care to send me news of Isabel, as often as possibly he could; and that he should not fail to write me punctually even the least things that concerned her. Doria promised to satisfy my desire all that he might, and to forget nothing that he thought would content me; I entreated him also to go from me to Isabel, for to give her my last farewell, and to receive her commands to me, foreseeing well that Sinibaldo would make me departed as soon as it was night, without permitting me to go to Rhodolphoes'. He so worthily acquitted himself of his commission, that Isabel had leisure to write me a large Letter, wherein she represented the necessity of my voyage so well unto me, and gave me such assurances of her affection, and of her fidelity, as I departed almost without grief, such an absolute power hath she ever had over my mind. I took my leave then of Sinibaldo, and of my father, and followed the order they had prescribed me; as soon as it was night I was conducted to the Galley in the habit of a simple soldier; and whereas the Captain was acquainted with the business, he made me enter into his , from whence I came not forth till he had cast Anchor at Sestra, under pretext of taking in freshwater. I was no sooner ashore, but I went and delivered a Letter, which I had for the Governor of that place, who presently provided me a Tartana, that carried me to Ligorn, where I was so fortunate as to encounter a vessel ready to set sail for Cap d' Istria; there I quitted the sea to cross through the Country of the Grisons, and having put myself in a fitting Equipage in a reasonable good Town, where I stayed certain days, I passed into Germany, where the Emperor Charles the fifth was then employed in the War against the Protestants. I speak of all these things to thy Highness, without further clearing them unto thee, knowing well enough, contrary to the custom of the Othomans, thou understandest the Universal History; that there are no people so far distant, of whose Religion, Interests, Wars, and the least particularities of their Country thou art ignorant; nor any Prince whose Exploits or Designs are unknown to thee. To conclude, my Lord, I can tell by long experience, that thy Greatness hath extraordinary lights for all that may be comprehended by a humane spirit; and it is out of this knowledge, that I have have not explained myself more at large in many places of my narration, which certainly are not intelligible in all the extent of thy Empire, but which cannot be ignored by the most knowing, the most mighty, and the most victorious Monarch of the World. Soliman, not able longer to endure these praises, given him by Ibrahim, said unto him smiling, that he had not permitted him to speak, but only of his Adventures, and that to obey him exactly, he was to pursue his discourse without flattering him. The Bassa, returning no other answer, but a low obeisance, continued the course of his History in this sort: I came then my Lord, to the Emperor of the Christians, who received me, I dare say, with joy and kindness; he remembered still the services I had him, and in consideration thereof would have given me employment in his Army: But whereas I was uncertain of the continuance of my voyage, and was rather well assured, that if my business was dispatched at Genona, I should instantly be gone, I excused myself the best I could, and went and served amongst the Volunteers. I lived then after this manner without any other unquietness, than what absence brings along with it, which though it be somewhat h●rsh to a man that is passionately in love, yet tolerable to me through the pleasure that I had done in receiving Letters from Isabel: but I was not long in this condition; for three months after my departure I understood the death of Rhodolpho; I knew that Julia and her daughter were at Monaco; and to take all comfort from me, my father wrote me, how that all the grace that could be obtained of the Senate, was the banishing of me for ever from all the Territories of the Republic, and that upon pain of losing my head if I were found in any part of them. I received the news with so much anguish of mind, as I thought I should have died with grief: but of all these things, that whereof I was most sensible, was the affliction of Isabel, which I saw so well described in a Letter that she wrote me, as I forgot mine own misfortune to lament hers. I knew the sorrow she was in for her father; I knew the haughty humour of Julia; I knew that my banishment destroyed all our hopes; and even then I found her tears so just, and mine flowing in such abundance, as there was no room left to obey the commandment she had laid upon me to comfort her, and not to think of going to Monaco, till I heard from her; but at length, after I had a while deferred writing unto her, I sent her word, that I would always very exactly follow her directions; that I besought her for all that to consider, how I could not do better, seeing she could not dispose of herself, than to come to Monaco, where, without fearing the violence of our enemies, we might live and rest in safety; that the Spinolaes' were not powerful enough to raise an Army for to set upon us there, and that the Republic would not of a particular interest make a general cause; that for the rest, time, it may be, would change the order of things; that sometimes sentences had been revoked less unjust than that which banished me, and for men that were not of the family of the Justinianoes', and that peradventure were not more profitable for the public good: In the end I did all that I could to obtain permission to come unto her; I wrote also unto Julia, with so much resentment of that loss, which was more considerable to me, than it was grievous unto her. As for my father, I sent him word, that I would buy out my liberty with my blood, being resolved to perform such brave things in the Wars, as my Judges, and mine enemies themselves should wish to see me again; but that for the executing of so noble a design, he was to permit me first to go and mary Isabel at Monaco; and that if my life were dear unto him, I prayed him to solicit Julia, when her tears were dried up, to accomplish Rhodolphoes' promise. For Doria, I conjured him again to be careful in curiously informing himself whether Isabellaes mind were as firm in this encounter, as she had made me hope it would be; for I well foresaw, that Julia, who, notwithstanding our reconciliation, had never loved me, would bring some obstacle to my design. After I had dispatched away my packet, I remained in so extraordinary an unquietness, that I could not settle my mind on any object, but such, as being ingenious to persecute me, offered every minute to my thoughts the image of a new misfortune; but how intentive soever it was, I could not foresee that which arrived unto me. As I was in this deplorable estate, I understood by a Letter from Doria, that my father being infinitely afflicted for my banishment, was dead of a Fever, the very same day that he wrote this to me; and that to secure his estate unto me, he had passed it over to the Count of Lavagna, who questionless would conserve it faithfully for me. I must confess, my Lord, that the loss so shaked my constancy, as it was ready to fail, and I proved in this occasion, that the apprehensions of Nature are more powerful than all others; and to leave no place for me to doubt of it, I had almost forgot Isabel in this my first transport; but after that reason had combated with grief, and that I was able to look upon my distemper with a calmer eye, I found it yet far greater than at first I had believed it to be: I saw all at once, both the loss of my Father, and that too of my Mistress; no way doubting but that it would be hard for me to carry Julia to that I desired, there being no body now that had any interest to make her keep her word. Certain days after this sad news I received only a ticket from Isabel, wherein contrary to her custom I perceived some confusion, with an absolute command not to hazard myself as yet to come to Monaco, because her mother had told her, that having much wealth in Genova, she would give some order to her affairs, for fear of losing it, if she should so soon receive me into her State and alliance; after this she made me a protestation of fidelity, but in such terms, as made me judge that she had not expressed all her thoughts: Yet was it not this ticket, that begot my despair and my fury; a Letter from Doria, which I had received the same way, cleared this aenigma most cruelly for me; by it I learned, that the Prince of Masseran, whose state is situate between Piedmont, Montferrat, and the milanese, being embarked at Villa-Franca to pass unto Naples, where he had means, and business, had been caught by so furious a tempest three Leagues from the Port, that all the Pilots skill could not keep him from suffering shipwreck before Monaco, where this Prince had been so fortunate as to save himself by leaping into the boat, just at the same instant when as his vessel was beaten to pieces against the point of a Rock: It told me further, that this Prince having gotten to some houses which were on the seashore, had sent to demand permission of the Princess, that he might stay a while in that place, for to gather together as much as he could of the remains of his vessel, which was not sunk, and whose men for the most part had escaped with swimming, or by the assistance of a Bark, that by chance was then near unto them. Moreover Doria advertised me, that Julia had received him magnificently; that not long after it was bruited in Genova, how that Prince was become enamoured of Isabel; and how the very same day that he wrote me this, he was told that he had put himself into mourning for to please the Princess. All this troubled me not so much as Doriaes' conclusion, how that the Letter he had sent me from Isabel, had been delivered to him by an extraordinary way, and how by a note which she had written unto him, she ordained him to send her no more Letters till such time as he had a new order from her. I no sooner read this displeasing circumstance, but my mind was possessed with so much fury, as I was no longer capable of reason; I found myself seized at once, with love, jealousy, anger, grief, and revenge: I would at one instant reproach Doria, complain of the infidelity of Isabel, revenge myself of the treason of Julia, and punish the comerity of my Rival. Amidst the divers passions wherewith my soul was agitated, I framed an hundred designs, whereof the execution was impossible; but after I had disputed with myself, I resolved to go in person to Isabel, and demand a reason of her, why she had not acquainted me with her new conquest; for in the end, said I, I will have the satisfaction to adore her innocent, or to hate her guilty. But as the body and the mind are so straight allied together, that the one cannot suffer without the other, I fell sick the very same day I was to departed, and so violently, as the Emperor's Physicians, who by his order visited me every day, were out of hope of saving me; and verily had I not had a spark of hope remaining, that Isabel was not inconstant, I had refused all the remedies which were given me, and that were powerful enough to recover me throughly. But as if the health of the body had not been bestowed on me, but for the better supporting the evils of the mind, I received my death's wound by a Letter from Doria, which gave me to understand, that Isabel had married the Prince of Masseran, and that to put it out of all doubt, he had learned it from Felicianaes' own mouth, who not enduring her Mistress' infidelity, without showing her resentment thereof, had been turned away out of the Princess' service; he written me also, that since the last Packet which he sent me, he never had received any news from that inconstant one; that Julia had made a journey to Genova a little before that unlucky wedding, without her daughter in her company, where she had published that that marriage should suddenly be solemnised; that having been advertised of it, he had gone to her for to demand of her, whether she would dishonour herself in rendering so little respect to the ashes of her dead husband, as to fail the promise which he had made me? That her daughter was no longer hers, seeing I had bought her with my blood, and the life of Rhodolpho; that it was a payment, and not a grace, which he required of her; and that at last he was resolved to carry things to extremity rather than endure to have this injustice done me; that to all this she had answered peremptorily, how her daughter should never marry a man that was banished from his Country, and that if I would have promise kept with me, I should come and solicit the performance of it at Genova; and that after she had said so, how she had left him, and would not hear him speak a word more. I leave it to thy Highness to imagine the deplorable estate, whereinto this adventure put me, it was so strange, that all my passions reducing themselves into one, I had nothing but fury remaining; and despair so fully seized upon my soul, as I thought no longer of revenging myself of Julia, nor resenting the outrage which I had received from the Prince of Masseran, nor of punishing the infidelity of Isabel, but my design was wholly then to make away self, and to exercise upon mine person all the cruelty which the crimes of others had deserved. This deadly thought was so deeply settled in my heart, as if my Religion had not withheld me, I had killed myself; but at length I resolved to go and die like a man of courage, and in a place where I should never hear Isabel named, and where Doria should not find me: I concluded then to pass into Swethland, whose King was at that time in War with the Done, with a purpose to expose myself to so many perils, as I might die nobly in some one of them; resolving yet further, that if fortune should work a prodigy in preserving me, to go and confine myself into the horrid deserts of Finland. I stole away then secretly, and without taking leave of the Emperor I embarked myself upon the Baltique Sea, where I had not been three days, but they of the Vessel, wherein I was, discovered the Fleet of that valiant King of Algiers, Chairadin Barbarossa, whom a dreadful tempest had driven into that Sea. This encounter gave me as much joy, as it caused fear in them with whom I was; for I verily believed that I should soon set a period to my pains, by finding on the Sea that, which I went seeking for on the land: And whereas I perfectly spoke the Germane tongue, I represented unto them, that since there was nothing left to our choice, but death, or slavery, being not able to fly, for that the wind was contrary to us, it was better generously to resolve for the first, than to submit ourselves to the other; that the loss of liberty being more grievous and shameful, than that of life, they were at the least to sell it dearly: In the end, my Lord, I animated them in such sort, as against all appearance they resolved, not only to fight, but to go and board the first vessel that should advance. This resolution was no sooner taken, but Chairadin loosed two of his Fleet to come up unto ●s; when they were within cannon shot we discharged one against another without much effect, but suddenly they separated themselves to enclose us, which observed by us we would have retired, but the swiftest of the two having fetched us up, I presently boarded her; it was there, my Lord, that I fought against my own good fortune, and that I laboured to lose a life, which thou hast rendered precious unto me, in preserving it since by a goodness that never had example, and which thy power hath made happy in despite of the malice of my destiny: I did then, my Lord, all that I could in this occasion to deprive me of the honour of being thy Highness' creature; but fortune, being resolved to save me, was adverse to us, for to be favourable to me; for Chairadin, whon was unwilling to have this victory cost him dear, and that saw well how we fought like desperate men, advanced with all his Fleet: As soon as those of our Vessel perceived it, their weapons fell out of their hand, and I was he alone that did not render myself, though it be true, that I left not for all that to have the same fate, for having been wounded in four places, the loss of blood weakened me in such sort, as I fell down like one dead on the hatches; my swooning lasted so long, that I came not to myself again till I had been carried to another Vessel, where all the hurt men were laid; there I was dressed amongst the rest, and entreated after the same manner, until we came to Algiers, where soon after I was sold to the Bassa Sinan, together with three hundred others, which were destined to thy Highness; and so within a few days we were embarked for Constantinople, where I had the honour to be made thy slave, and to wear chains, which have been more glorious to me, than the possession of an Empire, and which I would always prefer before liberty. After this, my Lord, I have nothing else to say unto thy Highness concerning that which regards the rest of my fortune, seeing it is the work of thy hands, and that I could not bring it again to thy remembrance without offending thy modesty, knowing well enough by experience, that the image of thine own virtues makes thee cast down thy looks, and change colour: I will not tell thee then by what means thou hast drawn me out of irons for to raise me up to the greatest commands of thy Empire, but I will only say, that in the midst of this pomp, and of this glory, I am in one day become the most wretched of men; and not to keep thy Majesty any longer in suspense, may it please thee to know, that the generous slave, to whom thy Highness hath given his life, is the same Doria, whom thou hast heard so often mentioned in my adventures, that dear confident of my loves, and the most faithful of my friends; Soliman, having interrupted him, demanded, whether he had not set him at liberty; but Ibrahim answered, that he alone could give it him, and that because he would do nothing of his own private authority, after he had talked with him a little, he had returned him to the Bassa of the Sea, entreating him to use him kindly till such time as he heard further from him, not knowing whether his Highness did intent to grant him his full liberty. The Sultan than commanded him to break his chains forthwith, and to prosecute his discourse. Ibrahim would have fallen on his knees to have thanked Soliman for that grace, but he not suffering him enjoined him once again to satisfy his desire; and therefore exactly to obey him, the Bassa continued in this sort. The triumph being finished, I was no sooner in my Palace, but I shut up myself in my Cabinet with that dear Slave; I will not tell thee, my Lord, the taking that Doria and I were in, since it is a thing that may be more easily imagined that spoken: Doriaes' amazement was so great to see me alive, to find me in the habit which I wear, and to observe me in the rank which I hold, as his reason above an hundred times gave his eyes the lie: As for me, I was no less surprised to see him at Constantinople, and to embrace him in the habit of a Slave, than he was to behold me with a Turban. Our first motions of joy being over, I confess, my Lord, that my first thought was for Isabel; well now, said I unto him, my dear Doria, hath the Prince of Masseran triumphed over all my hopes, and hath he rendered himself possessor of an happiness which he did not deserve, and which I thought I had been Master of? I had not so soon made an end of speaking, when as Doria fell to demand pardon of me, to accuse himself of too much precipitation, to commend the constancy of Isabel, and to blame my despair; but because this discourse was obscure, I requested him to clear it unto me: Whereupon he told me, that Julia was no longer amongst the number of the living, that the Prince of Masseran was dead, and that Isabel was never his wife; but to particularise this unexpected event, thou mayest be pleased to understand, that as soon as Julia perceived the Prince of Masserans' love to Isabel, she resolved, seeing the authority wholly in herself by the death of her husband, to make that secret hatred she had always born me to flash out; whereunto also may be added, that this woman being ambitious, it may be the Title of a Sovereign blinded her, and carried her to that cruel design of destroying all our pleasures; to attain the more easily thereunto, she thought it would be fit utterly to break off our commerce, which was not very hard for her to do, for Monaco is seated on the height of a great Mountain, almost inaccessible on the three sides; the other which looks to the Sea is so steep, as one cannot behold it without horror; there rests then but one winding way which leadeth to the Port, so that whereas this Town hath but one only avenue, and hath always a Garrison in it, it was easy for her to keep the Princess from receiving any intelligence from me, or giving me any; without doubt it was the fear of this rigorous proceeding that obliged the Princess to write unto Doria to send her no more Letters. In the mean time Julia said openly to all the world, that the Prince of Masseran was going to marry Isabel; and whereas the Princess suffered herself to be seen of no body, was ware no body was ware of the deceit; for I have been informed by Doria, that as soon as she observed the passion which she had begot in the Prince of Masseran, and that she perceived how her mother would force her to this unjust marriage, she feigned herself sick, to the end she might with the more civility decline the visits of this new Lover, who divers times was upon the point of renouncing his pretensions through the rigours of Isabel; but Julia assured him so effectually, that she would vanquish her obstinacy, provided he would be ruled by her, as he resolved to yield her a blind obedience. He went then to Genona by her counsel in that manner, which the Grandees of I●alie do often make use of, whenas they travel, and which they call Incognito. This custom permits them to live as they will, and dispenseth others from rendering them the honours which are due to their quality; it was then in this sort that the Prince of Masseran was at Genova, to the end, that being freed from receiving, or rendering the ceremony of visits, he might only make some believe, that he was the husband of Isabel, not in precisely saying that he had married her, but in giving way for them to think so, that spoke to him of his abode at Monaco: For the design of Julia was to persuade every one that this marriage was accomplished, to the end that if I were advertised thereof, I might be capable of some extreme resolution, either upon mine own person, or on that of the Princes, or on hers, which I could not execute without going into a place where I should lose my head if I were found there. This design was so well carried, that all they of Monaco believed it themselves, and made others to believe it. This universal error, it may be, had not for all that been fastened on Doria, if Julia had not taken a particular care to make him believe what all the world believed; and indeed to speak the truth, no body could have exempted himself from this imposture: For this woman, having suborned Feliciana with gifts and great hopes, made a show of chase her away with violence, and to make the matter be published the better, she sent her back to Genova, where she was no sooner come but she repaired to Doria all in tears. I think thy Highness remembers, that this maid had always been Jsabellaes' confifident, thou wilt not find it strange then if Doria did not doubt of her discourse, when she assured him with a feigned sorrow, that the Prince of Masseran having married the Princess with her own consent, and not being able to forbear telling her of the promises which she had made to me, she had been ill-intreated both by the Mother and the Daughter, who had driven her away outrageously. It was by this artifice, my Lord, that Doria was deceived; and whereas this news troubled him, and possessed him with fury, he wrote it unto me as soon as he heard it, as I have already declared unto thy Highness. But this man, whose high and generous spirit makes the interests of his friends more sensible to him than his own, understanding that the Prince of Masseran was at Genova, resolved to punish him, and revenge me; and for this effect he carefully informed himself of the place where most commonly he was, but fortune, that intermeddles with all things, favoured his enterprise, by letting him know, that the day following he was to go and see the stately Palace of Andrea Doria his near Kinsman, and whereas it was out of the City, he judged this opportunity too advantageous to be neglected, imagining rightly that he would go thither with little company, since, as I have before delivered, he was at Genova unknown. The matter failed not to fall out even as he had conceived it; for he was advertised that the Prince of Masseran was in this walk attended but with two of his servants; he went forth then speedily with the like number, and overtaking him in a place where few persons could be witnesses of his action. As soon as he was so near him, as he might speak to him, he asked him whether he knew my name, and whether it were possible he should be ignorant that Isabel could not lawfully be his, because she was mine? but since the thing was done, he must at least render himself worthy of so noble a conquest by the loss of his life, as I had bought it with my blood; in saying so they both drew out their swords, and Doria without attending the Prince of Masserans' answer, attacked him so vigoriously, as he was constrained to give ground: They that accompanied him would have opposed themselves to this fury, but they that followed Doria would not suffer them so to do; and whereas they were equal in number, they began a just combat, whereof the modesty of my friend kept him from telling me the particulars; but in the end, notwithstanding whatsoever the Prince of Masseran could perform, the victory sided with reason, and Doria, after the receiving of a slight hurt, pressed his enemy with so much courage, as he ran him into the body in four several places, which made him fall down as if he were dead: A minute after, Nature doing her last devoir, he opened his eyes, and seeing Doria coming from parting their followers, and giving order to his help to carry him to some place, he had yet so much strength, as to call him, and before he expired to crave pardon for the outrage he had done me, and to pray me to consider the power of Isabellaes' eyes for the excusing of his fault; moreover he conjured him to tell me, that the Princess had kept her faith inviolable to me; then he acquainted him in few words with all the violences of her mother, with all the resistances which she had made thereunto, and at the last swore that he was not her husband, but that Julia had used this artifice, in hope to make me away, as I have already told thy Highness, not doubting but that if I were dead she should have carried her daughter to all that she had desired. Scarcely had that infortunate Prince made an end of speaking, but he died in Doriaes' arms, who with sorrow remitted him into the hands of his servants, to go and provide for his own safety; so that without losing time, and before this combat was divulged, he sent to hire a Feluca, and without returning into the City he embarked himself for Naples; for in the uncertainty of the event of the combat he had brought money enough about him to make his retreat into that place, and had left a letter in his Cabinet, which instructed one of his friends with the order he would have taken in his affairs. He departed then safely away in this sort, but the next day he encountered the Pirate Arsalon, and in the manner, which thy Highness understood yesterday, he came to Constantinople. But my Lord, to make all the rigour of my destiny known to thy Majesty, I am to tell thee further, that not long since Doria hath met with a slave of Monaco, who hath related unto him, that as sooon as Julia knew of the death of the Prince of Masseran, anger and grief seized so upon her, as she died therewith in a little time; so that Isabel, seeing she was Mistress of herself, had sent a man into Germany to desire me to come and take care of her State, and to receive her person for a reward of my fidelity: For she knew nothing, either of my jealousy, or despair, which having carried me far enough from the place; whither she had sent to seek me, beguiled all her hopes, and destroyed her felicity, by the fruiteless return of him she had employed unto me; since that she lived in a very austere and melancholic solitariness, saying openly, that she was resolved to renounce the world, as soon as she knew, that I was no longer in it. And whereas there ran a bruit in Genova about a year ago, that I had been seen in Naples, she dispatched away this man for to go and see if it were so; having made a vow, if his voyage proved vain, to shut herself in a Cloister for all the rest of her life; but whereas fortune hath never done any but extraordinary things in my adventures, she so wrought, that this man, putting himself into a French Bark to pass over thither, was taken by a Pirate, whose vessels lay under the covert of a Rock, which is near to a place by the Italians called Porto Hercoles'. And whereas he had a great number of Slaves, he stayed not long from going to sell them at one of the Islands of the Archipelago, from whence by divers accidents this man came to Constantinople, where Doria by chance knew him, as having at other times seen him in Rhodolphoes' service. After all this, my Lord, it will not be difficult for thy Highness to imagine the deplorable estate wherein I find myself by thy bounty, and by the proposition which thou hast made me concerning the Sultana Asteria. I should not be so hardy as to speak to thee in these terms, if I did not call to mind, that the charms of the divine Roxelana have been of sufficient force to vanquish the most victorious Monarch of the world; and that for this reason I may hope to see thee sensible of my misfortune, to obtain pardon for my ingratitude, and to be heard in my justifications. It is true indeed, that to excuse my fault I need no more than to beseech thy Highness to consider, that if I could even banish from my heart the image of Isabel, forget her affection, her oaths, and her constancy; become the most ingrateful of men to his Princess; cause her death by my change, which she would quickly know; prefer my Master before my mistress, and my duty before my love; the Religion I profess, prohibiting me the plurality of wives, which that of the Mahometans doth permit, I could not dispose of a faith, which I have already given, seeing I am a Christian under the habit of Mussulman, although I be not believed to be so in all the extent of thy Empire: But whereas for all that it is not just that my temerity should be vanquished, deprive a man of thy favour, who refuseth an alliance, which a great King outght to receive on his knees: Banish from thy sight and Court a man, whom so many benefits, whom so many greatnesses, and to say all, whom thy affection cannot make perfectly happy; and to satisfy the Sultana Austeria, I am ready to reenter into the irons from whence she drew me, and to die her Slave, since I cannot live her husband: Or if thy Highness will render my end more profitable and glorious, command me to seek out death in the midst of thine enemies, and I shall not be long without testifying by the loss of my life, that I am not ingrateful, but because I cannot be acknowledging. And to incense thy just wrath, I will say further, that the chastisement, which I demand, will be instead of grace to me, since that in depriving me of light, I shall no longer be sensible of all the misfortunes wherewith I am so heavily oppressed; I shall cease to live, but I shall cease also from being rebellious to thy pleasure; I shall restore the life which I owe to the incomparable Asterin; and I shall die for the glory of Isabel. In brief, my Lord, since I cannot be Asteriaes', because my love doth oppose it, and my Religion doth forbid it; and since I cannot likewise live for Isabel, because my duty doth tie me to thy service, both by a general right, and by a particular obligation, death is the only remedy that remains for me to get out of so many miseries. If thy goodness had not broken off my fetters, and that I were still thy slave, now when that I know that the constancy of Isabel hath triumphed over the artifice of our enemies, that I reign still in her heart, and that on me alone her felicity or her happiness doth depend, I would employ all my endeavour to free me of my chains by a ransom: But, my Lord, I am tied to thee by stronger bonds; the obligations wherein I am engaged to thy Highness, the benefits which I have received from thee, the honours thou hast done me, and the last degree of glory whereunto I am mounted, are too certain proofs of thy love, and of thy confidence, for me not to be retained in my duty: It is then by these sacred bands that I am tied unto thee, and which I cannot break without sacrilege. Finally, my Lord, the thoughts of liberty, which pass for a just desire in the minds of all men, were an horrid crime in me; and I may well promise thy Highness, that I will never so much as dream of it: And as I am generous enough not to do any thing that may blemish my love, so am I yet more not to do any thing that may wrong my duty. There is no need then of guards to keep me from going out of thy Empire, being fully resolved to sacrifice all my pleasures, rather than do any thing unworthy of the name which I carry, and the choice which thy Highness hath made of my person, for to be the first in thy favour, as I am in thy Estates. But without further deferring pronounce the sentence of death, so just, and so much wished for. Ibrahim having given over speaking, Soliman risen up, fell to walking a great pace, and with his eyes fixed on the ground continued in so deep a muse, as the Bassa doubted that he should obtain the effect of his request; but he was not long in this uncertainty; for the Sultan standing still, and beholding him in a manner that testified more grief than anger, and more compassion than wrath, said unto him with all imaginable kindness, that he held himself infinitely unhappy, in that possessing so great an Empire, that being so victorious and triumphant, and that being able to give felicity to so many people, yet could not render the only man whom he could love, happy. Upon this so obliging a discourse, Jbrahim would have fallen on his knees, but he would not suffer him, saying unto him, that he would fain have obtained so much resolution of himself, as to part for ever from a man, who was so dear unto him; that he had debated the same in his mind, when as he walked in that manner, as he saw; but that at last the affection which he bore him had surmounted his generosity, and that it was impossible for him to resolve on so grievous a separation; that he conjured him to excuse the effects of his friendship, as he excused those of his love; and to testify unto him, that as well as himself he did all that he could, he would permit him to go atd see Jsabella, provided he would pass his word unto him to return again within six months; with this promise also, that if during his absence he could accustom himself to this privation, he would give him his liberty wholly and entirely. The Bassa was so surprised, and so transported with joy, as having cast himself at the feet of the Sultan, he was a good while without speaking, but at length, after he had recovered the use of his tongue, he rendr●d him thanks for so notable a favour, and told him, that none but Soliman could vanquish Soliman; that this victory which he had gotten over himself, was so glorious to him, as all that he had done till then, was nothing in comparison of it; that battles were gained by the valour of Captains and Soldiers, bu● in this occasion he owed this victory to none but his own proper virtue. As for the rest, if he would permit him to go to Monaco, he would engage his faith to render himself at Constantinople within the time that he had prescribed; and that he was not to fear that he would break his word with his Highness, since he would keep it with his very enemies. After this assurance, the Sultan told him, that he did not doubt of it, but that which obliged him to require an oath of him for it, was the knowledge that he had of the force of the passion which reigned in his heart; and that his friendship would be secured against this enemy of its content. Jbrahim swore then solemnly, that nothing but death alone should keep him from accomplishing his promise. That done, Soliman told him, that he would not have consented to his voyage, knowing that his affairs were not composed at Genova, had he not had the means to have the sentence revoked, which had been given against him. And when as Jbrahim besought him to to let him understand, how he thought to perform so unexpected a a thing, the Sultan told him, that to comprehend his design, he was but to remember, how one of his Chaoux, returning out of France, and staying at Genova, had been murdered in the streets by a popular commotion; so that having been advertised thereof by one of them that accompanied him, who instantly embarked himself away, he had caused all the Vessels of the Genoveses, that were found in his Ports, to be arrested; and that for the better favouring of his design, an Ambassador was the day before arrived from his Republic, whom he had caused to be put in prison at Pera, being persuaded that he had done nothing unworthy himself therein, since the Genoveses had first violated the Law of Nations in the person of his Chaoux; how it was for to communicate this affair unto him that he had sent for him in the morning, but the sadness which he had observed in his countenance, had hindered him from it, and carried him into another discourse. The Bassa then cast himself at the feet of the Sultan, to assure him, that he would never establish his content on the ruins of his Country. Soliman told him, that his generosity would not contradict his intention, and that so favourable an occasion might not be lost, he would send back this Ambassador with all the Vessels which he had caused to be stayed, for to redeem his liberty, and that of Doria, who had suffered so much for him. That he would write a letter to his Republic, which should be conceived in such express terms, as they would without doubt be enforced by fear to accord him more difficult things, than those which he desired of them; besides that, giving them back the life of their Ambassador, and returning them so great a number of the richest, and most precious commodities of the Levant, they would be yet far more indebted unto him; But in the end he was glad, that the blood of one of his servants might at least serve to restore Ibrahim to his Country. The matter being thus resolved, Soliman commanded the Bassa to go and deliver Doria, and the Slave of Monaco, and not speak of this design, for he would have no inkling of the matter; but for the better concealing of it, he ordered him to say, that he was going upon a secret expedition, to the end they should not marvel if they saw him no longer at the Port. After this Jbrahim withdrew himself for to give order to his affairs; and although the passing of his word fo● his return begot some melancholic thoughts in him, yet joy held the Empire of his soul, and the only imagination of seeing Jsabella again dissipated all his heaviness. At last his passion was so strong, that if he had been even sure to die, as soon he came at her, yet would he not for all that have left to go. He returned then to his Palace, followed by those multitude of Courtiers, whom the favour of Kings renders inseparable with them which possess it.    

IBRAHIM, OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The First Part.  
The Third Book.  
THe grand Visier was no sooner at home, but he sent the command of the Grand Signior to the Bassa of the Sea, to return him the Slave, with whom he had talked the day before; but as he was generous and liberal, he caused twelve Watches, the fairest that ever had been found in all the shops of Constantinople, to be carried unto him; for besides the difference of the inventions of them, their cases were so marvellous, as the Emeralds, Rubies, and Diamonds, made up the least part of their beauty, the art far surpassing the matter: And whereas this curiosity is the greatest with persons of quality amongst the Turks, having met with an hundred of them in a certain shop, Ibrahim could not choose any thing that was more gallant, more beautiful, or more agreeable to him, who was to receive them; but to render this present yet more magnificent, he put these twelve Watches into a little coffer of Nacre, garnished with Gold and Turquieses, and sent them unto him by six Slaves: As for that of Monace, because he was not a man of any great quality, he sent him a thousand Sultanius for his ransom. After which he shut himself up in a lodging apart, that was a good way from his own, which was too much frequented with people, there to receive Doria at more liberty: The Palace of the Bassa of the Sea was not far from Ibrahims, so that it was not long before they brought him his dearest Doria, to whom that Bassa in requital of that gallantry which had been used towards him, had in exchange of his fetters given him a chain of Diamonds. It was in this interview, that these two friends felt all those joys and pleasing raptures, which true friendship causeth in the souls of two persons, who for so many years had been in despair of ever seeing one another; their hearts were at one instant so replenished with pleasure and admiration, as not able to express together their amazement and their joy, they remained a good while embracing one another, without the ability to speak; but at length, Ibrahims' passion being the stronger, it obliged him to open their first discourse by Isabel, in calling Doria his Preserver, in giving him thanks for exposing his life to deliver her, and revenge him; and craving pardon of him for the pains he had suffered in his captivity, as counting himself the innocent cause thereof. Doria answered to all those things with as much kindness as could be; but whereas love is more powerful than friendship, and as this passion reigns imperiously over all the rest, Ibrahim returned still to Monaco, he would have Doria particularise again that which he had already told him the day before; he demanded of him whether it were true indeed that the Princess loved him still? He would know of him, whether the Prince of Masseran was an handsome man? And as if his friend could have divined what was done over all the earth, he conjured him to tell him, whether he did not believe that Isabel would be turned Nun when they should arrive at Genova? In the end, after he had asked an hundred questions, whereunto Doria had no leisure to answer, he perceived his error, and desired him to pardon him for it with so much earnestness, as he could not choose but smile at it. But amidst all these mutual caresses, there were some moments wherein Doria was surprised with marvel, and whenas reason began to repossess its place in the mind of Ibrahim, he was ware of it; and seeing his eyes fastened on his habit, he easily apprehended, that he did not express all his thought; wherefore not to leave him any longer in this uncertainty, he said unto him, that for the renewing of their friendship in as straight a manner as formerly it had been, it was fit to tell him in few words, that he was still Justiniano under the name of Ibrahim, and that although he were the servant of Soliman, yet was he for all that the enemy of Mahomet; that he desired him therefore not to suspect him lightly, since he could not do so without wronging him; that if he had not been too much pressed by the affairs which he was to communicate unto him, and which required speed, he would have recounted to him, even at that very instant, the wonderful progress of his fortune, but he would do that at leisure whilst they were in their voyage together; that in the mean time he should firmly believe how nothing was able to shake his faith, and that he would live and die in the Religion of his Fathers. Upon this discourse Doria confessed unto him ingenuously, that he had been strangely surprised with finding him Grand Visier, and the Sultan's lieutenant-general throughout all the extent of his Empire, since to be that and a Christian seemed to be two things incompatible; but in regard of that which he had told him, he would afterwards forbid his reason to judge any more upon appearances: How it was notwithstanding true, that he had believed that he was not absolutely culpable, but how it was certain also, that being unable to conceive this adventure, he had been troubled to think in what terms he should dare to inform and clear himself therein. Ibrahim answered, that he would easily forgive him this injury, seeing he himself could not in a manner conceive by what means, or by what ways fortune had conducted him to the point wherein he then was: That in the mean space not to lose time, which was to be so precious unto him, it was fit he should tell him, that Soliman had been so good as to permit him to go and see Isabel; and that he might do it with glory and safety, the Sultan had found out an undoubted expedient to cause the Sentences which had been pronounced against them, to be revoked. But whereas Doria could not easily believe that which he heard, Ibrahim recounted every thing unto him from point to point, just as it had been resolved in the Sultan's Cabinet; but he did not discover unto him, that he had engaged his word for his return within six months, for fear he should be afflicted at it; for as for his fidelity he no way misdoubted it. Doria finding that he purposed to return out of hand to Genova, told him, that he had lost a very affectionate friend in the person of Sinibaldo, who was dead of sickness, as the Slave of Monaco had informed him, but that he had left a son behind him, the heir of all his virtues, and one that promised great matters. Is he not called Giovanni Lodovico, replied Ibrahim, after he had bemoaned the death of Sinibaldo? Yes, said Doria, and he was not above a dozen years old when you went away, and yet then there was great hope of him. Hereupon one brought Ibrahim word, that the Slave of Monaco was come, which made Doria represent unto him, that being to return to Genova, he held it not fit that this Slave should see him in the habit he wore, because he could not possibly forbear publishing of it, which might prejudice him much, or at leastwise oblige him to make a public manifestation of his adventures. Ibrahim agreed with him therein, so that he charged him, who brought him that message, to carry this Slave to the quarter where the Officers of his house were lodged, which was a great way off from his own, with order to use him well, and not to let him go out of his chamber without his express command. That done, he turned himself to Doria, and desired him to work in such sort, as he might have the Letter which the Princess had wrote to him by this man, to the end he might be assured of her fidelity. Doria told him that the matter was not very difficult, and that to oblige him to deliver it, he need but let him know, how he was still alive; and because also he was to see him during their Voyage, it was requisite to tell him, that he had been a slave as well as they, and freed in the same manner, that he might not be surprised when he should see him aboard the vessel. Ibrahim approved of this counsel of his friend, and prayed him to go instantly and labour to bring him that precious treasure, which was able to make him happy. Doria condiscending thereunto, the Bassa caused him to be conducted by four slaves to the place where that of Monaco was, who a good while would not part with Isabellaes' Letter, till he saw Justiniano, because he could not believe, that a man whom he had gone to seek for at Naples, should be at Constannople; but Doria swore so seriously unto him, that Justiniano was alive, and that he should see him within a few days, as at length, knowing him to be a man of great quality, and Justinianoes' friend, he suffered himself to be persuaded, and delivered him Isabellaes' Letter, which he had with much ado preserved all the time of his captivity; presently whereupon Doria returned to Ibrahim, who attended him with extreme impatience; as soon as he perceived him, and that they which conducted him were retired, he lovingly embraced him, and conjured him no longer to defer his happiness, but Doria without answering him rendered him that precious gage of Isabellaes' fidelity, which possessed our Illustrious Bassa with such joy, that he could hardly obtain so much tranquillity from his mind, as to read this Letter: But at last, after he had kissed it with transports that cannot be imagined but by those who know the force of this noble passion, which reigned in his heart, he opened it, and saw that it was thus.  
The Letter of Isabel Princess of Monaco to justiniano's.  
SInce it is not enough for the felicity of Isabel to know that you are living, but that she must also know whether she still liveth in your memory, I have sent the Lieutenant of my Guard to inform himself thereof, and to clear it unto me, to the end that by his return, and by his answer, I may regulate the rest of my days, conserve myself for you if you be faithful, or punish myself for loving you if you be faulty; being fully resolved, if you live no longer for me, to live no longer for the World, and to deprive myself for ever of it, as soon as you shall have deprived me of the hope of seeing you again. I do not undertake to paint forth all the miseries which I have suffered by the persecutions of my Lovers, and of mine Enemies, by my Parents, and by your absence; since if it be true, that it hath been able to destroy in your soul a love which ought to last eternally, it would but add more to my confusion, and to your crime; raise up a trophy myself for mine Enemy; follow voluntarily the Chariot of the Conqueror; and serve for an ornament to the triumph of some stranger, who it may be hath vanquished you. But if nevertheless it should happen that my fear and suspicions should render me faulty towards you; that you should be always Justiniano, as I am always Isabel; that this so noble, and so pure a passion, which I had given a being unto in your soul, should reign there still, as it doth still reign in mine; I durst beseech you, if Monaco seem too weak to defend you, or too near to Genova to live there in quiet to let me understand in what place of the earth you will have us live together; for in fine I shall always quit my State without regret for to conserve unto myself the Empire which you have given me over your heart. Let me know then what I am to expect from my fortune, with a promise, if it be so that I have no longer a place in your remembrance, never to murmur more at my misfortune, but accuse my defects for your change, and since I cannot live for you, never to be any bodies, ●ut to die in a Cloister. This is all the grant which is demanded of you by  
Your ISABELLA.  
Hardly could Ibrahim retain his tears in reading Isabellaes' letter, which had made him change colour more than once, according as it was either more or less obliging; and as jealousy and fear are undoubted marks of strong ●ffection, that which the Princess testified unto him gave him at one instant both grief and joy; he was grieved that Isabel should suspect him of infidelity, he was not sorry that she was afraid to lose him; and as if he had not read it well, he began to run it over again, and after he had made an end of reading it, he looked on all sides of the paper, to see if nothing else were there written: He read the superscription of it, he considered it even to the very sea; and in the end he thought he should have committed a crime if he had lost so much as one syllable of that precious pledge of Isabellaes' love. This letter so mightily increased his flame, that his unquietness grow to be half so much more than it was. The discourse of the Princess seemed so pressing unto him, as he began to fear in good earnest, lest she should ●ake some extreme resolution before he could get to Monaco; he concluded therefore to forward the matter as much as he could, and for a beginning he left Doria, after he had caused books to be given him to entertain the time withal, and commanded some of his servants to wait near unto him for to serve him; the rest of the day he bestowed in giving order for all things necessary for his voyage; he commanded a Christian Slave, in whom he much confided, to cause an habit after the Italian fashion to be secretly made, and gave him more money than need, both to pay for it, and to procure the fidelity of the Jews, who should sell it unto him; for it is from those kind of men, that the great diversity of Nations which people Constantinople and Pera, are furnished with all things necessary for them, be it householdstuff, apparel, or jewels. That done, he caused the principal Officers of his house to be called unto him, and having told them, that the Grand Signior sent him upon a secret expedition, from whence he should not return in six months, he commanded them that during his absence they should obey, as himself, a man, who was as it were the Steward of his house; and that they should cause all the rest that depended on them, to obey him in like manner; he assigned means also for the maintenance of his Train, as it used to be; and after he had promised them recompenses if they continued in their duty, and chastisements if they did otherwise, he went to his dear Doria, and being somewhat late, they separated themselves; Ibrahim, not willing that his people should observe so strict a union betwixt them, got away to bed, after he had made a light supper, though he had eaten nothing all the day before; As for Doria, he was served in private, but with a great deal of magnificence. The next morning, according to the order he had received for it, Ibrahim went to the Seraglio; and whereas he had a particular permission to come thither at all times, whensoever he would, he went into the Sultan's chamber, who was not ready. Soliman, seeing him come in, said unto him, how he was glad to observe in his countenance that the remedy, which he had found out for his grief, was not in vain; but to make an end of healing him speedily he had commanded over night that the Ambassador of Genova whom he had caused to be made a prisoner at Pera, should be brought unto him; the Sultan told him further, how he had given order, that the Ambassador should come without ceremony, because if the ordinary custom had been observed, Ibrahim then, as the chief Bassa, must have presented him, which he not thinking fit, for that so he would have known him, he chose rather to hold this course; besides also that sending to have him received at the gate of the City, and causing him to be presented with an horse, and robe of cloth of gold, according to the use, he engaged himself consequently to give him public audience, which he would not do, to the end he might speak more openly to him concerning the matters he desired of him. The Sultan was no sooner ready, but he was advertised by a Capigibassa, who is one of the Captains of the Port, that this Ambassador was arrived, whereupon he commanded, that a Bassa should go to receive, and bring him unto him; and that Ibrahim might hear what he said unto him he made him enter into his Cabinet. A little after this Ambassador appeared with a Turkish robe on, which had been given him without any ceremony at his departure from Pera; for it is the custom of the Sultan to receive no Ambassadors but such as have one of them on, according to the manner of the Country. He was sustained under the arms by two Capigibassi; the Bassa that conducted him, marched two paces before him to present him to the Sultan, who received him with some civility: when as he had saluted the Grand Signior, he delivered the Letter that the Republic had written to him, which Soliman gave unto a Dragoman, who interpreted it unto him for forms sake only, for he understood it better than he. No sooner had he done hearing him, but he caused the same Interpreter to tell the Ambassador, that the injury which he had received in the person of his Chaoux, was so great, that if he had followed his just fury, his head had answered for that violence; how it was for that he had caused him to be arrested, but that he had since changed his mind at the intercession of a Christian slave, who had been a suitor to him for it, and that had found grace before his Highness; but that for returning him back, as he was going to do, together with all the vessels which he had caused to be stayed in his Ports, and for forgetting also the outrage that he had received from his Republic, they were to accord him one thing, which he desired of them. And when as the Ambassador had answered him, that the thing should be impossible if they did it not, he told him, how all that he would have was, that the Senate should revoke the Sentence which they had pronounced against Justiniano, and that Doria should be no more troubled for the death of the Prince of Masseran; that it was Justiniano to whom Genova owed her safety, and to whom he was to render thanks for his life; that he remitted both him and Doria to his conduct, for the putting of that in execution which he desired; but that he should take good heed they failed not therein, because if that should happen, nothing should be able to keep him from making War upon Genova itself with all the forces of his Empire. This Ambassador was so surprised with hearing the Sultan speak of Justiniano and Doria, as it had divers times like to have made him forget the respect which he owed him, for to interrupt him, but at length after Soliman had given over speaking, he answered him, that the thing he desired was so beneficial to the Republic, as his Highness need not fear to be refused; that the merit of those two excellent men was so generally known, as the Senate had not obeyed the Laws but with grief, and that doubtless they would be extremely joyful of so just and specious a pretext to infringe them. After this Soliman dismissed him, and told him yet once again, how he should remember, that in this occasion they were to satisfy him, or to have him their enemy; howbeit he somewhat caressed him in bidding him farewell, and excused the not receiving him with all requisite Ceremonies for some reasons which he might not tell him; that in the mean time he should prepare himself for his departure, and that he should have his dispatch. When he was retired according to the custom, that is, without turning his back to the Sultan, Ibrahim came forth of the Cabinet, and cast himself at his feet, to give him thanks for so many testimonies of the affection which he received every minute from his Highness. But Soliman took him up, and told him, that eight years' service well deserved that acknowledgement; that withal likewise in labouring for his good, he should establish his own felicity, which would never be perfected till he saw him contented; that the impatience he was in for his departure, was occasioned by the desire he had of his return, and that it might no longer be deferred, he was to go and make an end of taking order for his affairs, and that immediately after noon he should come and bid him adieu, and bring Doria with him. Ibrahim answered to all these things with as much generosity, as kindness; and for a conclusion, he deeply protested never to think himself acquitted of the infinite obligations wherein he was engaged to his Highness, but in sacrificing his life for his service. He would have proceeded further, but the Sultan interrupted him, and once more commanded him to have no other thought than of going to see the incomparable Isabel, and of giving life again to Soliman. After this the Grand Visier durst not make any reply, but retired homewards to go unto his dear Doria whom he had not seen since the evening before, and he encountered him in the Hipodrome, so intentive in observing the stately structure of his Palace, as the Bassa was fain to speak to him before he would heed him, or be drawn out of so sweet a contemplation: But when as D●ria seemed to be unwilling to stir from thence, till he had at leisure considered that Masterpiece of Architecture, Ibrahim told him he was contented he should, so as he stayed not long about it, for that having goodlier things to show him, and not having much time to spare, they were to manage so much as they had, till dinner was made ready, in letting him see all the beauties of the Palace which he had caused to be built: That whereas he was skilful in Painting, in Perspective, in Architecture, in rarities, and in all parts of the Mathematics, he should be glad to know, whether according to his judgement all the rules of those fair Arts, and of those excellent Sciences, were found to be observed there, as according to his they were. But first, said Doria to him, I would fain know, how in so little a time you could make up a building, which for its greatness, and for the magnificence of its structure, would require the whole life of a man, and the treasures of a great Prince. This last, replied Ibrahim, is the only necessary thing, for with it is done in a small time, what whole Ages, and all the industry of man could not do without it; and both to answer you, and to take from you the means of troubling me with new objections, I am to let you know, that having a purpose to build this Pal●●e, I easily found out a way to do it, as well speedily, as magnificently: For disposing of all the Revenue of the Empire, I could want nothing save Artisans to execute my design, but fortune sent me them; for good luck would, that a great Architect, two Painters, and two Sculptors, having put themselves in company together for to pass out of Italy into Spain, from whence they had been sent for to make a stately Palace for the Emperor, were taken by Pirates, who afterwards sold them here at Constantinople; and whereas I have always been very careful to inform myself of places where any Christian slaves were, that I might relieve them, I met with these same, knew what they were, and employed them for two whole years together; after which I sent them back in a vessel laden with riches. You have peradventure heard say, that the Turks do not suffer the image of any living thing to be made, and that the Alcoran seems to forbid it; but as in all Religion's heresies do from time to time arise, this same, which is composed of nothing but absurdities, hath not been wanting therein; for some remedy whereof they one day cast into the River of Adezelia, that runs by Damascus, two hundred Camels lading of Books of the different opinions of their Religion, retaining but six of them, which since have produced many others, whereof one maintains upon this Article, that the rest have misunderstood that passage, where their Prophet had no other meaning, but to forbid them the worshipping the images of men, of beasts, and of plants, and not the making of them for the ornament of houses: And indeed this opinion hath been followed chief by the Grandees. The Seraglio hath its Galleries full of Mosaique work, where are seen great store of interlaced foliage, and birds represented by suitable pieces of differing Marble. The Emperor Selim could paint himself, and he sent a Battle, drawn with his own hand, to the Venetians; and Soliman his son hath his Father's Picture always hanging by his bedside; so that after such illustrious examples I have adorned this Palace, but with pictures and statues, wherein it may be you will find wherewith to satisfy the knowledge which you have in those excellent arts.  

The description of Ibrahims' Palace.  
WHilst the Bassa was talking in this sort, he and his friend came still nearer to the Gate, where Doria stayed to consider the superb front of a great Paviglion, which risen up into a Dome over the Gate, and that equally divided a long wall of white Marble, which made the enclosure of that great and marvelous fabric. Doria could not sufficiently admire three orders of columns of different Marbles, which adorned that Portall, whereof the basis and capital, were of Brass, but wrought with so much art, that neither the Greeks nor the Romans have ever shown any fairer; some were wreathed, some fluted, and others so artificially twined about with fillets, as they seemed to press down the foliage, wherewith it was enriched; over the Cornice and Frizes of half relieve, which were garnished with leaves of Acanthes, were nothing but Chaplets of Triumph, Cornucopiaes, and Trophies of Arms. Finally, the magnificence of the Palace was so great, that the very gates of it were of Ebony, with mouldings so curiously proportioned, as the great silver nails wherewith they were studded all over, made the least part of their beauty. Doria was not yet resolved to quit so rare an object, had not the Bassa forced him to enter, that he might observe the Vaulting which sustained the Paviglion, whose key-stone was an Onyx of a prodigious bigness, and whereof the Artist had so well contrived all the colours, and made such use of them, as he had thereof form a Coronet of flowers, so admirably well done, that it beguiled the sight: The rest of the Vaulting was all of white Marble, the better to set off so fair a work, but so well joined and polished, as it seemed to be made of one entire stone. After he had sufficiently considered so rare a thing, Ibrahim caused Doria to observe, that opposite to the Paviglion, which he so much admired, was another just like unto it; but before he went further Doria stayed to consider a great low covered Gallery which compassed the Court about, and whereof the roof served for a Terrace, with a rail and ballister of a leaning height; it was sustained with pillars of white and red Marble, and paved as the Court with white and black. But whereas Ibrahim knew that there was somewhat yet more marvellous to be seen, he made his dear Doria to pass along under the second Paviglion, and although the vaulting of it was fairer than the other that he had already seen, yet did he not make any stay there, so much was he ravished with the magnificent Forefront of Ibrahims' Palace, which wholly discovered itself from thence; and truly I must confess, that he had reason so to be, since all that art and materials can contribute to the beauty of a work, was eminently found in this same. There appeared a great Building that took up the whole breadth of the Court, which was retrenched some thirty paces from the House by a Ballustrade of Jasper and Porphirie, and raised on the Palace-side the height of four steps, which form in the middle an half pace of the same matter. The pavement of this Court was grey and white Marble, and in the midst of it was a Fountain, whereof the bowl was of Oriental Alabaster, transparent as Crystal, and six foot Diameter, born up by a pillar of diverse-coloured Marble; the outside of the bowl was enriched with little Sea-Monsters of half relieve, admirably well done. Round about the pillar were four Harpies of Brass, their paws reaching to the depth of the Cistern, and their backs turned opposite the one to the other to uphold the pillar; the tips of their wings extended also to the bottom of the Alabaster bowl, as seeming to bear it up; they had women's faces, but Serpents writhe talls finishing in antic foliage, which met together on the top of the pillar just against the Centre of the bowl, whereunto likewise it served for an ornament: In the midst of this bowl was a Vase reversed, made also of Oriental Alabaster, which on its foot sustained a round basis, whereupon were set the three Graces, almost quite naked, made of Corinthian metal; they stood back to back, ejecting water out their breasts, and each of them holding a Cornucopia, which met all together a little above their heads; out of the flowers and fruits, which were represented there with suitable pieces, made of Agates, Onixes, Turqueises, Carnalines, Topazes, and Emeralds, issued six spouts of water, which fell down into the hole, and disgorged themselves into the Cistern through the muzzles of six Lions that were seen on the outside thereof. As for the six others, which issued from the breasts of the Graces, and that did not spin out, they fell just into the heads of fix Dragons of brass, which were on the brim of the bowl, and that rendered them again through their mouths: These Dragons seemed to strive to get out of it, holding the brim with their talons, the rest of their bodies, except their heads, and the tips of their wings, seeming to be hidden therein; so that those twelve spouts of water, coming to cross one another, made so pleasing an object and murmur, as both sight and hearing found at one and the same time wherewithal to be satisfied. The Cistern of this Fountain was of Marble, but wrought with such art in Mosaique work, as there appeared in the bottom through the water fishes, so admirably well represented, that one might be deceived by them at the first fight; this Cistern had also round about it a little Balustrade of Jasper, for one to rest, and meditate upon. After that Doria had well admired this Fountain, he gave his whole mind and attention to observe the beauties of this marvellous frame; he saw then, that from each side there went a wing of building, which extended even to the Balustrade of Jasper and Porphirie, and whereof the structure and symmetry was suitable to the middle front: Each of these wings, as well as the grand fabric, had a Copola, covered over with sheets of brass, whereof the moiety having received an impression of fire, it had rendered then of a mixed colour between purple and blue, which the Painters cannot well represent, and which shown a wonderful object, being opposed to the other sheets, whereunto had been given a tincture of gold. The rest of the roof was covered in the same manner, as well as the Paviglions, whereof I have spoken; but when as Doria came to cast his eye a little lower, and to observe that all the ornaments of this Fabric were of Jasper, Chalcedonie, Agate, and Onyx, he was so surprised, as he could not forbear demanding, whether this which he saw was not enchantment: But though the abundance of Festons, of Trophies of Arms, Arabesques, Vases of incense, Frizes, Cornice interlaced with Drapery, extinct Torches, Cornucopiaes, and Chaplets of triumph, gave him a world of admiration, yet was he far more surprised to behold four and twenty Columns of Touch, which seemed to sustain the first Order, and which were placed by two and two in equal distance, between each window; the basis and capitals of them were of white and red marble, in correspondency to the body of the building, which was wholly constructed thereof; but to preserve these Columns, and to render them withal the more magnificent to the eye, they were twined about with the leaves of Achanthes of brass guilt, which yet was no hindrance, but that one might distinctly discern of what stone they were made, so as the beauty of them might be admired for their prodigious greatness. Over the Entrata was a statue of Soliman on horseback in base relieve; and on each side between those Columns were six Niches, filled with six great statues of women, habited a L'antipue, and representing the divers Natitions subjected to Soliman, who with one hand seemed to offer him their Crowns, and with the other leaned on the Scutcheons of the arms of the Kingdoms, which they represented. After he had well observed all these marvailes of Art and Nature, Ibrahim told him, that having yet many things to show him, which it may be deserved his approbation, as well as those he had already viewed, it was requisite they should make a turn in the Garden, that all the outside might be considered before he let him see that the inside was not ill understood; he made him pass then under a great Vaulting, which traversed the whole body of the House, from whence one descended to the Garden by a large half pace of Porphirie. This Vaulting was all of Mosaique work, composed of different Marbles and jasper's, upon a ground of Alabaster, but so wonderfully wrought, as an excellent Painter could not with a pencil interlace a foliage more artificially, better observe the lights, and the shadows, nor make a fairer piece with liquid colours, which by his mixture of them he renders such as he pleaseth, than this excellent Artisan of so beautiful a work had done with suitable pieces, whereof the colours were all simple and natural, and the joining of them together imperceptible to he clearest sighted eyes. Jbrahim, whose impatience was extreme, and who imagined, that every moment employed by him any other way, than in thinking of his departure, was an outrage to his love, and a crime towards Isabel, pressed Doria so much, as he made him descend into the Garden; howbeit he stayed a little on the top of the half pace the better to consider the beauty and extent of it. He saw upon the first sight of it four preat parterres, in the midst whereof was a Round of an extraordinary bigness, about the which were seen upon the bases of green Jasper fix figures of fishermen, as big as the life, whereof there were three that held each of them a Trident in his right hand, with the arm lifted up for to dart it; and the other three testified by their action the joy which they felt for having hurled theirs so rightly, as that they had therewith struck a Sea Monster, which was represented in the middle of the Round, lying half along on his side, his head and his tail out of the water, and with so much art, as he seemed to be somewhat pained with the hurts which the three Tridents had given him, and from whence issued three ejects of water, that were in stead of blood to him. Just opposite to the half-pace and the Round was a Grot, admirably fair, both for the matter whereof it was form, and for the art wherewith it was made, so that Doria, being much taken with this object, seconded the grand-Visiers design, and went on as fast as he desired him; the Bassa, not to lose time, caused him to observe in going along, that on each side of his Garden was a close arbour, erected with porticoes of verdures, where the Gardener had made it well appear, that he was not ignorant of all the beauties of Architecture, since it had not any ornament there, which was not of the same proportion, and of the same symmetry, as was observed over all that stately Palace. He made him also cast his eye to both the sides of the Grot, from whence there ran a Balustrade of Jasper, beyond the which was seen on the right hand a Labyrinth, so artificially contrived, that it might be called a prison without a gate; it being most certain, that without at the least a prodigious chance, or being taught by him that made it, one could not get out of this Dedale, what care soever a man took to mark how he went into it: Doria would fain have gone and made trial of it; howbeit Ibrahim would not suffer him, but obliged him to look toward the left side of the Balustrade, where was seen a Grove of Orange, Citron, Pomegranate, and Myrtle trees; and although the prospect of this place was delectable, and the sent of it odoriferous, yet Doria passed by them to admire the marvels of the Grot, whereunto they were then near; but whereas the description of it would be too long, it shall suffice to say, that it was of an Octangular form; that although it was of a just depth, yet it was for all that so lightsome, as all which the Orient hath of most rare was there to be seen: And to conceive a light Idea of it, one must imagine, that he beholds together all the masterpieces, or to say better, all the miracles of Nature; one must then figure unto himself great rocks of Crystal, of Emeralds, and of Rubies, where there was seen in some of them, that the Sun had not leisure to finish his work, being without colour in divers parts; one must also paint forth to his imagination that wonderful enamel of Oriental Shells, whereof the diversity is so agreeable, be it for their forms, or for their lively colours, so well mingled, and so well sorted, that of all natural things they are the fairest, and most perfect; one must likewise conceive that in his mind, which all the Painters cannot represent, I mean those great Conques of Nacre, where the beams of the Sun leave so beautiful an impression of their light, as neither Opales, nor the Rainbow have any colours that are not surpassed by the luminous Argent whereof they are form, and which makes me name them with reason the favourites of the Sun. But after all these things one must imagine yet an infinite number of great branches of Coral, of all colours which Nature hath produced, namely of all the Carnations, white, black, and of the colour of fire. There must be further added to all these marvels the fairest congelations, and the rarest petrifications, whereof Philosophers, or Historians have ever spoken to us: After this, I say, one may conceive part of those things which Doria beheld in this Grot, where all the artifices of water were seen admirably well executed; there was a fall which ran from a rock of Crystal, and which lost itself presently under another, whereof the noise was so charming, as there is not a heart so light, nor a humour so sullen, in whom this murmur would not have excited a pleasing fancy; and that there may no doubt be made of the agreeableness of this enchanted Grot, I will say no more, but that Jbrahim himself, howsoever he was pressed by his passion, could not choose but be surprised by a thought of Isabel, which gave Doria the more leisure to see all that I have spoken of, and a thousand other rare things, which would be too long to relate. At last, after Doria had cried out an hundred times miracles, miracles, and that Ibrahim wa● come out of his amorous contemplation, they went out of the Grot to return to the Palace, but still Doria looked to the place from whence they were parted, and his imagination was so tak●n up with that he had seen, as he was at the Round before he ever thought of considering the front of the Palace on that side; he saw then that it was wholly like the other, unless it were for a Balcone, which projected from the rest of the work, and whereof the Balisters were of Copper gilt. Having seen this they reentered into the Palace, and ascended by a great stair of white and red Marble, that had a rail and balister of the same; at the top they found a Lobby, whose ceiling and walls were adorned with an Arabesque of Gold and Azure, inlaid with little pieces of Crystal, like to Mosaique work, which yielded both a goodly and magnificent object. From thence they went into a spacicus Gallery, which was on the right wing of the Palace, where Ibrahim had made a Library of all the curious Books of the Oriental Languages, and of all the choicest and rarest in the Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Italian; but whereas the grand Visier did always join magnificence to curiosity, all his Books were bound up in plates of Gold, enammelled with white and green, and placed in order upon shelves of Ebony, which were bordered with a dentile of Goldsmiths-work, enameled with the same colours. There were also in this Gallery between the windows a great number of Maps, both universal and particular; and upon a Tablet over the Books a many of Globes and Spheres, different from one another, according to the divers opinions of all them which have treated of such matters. In the same order likewise he had placed all sorts of Mathematical instruments, the fairest and the best made that ever were seen; as concave Mirrors, Clocks, Olomestres, Circles of proportion, and Astrolabes. But whereas Ibrahim contented not himself with necessary things, but would also have those that were for delight, he had there a number of those paintings, which by optical reasons do make such excellent and charming illusions; for that purpose than he had Cilinders of several greatnesses, and to refresh the sight of them which read, he had of those Crystal Triangles, which by the effect of a marvelous reflection do take and give all at one time the colours of the Rainbow to all the objects that are seen through them. He had also divers magnificent Desks, Prospective-glasses, and before the middle window a Table of Ebony, garnished with Gold, and enameled as the shelves, with a Standish upon it covered all over with Emeralds, some dark, some clear, which made a foliage admirably well represented. At the end of this Gallery that looked upon the first Court, was a door which opened to the Terrace, whereof I have spoken, and which answered to the Paviglion in the middle, where the Grand Visier had made a Cabinet of Arms, which he would needs have his dear friend to see; he led him then by the way which I have noted, but Doria at his entrance into it was exceedingly amazed and surprised; for the very first object that his eye met withal, was a Trophy of Arms, sustained in the air by the prodigious virtue of a great Adamant, which was the Key-stone of the roof of this Cabinet, wherein were seen together, and in order, all the different Arms, both ancient and modern, of all the Nations of the World; but so fair, so magnificent, and so enriched, each one according to its use, as one would have said, that they were the Masterpieces of all the excellent Artisans that ever wrought in Arms: But amongst the rest those of Persia were the richest, and most sumptuous; all the Scymitars had their Hilts and Scabbards of Gold, all covered over with precious stones; and whereas that Country doth abound with Turq●eyses, there were Targets and Quivers set all over with them, and Bows and Arrows answerable to the glittering beauty thereof. Now though the sight of all these things were wonderfully pleasing to Doria, yet gave he over beholding them, as soon as Ibrahim shown him three Harquebuses of a miraculous artifice; whereof the first, which he caused him to make trial of, shot off without fire, by the means of an enclosed wind which coming to issue forth expelled the bullet with the like impetuosity; the second performed the same thing with water; and the third, but the most marvellous, by the means of that powder which is called white, shot off, not only without fire, but also without noise. If Doria had followed his humour, he would have stayed a long time in Philosophying on all these secrets, by maintaining, that neither water nor wound, could ever have the same activity with fire, and so by consequence that which he see could not be without enchantment; but Ibrahim told him they would speak of it at leisure during the voyage they were going to make, and without harkening to him further, he made him go forth at a door opposite to that whereby they had entered, and which gave upon the same Terrace that answered to the end of the Gallery on the left wing, where the Illustrious Bassa had caused all the Turkish Emperors to be drawn, from Ottoman, who was the first, to Soliman then reigning. But whereas he was not contented with having their faces represented, but would have the Ottoman History also painted, there was in this Gallery fourteen great Tables, in each of which was an Emperor as big as the life, and within the same frame all the principal actions of his Reign; but the same so well done so distinctly, and so well ordered, as Doria was ravished therewith, and plainly swore to Ibrahim, that he would not stir out of that Gallery till he had considered all these Pictures attentively, and that he had expounded them unto him. The Bassa declined it as much as he could, but at length seeing his friend persist in his obstinate curiosity, he resolved to satisfy him, upon condition nevertheless, that he should not stand to particularise all that he saw in those Tables: And when as Doria had showed him that he was contented therewith, he requested him to pardon him, if in the prosecution of those painted Histories he saw a number of victories gained over the Christians, which much against his mind he had suffered to be there, but that in the end he durst do no otherwise. This said, making use of an Indian Cane, which he ordinarily carried in his hand, the better to make Doria observe what he was going to show him, he began to speak in these terms.   

The Portrait of Ottoman the first Emperor of the TURKS.  
YOu see, my dear Doria, in this first Table, which you shall not see above once again in all the rest, I mean a Prince  with all virtues, and absolutely exempted from all vices, who owed his fortune to his own proper valour, and who alone laid the foundations of this great Empire: And indeed his memory hath been so reverenced, that even to this day all his Successors have held it for a glory to carry his name. You may observe in his Physiogminy that he was a Prince as prudent, as the rest of the Table will show him to be courageous. This battle which you see afar off, is that which he obtained against the Teggiur of the Town of Prusia; but mark a little how the industrious Painter hath so done it, as all these figures seem to move, and that in this disorder one may know the victorious party; he hath done it so too, that Ottoman is easily discerned there: But if this sight be well represented, this assault of that Town of Prusia, and where he afterwards established the seat of his Empire, will not seem less marvellous unto you. This pane of the wall, which you see fallen down, and which lets you perceive them plainly that defended it, is it not admirably well done? These other Towns which you behold so distinctly, are those of Sinopa in Galatia, of Angauri in Phrigia, of Sebasta in Capadocia; and these which you see further off towards those Rocks, are the rest which he gained on Mare major. As for this Landscape, set thick with Towns, which you see beyond Prusia, it is of Anatolia, that he wholly conquered; and this Army which seemeth to march, and whereof all the soldiers are laden with booty, is the first that ever passed into Europe, and that made strange havoc under this excellent enemy. But without staying to consider the rest, let us pass on to this other Table.   

The Portrait of Orchan the second Emperor of the TURKS.  
THis Prince was the truly worthy son of Ottoman, continued Ibrahim, infortunate nevertheless in this particular, that he was forced to be the first, who-began to make war on his Brothers, and wholly to exclude them from all pretention to the Empire; but if he were unhappy in this encounter, fortune recompensed him otherways; his conquests having extended their limits on the one side to the Hellespont, and on the other to Mare major. These Towns which you see nearest hand, are those of Nicaea, and Nicomedia; and this Army in disorder, where the Painter hath so well represented fear and amazement, is that of the Emperor Paleologue, which was routed by Orchan near to Philocratia, as you may discern afar off. As for this great extent of Country, and this number of Towns, which take up all the rest of the Table, it is Misia, Lacaonia, Caria, and Phrigia, except the Towns of Gallipolis, and Philopoli, which you see on the right hand, and which were his last conquests, for he died soon after. But let us behold the next.   

The Portrait of Soliman the third Emperor of the Turks.  
IF the life of this Emperor had been longer, he would have yet surpassed his Father, both in valour, and in prudence, and we should have seen the Table of his victories filled up more than it is; but whereas his reign endured but two years, he had no more time than to take Andri●ople, conquer a great part of Thrace, and bring also under his subjection the Towns of Pergamas, Edrenuta, Zemeniqua, and some others, as well on this, as on the other side of the Helespout, which you see here running athwart this Table. But this other piece will furnish us with more matter to speak of than this same.   

The Portrait of Amurath the fourth Emperor of the Turks.  
TO describe unto you the humour of this Prince, before I speak of his Triumphs, I must tell you that he had together both force and weakness, courtesy and cruelty, and agility in his age; that he was both terrible and loving; that he was insatiable in shedding of blood, and that nevertheless he never put any one to death but most justly. It was as well by these according contrarieties that he rendered himself admirable to Posterity, as by his valour, which being seconded by fortune ma●e him take Pherea, the capital City of Macedonia, conquer Misia from Dragus, and Mount Rhodope from the Pogdan, two valiant and mighty Princes, and the most part of Armenia from the Greek Emperor. Carathin a great Captain, conquered for him also the Towns of Cherales, Seres, Marolia, and the renowned Thessalonica, which the Painter hath made to be seen more distinctly, than those I have already shown you, as being of more importance. Doria could not then forbear interrupting Ibrahim, for to pray him to let him know whether those millions of armed and fight men which he saw in this Table, were not the picture of all the Battles that were given during the reigns of all the Emperors. You have reason my dear Doria, answered the Illustrious Bassa, to be amazed at the prodigious number of men which this Table doth show you, where the Art of the Painter hath as well eternised his own glory, as that of Amurath, by representing seven and thirty battles which he won: And that which is yet more marvellous therein is, that he died triumphing in the last. See you not, continued Ibrahim, this Army discomfited? And this great heap of arms in the midst of the place of battle, upon the which a dead man appears, holding nevertheless a scymitar still in his hand, and upon whom Victory, which you may see here represented in the air, throws down Crowns; it is the body of Victorious Amurath, whose death was worthy of envy, and whose life would have defaced the glory of all them that preceded him, had it not been blemished with cruelty: But if the death of Amurath deserved to be envied, that of Bajazet will give you cause of pity.   

The Portrait of Bajazet, the fifth Emperor of the TURKS.  
THe nature of this prince cannot be well represented but by the lightning, which terrifieth universally, which ravageth indifferently, passeth in a momant, and perisheth in an instant; all of them qualities admirably befitting Bajazet, surnamed by his subjects Guilderum, that is to say, the lightning of Heaven. But whereas the remembrance of his life strikes me with horror, by reason of the unheard-of cruelties which he exercised, it shall suffice to tell you, that after he had gotten some battles, which you see presented in this Table, taken the Town of Eritza, and those of Hisipolis, Iconium, Casura, Migdia, and Assara from the Caraman; and gained also by arms from a Greek, named Theodorus, the Town of Damacia, and that of Delphos, which you see here near hand; after he had, I say, sacked all Hungaria, Bossina, and Croatia; defeated the French, Burgingnians, and Hungarians, in that memorable battle of Nicopolis; after he had, I say, filled the whole Universe with terror, put all the Provinces where he passed to fire and sword, he lost in one only battle his Empire, and his glory, serving Tamerlan, who had vanquished him, all the rest of his days; and at last was constrained, for his getting out of misery, to make his tomb of his prison, by beating out his brains as against the iron bars of the cage, wherein he was enclosed; An action so strange, it is impossible not to be moved with it. But let us see how the eldest of his children began to re-establish the disorders of his father.   

The Portrait of joshua, the sixth Emperor of the TURKS.  
IT is easier to conquer, than to re-establish; to increase one's felicity, than to retire from a misfortune; of a petty Sovereign to become a mighty Monarch, than to remount into a Throne from whence one is descended. It is no little glory to Josue, after the utter dissipation of his fathers Sat, to have been the first in raising up again that mighty Empire, by regaining from Tamerlan the City of Prusia, which you have already seen, as having been before the chief seat of their Empire, and very near all that his Predecessors had possessed in Asia. He did the like in Europe, as you may see in this Table; and when he was returned into Asia, his brother Musulman, fortified with the succour of the Greeks, encountered him in Cappadocia, gave him battle, which he w●n, and taking him prisoner caused him to be strangled, after he had reigned four years. But this cruelty was repaid unto him, as you will quickly understand.   

The Portrait of Musulman, the seaventh Emperor of the TURKS.  
ALthough that Musulman shown himself exceedingly courageous before he vanquished his brother, yet shall you see but two battles in this Table: That which you see a far off is the same, whereof I have spoken; and the other which you see near hand, is one that he obtained against a brother of his, called Moses, who had established himself in Greece: And truly the History doth declare, that Musulman did in his own person perform miracles at that battle, whereof he had all the glory, and all the advantage; but as soon as he saw that he was peaceable in his State, he abandoned himself in such sort to voluptuousness, as he became more cowardly, than he was valiant before, so that Moses having rallied his forces, which were dispersed by his deafeat, gave battle again to Musulman, who shamefully fled, was taken, and brought to his brother, that quickly revenged the death of Josue by taking away his life. But let us behold the sequel of the History of this third Son of Bajazet, which will not be long.   

The Portrait of Moses, the eighth Emperor of the TURKS.  
Moyses' having reigned but three years, you may not expect the sight of many conquests, in this Table; all that he could do was to give some rest unto Asia, to spoil the Country of the Bulgarians, take the Town of Spenderovia, reduce the Pogdan to his obedience, and win the battle which his Nephew Mahomet presented him with, who not long after rallied his forces, and came upon him with a fresh charge, where Moses had the worst, by being abandoned of his Soldiers in this sight, so that he was taken in a marish with one of his hands cut off, whereof they soon cured him by putting him to death. Now though this Table be not much filled, yet certainly it is none of the meanest; the colours of it are so Vive, the digesting of it so beautiful, this order of the Architecture so well understood, as it may be said in viewing this piece, that the art of the Painter hath supplied the defect of the matter.   

The Portrait of Mahomet the ninth Emperor of the TURKS.  
AT length after so many Losses, Captivities, Sacking, Massacres, Fratricides, and civil dissensions, the Turkish Empire began to reassume its ancient lustre under the conduct of Mahomet, who after he had repulsed all them that had atttacqued him, conquered Pontus, Cappadocia, and all those other Provinces, which the Painter hath so well represented a far off; his arms were also victorious in divers encounters under the leading of Amurath his Eldest son. Mahomet subdued likewise Servia, Valachia, a great part of Sclavonia, and Macedonia; chased all the petty Kings out of the lesser Asia to establish a Beglierbey there, which is as much to say, as a Viceroy; at last, after he had performed a thousand brave exploits, for a recompense of his virtue, he reigned a long time, and died peaceably in his State of a natural death, exceedingly regretted of all his Subjects. But before we pass on I must cause you to mark one address of the Painter, that peradventure you have not heeded, which is, that to make one know the diversity of Provinces, and Armies, which you have seen throughout all these Tables, he hath always observed the attire, arms, standarts, and briefly all the particular things of every Nation: After this advertisement the rest of these pieces will give you more contentment yet, than the other have done. Let us see then, whether Amurath was the worthy successor of his father.   

The Portrait of Amurath the second, the tenth Emperor of the TURKS.  
THe Physiognimy of this Prince is not deceiving, and although it doth promise us much, we shall yet find more: After than that this Prince had defeated Mustapha, the last son of Bajazet, whom the Greeks had made to rise up against him, as also another Mustapha his brother, whom the same Greeks had likewise protected, he turned the fury of his arms against them; taking from them the City of Thessalonica, which the Painter hath represented unto us as fair as the Historians have described it, and whereof the perspective is so marvellous, as one hath much ado to believe that the running in of this gate is not effective. But let us return to the Victories of this Prince, who spoilt the higher Misia, took the Town of Senderovia, conquered the Countries of Sarmian, and of Sarcan, two mighty Princes of the less Asia, and the Town of Coni from the Caraman: The Hungarians having in the mean time broken the peace which they had contracted with him, he returned into Europe, and was so fortunate, that the Christian Galleys, which lay at the straight of Hellespont to hinder his passage, were constrained by foul weather to retire; he in the mean while came to that memorable plain, which gave name to the famousest battle that ever was heard spoken of. And see you not how the Painter hath been pleased to represent it? Mark this Squadron a little which gives ground, and this other which is broken; consider the left wing which is routed; observe this close Battalion, which is going to attack this other that is ready to fly: As for the body of the Battle, where you see so great a disorder, and such a confusion of dead horses, men overthrown, blood spilt, and arms broken, it is here in this place, where the Painter would represent the death of Ladislaus, which arrived in this battle, with the loss very near of all the Nobility of Hungary; some fight to revenge the death of their Prince, and others to recover his body; but to show clearly that the victory was on Amurath's side, the Painter hath represented Renown, which seems to fly over his Troops for to advertise them of it. Howbeit not to stand longer hereupon, it shall suffice to say, that after the battle of Varnes he conquered Peloponnesus; that he dismissed himself absolutely from his Empire, which to took upon him again soon after, for to obtain a battle against the valiant Huniades; he made the King of Bosnia also his Tributary, which was his last victory: For the courageous George Scanderbag Castriot, King of Albania, who had been his Slave, and that had acquired unto himself with so much justice the glorious title of the Buckler of Christendom, oposed all his enterprises with such valour, as this great Prince, seeing himself forced so raise his siege from before Croya, died with grief and spite at it.   

The Portrait of Mahomet the second, the eleventh Emperor of the Turks.  
IT was not without some cause that this Prince would be surnamed Bovi, which is to say, Great, or the Terror of the World, seeing all his actions have been so great, and high, that if his excellent qualities had been without blemish, this Prince had been incomparable. He was great in his enterprises, great in courage, great in conduct, great in prudence, a great Politician, great in conquest, great in beauty, and in subtlety of wit; but he was also great in impiety, in dissoluteness, in revenge, in perfidiousness, and in ambition. The greatness of his courage, and of his enterprises, carried him against the Greeks, Hungarians, Trebisondians, Mifians, Null, Transilvanians, Bosniaus, Albanians, Rhodians, Venetians, and divers other people. In conclusion, my dear Doria, this Prince had to do with all the Warlike Nations of the World; but this Table contains too many things to be explained particularly unto you, wherefore it shall suffice, that you only do admire the exquisite ordering of it, and that I tell you in general, how Mahomet conquered, in two and thirty years that he reigned, twelve Kingdoms, and two Empires, that of Trebisond, and that of the Greeks, together with this mighty and renowned City of Constantinople; as also that of Croya, and all Albania, Valachia, Bosnia, Scodra, Peloponesus, and the Town of Otranto. He reduced the Caraman under his obedience, Stiria, Carinthia, Synope, the Island of Metelin; and after the battle which he gained against Usuncassan, he constrained him to seek his amity. Howbeit he was not equally fortunate, for the valiant Huniades, and the valorous Scanderbag, vanquished sometimes in him the Vanquisher of all others. And whereas ambition was the predominant passion in the heart of Mahomet, it followed him even to death, ordaining that upon his Tomb there should be set, after a long narration of all his Victories, in the Turkish tongue, this subscription in Latin,  

He had a purpose to ruin Rhodes, and superb Italy.  
But the divine justice extinguished his desires with his days.    

The Portrait of Bajazet the second, the twelfth Emperor of the Turks.  
THe life of this Prince is so replenished with divers adventures, as it cannot be defined certainly, whether he had more good than bad fortune. The beginning of his Reign was established by three Battles which he obtained against a Brother of his, who was constrained to fly unto Rhodes. When he was at peace he conquered Caramania, did great spoil in Moldavia, took the Town of Chilliem, together with the Castle, and that of Moncastro, the chief of the Province; he took also Lepanto, Modon, Coron, and Junqua from the Christians, whom he defeated i● a Navall-fight, as you may behold in this Table, where the Painter verily hath done prodigies. See you not, continued Ibrahim, these two vessels grappled together? consider a little with what ardour the assailants seem to go to the fight, and how one of these Janissaries striving to leap aboard this small vessel is repulsed by this Christian, how in falling he hath seized on his enemy, whom he drags along with him. Behold also on the left hand this vessel, which the Turks had invested, and how that rather than they would yield, they have blown up themselves; observe withal these flakes of fire, which light upon this other vessel, whose tackle and sails already begin to burn; and how this great cloud of smoke, which steals away the rest of the Army from our eyes, is an address of the Painter, who wanting room hath repaired that defect by this invention. But without standing on the last disorders of this Prince, which were strange, whether for the violent deaths that he caused, or for that which he received, let us pass on to thi● other piece.   

The Portrait of Selim, the thirteenth Emperor of the Turks.  
THis gloomy physiognomy, and this haughty look, do not ill paint forth unto, us the ambition and cruelty of Selim, but they conceal from us his virtues which certainly were very great. He was prudent, and advised amidst dangers, prompt and vigilant in his enterprises, indefatigable in War, of an invincible courage, a reasonable Justicer manger his cruelty, extremely liberal; and that which is of most marvel in this Prince is, that he was never vanquished after he was Emperor. He loved the reading of History, he made verses in his own tongue, was very skilful in Painting, and even to the point, that he sent, as I have already delared, the Battle which he obtained against the Sophy, drawn with his own hand, unto the Venetians, who conserve it still unto this day in their Treasury. There is also a great number of his works to be seen in the Seraglio: He was very Eloquent, and nothing curious of the magnificence of Apparel; and that which I most admire in him, is, that he always refused those adorations which are accustomed to be rendered to the Turkish Emperors, never suffering any to cast themselves on the ground in speaking to him, nor to do him reverence on their knees. And truly if this Emperor had not blemished his glory by that prodigious desire of reigning, which carried him to take away the life of him, from whom he had received his; to cause two of his Brothers, eight of his Nephews, and as many of his Bassas to be strangled, he had been excellent in all things. But to pass over his Victories lightly, because time doth press us, I will only tell you in few words, that he won a famous Battle of the Sophy at Zaleran; that he took Tauris, which he kept not long; and Keman at his return; he rendered himself Master of Aladulia, after he had vanquished King Ustagelu; he passed into Syria, where he defeated Campson Gauri, Sultan of Cairo, in a battle near to Aleppo, which was rendered unto him, as well as Damascus, and all the rest of Syria; from thence going to Jerusalem, he conquered all Palestina by the valour of Sinan Bassa, who obtained a Battle near to Gaza; whereupon Selim, having passed the deserts of Egypt, fought a battle with Thomombey hard by Matharea, and constrained him to retire to Cairo, where was given the most memorable battle of our Age, for it lasted three days and three nights in continual fight; but in the end Selim was victorious, and forced the Mamelucks to abandon the City unto him; and having recovered new forces, they were utterly defeated, and Thomombey taken prisoner. After he had given the pillage of Cairo to his soldiers, as you may see in this Table, where this dreadful disorder is so well expressed, he went and took also Alexandria, Dan●ietta, Tripoli, and all the rest of Egypt and Arabia: One of his Bassas obtained likewise a great Victory against the Persians. But at last, after he had been in so many fights, won so many battles, and conquered so many Provinces, in less than two years, as he thought to return triumphant to the seat of his Empire, he died at Chiourli, in the very same place where before he had given battle to his father, after he had reigned only eight years.   

The Portrait of Soliman the second, the fourteenth Emperor of the Turks.  
THe Victories of great Soliman are so universally known of all the World, that upon the least considering of this Table, you will bring them unto your memory again, it being impossible but that fame hath acquainted you with them: You will easily then know Belgrade and the Isle of Rhodes, where this Emperor stood in need of all his conduct, and of all his valour. This Battle which you see a far off, is that of Mohacs' which he gained against the Hungarians, wherein died Lewis King of Hungary. This City, which here I show you (continued Ibrahim) is Bagadet, where Soliman was crowned King of Persia; but though I have some share in this War, as well as in that of Anatolia, which you may see also in this Table, I will refer this narration to another time, that may be more opportune for us. I know, my dear Doria, that this proposition displeases you, but you must obey me, for you will not be the strongest at Constantinople; and though you may absolutely command Justiniano, yet must you at this time follow the pleasure of Ibrahim. Let us make an end then of running over the Victories of Soliman again, and without particularising every one, it shall suffice me to tell you, that Assyria, and Mesopotamia do obey him; that he hath taken Strigonia, and Alba Regalis; that he hath made six expeditions into Hungary; that he hath subdued Aladulia, and the Kingdom of Aden, with many other Towns on the red sea; that he hath rendered Argier Tributary; that he hath also subjected Pialli, Tripoli, and Gerbes: But after all these things, that which I find to be most excellent in the life of this Prince is, that he conquered a Kingdom for to restore it unto him to whom it appertained, by rendering unto him again all the strong places that he had in his hands, which he performed in the person of John King of Hungary; and I more esteem of him for having surmounted this ambition, which is natural to all Monarches, than I commend him for all his Victories: And whereas I make more account of the gifts of Nature than of the presents of Fortune, I had rather make you an Elogium of his person in particular, than speak further to you of his Conquests, which are already but too great on Christendom side. Behold then, my dear Doria, this Majestical face, and this virtuous physiognomy; did you ever see a more goodly man? or one of a better aspect? There appears in his eyes a vivacity of spirit, and a sweetness which charmeth hearts, and in the air of his face a certain tranquillity, which sufficiently shows that this Prince is master of his passions, and that without doubt he hath no interior trouble; I know not whether my affection to him doth blind or dazzle me, but I see something of such state in his port, and of so much majesty over all his person, as I hold it impossible for one to look upon him, and not to love him: Furthermore this goodly appearance is not deceitful, and the qualities of this Prince's soul are so noble and virtuous, that if he were a Christian he would be of all men the most perfect. He hath together, both much valour, and much conduct; he is infinitely just towards his own people, and exceeding clement towards his enemies; he is so rigorous an observer of his word, as he would resolve rather to lose his Empire, than not to keep it, when once he hath given it: He is great in spirit, great in judgement, and great in memory; he understands the Mathematics, and the universal History, so admirably, as nothing can be propounded to him to●●hing those matters which he resolves not upon the place. Finally, he is a Prince that possesseth all virtues, and that hath never been vanquished save by one only passion; but whereas it is the noblest of all others, I think you will pardon him this weakness; he hath been then passionately amorous of divers women, but amongst the rest of the Sultana Roxelana, whom he would needs espouse, to the end she might partake with him in that supreme greatness which the Ottoman Princes do not lightly bestow, and which to conserve wholly to themselves, they never, or seldom marry; howbeit love was stronger in Soliman, than either reason of State, or the example of his Predecessors. Behold, my dear Doria, a simple draught of this great Emperor, whom ere it be long you may compare with the original, that so you may judge, whether I have rob him of any thing, or flattered him; for this great Prince hath commanded me to bring you to the Seraglio, when as I go thither to take my leave of him; in the mean space, since we are pressed with time, let us make an end of viewing this house.  
In saying so, Ibrahim opened a door, which gave upon the Lobby, whereof I have already spoken, but before they passed on, Doria testified to Ibrahim how glad he was of the hope he had given him that he should present himself to the Grand Signior; he rendered him thanks also for having so punctually explained all those pieces, by abridging unto him the History of so great an Empire, which he had never understood but very confusedly before. He would have said more, if our illustrious Bassa would have suffered him, but his impatience appeared so visibly in his eyes, that Doria without further stay went out of the Gallery smiling into the Lobby, from whence they passed through three outward chambers, which were all of a floor, before they came to Ibrahims: the feeling of them were very magnificent, and the meanest of the Hang were of cloth of Gold, of Tinsel, or Persian Tapestry; the floors, as of all the rest, were made of suitable pieces of several Marbles, and in proportionable divisions. After he had stayed a while to consider all these things, they entered into the Bassa's chamber, where Doria was surprised with the furniture of it, both for the richness, and fashion thereof; for it was hanged with black Velvet, set all over with tears and flames embroidered in pearl: Here it was where Ibrahim desired his dear Doria to remember the things which he should see in this chamber, more particularly than all the rest of the Palace, to the end he might testify to the incomparable Isabel, that she had always reigned in his heart, and that to conserve the memory of her, he would never open his eyes in waking, without beholding some marks of his love; he caused him then to observe, that in the feeling of this chamber were five great Ovals, in each of which was a Table, & between every of them hung festons of flowers and fruits, all gilt; the rest of the feeling being done with cornishments, whereof some were of azure, some of burnished gold. In the middle piece, which was greater than the rest, was a woman represented, whom Doria presently knew, because she had something of Isabel in her, although it was a very imperfect resemblance; for Ibrahim having lost her picture, could do no more but instruct the Painter with the colour of her hair, with the form of her face, with all the features of it in particular, with the vivacity of her complexion, with her stature, and with her bosom; for as for the air and gracefulness, which cannot be expressed, but in calling it the soul of beauty, it is a thing that cannot pass from our imagination to that of another, and that consequently did not permit Ibrahim's Painter to make any marvellous picture of Isabel; but in conclusion it was resembling enough for to cause them, who knew her, to judge that she was thought of when this piece was made. This imperfect resemblance having entertained them a while, Doria considered all this Table, and saw (as I have already declared) a woman sumptuously apparelled, who trampled under her feet honour, virtue, and love, which were seen represented with the marks whereby they are known; and that with her right hand, lifted up on high, she took from fortune, who appeared over her in the air, a little Crown, which she seemed to receive very contentedly, with this Motto, All for her. Doria easily comprehended this Emblem, and no way doubted, but that the Bassa had caused it to be made out of the opinion he had, that Isabel had despised her love, her promises, and her constancy, to espouse the Prince of Masseran, who was but a petty Sovereign. After he had commended the art of the Painter, and the invention of the design, the Bassa leading him towards one of the corners of the chamber, the better to view the second Oval, demanded of him whether this other Table would be as intelligible to him as the first? Doria approaching to it, and considering it, beheld a Love, in whose face choler and fury were so well painted, as it was easy to imagine that he himself had burst his bow, broken his arrows, thrown away his quiver, and torn his head-band, which were seen scattered about him; and that which better expressed his despair, was, that having nothing left him of all the marks of his Divinity but his torch, he plunged it, all flaming as it was, into a fountain to extinguish it, with this Motto, I cannot. Doria was so ravished with this Table, as he could not forbear considering all the beauties of it, and whereas the explication of it was easy, he told the Bassa, that he would pardon him for that he would have extinguished so fair a fire as that wherewith he was inflamed, at such a time as he thought it to be unjust, but that he held him happy for that he could not do it, and for having conserved a flame, which he could not put out without a crime: After this he admired the Art of the Painter, and principally of the torch, which this Love plunged into the fountain, where the excellent Workman had so well represented that natural antipathy betwixt water and fire, as never did any one behold a thing better imitated: This fountain seemed to boil with choler to see her enemy so near her; and this flame desiring to eloign itself from that which would destroy it, seemed exceedingly to strive to get from it, and rising up on high in wreathing about the torch, melted so great a quantity of wax, as all the fountain seemed to be covered over with it. Ibrahim not suffering Doria to admire this piece any longer, constrained him to look upon the third, desiring him howsoever not to bestow much time in it, because that Table did outrage Isabel, as well as another which he should see afterwards: He shown him then the same woman he had seen before, but in a different habit; for here the Painter had given her a robe of changeable Taffata, where all colours reigned equally; this woman was on the brink of the Sea, the agitation whereof she beheld with delight; in one hand she held a Crescent, with the other she seemed to point at a Chameleon, which was at her feet, and that leaning his body on a part of her robe had assumed all the colours of it; the rest of that creature was grayish like to the earth whereon it stood, with this Motto, Yet more.  
After that Doria had seen this piece, he told the Bassa, that he had reason to say it did outrage Isabel, in accusing her of inconstancy, but since this crime had been committed through the malice of fortune, he should one day obtain his grace for it: This said, they passed to the other end of the chamber, and beheld in the fourth Table, a proper man, and of a good aspect, that seemed very sad; he had on the one side the same Isabel, whom they had seen before, and on the other, death, with this Motto, The one, or the other.  
Now although this piece was admirably well done, yet would not Doria stay to consider it, but only told the Bassa, that the noble despair which he had shown in this Table, rendered him worhy to be put, at his return to Genova, into the possession of an happiness, which he could never lose again but by death alone; howbeit in the mean time he was most assured, that albeit this picture did not fill the imaginination with a fair Idea, yet would it be more pleasing to Isabel, than that other, where the Painter had given her a robe of all the colours of the Rainbow. The Bassa then pushing him to the other side of the chamber, told him, that this, which he was now going to show him, would not like enough please her ere a whit more, if she had not the goodness to consider, that his love had howsoever been so strong, as to make him conserve with some delight the very marks of her contempt, and inconstancy, which he had believed to be true; he caused Doria then to behold the last picture of this ceiling. It was a Landscape, where the Princes was seen again holding an heart in her hand, that was all of a flame, and not far from her a great fire of straw, where the Painter had so well imitated nature, as it was easy to perceive, that how vive soever this flame was, yet could it not long endure: There were also flashes of lightning seen darting at her head, with his Motto, Less durable.  
Doria then accused Ibrahim of injustice, and told him, that if this piece had been less excellent, he should hardly have pardoned him the wrong he did Isabel, but he was so ravished to see those waving flames, wuhich came out of a cloud, and that spread themselves over all the piece, leaving an impression of fire and light, which seemed even to redouble, and lessen, as if the cloud had opened, and shut i● self, that he ceased to accuse him, for to praise the Painter, which he did with so ●uch aggregation, as Ibrahim was constrained to urge him more than once to view a picture, which he had caused to be set over his Chimney: Now he had no sooner cast his eye upon it, but he vowed it was the best of them all; the ordering of it was rare, the design extraordinary and new, the colours most agreeable, the prospective excellent; in conclusion this Table was drawn with so bold an hand, as it might well be called a Masterpiece of this art. A rock was seen there in the midst of an enraged Sea, which the Painter had done so well, as those foaming waves, that broke themselves against the rock, seemed to have some motion: There was seen also a little from thence the wrack of a Vessel, whereon the thunder fell, which was seen to issue like a torrent of fire out of the cloud, that seemed to rive asunder with such violence, as little lacked but that one sense deluded did not deceive the other, in making it to imagine that it heard that, which was seen so well represented. This marvelous Artisan had likewise so well painted that confused mixture, which is seen in the air during a great tempest, where rain, wind, snow, hail, flashes of lightning, and obscurity, reign all at once, that one could not behold it without some terror: Upon the top of this rock was an open tomb seen, whereunto a man, weary, and wet all over, advanced in great haste, holding a Love in one hand, and with the other pointing to the to●b, with this Motto, Let us save ourselves there.  
You will without doubt find another sanctuary, said Doria to the illustrious Bassa, who, answering him no otherwise than with a sigh, made him enter into his Cabinet, the door whereof was on the right hand of the chimney, not far from his bed, which after the custom of the Country was rolled up in a great Persian tapestry Counterpoint of silk and gold. But if Doria had admired all that he had seen in this Palace, he beheld with astonishment the magnificence of this Cabinet, whereof the embowed roof and walls were enriched with a foliage of precious stones, upon a ground of black marble, where birds, flowers, and fruits, were seen so admirably well done, that the art surmounted the matter, although Topazes, Jacints, Opales, Emeralds, Rubies, Diamonds, and Carbuncles were the colours wherewith all these things were represented. Round about this Cabinet were shelves of Ebony, sustained by curtroses of gold, which projected out of the wall wall by equal distances, the edges, and uper part of these shelves, were enriched with Orpheury, enameled only with white and black, the better to set off those things which were upon them; but to speak that in few words, and confusedly, which would be too long to describe in order, one might see there Caskets of different Ambers, great Vases of Crystal of the rock, of Cornaline, and Agate, with branches of Coral, which might rather be called trees, by reason of their prodigious greatness: Finally, all that Persia, China, Japon, and all the Oriental Countries do produce of most rare, rich, and beautiful, were found amassed together in this place. After that Doria had said all, that admiration, and amazement can make them say, who love, and know rarities, they repassed through the chamber, to go unto a door that was opposite to that of the Cabinet, whereby one entered into Ibrahims' Bath, who, being accommodated with all exterior things, according to the custom of the Country where he lived, did not fail in having a goodly and magnificent one. It was a place spacious enough, in form Octangular, environed about with seats, whereunto one ascended by four steps of Jasper, and Chalcedony, whereof the two lowermost were covered with water even up to the brim of the third, the fourth being wholly out of the water: At each of the eight angles was a Colum, after the Corinthian manner, of Jasper mingled with divers colours; the Columns were planted on the fourth step, which served them for a pedestal, with their Bases, Capitals, Frizes, and Cornice; the Freeze was carved in half relieve, where naked children were seen, who seemed to combat in the water with little Sea Monsters, and to wrestle with them, with efforts so agreeable to their years, as the workman deserved no little glory for the same. All these figures were so lively set forth, as they seemed to move, so easily may the imagination be deceived by things that are well represented; over the Freeze was the Cornish, and above that just perpendicular to every Column risen up a twyning wreath of Oaken leaves, laid one upon another, made of green Jasper, and bound with fillets of gold, mounting up on the ribs of the vaulting, and meeting the middle in the form of a Chaplet of Triumph. All the walls were overlaid with a compound stone, called Aventurina, and whereof they seemed to be framed, so excellently was this work contrived. But amongst all the beauties of the place the greatest was, that between those eight Columns, whereof I have already spoken, there were as many Niches, four of which were filled with great Vases of gold, that served to lay the perfumes in, and other things necessary to the Bath; the other four, which separated those former, were filled with four Nymphs of white marble, so admirably fair, as Nature hath never made any thing more beautiful, than the Idea of this excellent workman: These figures were all in different actions; some of them seemed to unclothe themselves for to enter into the Bath; others to come out of it, putting on their  again; but all with such art, as Doria confessed, that Sculpture had never showed any thing more perfect. He considered also that the water, which was seen in the Bath, fell into it through two Vases of Crystal, which were held by two men, laid along on the brim of the Bath, and represented as Rivers use to to be painted: Out of one the Vases issued hot water, and out of the other cold, to the end one might by that mixture find that just mediocrity requisite for those that bath. After he had seen all these things, the grand Visier made Doria go forth at a secret door, and pass down by a back stair to one of the doors of the Hall; and though it be the custom of the Turks in general not to be very costly in their diet, yet as the Grandes do not use to follow the common fashion, so Ibrahim left not to be in that particular, as in all other things. Doria saw in the middle of the Hall a great Persian Carpet extended on the ground, with a Tablecloth after the manner of the Country, upon which were set a many of silver Chargers, where in each of them were seen twelve great dishes of that which we call the essence of porcelain, replenished with divers sorts of meats; for it is the custom of the Turks never to eat in any mettle; howbeit they are not without great store of silver vessel, only for magnificence; and indeed the grand Viziers Cupboard of plate was so sumptuous, as Europe hath not a King that can show so fair a one. Doria then beholding that prodigious amass of Basins of gold engraven, great Vases of sundry forms and of divers bignesses, Flagons, water Pots, and Cisterns of gold, with Lions muzles and Dolphins, half embossed, could not forbear telling Ibrahim that Isabel would die for joy, if she certainly knew at what rate he bought the possession of her; but the Bassa returning him no other answer thereunto than a sigh, told Doria it was time to dine, that they might afterwards go and take their leave of Soliman; that in the mean space, whereas their exterior ceremonies were different, although their minds were not, he had given order that he should be served in his chamber. Doria went out then of this Hall, after he had observed, that the Persian Carpet was set all about with great Cushions of cloth of Gold, upon Carpets of the same stuff, for Ibrahim and the Officers of the Empire which did eat with him, to sit upon. The Bassa would have conducted his dear Doria to his lodging, but he would not suffer him, so that he was constrained to leave him in the hands of an Italian slave, in whom he confided for all things. These two friends were not long at meat, for at this time love and friendship produced the same impatiency in them both; the Bassa came into Doriaes' chamber just as he was going out, having taken a resolution together to go immediately to the Seraglio, that they might part away the night ensuing. The Italian slave assured the Bassa, that in the evening he should have such an habit as Doria wore; for Ibrahim had caused him to quit that of a slave, as soon as he was at liberty, and by the means of those Jews, of whom I have already spoken, procured him one of the Italian fashion. They went away then to the Seraglio, where being arrived, Ibrahim made Doria put on a Turkish robe, no stranger being permitted to speak to the Sultan but with this ceremony. The Bassa entered in first, to let his Highness know, that according to his order he had brought his dear Doria; Soliman shown himself much satisfied therewith, howbeit though he were somewhat impatient to see him, yet would he for all that speak once more to Ibrahim without witnesses, wherefore he caused him to pass along with him into his Cabinet, whither he was no sooner come, but looking on our illustrious Bassa with eyes where generosity combated grief, and retaining the tears which kindness and amity would have shed in this hard separation, he spoke unto him with such obliging terms, as Ibrahim was not long without partaking with him in his melancholy, so certain it is that passions do easily pass from one spirit to another, as well in friendship, as in love. The Sultan having observed by the change of the Bassa's countenance, that his soul was moved, desired his pardon for having troubled his pleasure, and accused himself of inhumanity for not letting him part without showing his grief, to the end he might not have excited his; but to excuse him in this encounter he was only to consider, that the love he bore him was so strong, as he would with less pain divide with him his Empire, than be separated from him; that nevertheless he was generous enough not to repent him of the grace which he had granted him, albeit the execution of it was more difficult than he had thought it to be; but to comfort him in his absence, he prayed him not to take it ill, if he desired one oath more from him, which might assure him he would within six month's return to Constantinople. Soliman had no sooner done speaking, but the Grand Visier, who never gave place to any man in generosity, cast himself at his feet, and protested unto him, that he would not departed before his Highness had testified that he would rely on the word he had given him to return precisely with in the time prefixed; that he esteemed himself very unhappy in not being known to his Highness for that which he was, and that being neither base, ingrateful, nor a liar, he was for all that suspected of those three crimes by a Prince, for whom he would sacrifice his life with joy, who reigned in his heart far more absolutely, than over his people, and who touched his soul with so much tenderness, as he plainly felt that he could not turn his steps towards Isabel, without turning his eyes towards Soliman. Ibrahim pronounced these last words with such earnestness, as the Sultan no way doubted but that he had truly expressed his heart; he raised him up then in embracing him, and promised him that he would live in some quiet of this assurance of seeing him again; that in the mean time it was not just to let Doria stay any longer without, and that therefore he should go and fetch him in. Ibrahim obeying this commandment, called him at the door of the Cabinet; as soon as he appeared Soliman spoke to him in his own language, for, as I have already said, this Prince understood it perfectly, and made him such an Elogium of our Illustrious Bassa, as caused him to blush more than once; he spoke of his valour, of his prudence, and of his conduct in great matters; finally he assured him, that he was as good a General of an Army, as he was a good and faithful friend; he told him further, that he desired him to receive his friendship, as he already possessed his, having begun to love him as soon as Ibrahim had made known to him, by the recital of his adventures, what his merit was, and the affection which he bore him; moreover, that as all the interests of Ibrahim were his, so he gave him thanks not only for all the services he had rendered him, but for all those which he should render him in time to come; and for a mark of the obligation wherein he would stand engaged to him for it, he conjured him to accept of a Scymitar which he gave him, whereof the hilt and scabbard were all covered over with Diamonds. Doria answered to all these things with all the respect that he owed to so great a Prince, and being fallen on his knees to receive that precious gage of Soliman's liberality, he was with a great deal of sweetness and civility taken up by the Sultan, who prayed him to assure Isabel, that the constancy of her Justiniano had been so firm during the time that he believed her to be unfaithful, as he durst swear for him, that he had never sought after, nor affected glory, but out of the hope of dying more nobly; he entreated him also to present her from him with a box of Gold, set with Emeralds, which was filled with two Chains, the first was of Diamonds of an excessive greatness, and the second of Pearls, so big, so round, so even, and so clear, that the Orient hath never showed us fairer. Ibrahim would have spoken to render Soliman thanks, and to have made himself the bearer of that Treasure, but he imposed silence on him, and said, that it would be enough for him to entertain Isabel with his own affairs, without charging himself with a compliment from another. But at last the Sultan being unwilling that Doria should see him capable of any weakness, and feeling that this conversation could not long endure without his falling again into melancholy, he told the Bassa that he had given order unto the Tesqueregibassi, who is the Grand Signiors principal Secretary, to make up the Ambassador of Genovaes' dispatch; that his Letter was conceived in such pressing terms, as that Republic durst not refuse what he desired of it; that in the mean time, since he must resolve to see him departed, he thought it fit that he should go and give order to his affairs, to the end he might as soon as it was night repair to the Ambassador of Genovaes' vessel, which he had caused to come from Pera to Constantinople, and would attend for them at the Port. This said, he dismissed Doria, after he had testified much affection unto him, and retained Ibrahim for one moment more to take his last farewell of him; it was at this instant that Soliman shown the greatest marks of his goodwill to the Grand Visier, since it is most certain, that silent sorrows, though they be not so eloquent as others, yet are they at the least more persuasive. When Doria was gone the Sultan embraced Ibrahim, but howsoever he forced himself, he could say no more, than go my dear Ibrahim, restore Isabel to life again, but when you shall have revived her, come and preserve mine. This discourse touched the Bassa so vively, as all the answer he could make was, that his return should quickly justify his departure; after which Soliman made a sign to him to be gone. He went away then to his dear Doria, who stayed for him in another chamber; in their way back they talked of nothing but great Soliman; Doria was so satisfied of him, as he was constrained to confess, that he should want common sense if he were not charmed by the rare qualities of so excellent a Prince. Ibrahim answered hereunto with so much melancholy, as Doria was fain to speak of the Princess to him for to draw him out of it; wherefore he dextrously told him, that Isabel would be astonished at the present which she should receive from him. At this sweet name Ibrahim began to take heart again, and somewhat dissipating his heavyness, he turned all his thoughts to his departure. As soon as he was at his Palace, he entered with Doria into his chamber, where having sent for the Italian slave, he understood by him, that his habit was ready; whereupon he called the principal Officers of his house once more before him, and told them that he was going to departed away upon that occasion wherewith he had acquainted them before, and therefore they should give order to the Porter of his Palace, that he might not be troubled for the rest of the day, but to send such as came about general affairs to the Bassa of the Sea, who during his absence was to deal for him: After this he commanded them to withdraw, and remained alone with Doria, and the slave that had brought him his habit. Now the night beginning to approach, he held it time to think of parting, and this slave being of counsel with them, was appointed by him to go and take that other of Monaco, and conduct him to the Port, whether they would come to them. Ibrahim having put on his habit, took some Jewels with him, in case he should stand in any need upon the way by some unexpected encounter, and perceiving it to be dark enough for them to go forth without discovery, he caused Doria to descend by a back-stair, which brought them to a door that opened into the Garden, the passage out of the which not being far distant from the Port, gave them the commodity to get thither easily without being seen. And whereas Ibrahim knew precisely whereabout the Christian vessels lay, and especially those of Ambassadors, he went directly to the place, where he was attended for by the order of the Tesqueregibassi, who when he gave the Ambassador his dispatch, had ordained him to be as soon as it was night at the Key, there to receive the two slaves of whom he had been spoken unto him at such time as he had audience from his Highness: According hereunto, Ibrahim (whom we will hereafter call Justiniano) after he had overtaken the slave of Monaco, found out the Ambassador, who waiting for him, received him and Doria with transports of joy that cannot be expressed; he could not comprehend how two men, who were believed to be dead so long before, should be met withal at Constantinople: But if his joy were excessive, that of our two friends was not less, for they knew him exceeding well, as being of the Illustrious family of the Lomelines. Justiniano thought then that he began already to breathe the air of his country; but the place being nothing commodious to compliment in, they embarked themselves, and a little after, when the Moon was up they weighed Anchor, and hoisting up their sails, they made towards the West, with so favourable a wind as the Art of the Pilot was almost unprofitable in this encounter. This prosperous beginning of Navigation made the Mariners to shout for joy, and gave them hope, that they should see the coast of Genova ere it were long. But amidst the common gladness, Justiniano could not forget that he went from Constantinople without quitting it utterly, and that by an invisible chain, which retained him there, he was to return unto it a slave from Isabel; this troublesome thought for all that lasted not long, and his imaginations flattered him so sweetly, in making him see that he was every minute drawing near unto the Princess, as losing the sight of Constantinople, he also lost the remembrance of all his misfortunes, and abandoned himself wholly to joy.    

IBRAHIM, OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The First Part. The Fourth Book.  
NEver was voyage more prosperous, than that of Justiniano, ne-never did the winds more justly second the desires of the Pilot, and never was the Sea more constant in calmness of weather, than it was in bringing this Lover back again to the Haven, from whence the tempest had driven him. But to favour the impatience he was in to be with Isabel, let us only say, without particularising his course, that after he was come to all the Vessels, which the Grand Signior had caused to be arrested, and drawn out of captiviy all the Christian Slaves which were found in the several Ports where they touched, by virtue of an absolute power that he had from the Sultan; after, I say, that he had passed the Archipelago, and left Cyprus on the left hand, this prosperous Fleet arrived in a few days within sight of the Land of Genova: There it was where the Ambassador began to reap the fruit of his voyage, by the pleasure he took in thinking that he was going to enter into his City, as it were in triumph, by bringing thither again those so many Vessels which restored to the People their kindred and friends, to the Nobility their children and their riches, and to the Senate the Grace of the Grand Signior, and the lives of two Illustrious Citizens. As for Doria, he felt that motion in his soul, which Nature gives to all those who see their Country again after a long exile, and that not troubled by the unruliness of passions following without resistance the thoughts wherewith she inspires them; he had then an extreme pleasure, but yet it was a quiet pleasure. But for Justiniano, it was not so with him, he did not look upon this Land as the place of his birth, but as the residence of Isabel, and in an instant he passed over again in his memory all that had arrived unto him there; and his transport was so great, that joy produced some effects of grief in him; he changed colour divers times, he was unquiet and musing, and if Doria had not forced him to speak, and express his mind by his discourse, it was to be doubted in beholding him, whether it were hope, or whether it were fear, that agitated his soul; whether he regretted Constantinople, or desired Genova; so certain it is that violent passions pervert the use of the senses. Tears, which ought not to be but the marks of sorrow, serve sometimes for joy; and silence, which seems so proper for sadness, is often the effect of an extreme pleasure; but as we come to one and the same place by divers ways, they were made contented by different causes, and expressed their joy in several manners. In the mean time they came still nearer to Genova, but not holding it sit that Justiniano and Doria should enter into the City before the deliberation of the Senate was known, the Ambassador caused his Vessel to cast anchor three miles from Genova, and going to pass into another, after he had assured them that he would obtain their liberty, or be exiled with them, he observed that Alphonso Spinola, Captain of one of those redeemed Vessels, and brother to him whom Justiniano had slain in defending Rhodolpho, hung back, and would not follow him, whereupon he would needs know the cause of it; but Alphonso, whose generosity was extreme, seeing himself obliged for his life, and for his liberty to Justiniano, who during the voyage had testified unto him with much resentment the grief he had had for the misfortune wherein he had been engaged; and knowing likewise that the death of his brother had happened with some justice, he besought the Ambassador not to think it strange if he did not attend upon him to Genova, being absolutely resolved never to enter into it without his Deliverer; that knowing his Father, as he did, he was well assured that he would with all his power oppose them that would revoke the Sentence which had been given against Justiniano; so that to hinder his violence, he purposed to write unto him, that if he would have his son again, he must pardon his enemy; that his fortune was conjoined with his, and that he would never have such a reproach laid upon him, as that a man, who had drawn him out of fetters, and brought him back into his Country, should not enjoy the liberty which he had given him. Alphonso pronounced this speech with so much earnestness, as all that heard him were ravished with his resolution; and Justiniano was so charmed therewith, that not able to forbear embracing him, and not suffering him to say more, he conjured him that he would not force him to be ingrateful; that if nothing but his blood would satisfy the revenge of his kindred, he would be most ready to shed it for his sake, but having some hope to serve them more profitably in his person, when occasion should present itself, he would spare no care nor good office for it, so as it might be done without offence to his honour; that he had performed a gallant action in desiring to stay with him, but that he should do an unworthy one, and full of inhumanity if he should consent unto it; and that therefore it was more just, that he should go and dry up his father's tears, and moderate his fury by the joy which his sight would bring him, than to do a thing that would procure him his hatred. Alphonso did not yield at first to the desire of Justiniano, but the Ambassador and Doria siding with him, he was constrained to submit to their sense, and to let his inclination be overcome by another's reason. These illustrious friends parted with so much ado, as if Doria had not perceived by Justinianoes' watch, that the time of the Senate's Assembly pressed the Ambassador to departed, if he would have audience as soon as he should arrive, they would have spent a great part of the day in this noble contestation, whereof all the glory consisted in obliging his enemy. But whilst this Fleet reasumed their course to aboard Genova, let us go to the Port, and see what the people think of it, and whether this agreeable surprise will make them send forth shouts of joy in answer to those of the Mariners. As soon as these Vessels began to appear, a confused noise was heard amongst those that were present on the shore, whereby it appeared that they expected not so happy a success of their Ambassadors voyage; the one said that the Senate was to be advertised of it; others, that Merchant's Vessels came not in so great a number together; some, that Pirates durst not approach in that manner if they were not followed by the body of an Army; and all of them together, that the best was to give intelligence thereof, to the end some might be sent to discover them; there were those likewise whose imagination was so troubled with fear, as they verily believed that they distinctly saw Turkish Galleys, and half Moons. In the mean time, whereas the Fleet came still nearer, they might easily discern, that it was the Standard of the Republic which these Vessels carried, the sight whereof dissipated their fear, but it took not from them their amazement, being not able to imagine how they should be so near unto them, whom they believed to be in chains and slavery; but at length the first of these Vessels being come to the shore, and the Ambassador, who was seen on the poop, being known of the people, which were already gathered together in a very great number, and they no longer doubting but that these vessels, which now they knew, brought them back both their brethren, and their children, such a noise of acclamations arose on the sudden, as they all spoke without understanding what they said themselves, and without being understood of others; wives called for their husbands; fathers inquired after their children; some ran into the City to advertise their friends of it; others ran out of it with their whole families; they in the Vessels cried to let them know whether all were well at home; at last so great a noise was form of all these cries and murmurs, as the Ambassador had much ado to make his orders be understood: He commanded all the Chieftains to accompany him to the Palace, and particularly Alphonso not to be far from him; they traversed the City in this sort, followed by the popular multitude, who ceased not from testifying their joy, both by their tears, and by their acclamation. When they were at the Gate of the Palace, the Ambassador advanced three or four steps before his Troop, that he might the better surprise that honourable Company. At his first appearing they sought to know the success of his voyage in his face, but as soon as they perceived all the Commanders of their Vessels, the gravest and most moderate amongst them could not choose but show signs of their amazement, and joy; and when this first emotion was appeased, the Ambassador, having made a low obeisance to the Duke, and the like to the whole assembly, began to speak in this sort.  

The Oration of Antonio Lomelino to the Duke and Senate of Genova.  
IF the prosperous success of my voyage had been an effect of my conduct, of my care, and of my address, I should without doubt have had so much modesty as to declare in few words the estate of things, for to attend from so honourable an Assembly the praise which a service of such importance would have deserved, without giving them to myself; and I should also have been so generous, as to have been fully satisfied with the only thought of having been profitable to my Country; but whereas I have no part in the glory of this action, but contrarily I myself am obliged for my life to the Deliverer of so many illustrious Slaves as I have brought you back, and which are all, either your kinsmen, or your friends, it behoves me, both that I may not be ingrateful in my particular, and that also I may keep you from being so in general, to report fathfully unto you how the matter hath past, to the end that by understanding all the circumstances you may the better know, how it is the interest of the Republic, which makes me speak with so much earnestness.  
You are to understand then, my Lords, that whereas the Emperor Soliman believed, that the Law of Nations had been violated in the person of his Chaoux, he thought that he might do the like in that of your Ambassador, so that as soon as I was arrived at Pera, and that according to the custom I had demanded audience of his Highness, I saw myself constrained to pass by his order from my Vessel into a straight prison, without telling me the cause thereof, in such sort as he that came to obtain the liberty of others, saw himself deprived of his own, and laden with chains. I was two days entreated in this manner with a great deal of rigour, and I very well perceived by the countenance of them which guarded me, that they believed my head was the only price of my liberty. As I was in this unquietness I saw the Aga of the Janissaries enter, who caused me to be told by Dragoman of the grand Signioes', whom we call an interpreter, that his Highness willing to give me audience had commanded him to conduct me to Constantinople without any ceremony; this mutation surprised me so much the more, for that I could not imagine the cause of it, having been well enough informed, that Soliman doth not easily change his resolutions, and that repenting is a motion of the soul which is almost unknown to him: In the mean time I beheld my fetters broken off, without seeing the hand that delivered me, and in this uncertainty I attributed that to the inconstancy of Fortune, which I owed her not at all. But, my Lords, why should I longer conceal this mighty and generous hand which hath delivered me? The impatience which I see in your looks, to know the name of our Deliverer, invites that also which is in me to tell it you; wherefore I must interrupt my order, and without going to Constantinople to paint forth unto you the resentment, the choler & the menaces of the Sultan, I say unto you, that he unto whom you owe the return of your vessels, the lives of your children, and the peace of this Republic, was not carried to this brave action by a sense of acknowledment; it is a man who could have revenged himself, instead of serving you, without committing an injustice; it is a man whom you have exiled because he withstood a violence; it is a man whom you have chased away because he had been so generous as to save his enemy's life; it is a man whom you have banished because he shed his blood to take part with the weaker, and who by misfortune killed one of your Citizens, not only to secure his own person, but to assist an undefended man; finally, my Lords, it is by Justiniano that we are living; it is by him that we breathe the air of our Country; it is by him that we do not see an Army of an hundred thousand men at your Gates; and it is also by his liberty, and that of Doria, who is conjoined to his fortune, that you may pay our ransom, as the only price which great Soliman hath set to redeem us: It is in preserving this illustrious person that you may preserve the glory of the Senate; and it is upon this condition, that according to the power which I had for it, I have engaged the Public Faith for the revocation of a Sentence which you signed with regret, and which you accorded rather to the tears of Philippo Spinola, whom I see here in this renowned Company, than to Sovereign equity: It is not because I will condemn in him the apprehensions of Nature, but contrarily I purpose to stir them up in his heart, by letting him see that if by misfortune Justiniano hath deprived him of one son, the same Justiniano hath restored him another, in bringing him back Alphons●, who with tears in his eyes begs of him by my mouth the grace of his Deliverer. They which are sensible of outrages ought to be so likewise of benefits, especially when injuries have not been done by a premeditated malice, and the services are voluntary: one may tell me peradventure, that the satisfaction should at leastwise be equal to the crime, for the defacing of it out of an incensed spirit, and that Justiniano having taken away the life of a child of Philippoes', it is not enough for obtaining the pardon thereof, that he hath restored his only son to his liberty; but grant it were true, that Justiniano had done no other thing than break the chains of Alphonso, this objection could not be received but by base and weak souls; it being most certain, that a generous man will always prefer the conservation of his liberty before that of his life: It is a good so generally known of all the world, as there is no Nation that hath not made war to conserve it. The most honourable Servitude hath ever found some rebellion in the minds of those who have embraced it; and if the Religion which we profess, did not prohibit us, from disposing of ourselves, there is not a Slave amongst the Turks that would not make himself away with joy, to get out of the miseries which he endures; for if one hath seen at other times both men and women to have recourse to this extreme remedy, because they were for one day only to follow the Chariot of the Victorious, bound with chains of gold, what ought not men do, who laden with irons are sent to the prisons of the black Sea, where it may be said that they enter alive into their graves, being put into deep holes where horror and darkness, which always reign there, are the least of their pains? They feel the rigour of hunger, they are beaten and tormented in their bodies, yea and persecuted in their minds by the injuries and blasphemies which they daily hear from the mouths of their torturers: It is, my Lords, from this dreadful place that Justiniano hath drawn out Alphonso to bring him back into his Country, for to speak the truth, he could not avoid the feeling of the miseries which I have represented unto you, or of dying cruelly; his Sentence was pronounced, as well as of that of his companions, and if we had tarried but one day longer before we arrived at the place, where h● was retained, Soliman's Order had come too late to work that which he had formerly given, and the succour of justiniano had been in vain; Now I leave it to be judged, whether the reparation be equal to the crime, and whether Philippo hath reason to oppose the return of Justiniano. But not to conceal one important thing that may lead him to a good sense, I must say further, that Alphonso, who cannot be worthily enough praised, and whose presence keeps me from speaking more of it, knowing how far he is obliged to Justiniano, is absolutely resolved to follow the fortune of his Deliverer; it is by his order that I speak, and his silence doth sufficiently prove this verity unto you; it is not but to confirm what I say that he is come hither, & to obey Justiniano, who would not let him stay with him as he desired. At last, my Lords, if Philippo will preserve his son he must join his prayers to those of all the people, who conjure you to accord the grace of him who hath filled your City with abundance, & all the families of Genova with joy; all the acclamations of gladness, which you hear at the Palace gate, speak to you for pardon and mercy; but if you oppose the severity of the Laws to prayers so just, so pressing, and necessary for the public tranquillity, I have to answer you, that it is not to offend them, but to satisfy justice, which ought to be the rule of them; and that the same Laws, which will have a crime punished, will also have virtue recompensed. If there be need of examples of Sentences that have been revoked, all antiquity will furnish us therewith: Aristides was banished by the Ostracism, and repealed within three years after; Cimon was exiled from Athens, and entreated to return, even by those that had driven him away; at Sparta one Leontidas was used in the same manner; amongst the Lacedæmonians. Philoxenus had the same fortune; and if we will go to Rome, we shall find, that Seneca was banished by Claudius, and called home again by him for some praises which he had given him in a letter of consolation, that he wrote to Polybius his favourite; judge now my Lords, whether flattery spoken with a good grace may enter into comparison with the service that Jnstiniano hath rendered you. But to pass from antiquity to the modern age, have we not seen amongst the Venetians Hortensio Contarini condemned to a perpetual banishment, who returned into his Country a little after with the same honours which he formely had there? And without going to seek for authorities amongst our neighbours, which we may find amongst ourselves, hath not one seen Antonia Fregoza exiled for ever from his Country, who nevertheless was by a decree from the Senate restored to his former liberty in Genova? I could also find many other particulars in History to confirm my proposition, but I think it may suffice, that Greece and Italy have marked you out the way, which you may follow without fear of failing, after so many Illustrious examples. Howbeit you will peradventure say, that albeit you could infringe your Laws in favour of Justiniano, because he hath done you such great services, yet Doria cannot pretend to the same grace, seeing he himself oweth his liberty to our Deliverer; but I am to answer you for the glory of this disinteressed friend, who hazarded his life, by a generosity without example, to revenge the outrage which the Prince of Masseran did to Justiniano, that this action seemed so gallant to Soliman, when as Justiniano recounted it unto him, that he hath judged Doria worthy of his protection: Besides do you not imagine that the interests of these two illustrious persons can ever be separated. And to tell you all that I think in this encounter, prepare yourselves to execute what I have promised, or resolve to lose at the same instant all the commanders of your Vessels, who have every one, as well as myself, solemnly sworn never to enjoy the liberty which Justiniano hath gotten us, unless he be partaker of it with us. As for me, who do certainly know of what importance this affair is for the public good, I should think that I should betray my Country, if I should conceal the eagernes which I observed in the mind of Soliman, when as he told me that one of his slaves having found grace in his sight, had besought him to pardon us; and that he had consented thereunto, provided that you should revoke the Sentences, which you had given against Justiniano and Doria; wherein if you failed, he swore in fury, that he would come with all the forces of his Empire to destroy our Republic. It is no longer then, my Lords, a particular interest; it is no longer the merit of Justiniano, that is to be considered in this occasion; it is not for the hope of brave things that he will do hereafter, that this grace is to be accorded him; it is not for our ransom that he is to be received with joy; it is not because I have promised it that it is to be resolved on; it is not because reason doth counsel it; it is not because justice doth ordain it; but it is because necessity will have it so. You will say to me, it may be, that the success of this War would still be doubtful, but, my Lords, if you consider the inequality of your forces you will not doubt at all, especially in a time wherein all the Princes of Christendom are not in a condition to assist their Allies. Shall it be from the Emperor that you will be protected in this occasion, who finds himself too much entangled in the War with the Protestants, and in the affairs of the Council of Trent, for to think of yours? Shall it be from the Kingdoms of Naples and Sicily that you look for succour, they that are exhausted both of men and money for the Emperor their Master? Shall it be from the Swissers, or the Grisons, that we shall be assisted in this encounter, they that are engaged in all these Wars, and that are more likely rather to side with the stronger party, than to succour the weaker? It may be that the French will furnish us with that which we cannot find elsewhere, but, my Lords, were they not in War with the Emperor, yet would they see us perish with joy, and the Armies of the Turks could not do that amongst us, which they would not do here with theirs, if they were in an estate to be revenged on us for our changing. You will tell me further, that the Republics of Florence, Sienna and Lucca are not so far of, but that one may be succoured from them, but they are so engaged in those two parties, as they have not the liberty to dispose of their forces. The Duke of Savoy might also do something for you if he were peaceable in his State, but he himself is so busied in preparing to hinder the passage of the French, as he cannot mind the extremities of his neighbours. I know very well in like manner, that England is full of armed men, but, my Lords, it is not to defend us, nor will Queen Mary abandon the siege of London, which is to put her in possession of her Kingdom, to come and oppose our enemies. Neither will Scotland disfurnish herself of her men or War, having such mighty Armies at her frontiers, wherefore we are not to turn our eyes that way. Poland, Hungary, and Moscovy, are too near unto the Turk for to imbroil themselves with him. And Sweathland and Denmark are too far off for any succour to be hoped from thence. At last, my Lords, to leave nothing unsaid, the death of Julius the third, and of his successor, falling out in so little a time, permit not his Holiness, who is not yet well established, to think of affairs abroad. And to take all hope from you, the Venetians, desiring to conserve that which they hold in the Archipelaglo, will not break the Treaty they have made with the Turk to succour you. You see then, my Lords, that all Christendom doth abandon you, and that there is nothing resting in you choice, but the burning of your City, and the utter destruction of this State, or the return of Justiniano and Doria. But to justify the ardour of my Zeal, and to make it appear, that my fear is not without ground, I do here deliver into your hands the Grand Signiors letter, which it may be will carry you more easily to my sense, and reason.  
This oration was heard by the Senate with a great deal of attention, amazement and joy; and when the Duke had taken the Grand Signiors letter, he commanded an interpreter to come and expound it; in the mean time a confused voice arose in this Assembly, which made Philippo Spinola conjecture, that the grace of Justiniano would soon be granted: Never was there heart agitated with so much violence, and whereas this man was sensible and generous, the designs of pardoning or punishing so equally divided his soul, as not knowing which side to turn him to, he seemed to seek for in the eyes of Alphonso wherewith to fortify his reason. He wept all at one instant both for grief and tenderness, the remembrance of the dead, and the return of the living, excited in his mind, both a calm and a tempest; and in this disorder of passions, and apprehensions of nature, which combated one with another, and successively destroyed themselves, he was going to be the prey of despair and sorrow, had not the sight of his Son been at length found more powerful, than the image of his past misfortune: He knew so distinctly the sense of Alphonso by the motions of his face, as being ashamed to be less generous than he, he let his resentment be surmounted by so noble an example, which presently appeased all the troubles of his spirit; so that feeling himself in a more peaceable estate, and seeing the Duke about to speak, he to prevent him besought him with tears in his eyes to restore that unto Justiniano, which his prosecutions had taken from him; it being just, since he had rendered him a son, that he should render him his liberty. This discourse so ravished the whole Assembly, that contrary to their custom, and the respect of the place, they sent forth cries of joy, which did not cease very soon; but amongst the rest the young Count of Lavagna, together with Alphonso, who were present, thought they should never have been silent again; the first could not sufficiently commend this action, and the other could not forbear saying, that he was more obliged to his father for vanquishing himself, than for giving him life. But after every one had praised Philippo as much as he deserved, they betook them to their places and gravity again, for to hearken to the Letter, which the Interpreter expounded in this sort by the commaandment of the Duke.  
I that am by the grace of the most High, and by the abundance of Miracles of the Chief of his Prophets, Emperor of the Victorious Emperors, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Distributer of Crowns and Sceptres to the greatest Princes and Monarches of the Earth: The servant of the two most Holy and Sacred Towns of Mecca and Medina: Lord of Europe, Asia, and Africa, Conquered with our Victorious sword and dreadful Lance; to the Duke and Senate of the Republic of Genova.  
If one of our Slaves had not found grace in our sight, we should soon have made you feel the force of our terrible sword, and our clemency had not returned you, as it hath done, your Vessels, your goods, your people, & your Ambassador; but is upon condition that you cause the sentences to be revoked, which were given against Justiniano, and against Doria, and that they may fully enjoy their liberty, and their goods, as heretofore: For otherwise be you assured, that with all the power of our flourishing Empire, our Highness will come, and abase your pride, make himself be obeyed in Person, and destroy your Republic.  
Given at our Imperial City of Stambol, in the year of Egira nine hundred and sixty, the twelfth day of the month Ramadham. Soliman.  
This Letter inspired all them that heard it with fear, justified the Ambassadors zeal, and confirmed all the Assembly in the resolution to receive Justiniano, as the Deliverer of the Republic; so that when the Duke had propounded the matter, and that according to the custom he should have gone to collect the voices in particular, they said all, that in affairs where opinions might be divided, it was good to hold that course, but now, that the whole company had but one and the same voice, they were not to amuse themselves about this superfluous ceremony; it being fit to go with all speed, and assure Justiniano and Doria, that they were still Citizens of Genova, for fear lest they should by this retardment imagine, that they had been hardly drawn to sign their grace. They advised then what order they were to hold, and they judged, that to take away all suspicion from Justiniano, they were to send him a public Act, signed by the Duke and all the Senate, whereby he should be assured of the revocation of his sentence: but the Ambassador having told them, that Justiniano would rely on his word, they changed their purpose, and commanded Jannetin Doria to take a Galley in the Port, for to go and receive him as far from the City as possibly he could: They ordained also that the Ambassador should put himself into a Feluca, to the end he might go before, and advertise Justiniano that he was attended with impatience, and should be received with joy. And whereas it was resolved that some should accompany Jannetin who represented Andrea Doria his Uncle, that was Generalissimo, and absent from Genova at that time, the Count of Lavagna would be one of them, that he might renew his acquaintance, for he was not mu●h more than a child when Justiniano went away. The Commanders of those vessels whom he had redeemed, would not go home to their houses before they had conducted their Deliverer into their City, to the end that as in the ancient Triumphs, the Victorious were followed by the Princes whom they had vanquished, so Justiniano should be accompanied with the Citizens which he had delivered, but with this glorious difference, that the one touched them with compassion which looked on them, and that the others inspired all them that beheld them with joy; the former were freemen that were made slaves, and these were slaves to whom liberty was given: And if heretofore at Rome he was crowned with glory that saved the life of a Roman Citizen, what crown, and what glory was not Justiniano worthy of, who by his generosity hindered not only the death of so great a number of men, but the utter destruction of his country? And indeed ●e was received with so many acclamations, as never was so universal a joy seen in Genova before. This while the Ambassador being set forth in a Feluca with Alphonso and some others, and having a good way outgone Jnnetins Galley, made with all speed to Justiniano, who since they parted from him had scarcely spoken to Doria, so much was he taken up with the thought of Isabel. As soon as they were ne●r enough to be understood, they began to talk to him of triumph and glory, not having the patience to stay till they were aboard the vessel to let him know the happy success of their voyage. Doria answered this interrupted discourse with cries of joy; but Justiniano made it appear by the moderation of his, that his liberty was not the term of his desires; he received his friends for all that with a great deal of civility, and without attending their further relation, he would have rendered them thanks for their care and affection, but they had too much to say to permit him to speak. The Ambassador would have discharged the Senate's Commission; Alphonso would have acquanted him with the generosity of his father; another would have described unto him the ecstasy of the people; and ma●ger the coldness of the Nation, the impatience they were in to speak all together, made a confusion amongst them, which yet kept not Justiniano from clearly perceiving, that his generosity was acknowledged, and his grace signed. But whereas the Galley still approached, Justiniano said, that it was not just they should stay from going to meet those Illustrious friends, who came to restore him to life, in restoring him to his liberty: He commanded them to weigh Anchor, which being presently executed, they made towards the Galley, that, carried along with sails and oars, reached them in a little space. There it was where Justiniano felt an extraordinary emotion upon the sight of the young Count of Lavagna, whom the Ambassador shown unto him; he whose father had always been the protector of his house: This sight gave him a great deal of joy, but mingled with grief, by the remembrance of Simbaldoes' death: Now as soon as his vessel came close to the Galley, he instantly, without attending Jannetins order, leapt from the hatches into her, and after he had complemented with the Delegates of the Senate, he embraced the Count with so much testimony of affection, as it was easy to know, that absence destroys not a friendship, which is solidly established in a generous soul; for at the very time when he rejoiced to see him, he lamented his father's death. The Count on his part assured him that he would have the same respect for him as Sinibaldo had had; and conjured him to show him the same favour. On the other side Doria, though he were not well satisfied with Andrea Prince of Melphi, nor with Jannetin his Nephew, yet carried he himself courteously unto him, and then went and received the civilities of his friends. During all these caresses, Jannetin desiring to give some mark of esteem and joy to Justiniano, caused a largess to be distributed amongst the slaves, to the end they might row with the more speed. Justiniano received this gallantry very civilly, and withal assured the slaves, that when he came home he would remember that they had brought him to the Port, as accordingly he sent them the next day two thousand Crowns. As soon as they approached to Genova, all the vessels that were in the Port, having received a commandment to shoot off all their Cannon when Justiniano should appear, failed not to salute him; the Galley answered them with four pieces of Ordnance, and a volley of Musket-shot, and the like did all that were on the walls. If one would describe the number of Citizens that were at the Port, the acclamations of joy, the thronging that was there to see these resuscitated men, the tumult that was amongst them in striving who should come nearest to their Deliverer, it would almost take up a volume that should treat of nothing else; it were better then, that amidst this popular crowd we should conduct Justiniano to the Senate, followed by the Count of Lavagna, Jannetin, Doria, Alphonso, and all the Commanders of the vessels, as also the slave of Monaco, whom Justiniano had enjoined not to budge from him. When first they appeared, the Duke out of more than an extraordinary favour advanced to receive him, after which he appointed all the Senators to take their places, and then commanded the Register of the Senate to deface the Sentences which had been pronounced against Justiniano and Doria, and to read the abolition of them, which was conceived in such gentle and advantageous terms, as it plainly appeared, that even their crime deserved more glory than punishment: The reading whereof being ended, the Duke began to assure Justiniano in the name of the whole Assembly, that after they had satisfied the pleasure of Soliman, yet held they not themselves for all that acquitted towards him; that the Senate in general, and they all in particular, were resolved not to stay there, but to testify unto him with more utility, that they were not worthy of the benefits they had received from him; that they desired him also to raze out of his memory, as he was razed out of their Records, the remembrance of the sentences which had been given against him and his friend. To this Justiniano answered, that in banishing him they ●ad satisfied Justice, and that in repealing him they had rather showed their clemency than their equity; that the service which he had rendered to the Republic, was not considerable, seeing he had done it but to satisfy his duty; and that also, in acknowledgement of the grace it had done him, he swore solemnly always to hazard both his fortune and life for the interest and glory thereof, so often as occasion should present itself for it: This said, he turned him to Philippo Spinola, and entreated him to pardon Alphonso for his friendship towards him, and to believe that it could never have found place in his heart, had he not perfectly known during his voyage, that the death of his brother had made him shed more tears, than he had lost blood; that if his generosity would permit him utterly to deface out of his mind the resentment of that unlucky accident; he besought him to adopt him for his son, and to attend from him the same services, and the same obedience, as he could have desired from him of whom he was so unfortunately deprived; but if that contrarily the apprehensions of Nature did still invite him to revenge, he promised to banish himself voluntarily; and if that were not yet enough, he would submit to the greatest rigour of Justice. Philippo was so moved with this discourse, as if he had not already signed the grace of Justiniano in consideration of his son, he could not have forborn doing it, and embracing him; so true it is that virtue hath powerful charms for a generous soul. That venerable old man answered him with tears in his eyes, that he would never oppose Alphonso's friendship to him; that it was too just to be condemned; that owing him his life, and his liberty, he owed him all things; & that not being so unreasonable as to remember an injury, & not remember benefits, he assured him that these last should take from his mind all the bitterness of the other; that he would receive him for his son; that he would have all the tenderness of a Father for him; and that all the satisfaction he desired of him was, that he would forget his prosecutions, and his hatred, and pardon them to an afflicted Father. There passed besides so many obliging speeches between them, as all that were present had much ado to retain their tears; but at the last the Duke arising, all the Assembly did the like: Then it was that they embraced Justiniano, every one striving who should come soon unto him to testify his joy; after which the Count of Lavagna carried him home to his house, there to abide till his own was made ready to receive him, for he had been Administrator of it ever since the death of Sinibaldo, unto whom the Father of Justiniano had left his estate to conserve it for his son; and though all the world believed, that Justiniano was no longer alive, yet had not the Count changed the order of his affairs, being absolutely resolved not to confer his estate upon his heirs, before he was certainly assured that he was dead. As for Doria, the Count could not get him to go along with him, though he would have been glad to have past the rest of the day in the company of his friend, but his kinsmen carried him much against his will away with them, having first conducted Justiniano as well as all the rest, to the Count's Palace, where every one departing, except some few whom he retained at dinner with Justiniano, he led him to the chamber of Leonora his wife, who received him with a great deal of courtesy, and so did Sophronia, Leonora's sister, which was there with her. But as soon as civility permitted him to retire, he turned all his thoughts to Monaco; and whereas he saw that the necessity of good manners would hold him three or four days at Genova to receive and to return the visits of his friends, he resolved to send thither the same day, the rather for that he judged it fit to understand the Princess' pleasure before he went to her; he proposed his design then unto the Count, and desired him to let him have one of his servants for to execute it, and to put into his hands the Princess' Officer, whom he had found a slave at Constantinople. The Count could not refuse him so just a request, but only told him that he was to dine first: Whilst they were at table their conversation was no other than ask Justiniano questions concerning his fortune, whereunto he still answered with so much address, as without saying any thing against the truth, he discovered n●ught that might prejudice him; howbeit he recounted unto them his grief 〈◊〉 despair, whenas he believed in Germany that Isabel had married the Prince o● Masseran, as also that having taken a resolution to die, he went and embarked himself upon the Baltique Sea; that there he was made a slave, was carried to Constantinople, and given to the Grand Signior, where Doria arrived afterwards by an adventure almost like to his; that his good fortune had so wrought, as his Highness having found something in his person, which touched his inclination, his slavery had not been very hard, if his Friends, his Mistress, and his Religion had not been obstacles to his felicity; but he would not let them know that he had been Grand Visier, nor how in that Charge he had mightily served Christendom, for fear lest this action should have been ill interpreted by them, that could not dive into the bottom of his heart. Dinner being done, Justiniano desired the Count to permit him to go and write in his Cabinet before he was hindered by company, which no doubt would be with him ere it were long. The Count, who was not willing that his own pleasure should destroy that of his friend, opened him the door, and told him, that he was infinitely obliged to the Princess of Monaco, who, ever after she had power to dispose of herself, had been fought unto by all the Princes of Italy, without so much as once harkening unto them; but that contrarily she had openly published, how she had resolved to renounce the world, as soon as she certainly knew that he was no longer in it; that she had often had business at Genova, where her presence was necessary, but would never come thither, so much did she fear the fight of them that might condemn her resolution. Justiniano was so ravished with the constancy of Isabel, that if the Count had not left him for to return unto the company, this talk had kept him a long time from drawing up his Letter; but in the end after he had written all that which his respect, his joy, and his passion had inspired him with, he gave his packet to a Gentleman, whom the Count had assigned him for it; he prayed him to go, and come again from Monaco, with all the speed that possibly he could; and to add moreover to that favour the observing the actions of Isabel, at such time as she should understand of his return, and that she should see him, whom he had sent her back; that Officer of hers too he caressed exceedingly, and assured him that he would acknowledge the pains which he had suffered for his consideration. Justiniano had no sooner ended his dispatch, but that all the illustrious persons of the City came to visit him, with an extreme impatience to learn from his own mouth the success of his adventures. But whilst he is satisfying the curiosity of so fair an Assembly, and telling them things which we know as well as he, let us go and content ours at Monaco, and see with what eye, and in what manner the Princess will receive the agreeable news of her Lovers return. When these happy Messengers arrived the next day at Monaco it was very near night, so that although one of them belonged to the Princess, yet was he not known, nor would he discover himself, the better to surprise her: It was only told then to Isabel, that a Gentleman from the Count of Lavaegna, and another, who were newly arrived in a Bark, desired to speak with her, and that they had order to deliver their message to none but herself. She was at that time in her Cabinet, where she had shut up herself that day to read over all the Letters which she had received from Justiniano; she was vexed then to be interrupted in an employment, that made up together both her joy and her grief; she commanded notwithstanding that they should be brought in: But when she came to know him, whom she had sent to seek justiniano's, she was so surprised, and so amazed, out of the opinion she had that his voyage was in vain, as the apprehension thereof keeping her from speaking, gave the Count's Gentleman opportunity to tell her, that justiniano had given him in charge to present her with a Letter from him. This discourse revived her spirits for a while, but fearing she had not understood him well, she made that agreeable name which touched her heart so sensibly, to be spoken to her once again; whereupon the Gentleman told her, that the paper he had presented to her would satisfy her better than he could. She cast her eyes then upon the Letter, which assured her that it was justinianoes' hand, so that in an instant she abandoned herself over wholly to joy, and with an extreme precipitation broke up the seal of the Letter for to read that which follows here.  
The Letter of justiniano's to the Princess of MONACO.  
AT Last fortune hath made a truce with me, and how constant soever she hath been in persecuting me, my love hath vanquished her cruelty, and forced her to permit me to see you again. I know well, that the suspicion which I have had of your fidelity, makes me unworthy of this grace; but I know well also, that my cruelest enemies have pardoned me for it, and that you have a soul too generous not to do as much for a person that voluntarily accuseth himself of a crime, which in my opinion is the greatest mark of love that ever I have rendered you. If the possession of you had not been so precious unto me, my resentment had not been so great; and if my passion had been less perfect, hate had succeeded to my love: But to what transport soever that imaginary misfortune hath carried my mind, yet have you always reigned in my heart. I have hated your inconstancy, but I have always loved your person; I have separated the crime from the criminal; I would never have extinguished so fair a flame, but in extinguishing my life, and with the most passionate sense that love can inspire into us, I have even adored you in the arms of a Rival, and conserved my soul entirely for you at that very time when as I believed I had lost you for ever. After all this I dare hope, that my crime shall not be an obstacle strong enough to keep you from according me the permission to come and render you an account of my misadventures, to comfort me with your sight for my past miseries; to let me understand from your own mouth, that absence hath not diminished your affection; that mine is still considerable with you; and that at last you desire I should eternally be your  
Justiniano.  
Never was there heart more replenished with joy, than that of Isabel, after she had read this Letter; nor ever had an amorous spirit sweeter transports, than this Princess felt in thus understanding all at once the life, the return, and the fidelity of her Lover: But her satisfaction augmented yet more, when as she knew in what manner he had been received at Genova, no way doubting now but that her felicity was settled for the rest of her life. After she had spent two hours at least in hearing these persons relate unto her what they had known concerning Justiniano, she gave order that they should be very well treated, and that the next morning the Count's Gentleman should repair unto her. As soon as she saw herself alone, she called a kinswoman of hers, which lived with her, and not able to contain her joy, she imparted the cause of it to her, but in such passionate terms, as it was easy to perceive, that she lived not so much in herself as in Justiniano: And that she might no longer defer her answer unto him, she caused paper and ink to be brought her: but though she had a fertile wit, though she were accustomed to express herself very easily, and not to have any need to correct her first by her second thoughts, yet was it almost impossible for her to satisfy herself in this occasion: She could not conceive that the words of pleasure, of felicity, and joy, could sufficiently express he●s; that those of constancy and steadfastness were significant enough; nor that those of passion, and love, were powerful enough to paint forth to Justiniano that which she had in her soul: Howbeit in the end, after she had blotted out lines, and torn whole Letters, she was constrained to be contented; and whereas it was late, she got her to bed without eating any thing, notwithstanding her woman's persuasion to the contrary. She passed the night in such agreeable thoughts, as albeit sleep be a sweet and a mighty enemy, yet could it not for all that surprise the fair eyes of Isabel, so that as soon as the day appeared, her impatience caused her to command the fetching of the Count's Gentleman unto her, hoping that the sooner he returned, the sooner she should see Justiniano; and to oblige him to make haste, she sent him a Diamond worth five hundred Crowns. This liberality failed not to make him diligent; he came presently to the Princess' Chamber, both to render her thanks, and to receive her commands: she gave him her Letter, and desired him to present her compliments to the Count his Master, and to assure Justiniano that he was attended with a great deal of impatience. This Gentleman, according to Isabellaes' desire, made all the haste that possibly he could to Genova, where being arrived he found justiniano's ready to enter into his own house, accompanied with ten or eleven of his friends, for the Count had been so careful that no mark of his banishment should be remaining, as in two days it was thoroughly furnished. As soon as he saw this Gentleman, he separated himself from the troup for to speak with him, and receive Isabellaes' answer, which he took with such a panting of his heart, as if he had doubted that it had not been favourable. In the mean time the Count perceiving justinianoes' disorder, caused all the company to enter, by entering first himself, so that by this address he gave him means to steal aside to read in liberty the Princess' letter, which he opened with a great deal of respect, and found that it was thus.  
The Letter of Isabel to justiniano's.  
THe greatest crime that you are guilty of towards me is, that you came not to tell me that you self, which you have written unto me; I know well notwithstanding that the necessity of your ancient misfortunes hath constrained you to carry yourself in this sort; but I am not ignorant also, that love is not accustomed to make such satisfaction to sovereign reason; the desires, which it begets in an amorous soul, seem always just unto it, and how reasonable soever we be, it is a pain to us to condemn that which pleaseth us; find it not strange then, if I should wish, that you had seen my first transports, they would have painted out so well unto you my fidelity, as I should no longer be troubled to assure you, that time hath not changed my heart; that death alone can break my chains; and that if I had the Empire of the whole world, I would pray you to accept of it with as much affection, as I offer you my State: it is a reward which I owe you, and not a grace which I do you; and the only grief which I have at this instant is, to see that I can do nothing, whereunto I am not obliged; so that all that I can do in this encounter is, to protest unto you, that did I not owe it to the life of my father, which you preserved; to the promise which he made you of it; to that which you received from me; to so many miseries which you have endured for my consideration; yet do I owe it to mine own felicity, seeing it is certain, that I cannot be perfectly happy if I be not so with you: it is a necessity that love hath imposed upon me, and which reason doth not disapprove of. Come then, my dear Justiniano, to testify unto me, that my hopes are not ill grounded, that your constancy is , that you still love your  
Isabel.  
They who know by experience the effects of love, will easily imagine that which the sight of this Letter wrought in the soul of Justin●●no; he had for all that a domestic enemy, which went always traversing his pleasures, by putting him in mind that he was yet a slave at Constantinople, though he appeared a freeman at Genova. In the mean time the Count sent him word how he believed he had forgotten, that he was in his own house, and that it was he which was to entertain and honour his friends there. This reproach of gallantry obliged him to go in unto them, who all left him a little after, except Doria, to give him liberty for to think of his affairs; but whilst he was settling his house, the Count sent him all the money which he had received of his estate in his absence, with order to his Steward to render him an account of it. Justiniano was so amazed, both at his own riches, and the generosity of his friend, as he had much ado to resolve to take that which was his own; howbeit fearing to do an outrage to the Count, instead of doing him a civility, he received his money, but would not suffer the Steward howsoever to particularise any thing of his affairs; telling him only, that provided he could assure him he gave him nothing of another bodies, it should suffice for the making up of his account; that in the mean time to make some acknowledgement for the care he had taken to enrich him, he gave him twelve thousand Crowns. This man fearing a check from his Master, played the generoso as much as he could, and laboured exceedingly not to accept of a thing which he earnestly desired: but at length he must obey the pleasure of Justiniano, who thinking of nothing but Monaco gave order for the making him clothes against the next day; and not to lose time, after he had desired the Count's Officer to provide him attendants, to make up his Train with all possible care and speed, he went forth with his dear Doria to render the most important of his visits, to the end he might the day following satisfy his desires. They employed all that day then in ceremonies; they were at the Palace to do their duty to the Duke; they were at Andrea Doria's to visit Jannetin; they returned to the Count; and to be wanting in nothing justiniano would go home to Philippo Spinola, where he was received with so many testimonies of generosity, both by the father and the son, as all his civility could not answer it. Evening being come, he returned back with Doria, where he found a man attending him from the Generalissimo, who being come home had understood of his going to Monaco, and therefore had sent to assure him, that the next morning he should have a Galley waiting ready to carry him thither. Justiniano accepted of this courtesy with a great deal of respect, and prayed the man to let his Master know, that he would not part away without thanking him for it: And whereas his amorous impatience made him desire to be alone, that he might at the least think of the Princess, though he could not yet see her, he was much surprised, and exceedingly vexed, to find as great a company in his chamber, as that which he had met with abroad; for although it was composed of none but his friends, yet would he fain have preferred solitude before their conversation; howbeit he must resolve to comply with them, and hear a Serenado of Lutes and Voices which the Count gave him, upon remembering that he had heard say, how the first passion of Justiniano had been by music: The Count also presented unto him a French Gentleman, whom he dearly loved, and desired him to esteem of him for his sake, until such time as he should make himself worthy of it by the knowledge of his merit, which without doubt would not be long first. This compliment being finished, every one retired save Doria, who would not abandon our Lover, until he had restored him into the arms of his Mistress. The night past away with a great deal of unquietness and impatience for Justiniano; but whatsoever resolution he had taken to be gone by the break of day, he could not get out of Genova before it was almost noon. In the end he embarked himself in the Galley which had been prepared for him, taking no more with him than his dear Doria, and some of the Count's people for to serve him: He had at that instant so extraordinary a joy out of the thought that the term of so short a navigation should be the sight of Isabel, as it reflected in his face, was seen in his eyes, appeared in his discourse, shown itself in all his actions; and one would have thought, that he went out of slavery in going out of Genova, and that Monaco was not only the place of his birth, but that he was attended there to be declared the Conqueror of all Nations, to receive the honour of a Triumph, and to mount into a Throne; that he was also expected by the Princess for to be crowned, not by the hands of fortune, but by those of love. And whereas he had not so much ambition, as desire to be beloved, the Empire of all the Earth could not have given him a joy so sensible, as that of the heart of Isabel. This Princess imagining rightly, that Justiniano would not be long before he came to see her, had given order at the Port, that as soon as a Galley should be discovered from Genova-ward, she should be advertised of it, being persuaded that they would not let justiniano's come in a Feluca; so that when he appeared, notice was thereof given the Princess, and at the same instant all the wall was set on fire with a valley of Musket shot; all the great Ordnance likewise was discharged, the dreadful noise whereof could not keep Justiniano from being pleasingly assured, that those flames were an effect of them which love had kindled in the heart of Isabel, who presently dispatched away the principal of her servants, and the most considerable of the Inhabitants of Monaco, to go to receive him, and present him with the keys of the Town-Gates. This obliging ceremony so mightily surprised Justiniano, when it was done unto him, that he could hardly find terms to express his resentment thereof, and the confusion whereinto this so gallant and extraordinary a favour had put his spirit. He besought those that were sent from Isabel to excuse him, if he did not accept of that which they offered him, since it would not be just, that he, who would hold himself too much honoured to be their Princess' subject, should do an act of their Sovereign; that for the incivility which he committed in refusing a thing that came from her, he conjured them to conduct him where she was, that he might give her thanks, and crave pardon of her both at once. They were a pretty while in this dispute of courtesy on either side; but at last Justiniano remained firm in his resolution. They began then to take that winding way which leads to the Town, and where all the soldiers of the Garrison were ranged into two files for him to pass through the midst of them, and so he marched till he came to the Portall of the Castle, where the Princess attended him. When as first he appeared she advanced to receive him, so that to save her some steps, and to follow his inclination, he went as fast as possibly he could, and kissed her robe. It was at this instant that those perfect Lovers felt that which cannot be expressed; and albeit they had resolved on both parts to contain themselves, and had also prepared their minds for the making of some compliment to one another in this encounter, their silence, and then their interrupted discourses, made it apparent to all that beheld them, that excess of pleasure excited such a trouble in their souls, as would not permit them to express all that they thought; but to conceal this agreeable transport from the eyes of her subjects, the Princess caused justiniano to enter, after she had saluted Doria with a great deal of civility: When they were arrived at Isabellaes' chamber, all that had accompanied them were obliged by respect to withdraw, two or three excepted, which remained to entertain Doria, whilst the Princess talked with Justiniano. Never were two hearts replenished with so much joy; never had two spirits more charming transports; and never did two amorous persons so perfectly express the motions of their souls by their only looks; they said both of them together, and at one instant, that they had always loved one another; that they still loved one another; and that they would love one another eternally: But after this dumb language had made all their apprehensions to pass from one heart to another, Justiniano began to render the Princess thanks for all her goodness towards him; but she, not able to suffer the continuance of this discourse, conjured him to remember, that their interests could not be separated, and that owing him all things it was unjust to thank her; especially having done nothing for him, than what she could not choose but do; namely to weep for his absence, to fear his changing, to apprehend his loss, and to renounce all the pleasures of this life, since she could not have that of seeing him. Justiniano answered thereunto, that this necessity, which she had imposed upon herself, was so fair a mark of her affection, and so glorious for him, that unless he should be the most ingrateful of men, he was obliged to thank her eternally; As for the rest, her tears being of so inestimable a price, she must not find it strange, if being unable to render her any service that could merit that honour, he resolved at least to tell her often, that he knew well he was unwor- of it. This conversation was interrupted by the Sergeant-major of the Garrison, who according to the commandment which the Princess had given him for it, came to demand the word of Justiniano; this gallantry surprised him as pleasingly, as the former which had been done him upon his landing at the Port; and as he was no less civil, than Jsabella was obliging, he said unto her with a low voice, and beholding her with eyes full of love, and respect, that a man, who knew not how to rule his desires, and that would die her Slave, was not in a state to command others: But what reason soever he could allege, he must obey Isabellaes' pleasure; yet was it not for all that but upon condition, that she should give the word as well as he, and that he should not, but after her, finish this mystery of War, which at this time was absolutely guided by love. For as if these two illustrious persons had agreed together about this gallantry, the word, which the Princess gave to the Sergeant-major, was found to be Justiniano; and that which Justiniano gave, after he had long refused to do it, was the fair name of Isabel. This conformity of spirit and thought was equally pleasing unto them; for though they knew not what each of them had said, yet did they understand it by a compliment between them; for Justiniano assured the Princess, that manger her courtesy Isabel should reign still at Monaco; and the Princess assured him, that manger his modesty and resistance justiniano's was Master of the Town. One part of the evening was spent in a sumptuous feast, which Isabel made him in the great Hall of the Castle; and for the rest of it all their conversation was nothing but promises of loving one another eternally; and joy possessed them in such sort, as there came not so much as one thought unto them of their misfortunes. But whereas it was late, justiniano's lead the Princess back to her chamber, followed by Aemilia her kinswoman, and all her women; as for him he was conducted by the Officers of Isabel to a lodging, which she had caused to be prepared for him, and where the riches of the furniture made it appear, that she had omitted nothing for the receiving of him magnificently. The image of Isabel so fully possessed his mind, as that of Constantinople never came into his thought; the remembrance of what was past, nor the fear of that to come, could not trouble his pleasures; and his present happiness so enchanted his reason, as without considering that this supreme felicity, occasioned by the sight of Isabel, would precipitate him ere long into an extreme misfortune, he passed the night without any other unquietness, than that which he received by the impatience he was in to see day, that he might see Isabel again. Doria was also conducted into a chamber which was little less stately than that of his Illustrious friend, who to entertain himself more commodiously in his amorous fancies had desired to lie alone.    

IBRAHIM, OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The First Part. The Fifth Book.  
ISabella was no sooner awake but she thought of Justiniano, and to entertain him with the more liberty, she sent to demand of him by way of compliment, whether he would be pleased to go and pass away a part of the day in a fair Garden, which the Princes of Monaco have on the Seaside; and whereas he had no other will than that of the Princess, he answered him who came from her, that so as he might have the honour to see her he would obey her with joy, her presence having this particular charm, that she rendered all places alike agreeable unto him, because he never considered any thing therein but her. This match being made, this fair Troop, as soon as dinner was done, began their walk; Justiniano lent Isabel his hand for to support her down to the Garden, whither one may easily go on foot, Doria did the like to Aemilia, and the rest of the women together with the Princess' chiefest Officers followed after. Their journey being short, they quickly arrived whither they were to go; where at first their talk was of the beauty of the place, of the situation thereof, of the ornaments which had been added to its natural graces, and other indifferent things; but as soon as the Princess had handsomely drawn Justiniano a pretty way from the Troop, she conjured him to acquaint her with his adventures, and no longer to defer the satisfying her curiosity, in recounting particularly unto her all the circumstances of a life wherein she had so much interest, as to make it thenceforward the felicity of hers. This discourse surprised Justiniano at first, he would have excused himself for that day, beseeching the Princess not to deprive him so soon of the delight he had in hearing her talk; but at length, seeing that this reason did not content her, he yielded unto it. They entered then into a great green Arbour, which on the one side looked towards the Sea, and whereas Isabel, being set down on a seat of green Turf, perceived that Doria would out of respect have withdrawn as well as the rest of the Troop, she stayed him, and said, that as he had been the testimony of their first flames, it was but just that he should be so too of their last adventures: She made him then sit down by Justiniano, and when the rest of the company were retired a good way from Isabel, she summoned Justiniano to the performance of his word; who, after he had besought her to pardon him, if the disorder of his fortune did make some at any time in his discourse, began to speak in this sort.  

The Sequel of the History of justiniano's.  
THe cause of all my miseries being a crime which you have pardoned, I think you will have so much goodness as not to oblige me to confess once more unto you, that which I have written to you heretofore: I will not tell you then how after I had by an hundred apparent reasons confirmed myself in the belief that you lived no longer but for the Prince of Masseran, despair seized so strongly on my spirit, that death was the term of all my desires; but to get far away speedily from a place, where I could suspect the most constant person that ever was of infidelity, suffer me to tell you in few words, that quitting Germany, I embarked myself on the Baltique Sea, to seek out an honourable death in the war of Sweden; that on the way I was taken prisoner by Chairadin King of Algiers, who sold me soon after to the Bassa Sinan, which caused me instantly to be conducted to Constantinople, with three hundred other Slaves, whereof he meant to make a present to the Grand Signior. It is in that place, Madam, where fortune hath done such strange, and so unlikely things, as albeit they arrived unto me, yet do I doubt many times, in thinking of my adventures, whether it be not an effect of my depraved imagination that represents them so unto me, or a faithful report of my memory; but not to lose time in exagerating the phantasticalness of fortune, which hath been but too well known by all Ages, and all Nations, and to give you an extraordinary proof of it in my person, you shall understand, that after I was come to Constantinople, laden with irons, as well as my companions, without any difference betwixt us, but that they tried every day to break their chains, and that I bore mine with a tranquillity of mind, yet melancholic withal, which made them perceive that life and liberty were not the object of my desires; this knowledge which they had of my apprehensions during the voyage, was the cause that they concealed from me the resolution they had taken, when we were come to Constantinople, of killing their Guard, that so they might save themselves ere they should be presented to the Grand Signior; and they carried their design so well, as it was not discovered above two hours before it should have been executed. And whereas amongst the Turks the desire of liberty is a capital crime in a Slave, unless it be in paying a ransom for it, this enterprise being proved against them, the Bassa Sinan, a violent man, and that saw how in one only night he was like to have lost three hundred Slaves, without examining the circumstances of the matter, without distinguishing the guilty from the innocent, condemned us all to be exposed to the cruelest punishment of that Country. This Sentence was received diversely, according to the diversity of minds, but at last, though there were some generous soldiers amongst that great number of Slaves, yet heard they all this woeful news with grief: As for me, who did not desire to live longer, because I saw myself constrained to live without you, I beheld the end of my life as an assured port to shelter me from all the storms wherewith I was agitated; so that though it had been easy for me to have exempted myself from this peril, by letting the Bassa know what ransom I could have paid him, yet had I no purpose so to do. Howbeit this general consternation endured not long, for the Bassa Sinan coming to consider that he could not satisfy his revenge and his avarice both together, resolved not to lose that himself which others would have taken from him; and therefore for examples sake only, he commanded that we should draw lots, and that the tenth part of our number should expiate the crime of the rest. This grace was received with joy by all the company; and albeit fear had still some place in their souls, yet was hope the powerfuller, and persuaded them all in particular, that the misfortune should not fall upon them: In the mean time the lots were drawn, and chance having decided the matter, I was of the number of the thirty that were to die. It was then that I well observed, how human weakness is the cause why every one is in some sort comforted by having companions in his misery; for when we were all condemned, I saw nothing but tears of sorrow, but as soon as the lot had separated the fortu-tunate from the infortunate, these last changed their sorrow into rage, and choler so transported them, as they could not endure the sight of them that were delivered: Yet was it not they whom destiny reserved for this supreme disgrace; for the Bassa having moderated his fury, would have our lives once more depend absolutely upon the caprichiousness of fortune; he ordained then, t●●t of thirty which we were, no more than three should suffer; and the lot so favoured the desire I had to die, that I was one of those unhappy men, according to the sense of others, though in mine own heart I was of a contrary opinion. The two that proved my companions in this sad adventure, were without doubt the worthiest of all the slaves, they were young, handsome, and courageous, and even such as the very Excutioners themselves, who were to take away our lives, had some regreet to see, that chance had made a choice so unjust according to their thinking, so that one of them moved with compassion, went and advertised the Bassa, that in losing us he would lose the properest slaves that were in Constantinople, and the fittest to make a present of to his Highness. The Bassa, who repent him already of his violence, in regard of his own interest, and yet desired that some one of us should be punished, resolved at length for the last cast, that of we three but one should die, and that according to the first order, chance should still be the absolute master of our life or of our death. The lot was not more favourable to me in this last encounter, than in all the former, and I was the sacrifice destined for the public s fety; I was then presently bound more straight than before; they made me myself carry the preparations of my punishment; and without boasting I can avow, that I faced death with tranquillity enough: I dare not almost say, that in this woeful estate you were the only object of my thought, yet it is true how I imagined, that this obstinacy of fortune, in choosing me still to be sacrificed, was an effect of your desire, and that she did not judge me unworthy to live, but because you judged me unworthy of your affection. In the end I received this sentence, as if it had been pronounced by you, and in that thought I went to my punishment with so much resolution, as bred wonder and compassion in them that beheld me. As for myself, I was far from being afflicted at mine own proper miseries; I had some delight in my fetters and chains; and the very sight of death could not keep me from having some happy moments; for my love, doing its last and uttermost endeavour, in following me to the grave, persuaded me, that if you had seen the same Justiniano, upon whom at other times you had accumulated glory, be ready to yield up the ghost in adoring you, with the most cruel torments that the rage of tyrants hath ever invented, you would at leastwise have breathed forth some sighs, and shed some tears. The Princess, not able to endure that he should continue this discourse any longer, so much trouble did this deadly image excite in her soul, assured him with a great deal of tenderness, and her eyes full of tears, that this narration touched her so sensibly, as albeit she could not doubt but that he had escaped this peril, yet could she not choose but be in fear for him, and feel such a grief in her mind, as she was not able to express. Justiniano was no less moved with the tears of the Princess, than she had been by his relation; and when he had rendered her thanks for so generous an apprehension, Doria told him, that he could not better acquit himself of that devoir, than to acquaint her by what enchantment he got out of this adventure. Isabel having testified by her action, that Doriaes' impatience was hers, Justiniano prosecuted his History in this manner. Since your Excellency will know how I was delivered, I am to let you understand, that to go from the place where my doom had been pronounced, to that where it was to be executed, we were of necessity to pass by one of the faces of the Seraglio, and my good luck would have it, that when we came to that part, the Sultana Asteria, great Soliman's daughter, was leaning at a window, whereof she had pulled up the grate, and seeing a far off the multitude of people which accompanied me, and who seemed by their carriage to take part with my misfortune, it chanced that she cast her eye upon my face, and that she found something in it which begot a curiosity in her, whereupon she commanded them that conducted me to stay, and demanded of them what crime I had committed; I knew afterwards (for then I understood not the language very well) that one amongst them told her I was innocent, and recounted unto her by what mishap I was in that estate, by aggravating with a great deal of vehemency the obstinacy of fortune in choosing me still, and the constancy which I had showed in this encounter. As long as this discourse lasted I observed that she considered me very attentively, so that perceiving by some words which I had already learned during the voyage, and by her gesture, that she spoke of me, and that she pitied me, I saluted her with a profound respect. At length, Madam, the young Sultana Asteria was so compassionate and generous, that after she had asked, and knew of what Nation I was, she expressly charged them that conducted me, not to stir from thence till they had order from the Grand Signior her father. They, who knew both the rank and credit, which the Sultana had with Soliman, were careful not to fail in obeying her; in the mean time she went to the Emperor her father, who was then very luckily in the old Seraglio, where she was, and which is not inhabited but by the Mothers, Sisters, Daughters, and Aunts of the Grand Signior: There she besought him to grant her the life of a slave, that was an Italian, and innocent, whom the Bassa Sinan had purposed to have presented unto him, but now would put him to death only to serve for an example. After she had obtained the effect of her prayer, she rested not there, for she reported so many things of my constancy and resolution to Soliman, as it begot a desire in him to see me; so that sending a command to deliver me, I received order by a Trucheman to go unto the Grand Signior. To tell you, Madam, what this change wrought in me would be to no end, since it is easy for you to judge, that he, who so much despised life, received it not with much joy; and I dare say, that I stood in more need of constancy to resolve to live, than another would have had to resolve to die: Howbeit I went to his Highness, and whatsoever aversion I had from life, yet did I not forbear rendering him thanks for granting it to me. When first I appeared before Soliman he began to speak to me; for whereas he knew before that I was of Italy, he believed that I would understand a language, which at Constantinople they call the Franks tongue, and spoken there by every one for the commodity of commerce, and which also I understood perfectly, because it is no other than a corrupted Italian. It was not, for that this Prince, out of an extraordinary curiosity proper to those of his Nation, is not acquainted, not only with all the Oriental tongues, but with the Spanish, the French, and the Italian; howbeit in regard he doth not exercise them, he understands them only, without being able to speak them with facility: nevertheless I must for the present except the last, which in consideration of me he learned afterwards very perfectly. It was then in that language, whereof I have spoken, that he demanded of me whence I was, what was my birth and profession, and by what adventure I came into the power of the Bassa Sinan. I answered him that I was a poor Italian Gentleman, whose life had nothing remarkable enough wherewith to entertain so great a Prince; and that the only chance of War had made me a slave at Argier, where the Bassa had bought me not long after. I confess I had somewhat ado to disguise the truth, but being resolved that I would never be heard spoken of more, I did not tell what I was, fo● fear if it had been known, and that it had been discovered how I could have given a sufficient great ransom, intelligence would have been sent to Genova of my being at Constantinople. Soliman told me then, that I had something in the air of my face, that shown me greater than I had delivered myself to be, and that all the rules of physiognomy were false, or I had not spoken sincerely unto him. I received this discourse with a great deal of respect and modesty; after which he talked to me of the customs of my country, of war, of fortifications, and when he perceived by my answers that I was not absolutely ignorant, though in this occasion I was not forward to show myself very knowing, or of any great wit; there is not any good art, or excellent science, which he did not discourse with me about, for the space of two hours that I had the honour to be with him. At last, Madam, this great Prince was so satisfied of me, as he sent word to the Bassa Sinan, that having understood he meant to present me unto him with three hundred slaves, he remitted unto him not only his three hundred slaves, but assured him that he would give him also as many more for a recompense of the service he had done him, in bringing me under his obedience: And when he had ordained that care should be taken of me, he did me the grace to tell me, that I had so nearly touched his inclination, as after he had given me my life, he would have given me me my liberty too, if he could have resolved to deprive himself so soon of a person, which was agreeable to him. I must confess that this generosity came near my heart, and that I was almost ashamed to receive so extraordinary a favour with so little testimony of joy; I retired then infinitely satisfied of this Prince, and I was conducted to the quarter of the Slaves that were destined to his Highness, although I was not treated like them, having no other pain than that of wearing my irons. This revolution of fortune seemed so strange unto me, when I came to consider it, as I remained all the night in the admiration of this prodigious adventure: (What said I to my sel●) hath destiny resolved then, that I shall pass from one extremity to another? It cannot endure mediocrity in my happiness, nor in my unhappiness; and out of an obstinate rage to persecute me, when it sees that I am resolved for the greatest misfortunes, and that death passeth with me for a sovereign good, it withdraws me from that Port, which I held to be most secure, to expose me to the tempest again by apparent felicities: But it may be too (said I further sighing) that there is some justice in its cruelty; the temerity which I have had to love, and to hope to be beloved of the most admirable person that ever will be, is not yet sufficiently punished; grief, despair, exile, imprisonment, and certainty of death, are not torments proportionable enough to my crime, which being infinite, demands also an eternal chastisement: Let us suffer then (continued I) since the incomparable Isabel is not satisfied, and let us accept of the life, which is given us for a punishment, and not for a grace. It was after this manner, Madam, that I resolved to receive all that fortune prepared for me, with a design no longer to oppose my reason against her humours, and blindly, and without resistance, to obey this invisible power, which mocks all human prudence; which puts us into the Port upon the point of suffering shipwreck; which precipitates us from the top of happiness into the abysm of misery; which overturnes Thrones; which destroys Kingdoms; which causes Kings to die; and to say all in a word, which sovereignly disposes of the whole Universe. This resolution being strongly established in my mind, I found more tranquillity in myself; and though I was always infinitely sad, yet for all that it is certain, that my melancholy was more sociable; and to speak truth, it was in some sort necessary that I should find myself in this estate; for Soliman failed not to send for me the next day to talk with him; and this second conversation having satisfied him more than the first, there passed not a day after that, wherein I had not the honour to confer with him: History, War, Geography, the Mathematics, Painting, and Music were the subject of these entertainments: And whereas this Prince loves the Sciences passionately, and that the Oriental people are not at this day addicted to them, he was ravished to see that one of his Slaves was not ignorant in all these things; so that I may say with truth, that there was not a man in all his Empire, whom he esteemed more than myself. In the mean time I am to let your Excellency understand, since you will know all my fortune, that in Galatia, in the same place where was heretofore Angori, which the Ancients called Seuleucia, and which the Turks at this present name Gielas-il, by corruption of speech, there is an infinite multitude of Mahometan Religious men, called Deruistars, comprehending under that name all the divers kinds of those Solitaries, which are found amongst them; but amongst the rest there are of them, which are termed Calendars, who are of a different sect from the Deruis, and that make a more particular profession of continency and austerity: Of the number of these Calendars was one Zellebis, that is to say, a Noble man, descended from Chaz-Bectas, or Chaz-Hassen, who lived in the time of Orchan, second Emperor of the Turks, and that in his religion had been the Disciple and Sectary of one Edebal, who was the first institutor of all those Mahometan devotions, which prophesied the Empire to Ottoman, and his successors; and who in his time had been held for a man of a very holy life: So that this Calendar Zellebis, of whom I speak, a stirring and active man, relying on the reputation of his Predecessors, began to gain unto him all those of his sect, which were no small number; and under the name and pretext of liberty, he made almost all Anatolia to revolt. Soliman, being advertised thereof, failed not in sending a mighty Army thither; but the chance of War so favoured those revolters, as they defeated it in divers encounters, and also killed some Sangiaes', or Governors of Provinces, who would have opposed themselves to this sedition, which under the pretext of the sanctity of those that raised it, might at length have proved dangerous to the Turkish Empire. The news of the last defeat of the Grand-Signiors Troops was brought him a little while after I had the honour to belong unto him: And whereas the bad success of this Civil War touched him more vively, than the loss of a battle in a strange War would have done, he resolved to go in person to punish these rebels. And whereas he did not believe, that these seditious were so daring, as to oppose him, he gave not himself the time to raise one of those puissant Armies, which strikes terror into all the word, but contented himself with joining his ordinary Guard, and some other Troops, which he took out of the Garrisons, whereby he passed to those that had rallied themselves together after the last defeat. When he was ready to departed, he commanded me to follow him, though none of the rest of the Slaves besides had order to go: I will not tell you, Madam, all the particulars of this War; for whereas I recount mine own History, and not that of the Grand-Signior, I am to speak only of those things, wherein I have some interest: You shall understand then, that Zellebis, the Chief of this sedition, being fallen sick, had forsaken the Camp, and was retired into the Capital City of Anatolia, with the best Troops of his Army; whereof Soliman having been advertised, he resolved to go and besiege him; not doubting but if he could get him into his hands he should easily prevail over all the rest. This design, having been approved of, was not long before it was executed; we marched directly to this City; approaches to it are made; trenches are cast up; batteries are raised; and in a few days the avenues to it are so well closed up, as it is impossible for any body to go in or out. At length, to abridge this narration, Zellebis, being in a short time recovered, defended himself so courageously, that after he had sustained three assaults with great loss of ours, the besieged were still in case to make sallies every day, which extremely incommodated our Army. During all these passages I had divers times besought his Highness to permit me to venture my life for his service, which I could not obtain, because a Slave is not suffered to bear arms: I lived then in this sort with a great deal of vexation, to see myself in a shameful idleness at such a time, when as occasions were so often presented, wherein I might have died Nobly. As I was in this melancholy, the Grand-Signior, being much incensed to see this Town hold out so long, resolved that his Army should perish there, or carry it by force; and for that effect he caused a general assault to be given: And though there were a body of the enemy's Army in the field, he commanded nevertheless that they should not care so much for the guard of the Trenches, as for the attacking of the place; and the reason of this was, because the enemy had never appeared, nor had used endeavour, either to cast Troops into the City, or to raise the siege. In the mean time it happened, that an hour after the assault was begun, and that above twenty times there had been already lost, and regained, five or six foot of ground, which was to render Soliman Master of the Town, there was heard, notwithstanding the dreadful noise of Cannons, of arms, and of the cries of them that fought, towards the Grand-Signiors quarter a great volley of musket shot, which put much fear into our soldier's hearts. Soliman, who was present at this fight for to give direction in person, confirmed them the best that possibly he could, and after he had commanded the Bassa Sinan to continue the assault, he went to see what the matter was, followed only by two thousand Janissaries, but he was quickly cleared in it, for he had not marched fifty paces, but that he saw the rest of his soldiers come in disorder, having avoided the fury of the enemy, who was pursuing them still. Soliman no longer doubted then but that this was Zellebis his Army which attacked his Camp; and being a Prince of a great and generous spirit, he purposed to fight with them: But as he was ready to march directly to the enemy, he was much surprised to behold from the Towns side, that not only his soldiers had abandoned the assault, but that Zellebis in the head of those of Chientaya, went beating them before him in a terrible disorder. As for me, who always followed the Prince without other arms than a light chain, which I wore on one of my legs, I assuredly believed that he was lost, as indeed without almost a supernatural assistance it is certain that he could not have escaped: He was closed up in the midst of his enemies, his Army was dispersed, fear had seized upon his Troops, and if an advantageous plot of ground had not been met withal to put part of his Forces, and his Person in safety, this mischief had been without remedy. But, Madam, must I tell you how it was by my means, that this day, so unlucky in the beginning, had a glorious end? Yes, Madam, I must tell it you, and since my valour was but an effect of my despair, and that you were the cause thereof, it is just to let you understand how it was by you that I saved both the life, and the glory of great Soliman. Remember then, if you please, this verity in the process of this Narration, to the end I may not be accused of vanity in delivering things which I had not executed without you: I shall tell you then, Madam, that in this universal disorder I conserved so much judgement to observe, that on the left hand of that quarter where we were, there was a place which Nature had so well fortified, as with very little defence it was impossible to be forced; I advanced then boldly to the Grand Signior, and maugre the press I let him see what I had already noted, and caused him to perceive, that in attending the rallying of his troops he might be there not only in assurance, but in an estate to keep those of the town from joining with them that were without. This advice having satisfied him, he commanded to go and seize on that plot; but as if the enemy had been acquainted with this design he advanced to dispute it with us. There it was, Madam, that I ceased to be slave for to be a soldier, for having taken a scimitar which I found amongst the dead bodies, I got into the head of our troops, with so much resolution, & so much good fortune, as I did things there which I dare not relate: in the end, Madam, I inspired our soldiers with such valour, as reassuming courage we repulsed the enemy, & seized on the place, whereof I have already spoken to you. But when I saw Soliman in safety, I went and cast myself amidst some of our forces, which were fight still with those that were come out of the City; and perceiving that our soldiers were preparing to fly, in hope to get to the place where Soliman was, I threatened to kill them if they returned not to the fight: This so extraordinary a discourse being seconded by some effects, which seemed marvellous unto them, they resolved to follow me: Behold me then the head of this courageous Brigade, whom I conducted so fortunately, as I made them carry that in two hours, which a whole Army could not do in six weeks before. At last, Madam, being resolved to perish, or do some great matter, I so hotly pursued the enemies, that after we had killed a great number of them, made the rest to fly, and put fear into all the remainder, I drove them even into their town, where being entered alone with them, certainly I performed things, which made me plainly see, that despair is more powerfuller than valour; but whatsoever I could have done, doubtless I should have fallen there if I had not called to mind, that the breach being abandoned, I might through that place cause our forces to enter; thither I made then with extreme speed, and finding none on the Ramparts but disarmed people, who were there assembled to see the success of the business, I easily got to it, and presently discovering those which had followed me to the City-gate, I cried unto them, Victory, Victory, for to oblige them to turn head towards me: When as they knew me by my slave's habit, they were so surprised to see me still living, as no way doubting but that I was a man sent by their Prophet to secure them, they resolved to abandon me no more; and superstition mingled itself so happily amongst them to excite their valour, as I can say that I never saw soldiers more courageous: They came then unto me with incredible speed, and were no sooner mounted on the breach but I pulled down an Ensign, which the enemies had set up on the wall, to put one of Soliman's in the place of it; and having left some for the guard of the breach, I went with the rest to seize on the gates of the town, and their Magazine of Arms. The people no sooner heard long-live victorious Soliman cried in the streets, but their weapons sell out of their hands, assuredly believing that their Army was defeated, and that the Emperors was in the City: In the mean time Zellebis used all his endeavour to put heart into his soldiers again, but seeing it altogether impossible, he resolved to fly, fearing nothing so much as to fall alive into Soliman's hands. As soon as the people knew that their defender had forsaken them, we had no further resistance, except at the Gates, where some soldiers were still in the guard of them; this obstacle stayed us not long, for whereas we fought then with hope that the victory would fall to the juster side, we redoubled our efforts with so much ardour, as at last we became Masters of the place. Things being in this estate, and perceiving that I had not force enough to keep the people under, I thought fit to advertise Soliman of it, who in the mean while had rallied one part of his Army, which at length proved strong enough to withstand the Enemy, but not to repulse him, had not the happy news which I sent them redoubled their courage: Soliman caused the taking of the City then to be presently published amongst the Troops, and promised them the pillage of it if they performed their duty well. After this, Madam, they marched with a resolution, which certainly was a presage of the victory had the enemies stood to it, but having turned their eyes to the City, and seeing on the walls an Ensign with the Arms of the Empire in it, their courage began to abate, and soon after to give place unto fear; for Zellebis upon his flying away had sent them word, that they should not hazard a Battle, for that the Town was lost, so that they retired; and although that Soliman pursued them a while, their Chieftain was so cunning in his Trade, as it was impossible to engage them in the fight, or to keep them from making an honourable retreat; for Soliman beholding from an eminent place, that they were going to take a wood, where it would have been dangerous to pursue them, and seeing likewise that it was almost night, he returned to the Camp: And whereas he had already sent me troops enough, that I might no longer fear the revolt of this people, I went to assure him that I had taken such order, as he might by the breach enter into this rebellious Town. To tell you, Madam, how this Prince received me would be an impossible thing; he caressed me with so much goodness, he commended me so highly, and said so many times that he owed both his life and his honour unto me, as his praise far surpassed that which I had done: And observing that I had still a piece of the chain on, which I had brought back with me, from the fight, he commanded it instantly to be taken off. But seeing that he could not forbear speaking of me, and always ask me some particularity of this action, I besought him to think rather of conserving that which fortune had given him by my hand, than any further to commend a victory, for which he was more engaged to his own good hap, than to my valour. This Prince grew suddenly silent hereupon, whereof I could not imagine the cause; but I was not long in this uncertainty, for Soliman after he had mused a little, began to speak, and tell me, how he was much troubled that his Religion would not permit him to give any command to such a man as I was, and that it forced him to do an injustice, and to show himself ingrateful, by conferring that on another which I had acquired. I besought him then to believe, that if his Highness was satisfied, so was I, and that I aspired to no other glory than that of pleasing and serving him. He appointed the Saniac of Anatolia then to go and command in the Town; and lest the fear of chastisement should carry the Inhabitants to any revolt, he charged him to keep the soldiers all night in Arms, and he ordained the same in his Camp, the Enemies not being so far off, but that it might be feared they might make use of the advantage which the obscurity of the night gave them to come and beat up some of our Quarters. After this he made a sign for every one to withdraw; I would have obeyed like the rest, but he let me know that this Commandment extended not to me, and that he desired I should stay with him. It was then, Madam, that Soliman surmounted my insensibility, by forcing me to begin to serve him with amity, and not with a simple acknowledgement, as I had done before; and indeed to speak truth, one must have renounced all reason not to have been moved with so much generosity. He entreated me not as his Slave; he spoke not to me as to his inferior; he caressed me not as his equal, but as if I had been an hundred degrees above him, both in my birth, in my merit, and in my valour: And to testify unto me that this discourse was not a flattery wherewith he meant to recompense me, he swore to me that it would be long of me if I did not reign in his Empire as absolutely as he himself, and conjured me to furnish him with the means for it, because without me he should be constrained to be ingrateful, fortune being so much his enemy, as he could not do good to the only man he loved, if I were not willing to it also. At last, Madam, after an hundred of the most conjuring protestations that can be imagined, and after he had prayed me above an hundred times not to think ill of him for the proposition he was going to make me, he undertook to persuade me to quit my Religion for to embrace his, because, said he, without that he must be ingrateful, I must be a slave, and he must likewise be the most unhappy of men, there not being a more cruel adventure (continued he) for a generous Prince, than not to be able to recompense a gallant action, and to be constrained to leave a person in servitude whom he loves, and whom he esteems so much, as to divide his Empire with him. After that this Prince had said all that generosity and affection could make one to say in a like encounter, I besought him not to afflict himself unjustly, since I was going to give him the means to recompense me, not only for the services I had rendered him, but for all those which I should render him in time to come. Hereupon such a joy appeared in his face, as fully assured me that he had expressed the meaning of his heart; but it continued not long, when as I humbly desired him to restore me my chains, and to leave me to the liberty of my Religion; that I demanded irons of him, to testify that I would not go out of his service: & that I besought him not to ask any more of me a thing, which I would not do for the possession of the Empire of the whole world, for fear I should be enforced to displease and disobey him. What! said Soliman unto me, shall I give chains to my Deliverer? shall I retain him still to be a Slave that makes me to reign? shall I bind the hands of him that hath crowned me? and with a strange injustice shall I make him a captive that hath made me victorious? No, no, it shall not be said, that I could not recompense them, that have served me, but with a shameful servitude: The demand, which thou hast made me, is worthy of thy generosity, but this recompense would be unworthy of Soliman. He had questionless proceeded further, had he not observed my countenance to change, and fearing that he had displeased me, he began to ask me pardon, when as I perceived that I was wounded in the left arm by the blood that trickled out of the sleeve of my habit, so that doubting that I would fall into a swoon he called in company; and notwithstanding any thing I could say he would needs see my wound searched, which was not found dangerous, but which might have been so, had the dressing of it been any longer retarded. It is a strange thing that I did not perceive it, and if the proposition which Soliman made unto me, had not moved me so violently, as to make my wound burst out a bleeding, I believe that I had gone away without heeding it. Soliman caused me to be carried into a Tent, with so great a care, as one would have said, that on the conservation of my life depended that of his. I began then to be no longer regarded as a Slave, but as the favourite of the Emperor; every one observed and caressed me, and even he that had bought me, that had laid me in irons, and had condemned me to die, was one of the most careful of my health. In the mean time Soliman entered the next day into the Town with all the ceremonies of a Prince, that is Vanquisher of his rebellious subjects: The principal inhabitants were brought before him bound in chains, and prostrated with their faces on the ground; he informed himself presently of the quality of their crime; he distinguished those, that had revolted out of malice, from those that had been engaged in it out of weakness, and by a goodness quite contrary to the maxims of Tyrants, the lives of five or six of the most culpable satisfied for the offence of all the rest; and he shown an example of clemency; where others would have showed one of cruelty under the name of justice. But whereas he had promised the pillage of the Town to the soldiers, he would not give them cause to complain in a time when as the enemy was still in the field; neither would he also let them charge themselves with booty, knowing well that the enriching of an Army is the destroying of it; so that to content them, he caused them to be told, that he was ready to keep his promise with them, but judging it not fit, Zellebis having escaped from his revenge, that they should load themselves with unprofitable lumber, since they could neither carry it away, nor sell it, being constrained to follow the enemy; he offered to give each of them three months' pay, and promised them besides not to return to Constantinople without recompensing their courage. The soldiers accepted of this proposition, and that they might not have leisure to repent them, Soliman made them march away three days after, having left a strong Garrison in the Town to hinder any new rebellion. He had the goodness to desire to know almost every hour in what estate I was, so that having been assured my wound would not keep me from following him, he testified a great deal of joy for it. We marched then directly to the enemy, having discovered by our scouts where he was: But whereas Zellebis, who had joined himself to his Troops, would not hazard a battle lightly, he always avoided with dexterity every place, where he might be enforced to fight; and as he was cunning and malicious, so he invented a trick that succeeded happily with him. He saw well, that the Grand Signiors presence was the soul of his Army; that his very sight inspired valour into his soldiers; and that it would be hard to vanquish them, as long as he should be a witness of their courage; that he alone could heap wealth and honour on them: He sent then with all speed some of his faction to Constantinople, to sow a rumour there that Soliman was dead; that his Troops were defeated; & that he was declared Emperor; making no question, out of the knowledge he had of the Janissaries turbulent humour, which always remained for the guard of the Seraglio, but that they would make some disorder, that might recall Soliman to Constantinople; as indeed this sad and false news was no sooner published there, but it presently begot a terrible confusion. The Grand Visier did all that he could, to learn from whence this rumour was come, to appease the Janissaries, assuring them that he had no notice at all of what they were made to believe; but that, which he thought to retain them by, did but incense them the more, and confirm them in their opinion. For (said they) if Soliliman were not dead, the report of his victories would reach even hither; in conclusion, the whole Seraglio, and all the people were in tears, and all the Janissaries in arms: But when the Grand Visier, seconded by some of the people, and by some of the Janissaries, would have opposed them, they turned all their fury, according to their custom, against the Jews and the Christians, they plundered all their houses, they demolished their Chappells, they set some of them on fire, and in this confusion making no distinction betwixt a Turk and a Christian, little lacked but that they had pillaged all Constantinople, yea they almost durst enterprise to force the Seraglio. But in the midst of this disorder the Grand Visier received a Letter from Soliman, which advertised him of the happy success of his Arms, to the end he should advertise his Subjects therewith, so that being assured of the verity of the matter, he went into the streets, crying aloud, that Soliman lived, that Soliman was victorious, and that Soliman would be suddenly at Constantinople. He pronounced these words with so much joy, as they made some impression in the minds of the Janissaries; and having showed the Grand Signiors Letter to some of them, this truth was no longer doubted of any body. The most seditious and the most insolent were the most amazed; the name of Soliman restored to them that respect which avarice and violence had banished from them; they threw down their arms, and craved pardon; howbeit there were some of them, who fearing to render that which they had taken away, made strange Propositions: But the Grand Visier being wise and prudent, thought it would be better to make them hope for Grace, than to make them stand in dread of chastisement, for fear lest putting them in despair they should be carried again to some new violence. He promised them then to speak to the Grand Signior for them, and to assure him that the news of his death had so afflicted them, as not able to be revenged on those who they believed had caused it, they would at least be revenged on the enemies of his Religion: This discourse began to calm their spirits, and whereas this multitude seems always in such like encounters to have but one soul, which makes them operate, though they be composed of persons of different thoughts, they suffered themselves at length to be persuaded that their crime should not only be unpunished, but also be recompensed, as a mark of their zeal and affection. In the mean time the Grand Visier dispatched away with speed to Soliman to advertise him of this disorder, and to beseech his Highness if his affairs would permit it, to return unto Constantinople, for fear some new sedition should arise there; how it was unlikely, that the Christians, Jews, and such Turks as had been plundered, should not complain of the outrage had been done them, and that these complaints should not be pursued with a new mischief: He informed him also, that the affairs of Hungary went not very well, and that his presence was necessary for the good of things. Soliman received this unpleasing news with a great deal of grief, being sorry to leave the victory over Zellebis to another, howbeit he judged his return to be of too great importance to be deferred; so that after he had given the command of the Army to the Bassa Sinan, and instructed him with the order that he would have him to hold, we departed for Constantinople with as little company as possibly we could, to the end the Army might not be weakened, I say we departed, Madam, for since that fortunate day wherein my despair was so advantageous for me, I was inseparable from Soliman; I had a part in all his secrets, he told me all his thoughts, and my advices, and my counsels made up most of his resolutions. His return to Constantinople produced many effects there, he gave joy to the innocent, fear to the guilty, and hope to the Jews and Christians; and truly all these apprehensions were not ill grounded, for he rewarded those that had been faithful unto him; he severely punished the seditious; he caused all that had been taken from the Jews and Christians to be restored to them; he made their Chappells and their Houses to be re-edified; and for their goods which they had been rob of, and could not be found, he paid them with his own money. After this, Madam, tranquillity was more solidly established in Constantinople, than it was before; yet did not the Emperor judge it fit to return into Anatolia by reason the affairs of Hungary would not suffer him to be so far absented from it. During this interval I had the honour to talk every day with Soliman, and to receive so many marks of his amity, as I could no longer refuse him mine; but whatsoever good will he bore me (if I may be permitted to speak so) he could not forbear persuading me to be of his Religion, whereunto I so strongly opposed myself, in letting him see the ridiculous errors which it teacheth, as not able to make him angry with me, I forced him many times to laugh at them. In the mean time it happened, that one morning he sent an extraordinary express for me, and just as I entered into his chamber, a Bassa, named Rustan, who hath married a daughter of Soliman's, and is a cunning and dextrous man, entered in also with me: When I was come in, Soliman told me, that he had bought a picture of a Merchant, that was come from Tauris, which he would show me, for to know whether he had not been cozened, and whether it were true that he had skill in painting: He gave me then a case covered with Diamonds, which I opened with so great a transport, as if Soliman had had a quiet spirit he had perceived it; for, Madam, if one may say, without blasphemy, that there is any thing in the world which doth resemble you, it is certainly this portrait; and whereas the picture which you gave me was taken from me, I believed at first that it was it, and that to present it to the Grand Signior it had been put into a richer case; and that which served to deceive me too was, that as you had drawn yourself like an Amazon, so was this also: But at length, after that this first trouble of mine imagination was appeased, I distinctly perceived that the eyes of the incomparable Isabel had a fire which did not appear in those of this picture, and that this resemblance was very imperfect. It is certain nevertheless, that the whole Orient hath never seen so fair a person; also when Soliman demanded of me, what I thought of it, I was constrained to tell him, how I did not believe that Greece had ever produced any thing so marvellous. Thou wilt not be astonished then, said he unto me, that Soliman is charmed with it, and that he is resolved curiously to inform himself whether the Original be as perfect as the Picture; for if the Painter hath not flattered this maid, continued he, I am the most amorous of men, and I cannot live without possessing her. I confess that this discourse surprised me, for though it might have been said in a gallantry, yet I certainly knew by the manner of Soliman's speaking that he had his heart touched. He would have me accord with him, that the Physiogminy of this person was spiritual; that it had a certain air of Roxelana the Sultana Queen, whom he had so much loved, and for whom he had still so much respect: I know well, said Soliman unto me, how it is incomprehensible, that he which hath the fairest women of the world in his power, should become enamoured, it may be of the imagination of a Painter, and that a mixture of colours, which cannot make but a dumb image, should force me to forget all the most perfect and the most charming that I have seen, yea, and Roxelana too, whom I love more than my life. I know well enough besides, continued he, that this person may be fair, and not be very amiable; that she may have defects in her mind and in her humour, which her picture doth not show me; that this sweetness which is in her eyes, is not peradventure in her heart; that this majesty which appears in her face, doth cover it may be a wicked and base soul; and to say all, that she is quite contrary to that I believe her to be: But in the end I am compelled to this inclination by a superior power, which will not permit me to withstand myself: It is not because I know not well enough what is reason, but it is because in this encounter I cannot follow it: He prayed me that I would counsel him, so as it were according to his desire. I known well by this discourse that this passion was too violent to be opposed, so as I only said to him, that the f rst thing which his Highness ought to do was to inform himself where the Merchant had met with this fair object of his love, to the end he might be assured the Painter had dealt faithfully. He told me then, how that man had already acquainted him that this person was named Felixana; that she was the daughter of the Governor of Mazanderon; that she lived with Axiamira, eldest daughter to Tachmas, Sophy of Persia, who it was thought was in love with her, but the report was, that Felixana, by reason of some secret inclination, or for some reason that was not known, did not receive the affection of that Prince favourably; wherefore this being so, he resolved to send Rustan in disguise for to see her, to offer her all the magnificences of the Seraglio; or if she would not receive them willingly, to bring her away by force, which would not be hard to do, because he had learned by another, that the Princess Axiamira, with whom she lived, went almost every year to Mazanderon, which is situated on the bank of the Caspian Sea. I saw very well after this discourse, that being generous I was not to disguise my opinion in so important an occasion; I took then the liberty to say unto Soliman in the gentlest terms I could choose, that to use this violence was in some sort to violate the Law of Nations, and to be wanting to exact justice; and that if Tachmas was never so little sensible of it, the fire of his love might be likely to kindle that of war; and that peradventure his Highness might one day repent that a picture had caused the shedding of his Subjects blood. Rustan, who saw that by destroying the Emperor's design I would take away his employment from him, assured the Grand Signior, that he would put Felixana into his hands without the Sophy of Persiaes' ever discovering what was become of her; that he knew almost an undoubted mean to execute that which he had said, provided he would give him a Vessel well furnished with all things necessary; that he would cause all his soldiers to be attired like Slaves, to the end they might be the less mistrusted; that as for him, he would also attire himself like a Merchant, and lad his Vessel with all that was most rare at Constantinople of the commodities of Europe, and most proper to touch the inclination of women; that after this he besought his Highness not to command him to say more, and to be contented with the Oath that he made him to return him his head at his feet, if he did not bring Felixana. This promise did so soothe the passion of the Emperor, as not able to keep himself from following it, he had the goodness to ask my pardon if he did not submit his sense to mine, telling me how I had at least this advantage, that he confessed I had reason, and that he would remember how his glory was dear unto me, since I had been so generous, as not to fear to offend him in opposing myself to the injustice of his design; that in the mean time we should deal in such sort as Roxelana might have no notice of it. In the end, Madam, Rustan had the equipage he required for this goodly conquest, and I had more civilities than I deserved. Howbeit Soliman was constrained a little after the departure of Rustan to interrupt his amorous thoughts, for to think of the affairs of Anatolia, which since his return to Constantinopie were very much changed; for as soon as Zellebis had been advertised by his Spies, that the Emperor was departed, he took as much care to join with his enemy, as he had used before to avoid him: And whereas Sinan had order to give battle, when occasion should serve for it, the two Armies were not long before they encountered together. If one should always judge of the event of the fight by the number of the Soldiers, it is certain that the Bassa would have vanquished Zellebis, who had a great many fewer than he, but he was so unfortunate, and according to some, of so little understanding, that he let the enemy's Army take all the advantages of the field, whether it were for the situation, or the wind, which drove all the dust and the smoke in the faces of ours, whereby they were extremely incommodated. It happened also t●at when the Battle began, the Sun was covered with clouds, so that the Bassa Sinan not having observed on which side it was, or not having fore-seen that it might break forth, he placed his soldiers with their eyes just against it, who soon after perceived that this light which blinded them, kept them oftentimes from being able either to strike their enemies, or to avoid their blows. At last, Madam, the Sun cleared the defeat of the Bassa, and the triumph of Zellebis, and the Emperor's Army was so routed, as in above eight days after a thousand soldiers were not found together. This news very much afflicted Soliman, and whereas I was the only confident of his pleasure, and of his grief, I received order to come unto him; but I was scarcely entered into his Cabinet, when as he fell to ask of me, whether I would have him dishonoured? Whether I had resolved to let that be lost which I had gotten? Whether I had taken the Capital Town of Anatolia to serve for a retreat to a coward, which had blemished the glory of his Arms? For at length, said he unto me, the Bassa Sinan is retired thither, after he hath lost a battle, and after he hath let mine enemy take the Arms of the Empire: Now judge, Ibrahim, continued he, what I am to attend from thee; thy valour hath once already established my glory, it is again by thee that I must hold it; from thy hand it is that I will have the head of Zellebis, and from thy arm that I look for victory: Oppose thyself no longer then against my will; nor can I ever resolve that thou shouldst quit me; I love thee too well, or to say better, I love myself too well to give thee liberty to go out of my State. Resolve then for that which I have so often demanded of thee, and which I dare not almost express more clearly unto thee, for fear of grieving thee; at length Ibrahim, take a Turban and a Scimitar, and after that, I make thee the chief of my Empire, mine enemies are subdued, and Soliman is contented. It is certain, that the manner wherewith this discourse was pronounced somewhat moved my mind, but it is true nevertheless that it never shaked my soul; I besought the Emperor not to hearken so much to the affection he bore me, but that he would also hearken unto reason; that the first blinded his judgement, in persuading him that I was capable of great things; but the second shown him clearly, that he demanded of me a thing, not only unjust, but impossible to an heart as mine was: For, my Lord, said I unto him, our thoughts depend not upon our wills; that which we call faith amongst us, is a grace that comes from above, and is not acquired by natural knowledge; it is a thing then which can not be forced; it is a present from Heaven which is to be conserved with the peril of ones life, and which is not under the dominion of Kings: Let thy Highness pardon me then if I refuse thee a thing which I would not do for the possession of the whole Universe, no nor at the sight of a death, the most terrible and most dreadful that can be. If I should refuse thee, continued I, either my blood or my life, which are the only things whereof I can dispose, I should think myself guilty of the blackest ingratitude that ever was; but being far from so base a thought, I most humbly beseech thee permit me to go and affront the Army of the enemy, to try, the first of all, his fury and his rage, and if it be possible to grapple with Zellebis, and sacrifice his life to thy vengeance, or mine to thy service. Thy Highness hath but too well made known unto me, how thou remember'st that when I was loaden with chains I had the good fortune to vanquish thine enemies; do thou judge then by what I have done, of that which I will do in this occasion, whenas so many testimonies of affection render me indebted to thy Greatness, and that being no longer fettered with irons, I may make use of all my address, and of all my force: Let a Scymitar then, my Lord, be only given me, and let me be placed in the foremost rank of thine Army; and to oblige thy Highness from requiring that only thing of me which I can refuse thee, do but consider seriously, and consult with thy most secret thoughts, and then demand of thyself, if the good hap of Christendom had been such, as that thou wert powerfully persuaded of the truth of our Religion, whether thou wouldst be capable of changing it for the conquest of all the world: But it is too much importuning thy Highness to ask a just thing of thee with so many reasons; and it is, as it were, to commit a crime to make any doubt of obtaining it. Soliman heard me with a great deal of unquietness, and when I had done speaking he was a pretty while without answering me: And although the thoughts of men are hard to be known, yet I well observed, that choler, reason, and amity reigned successively in his heart; but at length, after he had disputed with himself, he said unto me with somewhat a more quiet countenance, That not being able to change his mind, nor being able likewise to rid himself of the affection he bore me, he had found out an expedient which I could not refuse him, unless I were resolved to incur his hatred; and which he would grant me, if the Muphti, who is the head of their Religion, thought he might do it without offending the Prophet. He propounded then unto me, only to take the habit of the Turks, to the end that being believed to be so, he might confer Charges upon me, and keep me about him: And to persuade the people that I had changed my Religion, he would so order it, that the Muphti should assure all the world, that he had performed the ceremony of it in private in the Mosque of the Seraglio; that he was confident this man loved his head too well to reveal a secret of so great importance; that in the mean time I might live a Christian under the habit of a Mussulman, and render him the happiest Prince of the Earth. I confess, that I had more ado to answer to this last proposition, than to the other; howbeit I requested him to remember, that dissimulation was not to go so far as to the Altars; that love and war did many times permit such things, but that Religion required much sincerity; and that in the same which I professed, there was an express Commandment to publish it openly. I would have proceeded, but choler so surmounted the Sultan, as I was constrained to hold my peace, for fear of incensing him further. I well enough perceived, that amity had still a place in his soul, maugre his fury; I saw tears of spite and kindness in his eyes, and how violent soever his discourse was he always intermingled things amongst it, which made me easily discern, that he had an affection for me which could never be destroyed. He said unto me then with a precipitated voice, that I should make no further reply unto him; that all the grace he could do me was to permit me to go and consult with the Patriarch of Constantinople, and the Religious men of Pera, about an occasion wherein they had as much interest as I; for it may be, said he unto me, after I have favoured them so much in consideration of thee, I may very well destroy them for the same cause, and on them revenge myself of thy insensibility, and of the anger I am in for that I cannot leave loving thee, to the end thou mightst punish thyself: But go, continued he, and let me hear thy last resolution within two days: for otherwise I shall be able to take one which may make thee repent, that thou hast so ill acknowledged the affection that I still bear thee, mangre thy obdurateness. When he had given over speaking, I withdrew with a profound respect, and considering with myself what I had to do, it seemed just unto me not to rely upon mine own proper sense in a matter of so great importance. Those menaces of Soliman would not have shaken me, had they been addressed to no●e save myself, but the fear of involving so great a number of innocents' in a mischief, which ought not to have regarded any but me, made me resolve to have recourse unto the reason of others, mine not being free enough, nor sufficiently disinteressed to operate justly in this encounter. The aversion which I had for life, being absent from you, helped to persuade me too, that my Religion permitted not that which was desired of me. I assembled then the Patriarch of the Greek Church, and his principal Calviers, for the Latin is not yet established in Constantinople; and whereas I had seen them oftentimes after I was there, I propounded the matter unto them, with all the circumstances which I believed was necessary to tell them, to the end they might the better understand the importance of the affair: I let them know the extreme affection which Soliman bore me; the menaces he used against them in consideration of me; the promises I had received from him if I did that which he desired; at last I exposed the matter sincerely unto them just as it had past, and without disguising my sense I gave them to understand, that provided they might be in safety, I should be glad they would find that I could not satisfy Soliman but with the loss of my life. They began a dispute then, which lasted a good while; they would not trust to their memories, but would look over their books, and not judge tumultuously of the affair. The opinions were divided for an hour and more, and either side seemed to have very strong reasons to maintain their party; but in the end the Patriarch told them, that as amongst us we daily see religious men sent forth in the habit of Merchants, or Cavaliers, for the converting of souls, so the same disguisement might be permitted to one, provided it were for the same cause, and that the sole interest of Christendom carried me to this deceit, which certainly would bring me to happiness in heaven, and to glory on earth, if I could resolve to execute it generously; that the power which I had over the spirit of Soliman, might peradventure be so great, as to make him doubt of his Religion; that it may be his conversion might be reserved for me; and that if this should happen, it would render the greatest service to Christendom that ever was rendered unto it; that thereon peradventure depended the safety of an hundred thousand persons; and that in conclusion his advice was, that I could not fail in this occasion. This opinion being become general amongst them, they conjured me to submit my sense to theirs, in satisfying Soliman, and that they would engage their consciences to me, that mine should be discharged of all fault in this encounter, so as I let not myself be blinded with greatness, and that the protection of Christendom were the only motive that carried me to this disguisement. I did what I could to oblige them to change their advice; I made an hundred objections, and an hundred demands to them; I told them, that although I should not bear arms against Christendom, as I was fully resolved not to do, yet I should not always forbear hurting it, if I served in other occasions, because I should still be augmenting the Turkish Empire. But they told me, so as I carried the war to the Persians, it would amuse Soliman unprofitably for himself, and profitably for the Christians; for that the conquests which the Turks made upon the Persians, could never, through a kind of extraordinary fate, be conserved by them; that in this sort occupying Soliman in that war, it would deprive him of the means of turning his Arms against Christendom; that of two evils the least was always to be chosen; and finally, that I should in my person answer for the miseries which should arrive unto them, if I did not yield a blind obedience to what they ordained, whenas I sufficiently knew that reason would have it to be so. I was forced then to follow their directions, and to go unto Soliman, after I had been instructed by them concerning all that I was to do. As for that Prince, when he had propounded the matter to the Muphti in such terms as testified that he desired it, he that made no other use of the Religion whereof he was the Head, but his own profit, failed not to tell the Sultan, out of the hope of a recompense, that the thing was not only permitted, but was also meritorious, seeing it conduced to the service of the Empire, which the Prophet had established. As soon as the Sultan saw me, he came to me, and beholding me with a fixed eye, he sought to know the thoughts of my heart by the motions of my face; but not giving him leave to speak to me, I assured him that I came to obey him, provided that his Highness would accord me three things which I desired of him. I had no sooner said thus, but that without knowing what I would have, this Prince assured me that they were granted unto me; I besought him then to hear me first, to the end that precipitating nothing I might never give him occasion to complain of me. After he had given me the liberty to say what I would to him, I humbly requested him not to take it ill, that being his Slave I should be so bold as to capitulate with him, and give bounds to his Authority; for, my Lord, said I unto him I do not consent unto this disguisement, which thy Highness desires of me, but upon condition that thou shalt never speak to me to put that in effect, which I am going to do in show; that thou wilt permit me to have always about me in the habit of a Slave, a Priest of my Religion, whom I will procure to come from one of th● Lands of the Archi-pelago; and that which is the most important, that thou shalt never command me to bear Arms against Christendom: If any of thy Subjects, said I to him further, shall rebel, as Zellebis; if thou wilt conquer Persia; if any other of thy Neighbours that is not Christian, shall oblige thee to make war upon him, or if thou wilt render thyself Master of all the rest of the Orient, hold me for the basest of thy Slaves if I spare either my blood, or my life, for the glory of thy Arms. If thy goodness doth not refuse me this which I beg of thee on my knees, dispose of me as thou pleasest, I am resolved to follow thy directions exactly, and to obey thee in all things. Soliman was so contented with the obtaining of that which he desired, as he swore unto me above an hundred times, that the th●ee things which I had demanded, should be inviolably observed. But not to lose time, said he unto me, I will have thy change published presently, to the end the people may not be surprised with it; in the mean space I will go and give order for the Muphti to come to me, and will command him to repair to thee eight days one after another, to make the world think that he instructs thee, and prepares thee for this Ceremony, which shall oblige thee to keep thy chamber the whilst, the better to make it be believed that it will be performed. At length, Madam, not to prolong this discourse with vain repetitions, the business was done as it had been propounded, and this dumb show was so well carried, as no body believed it but to be so. As long as I kept the house I was visited by the chiefest of the Empire, who judged rightly, that the affection of Soliman having no other obstacle to hinder him from employing me, would without doubt bring me into an estate able to serve them, as indeed it was not long before I perceived that their conjectures were true; for the second day after this imposture, I found, that I had an house, a magnificent train, rich clothes, and to conclude an equipage proportionable to the employment which Soliman gave me, by making me General of the Army in the place of the Bassa Sinan: And to testify his amity the better unto me, he gave me wherewith to render secretly to the Patriarch of Constantinople, and the rest that had counselled me, the Tribute which he had drawn from them the last three years, and caused also the foundation of a Palace to be laid, which afterwards I finished. In the mean time he had taken care, that I should have troops ready to march, when I had satisfied the civilities of the Ceremony, so that at such time as I went first to salute him in a Turkish habit, I found that that, which I believed should have been one of my ordinary visits, was a farewell for me to go and command the Army of Anatolia. I will not tell you, Madam, the joy which this Prince showed in this occasion, it was so great, as my tongue hath not an expression powerful enough to paint it forth unto you; but in the end to let you see in what estate I was with him, I have but to tell you, that after he had fully instructed me about the affairs of Anatolia, and that he had commanded me to take upon me the Conduct of his Army, he told me, that to do me justice, and to punish the Bassa Sinan both for the cruelty he had before times used towards me, and for the cowardice he had showed, his pleasure was, that yielding me his place, he should withal take that in my service which I had held in his, namely, Madam, that he should be my slave as I had been his. I must confess here, that without playing the generoso this proposition grieved me very much, and notwithstanding all the respect I had to Soliman, as soon as he acquainted me with his intention I cast myself at his feet, humbly to beseech him not to command me the doing of so extraordinary a thing, nor to require, that a man who had been my Master, should be reduced to misery and infamy; that for my part, I could never resolve to put him in chains that had commanded me, and who, it may be, was more infortunate than faulty: I represented then unto him that the fate of war doth oftentimes mock at humane prudence; that force and number do not always suffice to have the better; and lastly, that victory doth not always attend upon valour and justice. After all these reasons, which peradventure had not been potent enough to move him, I begged the liberty and fortune of this man for a recompense of all the services which I would render him, and besought him to be contented with absenting him from the Port, by sending him to be Governor of some one of his Provinces. Soliman resisted my request at first, but afterwards consented thereunto, upon condition that the Bassa should know how much he was obliged unto me; then he gave me a Letter for him, whereby he was commanded to remit the remainder of his Army into my hands, and straightly embracing me, Go, said he unto me, my dear Ibrahim, whither thy glory calls thee, where mine requires thee, and where victory attends thee: But when thou shalt be accumulated with honour, when thou shalt have reestablished that of my Arms, and triumphed over mine enemies, come and receive the recompense that I shall prepare for thee, and quietly enjoy the fruit of thy labours. Justiniano having observed some change in Isabellaes' face, thought it was fit for him to say, I perceive, Madam, that this name of Ibrahim doth surprise and astonish you, but your astonishment will cease, when I shall have told you, that in changing of habit I did not change my name, and that this which I bear is the same with that of Ibrahim amongst the Turks. It is true, answered the Princess, that I was strangely surprised by this name, but it is true also, that my astonishment is not yet finished; for could it be possible that you should be that Ibrahim of whom the relations of the Levant hath told us such wonders? whose valour hath done such miracles, who hath conquered a part of Persia, gained so many great battles, caused Soliman to be crowned at Bagdet, and who passeth for so extraordinary a man, as it is not believed the Orient hath ever had the like? Now, I pray you, hold me no longer in suspense, but after you have cleared that unto me which I ask of you, pursue the sequel of your History, and acquaint me exactly with all that hath befallen you. I know very well, Madam, replied Justiniano, that after that which you have said, I should, if I were modest, disavow myself, but being true and sincere I must confess, that I am that Ibrahim whom fame hath so much flattered, as I cannot tell how to know myself by the portrait which your Excellency hath made of me by her report: Rely not then upon that which this deceiver hath told you, and to make you the judge thereof do but give ear to the process of my adventures. As soon as I was arrived at Anatolia with the Troops which the Grand Signior had given me to conduct thither, I went directly to Chientaia, from whence the Bassa Sinan had not stirred since his retiring to it, having done no●●ing else but encamped the remainder of his Army near to the Town, in attending either Forces, or a new Order; I sent him that which I had brought, by a C●pigi, which he executed very punctually; he consigned the Army into my hands, and gave me thanks for the obligations wherein he stood engaged unto me; for he had understood by the Sultan's Letter, that I had saved him from an extreme ill fortune. I comforted him the best I could, and promised him, that if the Emperor continued his favour to me, I would continue also to serve him. After this I employed all my care to carry myself in such sort, that the hopes which Soliman had of me might not be frustrated. I caused my Army to be mustered, and having put it into Battle Array, I went from rank to rank to visit all the Troops, and encouraging them to do well, (for I had learned the language of the Country perfectly) I assured them, that in leading them to the fight, I would be the first that would be engaged therein; that I would perform the part of the soldier, as well as of the General of the Army; that I would reserve myself nothing of all the booty which should be gotten from the enemy, but the sole pleasure of having enriched them. After this discourse, they made shouts of joy, which persuaded me that I was agreeable to them. Then came all the Commanders to take the Oath of Obedience to me, and to assure me that they would follow me to the death: That done, I marched directly to the enemy, who was not above fifteen or twenty miles from us; but whereas he had been advertised that the Slave which had taken Chientaia, was General of the Army that was coming to attaque him, the remembrance of what had passed made him to fear that which was to ensue, and for that reason he discamped in haste, with a purpose to retire to a side of Anatolia, wher● it had been impossible to have forced him to fight. When I perceived his design by the way his Army took, I resolved to prevent him, by causing my forces to march a whole night with all possible speed: The matter succeeded so happily, that my Army having had leisure to rest three or four hours, began to see that of Zellebis appear, who being soon advertised of this warlike stratagem, entered into such despair for having been surprised in this sort, as he resolved to accept of the Battle which I presented unto him. I was glad to understand his design, and to inspire my Soldiers with the same thought, I assured them, after I had given order for all things, that the justice of the cause we defended was a presage of the victory; that it was easier to punish Rebels, who carried a domestic enemy in their hearts, which reproached them with their crime, than to vanquish men whose Arms were lawful; that they whom we were to fight with, being resolved for it more by fear and necessity, than by valour, it would be but too easy for our glory to remain victorious: I represented also unto them, that the travail they had endured in going so fast, was not disadvantageous unto them, it being most certain, that they which fly are wearied more than they which pursue them; that the end of the War depending on this battle, I was resolved to vanquish or to die; and that all the favour I demanded of them was, to follow the way which I was going to show them. I had no sooner done speaking, but they testified unto me, both by their shouts and by their actions, their desire to fight; so that not suffering so noble a heat to cool, I marched on foremost to the Enemy. I will not stand, Madam, to particularise this battle, since it would be to abuse your patience, and be wanting in good manners, to entertain you so long with matters of war; it shall suffice then to tell you that which regards me directly, seeing you will have it so, although it be not without blushing. Wherefore I shall only say, Madam, that at first the enemies received us courageously, and that they repulsed us several times with such ardour, as despair did more in them than valour in us; but after that the victory had hung balancing on either side, and that the hope of carrying it had possessed each party more than once, it was my good fortune, maugre the confusion of the fight, to know Zellebis by the marks which had been given me of him. He was of a reasonable extraordinary bigness, and his custom was to carry always two Scymitars in the wars, the one in his hand, and the other at his saddlebow; he was also many times armed after the Persian manner, so as no way doubting but that it was he, I broke through the press to meet him, and calling him by his name, I told him, that the same Slave, who before had vanquished him in his chains, was come to make him satisfaction for that outrage in Arms; I spoke to him in this sort, because I had understood that in a speech to his soldiers, after he had heard that I was General of the Army, he had told them in a jeering way, that I was still so tired with wearing of irons, as it would be easy for him to overcome me: Howbeit fortune disposed of it otherwise, not because he was not a more valiant man than I, but because I was more fortunate than he. As soon as he understood that which I have told you, he seconded my design; and that we might the better enter into a particular fight we freed ourselves, as well as we could, from those that environed us, and being separated from the rest, we began our combat. I doubt not, Madam, but you will be astonished with that which I am going to acquaint you with, since it is certain, that one will have much ado not to be surprised with a thing which hath no example in all Antiquity, and which your imagination would not foresee. It happened then, Madam, that some of ours having observed this action, and having told it to their companions, this rumour spread itself so suddenly amongst the two Armies, that as if those two great bodies had had but one spirit, which had animated them, they took both of them the same resolution, and confided so in the valour of their Chieftains, as they determined to be spectators of the victory, which they attended from them. They of my party said, that they would not share the glory of this day with me, and that I would carry it away well enough without their succour; and others muttered, that he who had known so well how to begin the war, knew also how to finish it gloriously. At length, Madam, the most earnest to fight, separated themselves to behold us; and as if there had been some enchantment in this adventure, every one retired to his own Ensign, and in an instant the field of our combat proved to be in the midst of two Armies in Battle Array. This event surprised me in such sort, as it had like to have cost me my life; for whereas, maugre the heat of the fight, I had conserved so much coldness and judgement, as to mark what was done, and to be astonished at it, going to turn about my head towards my soldiers to give them assurance that I fought for them, I furnished mine enemy with such an opportunity, as being loath to lose that advantage, he struck me so great a blow with his Scymitar upon my Turban, as I was almost bereft of my senses, and if by good hap it had not turned in his hand, I had certainly been lost: Hereupon arose cries from both parties, which amidst their confusion testified their thoughts unto us; and whereas mine had observed, that I had received this blow by looking at them, they would have advanced, which I perceiving by the enemy's countenance, I separated myself some dozen or fourteen paces from Zellebis to charge them not to stir, and to confirm them in that design I returned to Zellebis with such courage, as they were persuaded it would not be easy for him to surmount me. Howbeit we disputed this victory a long time, and verily this man combated with such heart, as gave me a great desire to save him; so that his horse having thrown him to the ground upon a blow that I unwittingly gave him, I told him that if he would render himself I would promise to get his pardon of Soliman; but being got up again with fury, and having answered me, that he would have the victory, or die, I would not combat him with advantage, so that being alighted from my horse we began a new fight, which was more infortunate for him than the former: For feeling myself hurt in the left arm, the desire which I had to vanquish redoubled in such manner, as in a little time his death put fear in●o his Army, and joy into mine. Some of his seeing him fall would have advanced to revenge his loss, or to recover his body, but they were so rudly repulsed, as they were constrained to change that design into that of breaking and flying: I than commanded my men to cry out in pursuing them, that they should be received to grace which would render themselves; this voice failed not to work its effect, for out of the despair wherein they were, for having lost not only the General of their Army, but the Author of all this war, many of them fling down their Arms; the rest were cut in pieces, some excepted that retired into the revolted Towns; but I can say, that they which escaped the pursuit of our Forces contributed not the least to our glory, for they brought so great a terror to the places which they had chosen for their retreat, as in fifteen days they rendered all to the obedience of the Grand Signior. In the mean time to make good my word, and to follow the custom of those Countries, I sent the head of Zellebis to Soliman, who doubtless was not so glad at the death of his enemy for the interest he had in it, as he was because he believed that this action was glorious to me: And whereas he had an extreme desire to see me, I had order to return unto Constantinople as soon as Anatolia should be peaceable, and that I had secured all the revolted places. I was not long before I was in an estate to obey him, for whereas Zellebis was the only man that remained of the Race of Chaz-hassen, so considerable with the Calendars, and the Deruis, there was no one found amongst them whom the rest would obey; the equality of their birth and condition was the cause that never a one in particular would endure that another should command, and this dissension put them into such disorder, as they were more revolted amongst themselves, than against their Sovereign. I profited by the advertisement I received hereof, for Soliman having sent me an absolute power to pardon, or to punish, I commanded them to yield, promising to make their peace with the Grand Signior, but threatening that if they did not accept of the pardon which I offered them, to extirpate them utterly, and to cause all the Deruis, and all the Calendars to be banished from out of the whole extent of the Turkish Empire. This was done in a conjuncture so favourable, that they all with one voice resolved to render themselves; there was not a Town which did not open their Gates, receive a Governor from my hand, and a Garrison strong enough to keep them from rebelling another time; and for more surety, I caused all the Deruis and Calendars to be disarmed, representing unto them, that the profession of men of Religion did not permit them to have Arms; and that their crime could not receive a lighter punishment, than to be contented that the means of their future offending should be taken from them. At length, Madam, after I had set an order to all things, I returned to Constantinople, where for a recompense of that little I had done, Soliman made me Bassa, and Grand Visier, which is the prime Charge of that Empire; for it had so fallen out, that he who possessed it died in my absence. I did all that I could to refuse this honour, but in the end I was constrained to accept of it, both by the Commandment of the Grand Signior, and by the counsel of the Religious men of Pera, and of the Patriarch of the Greek Church, whom I still acquainted with all that befell me, by a Priest disguised like a slave, which always attended on me, alleging this reason to me for it, that the more power I had, the more utile I should be for Christendom. Behold me then the first ●erson of the Empire next to Soliman, but with an Authority so absolute, as never was there Subject seen so independent from his Sovereign. I was some time instructing myself in the Forms and Ceremonies that are to be observed in dispatches; after which Soliman reposed himself on me for the Government of his Estates, except it were for so much as concerned the affairs of Christendom, which I always protected as much as possibly I could. In the mean season this Prince thought many times on Felixana, extremely marveling at the long voyage of Rustan, upon whose coming he had placed a great deal of hope; but fortune that often delighteth in extraordinary things, and loves to give weak beginnings to the most important affairs, had disposed of it in a fashion which Soliman did not foresee: And how prudent soever he was, he did not consider, that Love and Fortune, who were to give success to this adventure, were two Deities too blind to bestow all that he desired on him, although he deserved it; and indeed he was deceived by them both, for he was amazed to see Rustan return very melancholic, without Slaves, without Soldiers, without a Vessel, and without Felixana. At first he believed that his design having been discovered all his equipage had been taken from him, and that he had been ill entreated; but when he had commanded him to give him an account of his voyage, he learned, that the business had passed in another manner; for Rustan had been so dextrous, and so happy in his enterprise, as he had forcibly carried away the person whom the picture which Soliman had given him represented: But, Madam, this person was not Felixana, and this adventure is so deplorable, that although it be not intermingled with my fortune, but only in regard it is the foundation of a war, which I am obliged to relate, yet would I let you understand it, seeing you will be acquainted with the whole course of my life, did I not fear to importune you with so long a Narration. The Princess interrupting Justiniano, desired him not to speak to her any more in this sort, and to tell her, not only all that which had befallen him, but all that which he knew concerning the life of Soliman; it seeming unto her, that this Princess loved him too well not to have his History joined to his; whereupon Justiniano began thus.   

The History of the Princess Axiamira.  
AS soon as Rustan, after he had quitted his Vessel in Mingrelia, and had taken another upon the River of Araxes, was arrived with his soldiers disguised at Mazanderon, which is a Town situated on the bank of the Caspian Sea, and the Capital of Hyrcania, at this day called Diargument, and had cast anchor in the Port, he understood that the Princess Axiamira had been there a pretty while, although it was not as yet the season wherein she used to come thither; but forsome disorder which had happened in the Sophy's Court she had advanced her voyage. Rustan, seeing such a wonderful good hap for the commencement of his enterprise, thought of nothing else but to seek the means how he might be introduced into the Castle, for the which he began to fall in with the Merchants of the place, and to part with some things that he had brought thither, at a price much below the ordinary, to the end his design might succeed the rather; as indeed he had not been eight days in the Town, but he received order to let the Princess Axiamira see the goodliest things he had; he obeyed this commandment with joy, being in good hope that Felixana was with her: He carried her then a great many Mirrors, little Pictures, and curious Watches, which are the rarest things amongst the Persians; but he was exceedingly surprised and astonished whenas waiting in Axiamiraes' chamber for her coming out of her Cabinet, he heard one call a maid, that had brought him in, Felixana, who, though she was very fair, resembled not a whit the portrait which he had: this amazement doubtless was great enough, but it redoubled more whenas the Princess Axiamira entered into the chamber, and that he certainly knew she was the Original of that fatal Picture, which hath since caused the shedding of so much blood, and so many tears. He was so struken with this sight, that at first it gave the Princess occasion to think, that being a Merchant, and not accustomed to converse with great persons, he was out of countenance; howbeit at length he told her in the Persian tongue, that within a little while he should have rarer things yet to show her, hoping by this artifice to have the opportunity to see the Princess once again, the better to confirm him in the belief that what he beheld was true. Axiamira, giving credit to his words, bought only a Looking-glass, and some Watches, and then ordained him not to fail in letting her have a sight of those rarities he spoke of, as soon as they were come to his hands. Rustan retired in this sort, but so full of confusion and astonishment, as he was a long time before he could believe that which he had seen, and longer yet before he could resolve upon what to do in so unexpected an event. What! said he to himself, as he told me after his return, is it possible that Felixana should be turned into Aximira? that the daughter of the Governor of Mazanderon should become the daughter of the Sophy of Persia? or that through an extraordinary adventure a Merchant should be so daring as to assure a thing to Soliman, whereof he was not well assured himself? Hereupon having opened the case wherein the Picture was, which the Grand Signior had given him, and also recollecting his imagination and his memory, for the comparing of it with the original, and for the observing of all the lineaments in particular, his eyes so confirmed him in the belief, that it was the Picture of Axiamira, as he made no longer doubt of it. Then it was, that he saw himself combated with divers thoughts; for whereas he is ambitious, hardy, cunning, and wicked, and that to attain to a glorious employment, would undertake any thing; the fear of displeasing Soliman either in venturing to tarry Axiamira forcibly away, or in returning without doing aught, agitated him so mightily, as he was ten or twelve days sick upon it, during which time he did nothing but pass up and down in his mind all the reasons that might induce him, either to the forcible carrying away of Axiamira, or to the restraining him from it: On the one side he thought, that the Grand Signior having made choice of him for the service of his amorous passion, he should be but badly received, if at his return he only brought back for the fruit of his voyage, that Felixana resembled not the picture which had been given him; He feared also that Soliman's hope being frustrated, that which he had of being Beglerbei of Syria would be so too; Wherefore regarding the matter after another sort, he laboured to find another's satisfaction in his own. But the more he considered the design of carrying away of Axiamira by force, the more obstacles he found therein; he was not powerful enough to force the Town or Castle, and the retiredness wherein the women live over all the Orient, permitted him not the means to work upon any of those that were near the Princess for the suborning them: But above all things, the sole apprehension that Soliman should not approve of his design, and should be offended to understand, that instead of forcibly carrying away the daughter of a simple Governor, he should have forcibly carried away that of one of the mightiest Princes of the world, put him into an unquietness that cannot be expressed; and I verily believe by that which I could conjecture out of his own relation, that this last fear had absolutely mastered his soul, and carried him to return without enterprizing further, had not the misfortune of the unhappy Axiamira made him change his opinion, and brought her to contribute herself to her own ruin, without thinking of it. This excellent Princess took so much pleasure in fishing, and was so delighted with this sport, as there were few fair days which she employed not in this maritime chase; and whereas all Persia was quiet, having no war either domestic or foreign, she went to this innocent warfare, more accompanied with fishermen than soldiers, and almost without other arms than nets and hooks. During the time that Rustans' sickness lasted, he observed that Axiamira was two or three days a fishing, and having dextrously informed himself from some Merchants who dealt with him, that the Princess used oftentimes so to do, he understood wha● I have declared, so that no longer judging this design, which he had believed to be impossible, other than a little hazardous, and having a Vessel that was an excellent Sailor, well furnished with all things, and never a Mariner but which was a Soldier, he looked on this affair after another manner, and out of an extreme inhumanity he reasoned in this sort. I have order from Soliman, said he, to put him in possession of the Original of this Picture; it is not the name of Felixana that makes him amorous, it is the beauty of Axiamira which he hath seen in this portrait; it is then Axiamira whom I am forcibly to carry away: It is true, that she is a Princess, but it is also true, that therein fortune favours me, in giving me the means to acquire a treasure for Soliman far more precious than he believed it to be; the boldness of my enterprise will make the greatness of my recompense, and will manifest to his Highness, that there is nothing which I would not do to obey him. Behold, Madam, the unjust reasons wherewith Rustan authorised his enterprise, but the true were, as I have already said, that he hath naughty inclinations; that he is born for crime and violence; and that he is so much an enemy to goodness, as it sufficeth to be virtuous for to be hated of him. He took the resolution then to carry away Axiamira by force, at such time as she should go a fishing; but to faciliate his design he judged it fit to get him out of the Port, and to the end they should not marvel at his departure, he to obtain permission for it caused the Princess to be told, that having received advertisement how a vessel of his Country was within three or four days to be at a Port that was not above ten miles from Mazanderon, he was resolved to go and wait for it there, to deal for some commodities which he thought he had had, but had forgot to bring along with him, that at his return he would not fail to let her see the rarities, whereof he had spoken, not being able to do it sooner by reason of his sickness: And to show that he intended to return again, he suffered himself to be unpaid by some Merchants that were in his debt. He parted then in this manner, leaving the Princess very desirous of his return, in regard of her inclinations to such rare things; but whereas he had no design to eloign himself much, and had observed how the Princess used ordinarily to take that way whereby he came thither, he put his vessel into the covert of a Creek three miles from the Port, where the point of a Rock advanced so far into the sea, as they that came from the Towns side could not see them which were there, before they were so near as they could not decline a fight. It was here where Rustan resolved to attend the Princess, being confident that she would not be long before she came thither, because he known it was the place most proper for her sport: In the mean time to beguile the vessels, which passing by might discover him, he set up the Flag of Persia in his Maintop, and caused all his men that appeared on the deck to change their habit; for the cunning of this man had provided for all things, and had not omitted aught that could conduce to the happy success of so mischievous a design. Now accordingly this deplorable Princess, no way doubting of the treason that was intended against her, resolved the next day after Rustans' departure, to recreate herself on the sea; but to make up her misfortune, she would not that day go a fishing, but only take the air, and pass away the time more freely with her women. In the mean season Rustan had made a speech to his soldiers and Mariners, whom he had gained with gifts, to encourage them to well-doing, if it happened that he should command them to attack a vessel. He told them, that what he desired of them was the least exploit he could expect from their valour, since it was a vessel without Ordnance, and more laden with women than soldiers; that above all things they should beware of doing any outrage to the Ladies; but for the men, that they should not spare them, it being necessary that none should escape which might testify aught concerning this Action. After this he set a sentinel on the top of the Rock to discover when Axiamiraes' vessel should come out of the Port, for to advertise him of it. The impatience of this Ravisher lasted not long; for, as I have already declared, the next day after his departure, the Princess resolved to go and take the air: no sooner was she on the sea, but the sentinel advertised Rustan of it, who with all speed fitted his ship, and prepared his men to do that which he had commanded them. Scarcely had he given order for every thing, whenas the Princess' vessel appeared; she was sitting in the Stern upon Cushions of cloth of Gold, with all her women about her, and attired like an Amazon, as her picture represented her, having a Dart in her right-hand, upon which she leaned: As soon as she perceived Rustans' vessel, she risen up suddenly to observe it, as if she had foreseen what was to arrive unto her; this first apprehension was quickly seconded by another more grievous one; for just as the Princess risen up, Rustan changed the design he had of following her, that so he might draw her the further from the Town, into that of setting upon her immediately, so that he commanded his men to make up with full fails to the vessel, and board her, expressly forbidding any Ordnance to be shot off, for fear of losing that which he meant to preserve, and that the Castle too might not thereby take up an Alarm, and come to the succour of the Princess. This was not so soon said as executed; Axiamiraes' vessel was boarded by that of Rustan, who first of all leapt into her, for to save the Princess from peril, and to encourage his men, which seconded him so happily, as the resistance of Axiamiraes' Guard was in vain; the surprise and astonishment wherewith they were seized, served not a little to make them be so easily vanquished; for in a quarter of an hours fight they were all slain, Rustan not having above three of his people hurt. But when he would have had the Princess remove out of her vessel into his, she shown more heart than her soldiers had done, and encouraging her women to defend themselves, and to endure rather to be killed, than to let themselves to be carried away, she advanced towards him with the Dart in her hand, and whatsoever he could do to restrain her, being loath to use her unworthily in her misfortune, he could not keep her from hurting him in the face: But whereas he saw that his respect might be the cause of his undoing, in retaining him too long in so dangerous a place, he commanded four of his soldiers to quit their weapons, and take her up in their Arms, and carry her into his vessel. Then it was when she redoubled her uttermost endeavour, and that with incredible courage, she would have rid herself out of their hands to have leapt into the sea; but Rustan took so much care to preserve her, as he hindered her from it. As soon as her women see that their resistance was vain, and that the Princess was in Rustans' vessel, they left descending themselves, and out of an affection which cannot be sufficiently admired, they strove who should first pass into their enemy's vessel, so much did they fear to abandon their Mistress, choosing much rather to be slaves with her, than to remain free without her. After this Rustan held it necessary to sink the Princess' vessel, which was instantly done, but he thought it was not fit to cast the dead bodies into the sea, for fear lest some of them being driven a shore by the waves should be a sign that the Princess had not suffered shipwreck, as he desired it should be believed, in regard they would be all found full of wounds. He caused all the dead bodies then to be carried into his vessel, with an intention when they should be further off, to throw them overboard in sacks half filled with some heavy things, which afterwards was accordingly executed. When they had sunk the Princess' vessel, he commanded his Pilot to steer towards Mingrelia, and to employ all his skill in making thither with all the possible speed he could; he gave order also to his soldiers to keep themselves continually ready to fight, and unto two of his men carefully to watch for the discovery of whatsoever should appear at sea, and presently to advertise him of it. This done, he went to the Princess, whom they had put into the Captain's , but he was much amazed to find her in a swoon; her striving, and the grief she was in to see herself so carried away, had so weakened, and oppressed her, as she was without pulse, without motion, and almost without life. The resentment which Rustan shown for it, and the care he took to assist her, though it was rather the effect of his interest than of his pity, caused the Princess' women to have some comfort amidst their misfortune: They laboured all of them together then to make her come to herself again; and a little after she assured them by a deep sigh, that she would soon be sensible of all her miseries; and accordingly within a while she opened her eyes; but not being longer able to make any resistance, and seeing Rustan by her, whom she knew, though she had never beheld him but once before, and that he had changed his habit, she was constrained to have recourse unto her tears. Rustan seeing her in this estate, fell on his knees before her to ask her pardon for the wrong he did her, and to beseech her to believe, that so sad a beginning would have a most happy end. He told her likewise, that he was not what she thought him to be; that he operated by a more powerful hand than his own; and that if her grief would permit her to give ear unto that, which might comfort her, she would quickly dry up her tears. This Princess striving to answer him, said unto him with a low voice, that there was no way to comfort her, but to assure her, that she should die without the deprivation of her honour and liberty, and without falling into the hands of Deliment. Rustan swor● unto her then, that he knew not that Deliment of whom she spoke, and protested, that far from doing her any violence, he would serve her with all respect, beseeching her once again to suspend her grief until she had learned the cause of her misfortune. This cheater spoke this with a face wherein compassion and sincerity were so well painted forth, as solicited again by her women, she resolved to hear him: But he first desired that she would give them order to withdraw a little aside, to the end that none but she might understand what he said unto her. She made some difficulty to agree thereunto, but at length she was forced to obey. He recounted to her then, how her unhappiness was an effect of her beauty; but he did not tell her, that Soliman had loved her under the name of Felixana, only he acquainted her that her picture had begot this love, and consequently the design which he had executed; howbeit he perceived that Axiamira did not believe him, so that to persuade her the better, he shown her picture to her, which she presently knew, and calling her women to her to look upon it, she put them in mind, how the Sophy having caused her to be drawn one day with Felixana by an excellent Painter, whom fortune had brought into their country, he had commanded many copies to be made of them, which he had given to Merchants for the publishing of her beauty all abroad, and that of Felixana whom he infinitely loved. Upon this discourse Rustan was no longer troubled to conceive, how Axiamira had been taken for Felixana, easily imagining that a Merchant, who it may be understood not the Persian tongue very well, might be deceived in taking the picture of Felixana for that of Axiamira, and that of Axiamira for that of Felixana, and much the rather, for that the Merchant had got those pictures without ever seeing the Princess, as we came to know afterwards. But to return to this afflicted fair one, after that Rustan had acquainted her with the cause of her misfortune, he would have enlarged himself upon the magnificences of the Seraglio, upon the excellent qualities of Soliman, upon the excess of the passion which he was in for her, and have persuaded her that her unhappiness would make her happy. But this generous Princess, not able to endure a discourse so far distant from her sense, said unto him with a voice much stronger, than the weakness wherein she was would seem to permit her; do you believe then, that a person which might have succeeded to the Crown of Persia, can resolve to be the slave of Soliman? to spend her life in prison? and to have for her companions infamous creatures, who are for the most part the refuse of Pirates? No, no, Axiamira came not into the world but to reign, and her death shall make it soon appear, that she knows not how to obey: Fortune hath put me into your hands, but mine shall deliver me out of them. After this she mused a pretty while very profoundly, Rustan not daring to answer her for fear of further incensing her; then suddenly speaking again, and addressing herself to him, Can I hope, said she unto him, for any sincerity in a man that hath so cruelly betrayed me? and can I believe that what he hath told me is true? for how can it be imagined that Soliman, whose reputation is so great and so fair, should be capable of causing an innocent Princess to be forcibly carried away for to make her his slave? and how can it yet be conceived, that this Prince, who is said to be so amorous of a certain Roxelana, and who hath loved her so long, could be in a passion for a picture, yea in such a passion as hath obliged him to violate the law of Nations, to forget natural equity, to outrage a Prince as mighty as himself, and to do an act so strange as it is without example in all Ages? Tell me then, I conjure you, said she unto him, the true cause of my disaster, and hid not from me that which time will clear unto me but too well. Rustan seeing her mind a little quieter in all appearance, thought he might gain her by gentleness; wherefore he assured her with all the artifice that possibly he could use; how all that which he had told her was true, but how it was true also, that the image of the Seraglio, which seemed so dreadful unto her, was a mere effect of her grief; that all the grace he would demand of her was no other, but that she would live until she had seen Soliman, which favour if he might obtain of her, he was well assured, that the sight of so excellent a Prince would make her change her opinion. Yes, said she, interrupting him, I will live, if my grief will permit it; but I will live only to seek out the means how to revenge the death, that I will give myself, as soon as my complaints and cries have made some one to know the outrage which I have received, to the end that the report thereof being bruited abroad, the Sophy my Father may, by learning the cause of my loss, take such revenge for it, as Heaven doth promise me, and which also I beg of it: Behold then what I accord to your desires, in the mean time, if pity may yet find any place in your soul, leave me to weep with my women, and refuse me not the grace that I may be permitted to bewail them for the miseries which I have brought them to, and to prepare them for my death; but if your inhumanity doth carry you not to grant me this that I desire, as methinks I observe in your countenance, remember that birth not depending on fortune, I am still the daughter of the Sophy of Persia, and that you are but a Slave, who doubtless have nothing more recommendable in you, than fraud and cunning wherewith to serve the violences of your Master; get you out of this Chamber then, and enter no more unto it, till the hour of my death be come; for surely the rank which I hold doth ordain you to have so much respect unto me, who commands you unto it. Rustan, who had no other interest in the carrying away of this Princess, but that of conducting her to Soliman, fearing nothing more than to see her die before she should arrive at Constantinople, was afraid in hearing her speak so imperiously, that she would have fallen into some extreme resolution, if he should have contradicted her, wherefore he went out of her chamber, and assured her, that she should see by his respect, that he had not forgotten what he owed unto her: But first he took heed with a great deal of care, not to leave any thing wherewith she might hurt herself, which the perceiving said further unto him, You may take from me iron, fire and poison, but not the will to die, and by it I shall always find means to execute my design: Rustan would return her no answer, knowing full well that she was not in an estate to be persuaded. After this he caused her to be served very carefully without ever entering into her chamber, yet did he for the most part hear all that she said to her women; for fearing lest she should offer to get out of the  for to go and cast herself into the Sea, he lay always at the Cabbin-door, not daring to trust any body with the guard of a treasure from whence he hoped for all his fortune. I will not recount unto you the generous and pitiful discourses of this infortunate Princess during this voyage, since it would but augment the regret, which you will have for her loss: For, Madam, after a Navigation prosperous enough; after they had passed over all the Caspian Sea by gaining the Coast on the left hand; after they had arrived at the River of Araxes, which disimbokes itself into this Sea; had traversed by Land through the whole Country of Colob●●da, now called Mingrelia, where Rustan betook him to his former Vessel again, which had stayed still for him there; had traveled Mare major, or Pontus Enxinus, from one end to another in its length; after that, I say, they were come to the Bosphorus of Thrace, in a place where they even touched the shore, there arose so furious a wind, as they were constrained to take in all their sails. And whereas the Pilot had advertised Rustan, that he foresaw the coming of a great storm, and that within an hour at the farthest, he thought that in regard they were not far from a place where the Skiff might easily land, it would not be amiss to persuade the Princess to go ashore, seeing they were within Soliman's Dominion, and where they needed not fear to abandon their Vessel. He caused then one of the Princess' women to be called unto him for to acquaint her with the peril wherewith they were threatened, that she might propound unto her the avoiding of it by the means which I have related; this Maid, who out of the fear of death approved of tuscans proposition, did all that she could to get her Mistress to embrace it: But this courageous Princess said unto her with an admirable constancy, that she was resolved to attend the succour of Heaven, imagining indeed, that the storm wherewith she was threatened, could bring no alteration to her fortune which would not be advantageous to her. During this contestation the Sea was moved in such sort, as it was out of all probability, had the Princess consented to what they desired of her, for one to think that she could be saved in the Skiff; the tempest was so furious, the air so obscured, the thunder so loud, the lightning amidst the darkness so dreadful, the waves so high, the winds so terrible, the rain and hail so abundant, and the roaring of the Sea so horrible, as it was impossible for one to conceive any hope of escaping from so evident a danger. They were two days beaten in this manner with the tempest, and tossed up and down with the wind and the waves, without ceasing in the mean time to use their uttermost endeavour to withstand it; but at last they were fain to give way to this violence, and refer their lives to the conduct of fortune. Already had the Pilot abandoned the Helm, his Compass stood him in no stead, the Mast was all to shattered, the Sayl-yards torn off, the Tackle rend in pieces, the Vessel took in water on every side, the soldiers cried out in despair, the Mariners abandoned themselves to grief, the Princess' women were all dissolved into tears, Rustan himself had almost lost his understanding, whenas in the midst of so general a consternation he heard the Princess cry unto him with a quiet spirit, and with a settled and confident voice; at length Axiamira shall not be a Slave, she shall die with glory, Heaven is armed for her succour, and (if I deceive not myself) her death shall be the cause of her revenge. Scarcely had she finished these words, whenas an hideous wave hitting the Vessel with an unexpressable impetuosity, dashed it with such violence against the point of a Rock, as they suffered shipwreck in that very place. I will not tell you, Madam, that which Rustan himself could not tell us, for this misfortune was so sudden, as in an instant he found, that of all his Vessel he had nothing left him but a plank which floated to his hand, as he was labouring in the water, and wherewith he saved his life by sustaining himself upon it; for this man was so fortunate, as without other industry than strongly fastening himself to this plank, the Sea (which according to its custom retains nothing of all the rapines that it makes) cast him on the shore, where he remained almost in a swoon till the tempest was over, which was not long first; so as it might have been said, that this Princess had served for an oblation to pacify the fury of the incensed waters; for two hours after she had suffered shipwreck, the Sun beginning to appear, dissipated the darkness of the night, and the tempest, and restored calmness and tranquillity to the Sea. Rustan, being wholly come to himself again, got up to the side of a Rock to see if he could discover any mark of so sad a wrack, but he could discover no other thing than some of the Tackle and Planks of his Vessel, which the waves had brought to Land, so that despairing of any comfort he went to the habitation that was nearest to the place where he was, and stayed there certain days to make search, if at least the body of Axiamira might have been found, as also to meet with some means for him to return to Constantinople: As for the Princess, all his care in vain, he found indeed some dead Soldiers and Mariners along the shore, but of her he never could have any tidings, so that the unhappy Axiamira is doubtless without life, and without sepulture. In the mean time Rustan thinking of his return, although he were near to a place where Prince Gianger, the youngest of Soliman's sons was residing, yet would he not demand any assistance from him, for fear he should be obliged to tell him a thing which was to be concealed; wherefore he had recourse to the Governor of a small Town that was not above four miles from thence where he had suffered shipwreck, who furnishing him with all things requisite for his journey, he returned by Land to Constantinople with so melancholic a countenance, as at first sight one might easily perceive that his enterprise had not been prosperous: I was at that time with his Highness, and I have not lost the remembrance of so doleful a conversation. As soon as Rustan had made an end of relating to the Grand Signior that which you have heard, he would have excused himself for having forcibly carried away Axiamira without his order, but Soliman said unto him with a face wherein grief and choler equally appeared, Speak no further unto me thou base and infamous ravisher, and know, that if thou hadst not married my daughter Chimeria, thy death should have satisfied for that of Axiamira. Ah poor Princess, said he, how deplorable is thy face! and how unhappy is mine! Then turning himself towards me, who was present at this mournful relation, do not reproach me, my dear Ibrahim, said he unto me, for not giving credit to thy counsel, which I remember but too well for my content; and the estate wherein I am, punisheth me sufficiently for my imprudence: Can any innocent be found more infortunate than I? But what say I, innocent (continued he) I cannot be so of the death of this Princess; it is I that have delivered her into the hands of Rustan; it is I that have exposed her to the tempest; and it is I that have been the cause of her loss. Can I be ignorant that she was not an ordinary person? No, Ibrahim, I could not; I loved her under the name of Felixana, but I was to adore her in my heart as a great Princess; I saw something so high and so majestical in the air of her face, as I cannot be excusable for not knowing her; for howsoever, if the possession of Axiamira was necessary for my felicity, she was to be entreated after another manner; and if my love would have constrained me to have recourse unto violence, I should have gone in person in the head of an hundred thousand men to make so noble a conquest with honour; she should have been brought in a triumphant Chariot, and not in the Vessel of a Traitor and impious man; I should not have thought of possessing her till I had set a Crown upon her head; and if I could not have obtained her, I should have changed my love into respect, and with admiration have looked upon a bliss that was forbidden me: But Rustan did not believe that I was capable of such noble apprehensions, he hath judged of my mind by his own; he thought because he is violent, that I should be wicked; he hoped for a recompense of his crime, and out of an inhumanity which is without example, he hath betrayed an innocent Princess, he hath put a stain upon my life which I shall not be able to deface, and hath reduced my soul to an estate never to be comforted. Then addressing his speech to the Princess, as if she ●ould have heard him, and calling to mind her last words, which he had caused to be repeated to him more than once, he cried out with an exceeding transport, Yes, Axiamira, thy death shall be the cause of the revenge which thou desirest, and the grief which I shall have for it all my life, shall be instead of an eternal punishment unto me: There needs no Arms to invade my State; there needs no proclaimed Enemy to fight with me, I carry o●e in my bosom which shall always surmount me; repentance and sorrow shall be inseparably with my spirit, and the image of so unhappy, and of so beautiful a person shall accompany me even to the grave. Soliman having been constrained by the excess of his displeasure to give over speaking, I did what I could to restore tranquillity to his soul, but his grief was so vive and so strong, as I needed a great deal of time to vanquish, or to say better, to moderate it. Behold, Madam, the History of the unfortunate Axiamira, all the particulars whereof which I have told you, I learned from Rustan, and more too from one of his soldiers, who returned a little after him, and was saved almost in the same manner. Isabel could not then forbear interrupting of Justiniano, to lament the misfortune of Axiamira, but after she had satisfied her compassion, she desired to make an end of contenting her curiosity, and entreated Justiniano to continue his discourse, which he did in this sort.   

The Sequel of the History of justiniano's.  
I Will not stand, Madam, to relate unto you, how I employed myself after my return from Anatolia, in regard I know that Doria purposeth to let you understand, that Ibrahims' Palace was built by my direction, and how it was in that interval of peace, and assoon as I was Grand Visier, that I caused the ornaments thereof to be made, having seen that work finished but a little before Doriaes' arrival at Constantinople. It is true, said Doria, that I have a desire to describe that enchanted Palace to her Excellency, and to acquaint her with all the magnificences, and all the grandeurs which you have quitted for her sake; and to make her comprehend a part of what I say, I am but to present her with that which the Grand Signior hath se●t her; saying so, he drew out of his pocket the box of gold which Soliman had delivered unto him, and having opened it, he let her see one of the goodliest things in the world. Isabel was so surprised with the richness of this present, as she would not have received it, but at length Doria having told her laughing, that he was not determined either to keep it, or to carry it back to Constantinople, she was constrained to accept of it. Doriaes' jesting made Justiniano fetch a great sigh, beginning already to apprehend the end of his narration, and for that cause had spun out that of the Adventures of Axiamira as much as possibly he could, in exactly recounting her History; and all because he was not yet well resolved whether he should deliver the truth of things to Isabel; in the mean time, whereas she was in much impatience, and that night began to come on, she desired him not to lose such precious minutes, but to prosecute his discourse. I would willingly have had you dispense with me, answered Justiniano, for leading you once more to the wars, but since you will be acquainted with all my fortunes, I am to let you understand, that being absolutely determined not to wear a Turban unprofitably for Christendom, I had no other thought but to divert the Arms of Soliman from Hungary, where I knew he had a design to employ his greatest forces; the loss of Axiamira furnished me soon after with means to put so just a resolution in effect: For whether it were, that some of the Princess' women were saved by a prodigious good hap, and had acquainted Tachmas with the cause of the death of his daughter; or that the abode, or sudden departure of Rustan, who had always past at Mazanderon for a Merchant of Constantinople, had begotten some suspicion of the truth, advertisement came that Tachmas was levying a mighty Army: The Truce which had been so long between these two Princes, could be no obstacle to this war, for it had never been observed exactly; and some particulars had often committed acts of hostility on either part, so that according to the Maxims of State, a plausible pretext could not be wanting for an Army to march into the Orient, as often as Soliman had a mind to it: In the mean time it happened that the Georgians having passed over Euphrates, did much spoil in Comagena, robbing all that went to, or came from Mesopotamia, so that the Sangiacs of the Province having complained of it, and seeing that Soliman took no order therein, they passed to Diarbech, where in all the Country about Birtha they did great havoc, and rendered that with usury which the Georgians had lent them. This conjuncture seeming too favourable unto me to be neglected, I repaired unto Soliman, who notwithstanding the advertisement he had received that Tachmas had put himself into Arms, could not be drawn for all that to think of this war; the image of Axiamira reigned still in his heart; he could not resolve to fight with the Father, whose daughter he had caused to perish; and if some resentment of glory had not been still remaining in him, I think he would rather have let Tachmas invade his Empire, than oppose himself against him. But to show unto you how hardly this Prince was drawn to make a war, which he believed to be unjust, I have no more to say, than that after I had used all my address to remonstrate unto him, that the war of Persia was a thing no longer in his choice, since knowing what his Governors had done in Diarbech, and Tachmas having an Army on foot, he was not to doubt, yea though he were ignorant that he was the innocent cause of Axiamiraes' death, but that he would fall upon him; that after I had told him how it was always advantageous for great Princes to begin the War; that it was a mark of love to his Subjects, not to suffer the fire to be brought into their houses; and that I had made him also to consider, that at last it would be better to be in an estate to show grace to his Enemy, than to receive it from him; that in this occasion it did not concern his particular glory alone, but that of the Empire; that being innocent of the misfortune of Axiamira, he was not to fear that heaven would be contrary to him; and that if this death was to be lamented, it would suffice to employ his tears and sighs therein, without beholding the blood of his Subjects shed. After all these things, I say, he made no other answer, but Axiamira is dead for me, I must sacrifice a part of my State for her; and that my Subjects may not murmur at the Conquests which I shall suffer Tachmas to gain upon me, I will labour to obtain others of the Christians, without obliging thee, as I have promised, to serve me therein. I vow unto you, Madam, that this discourse surprised me extremely, not knowing which way to oppose myself against a will so fully determined: And that which put me into further despair of being able to execute my design was, that the Mother and Wife of the Emperor hated me with a secret hatred, because I had always favoured Mustapha and Gianger, excellent Princes, and the children of Soliman; for though this last be the son of Roxelana, yet leaves she not to hate him, because he loveth Mustapha: This hatred was the cause then that these two women opposed the voyage of Persia, only to contradict ●e, with so much address and violence, as I stood in need of some extraordinary mean to destroy all their artifices. The first represented unto Soliman, that the wars of the Orient had always been infortunate to the Othomans; that his Armies would be exterminated with hunger and thirst, if he carried them to a place from whence his father Selim, although victorious, brought back no other advantage, than the loss of his best soldiers. As for Roxelana, she employed nothing but her tears, wherewith alone she was more powerful than reason itself; so that all these things being joined to the loss of Axiamira, wrought in such sort, as I saw almost an impossibility in diverting the storm which was ready to fall on Christendom: But in the end, after I had tried all ways in vain, I bethought myself, how Soliman being mightily persuaded that Judiciary Astrology is a Science which men may practise with certainty, I might peradventure bring him to what I desired, if I could get an Arabian to come from Damascus, that was an excellent ginger and Mathematician, called Mulé Aral, whom the people accused of Magic, by reason of the wonders which every day he did; hoping, after I had won him with gifts, to make him say unto Soliman whatsoever I would have him. I sent then secretly unto Damascus, not knowing how to meet with any other expedient that could satisfy me otherwise; and whereas my orders were as well executed as the Grand Signiors, it was not long before he was brought to me. In the mean space I was resolved to speak no more of this war to Soliman, until such time as that which I projected should utterly fail me. As soon as Mulé Aral was arrived at Constantinople, I talked with him in private, and after I had engaged him absolutely to do what I would have him, I discovered my design unto him, which nevertheless I covered with the good and glory of the Empire, to the end too he might serve me the more faithfully. But this man told me, how he held it fit that the Stars should be observed, and his books consulted with a little about this war, because it might so happen, that without any imposture or lying he should be obliged to persuade Soliman to this voyage; and howsoever, though the stars did not concur with our intentions, yet would he be sure to keep his word with me. I parted with him in this manner, having first entreated him to make a show of the best effects of his Science at the Port, that so the Emperor might give the more credit to that which he was to say unto him. Mulé Aral failed not in obeying me, for he had not been a week at Constantinople, but every one spoke of the prodigies he did; and whereas he was a great Physiognimist, he got a world of reputation in a short time. He foretold to some that they should die the next day, which failed not to fall out accordingly; too others he revealed the most secret adventures of their lives; and he was so happy, that of all the things which he assured, none missed, or at leastwise might receive a  interpretation; so that the report hereof being come to Soliman, he sent for Mulé Aral, who in his presence told the Bassa of the Sea such things, as extremely surprised him; for he confessed, that every particular of that which he had told him, had befallen him accordingly. The grand Signior commanded him to follow him into his Cabinet, where, as I knew afterwards, he declared unto him the most special passages of his life, & principally his love to Axiamira upon the sight of her picture, although I had not spoken to him of it; so as Soliman being mightily persuaded of the Science of this man, asked him whether he thought that the war against the Persians would be prosperous. But Mulé, who desired to finish his figures and observations, & to give the more weight to that which he should say, answered Soliman, that things past were seen with more certainty in the physiognomy, than things to come; & that for an affair of so great importance, he demanded of him only six days to satisfy him fully: and for the better carrying of the matter, he besought him to let him know the precise point of his nativity, albeit he had been acquainted with it before by me. Soliman accorded him his desire, and having given him leave to departed, rested so satisfied of him, as he was already disposed to govern his designs by Mulé Aral's answer; who after he had made his observations, came one evening to me with a contented look, and assured me, that his Science was false, or I should Crown Soliman King of Persia. It is certain, Madam, that I did not believe the discourse of this man, but only seemed to give credit to his words, to the end I might not disoblige him, although the success of things afterwards made it good. The next day he went to Soliman, and with a confident countenance told him, that the war of Hungary would prove unlucky to him if he undertook it, but that of Persia glorious; and assured him further, that if he entered first into the Enemy's Country, one of his Slaves, whom he very much loved, should Crown him King of Persia. Mulé accompanied this discourse with so many circumstances, which would be too long to repeat, as at length Soliman, who was very scrupulous in all things, which he believed came from above, prepared himself for this war with as much precipitation, as he had had repugnancy to it before. As soon as Mulé was gone, he sent for me, to command me to alter all the directions which he had given, and to cause all the Troops to be enrolled for Persia: And whereas this Prince carried an unmeasurable affection to me, he had charged Mulé not to discover any thing of that to me which he had said to him, desiring to make me believe how it was in consideration of me that he withdrew his Arms from Christendom, thereby to engage me the more to his service. Whilst things were in this estate, an accident fell out which began to give great hope of this voyage of Persia, and to confirm Soliman in the good opinion which he had of Mulé Aral; for it happened that one Ulama, Satrape of Caramania, a man of great account with the Sophy, who had married one of his sisters to him, and though she died a little after this Marriage, yet did this alliance render him more considerable than before. This man, I say, having received some outrage from that Prince, after he had served him in divers encounters with the expense of his blood, requested of me that I would obtain some place of safety for him within Soliman's Dominions. I will not tell you, Madam, what this excellent man did in this war, since it is certain, that his generous actions do well deserve a relation in particular; neither will I stand to recount this voyage exactly unto you; wherefore, that I may not abuse your patience, and make the best use of the rest of the day, I will only tell you, Madam, that having had a Commandment to conduct the Vanguard with Ulama, I was so fortunate as I surprised Tauris without any resistance, which at the first astonished the Enemies, who nevertheless left not to defend themselves courageously in all other encounters. Tachmas performed wonders in his own person, and so did also one Deliment; but at length fortune in two ranged battles declared herself for us; so that as soon as Soliman was arrived in person, he had almost no other employment than to receive the Deputies of Towns which submitted to his obedience. A part of Assyria and Mesopotamia were subjected unto him, but in such sort, and so absolutely, that from the Mart of Balzera, which stands at the mouth of Euphrates, entering into the Gulf of Persia, even to the last Town, they rendered all unto him. The most notable of this great number were Caramida, Medinum, Orfa and Ancefa; but that which Soliman rejoiced most at, was the reduction of Bagdet, where he was Crowned King of Persia by the hands of the Caliph, who to do me honour, and to testify that I had contributed somewhat to the happy success of this war, would needs have me serve in the Ceremony, and help him to set the Crown on the head of Soliman; so that by this circumstance nothing was more to be added to Mulé Arals Predictions, who at our return was recompensed sufficiently. After this, his Highness bestowed some time in giving directions for all things before his return to Constantinople, where he was resolved to be received in triumph, but a little sickness that he fell into by the way deferred this public rejoicing, which nevertheless was performed within a while after; and I may say that this Triumph was as happy for me, as it was glorious for Soliman, seeing it was there that I came to know Doria in the habit of a Slave, who can recount unto you, Madam, that fortunate day's passage more agreeably than I could. Justiniano, having said this, became so confused, as if one of the Princess' Gentlemen had not advertised her, that the Count of Lavagna, accompanied with the Marquis of Touraine, was come to visit her in the behalf of the Senate, she had perceived the disorder of his spirit: After she had heard the message that was brought her, she risen up, and giving her hand to Justiniano, she said unto him with a very well satisfied countenance, Do not think to lay upon your friend the trouble to acquaint me with the rest of your Adventures, he hath had enough already in going to Constantinople to justify me unto you, besides what he is to be at in relating to me that which hath arrived to himself in particular; but to let you see, continued she, that I am not tyrannical, I will give you time to content my curiosity, in the mean space I think it fit we should go and receive the Civilities of the Senate: Their said, she suffered herself to be lead in one hand by Justiniano, and in the other by Doria, whom she had retained as he was about to withdraw, and the rest of the troop followed after. All the way Isabel continually admired the marvellous effects of Justiniano's fortune, but in what manner soever she considered them, she still returned to speak of the obligation wherein he stood engaged to Soliman: I must confess, said she to Justiniano, that if this Prince be such as you have delivered him, he may be styled the wonder of our Age, and if my Religion did not forbid it me, I would quit my Country with joy to live under his Dominion. This discourse made Justiniano to tremble, but Doria laying hold on her speech, confirmed her yet more in the advantageous opinion which she had of Soliman, and Justiniano being come to himself again, assured her that all which he had said of him was very far short of the truth. This fair Troop entertained themselves in this sort, until that being arrived near to the Castle, the Count and the Marquis came to meet the Princess, who entertained them with a great deal of respect. The Count, to acquit himself of the Commission which the Senate had given him, said unto her, that he was not come only to congratulate with her for the happy return of Justiniano, but also to give her thanks for it, as the most important service that ever she could have rendered to the Republic; that this favour from Heaven was doubtless due to her virtue, and to the vows she had made for him, rather than to the desires of the Senate, who had rendered themselves unworthy of it; how to testify unto her, that the present had utterly defaced the remembrance of the past, he entreated her that she would honour Genova with her presence, whenas she had resolved upon the triumph of Justiniano, to the end that by the pomp and magnificence which they would bring unto it, they might at leastwise testify their joy, although they could not testify their acknowledgement. This discourse made Justinianoes' heart to pant, and the Princess to change colour; for she understood well enough, that the triumph he spoke of, was to be her marriage. She answered with very much modesty, that general causes being without doubt more favoured of Heaven, than particular interests, it was to be certainly believed, that Justiniano had been restored to his Country for the only glory of the Republic; and that having nevertheless encountered her particular felicity in this general happiness, she had more reason to give thanks unto the Senate, than to receive any from them; but, continued she, interrupting Justiniano, who would have answered that which she had said of him, it will be more convenient for us to enter into the Castle for to tell you there what I think of it, than to stay any longer in a place which the night that is now at hand would render incommodious. The Count then presented the Marquis of Touraine unto her, whom they called at Genova the French Marquis, and assured her that he was a man whose condition and merit were not unworthy of her knowledge and esteem. There needs no more, said the Princess, to commend and render him agreeable to me, than that he is your friend, and that you esteem of him; whereupon she entertained him with a great deal of courtesy, and the Marquis saluting her with very much respect, besought her to judge of him by the Count's opinion, rather than by his own, whenas he should have the honour to be known of her. After this compliment, the Princess presented her hand to the Count, and looking on Justiniano, Doria, and the French Marquis, as though she had been sorry that she could not share her Civilities amongst them, universal beauties were the object of their entertainment, during the little way that remained for them to go. The situation of this place is so delicate, the prospect of it so pleasant, and the setting of the Sun was that evening so glorious, with the diversity of vive and rich colours, which the gold of his Rays imprinted on the Clouds, and reflected on the Sea, as it is not to be thought strange, that a discourse so common should make up the conversation of such extraordinary persons. As for Doria, he went along talking to the French Marquis, who led Aemilia by the arm, that seemed not unpleasing to him: And in this manner they entered into the Castle, where the Princess treated them as magnificently, as if she had been prepared of a long time to receive them.    
Here ends the first Part.   

IBRAHIM: OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The second part.  

The first BOOK.  
PResently after supper the Princess, perceiving that the Marquis was gone from the company, demanded of the Count whether it were true that he had brought the French liberty into Genova, as he had formerly told her during the time of her solitariness. It is so true (answered the Count) that if you knew in what fashion we live, you would be surprised with it; Howbeit your amazement would cease as soon as you should know the wit, humour, and address of the French Marquis. And seeing his precepts are not opposite to pleasure, but yet conserving Virtue with a great deal of respect, he was not much troubled to find out followers, both amongst the men and the Ladies. But is it possible (said Justiniano) that he could vanquish that jealousy which is so natural to those of our Nation? He hath for that (replied the Count) made use of an artifice, which he alone was able to invent: He observed within a little time, after I had made him known to all the persons of quality, every love in Genova, and wrought so well by his address, that in a short while he was the universal confident thereof. When as he saw himself master of all men's secrets, he began to persuade us all in particular to the French liberty; to call us Tyrants over our wives; and to make us comprehend that there was extreme injustice in prohibiting conversation unto Ladies, who alone could render it agreeable; That as for him, he was resolved to make them happy whether they would or no: and for that effect (said he unto us) all they that have sisters must permit me to see and talk with them, to the end that having made them know, how Virtue ought not to be untractable, and how they think more harm when they are by themselves, than they would do if they knew us more particularly, I may make that succeed which I have projected for your advantage. Besides (said he unto us) this essay cannot be dangerous; for whereas I never have an affection that lasts above a week, you need not fear that I shall make any great progress therein. Each one in particular durst not refuse him that which he demanded, as being his confident; so that in a short time he was introduced into all the Houses of quality, maugre the severity of fathers, and the reservedness of mothers. For he hath so complying a spirit, that he knows how to take upon him all forms; and for gallantry, no man can be so proper for it as he: he sings very sweetly; he plays upon the Lute and the Gittern; he dances with a good grace; he limnes and paints well; he writes excellent letters; he makes verses in our tongue, as if he were an Italian; and his conversation is so entertaining, that it is as impossible to be without friendship for him, as for him to be without affection. Whereupon it is easy to imagine that he had quickly persuaded that which he desired. But to begin the introduction of the thing publicly, one day when there was a bal, and the company assembled together, he approached boldly to the principal maids of the City; for he feared not so much the brothers as the husbands; and told them openly, he was ashamed for them, that they should be separated from the rest of the company, as if they were unworthy to be of it: and then he made a Satire against that custom, which he must one day rehearse unto you. When as every one took delight herein, and that he knew he should be supported by all the young folks, and that the Ladies in their hearts wished him no hurt, he desired all the company, that they would for this evening only carry themselves as if they were in France, and follow his directions, to the end he might at leisure make the Ladies see, who do not travel, the difference that was between the one and the other. Hereupon all those of his faction cried it up with a great applause, and his advice was followed, although there were some that did not allow of it: The women also made some difficulty thereof; but at last the Marquis prevailed. He changed then the whole Order of the company, saying it was the custom of France, that conversation should be the greatest pleasure of a bal; so that he played the master of the Ceremonies in such manner, as in placing every one, without showing himself affected therein, he placed each one according to his inclination. After that, it was a good while before he would suffer the Violins to play, that the more commodity might be given to talk; and in this sort, every one for his particular interest, found himself so satisfied, as there was not any but avowed, that they had taken more delight in this assembly, than in all the rest that ever had been. Since that, he hath wrought so well with nine or ten interessed persons, as we meet two or three times a week five or six families together, where verily he delivers such pleasing things, as cannot be repeated unto you, without losing much of their grace. It must be acknowledged (said the Princess) that this is a rare man, and deserves that I should inform myself by what happy adventure he hath preferred Italy before France, for I have heard that he is a man of quality. You have reason, Madam (said the Count) to call it happy for us, but it hath not been happy for him, though the end was to him glorious. I believe (said Justiniano interrupting him) that her excellency would be well contented to understand his fortune. And I (replied the Count) to obey her, if I did not fear that the Marquis will not give me leisure for it, but will come and interrupt my recital thereof. I am much deceived (said Doria) if he do not give you all the opportunity you can desire; for I have well observed that the fair Emilia hath not displeased him; and that being gone from hence, because she was not well, he followed her carefully with his eyes, and if I mistake not, he is gone to seek out some occasion to see her, or to premeditate some letter, or verses to express his passion. The Count being of Doriaes' opinion, yielded to the request which the Princess had made him, and began to speak in these terms.  

The History of the French Marquis.  
I shall tell you then, Madam, that the Marquis is of an illustrious House, and of a Province in France, the name whereof is not in my remembrance; and without particularising any thing more of his life, than the last action which gave him unto us, you are to know that his virtue begot him envy, and consequently enemies in his country. And whereas he had always lived at court, and in the wars, the late King Francis shown him a great deal of respect and good will, although he was as then but very young. He had not been wanting then at the battle of Pavy, where he had performed wonders in person, and so happily for his glory, as the King himself had been a witness of his valour; yet were there afterwards for all that three Gentlemen in his Country, whereof the one was called Marsé, the second Beniers, and the other Dincourt, amongst whom fell out a quarrel, occasioned by the doubt of his valour. Marsé had hated the Marquis of a long time, so as it is credible, that being unable to find out any other means to deface his glory, he published openly, albeit neither he, nor the other two, had ever parted from their houses during the war, that the Marquis had fled from the battle of Pavy. This discourse coming to the King's ear, at such time as the Marquis was not at the Court, nor had heard any thing that was spoken against him, this Prince, who loved him dearly, thought he should oblige him, it he sought further into the matter. He sends for Marsé then to know of him from whom he had received that which he had reported: Marsé answers that a Gentleman, named Dincourt, had assured it unto him, and Dincourt appearing said, that contrarily Marsé had told him, how he had heard it from one called Beniers. Dincourt seeing that Marsé did not contradict him, besought the King that he might not be involved in this affayr; the King grants his request, returns him home, and commands Beniers to present himself, as he does: the King demands of him whether he had told Marsé, that the Marquis had fled from the Battle of Pavy: Beniers stoutly maintains that he had never said any such thing, and gives the other the lie. The King, who was willing to force two men, who had not been in the wars, to fight, told them, that to discover which of them had been the author of this falsehood, he would have them fight a single combat, and that he would honour it with his presence. They accept of it, and the next day, the lists being prepared, and the King being placed on a scaffold with all his Court, and environed with a great multitude of people, he sees Beniers appear, conducted by a gentleman of his friends; and Marsé at the other end of the field brought in by one of his kinsmen. Beniers would needs fight with two swords, and but half armed; so that either of them had a Corslet on with long tasses, sleeves of mail, gauntlets, a cask on his head, a sword in his right hand, & another in his left, with each of them a dagger by his side. This new spectacle drew the eyes of everyone upon them, but at length, after the sound of trumpets, the oaths, & other ceremonies requisite in such like actions, they began their combat, wherein they both shown a great deal of address and valour. At the first Marsé seemed to have some advantage of the other, he appeared more active, more ardent, and more vigorous; but towards the midst of the combat it was easy to judge, that Beniers had made spare of his forces to give the other leisure to spend his. Marsé grew faint, & the other so courageous, as no man had ever seen one fight more valiantly. They were a long time before they could hurt one another; for it happened that those two swords, which each of them had, and that carried terror by the eyes to the heart of those who beheld two men armed in that manner, were notwithstanding against their intention a means to make the combat endure; in regard that the left hand sword served to ward the blows which they gave one another, aswell as if each of them had had a buckler. When they perceived that their own arms kept them from destroying themselves, they cast away their swords both at once, and falling a grappling together with a great deal of precipitation they had recourse to their daggers: But Beniers being the stronger, and the more delyver, hath Marsé down under him, and his hand wherewith he held his dagger being engaged under the others, Beniers seeks for nothing else but a place not defended by his cuirace where he might kill him, & already had he his arm lifted up for to stab him, when as the King, who would not lose a man which had showed so much courage, threw down his warder in the midst of the field to make them leave off, which caused the people to give a great shout for joy, whereat Benires turning his head about gave Marsé opportunity to disengage himself, and in this manner the King's authority finished their combat. But admire, Madam, the caprichiousness of chance, by this which I am coming to tell you: The Marquis, about whom the quarrel was, arrives in post at the very same Town, where the combat was fought; he asks where the King is? and whereas the people are never well informed of things, he is only told, that he is beholding a combat, which he hath permitted unto two Gentlemen, who had required it of him. This novelty touches him with curiosity; he goes without further inquiry, or any thought that he had any interest in this affair: he comes thither, he beholds the combat a while amongst the multitude, makes vows for Marsé, whose demeanour and personage pleased him, wishes against his own proper interest that he may carry away the victory, and without knowing it takes his enemy's part. But one of his friends having perceived him, approaches to him, and in few words ●●counts him the whole matter, and withal possesses the mind of the Marquis with shame, despite, and fury. There is one than (said he unto him that had acquainted him with this bad news) which dares accuse me of cowardice; and even the King, who knows full well whether I fled from the battle or no, in stead of punishing this Impostor, does him the grace to permit him the combat; renders himself judge of it, is ready to heap glory on him, and to declare him victor if he surmounts his enemy. No, no, I cannot suffer it, and I must cast myself disarmed as I am, into the midst of the lists; I must fight with them both together, or asunder, it matters not which, so as I may be revenged, or die gloriously. As he was in this resolution the King threw down his warder to make the combat cease; and though the Marquis his mind was much troubled, yet had he observed that Beniers was in a condition to be victorious over his enemy, at such time as the King had given that signal of peace; which put him into such strange choler, as he resolved to break through the press, to go present himself, and in person demand satisfaction for the outrage had been done him by so black a calumny. What (said he to himself, in seeking still to approach nearer) the King takes care for the life of a man that spoils me in my honour! he hath not permitted the combat then, but out of hope that my enemy would vanquish, since assoon as it appeared that he had the worst, he retained the hand of him that would have stabbed him, and saved the other from the punishment which he was going to receive: But it is just that he should perish by my hand; and that I should be revenged by my relf. In the mean time the press was so great, and the people so thronged together for to hear what the King said to Marsé and his adversary, as the Marquis could not come near him, till he had told them, that their courage had obliged him from having either of them acknowledged for the calumniator: and that in persuance of this grace he commanded them to publish every where, how they knew from his mouth, that the Marquis had been one of the foremost in the front of the battle; that he had been one of the last which he had seen fight about him; and that if all the rest had done their devoir aswell as he, he had not lost his liberty. Then turning himself to the principal persons of his Court, I am (said he) a witness of that which I say; and if any one dare make any doubt of my speech, I will make him feel what the displeasure of an incensed Prince is. The Marquis seeing the King leave off speaking, cast himself at his feet, and surprised in such sort, both the Court, his enemies, and the King himself, as it was a good while before he could be heard, so great was the murmur. But at length, after the people had been commanded to silence, the Marquis spoke to him much after this manner. I know very well, Sir, since your Majesty is satisfied of my courage, that I should be so too; but it is not sufficient for your glory, that they whom you favour should be valiant, they ought also for the justifying of your judgement to be thought such by all the world; And therefore (if I may be permitted to speak so) I cannot endure that they, who have traduced me two hundred leagues from the battle, should not by experience undestand, that I know not how to recoil, either in a general, or particular combat: Grant me then out of justice that, which you have granted out of grace to mine enemy; your equity and your glory is concerned herein, and you cannot refuse me the combat which I demand, without covering me with shame and confusion. The King having attentively heard him, said, that his resentment was noble, but he could not for his own glory accord him that which he desired: That the public testimony which he had given of his valour, was more glorious than the death of his enemy, who by his commandment would be constrained to publish all his life-time the contrary of that which he had reported; That if he should permit him the combat, he should seem to posterity, that he himself had made doubt of his valour; that it would be to equal him with his enemy, which by no means he would do, neither was it just he should. The Marquis, hearing the King speak after this sort, was so seized with spite and grief, as he could not answer him. In the mean time the King, advising with the chiefest of his Court about what satisfaction he might give the Marquis, never heeded his going away; for suddenly thrusting himself amongst the press, he did so, as before he could be followed he took post, and went and hid himself in one of his friend's house, forty Leagues off, with an intent not to stir from thence but to be revenged. The King was much offended with this action of his, and although he loved the Marquis exceedingly, yet his authority seeming to be contemned thereby, he testified a great deal of displeasure for it. He charged Marsé not fight with him, and yet commanded him to acknowledge every where, how that which he had said was false. This while the Marquis caused his enemy to be observed, and received news of whatsoever passed at Court; and whereas he hath a great and generous spirit, the alteration of the King's favour towards him touched him so sensibly, as he desired his friends not to think of restoring him thereunto: He took order secretly for his affairs, settled his estate, raised a mass of money, great enough to undertake a long voyage; and that done, resolves to fight, not only with Marsé, but also with Beniers, not knowing, said he, whether he had not spoken that which he disavowed; and after all, to quit the Kingdom for ever. But the latter gave him not leave to execute his design; for he died of sickness. As for Marsé, as soon as he knew that he was returned into his country, he sent him a challenge; whereunto he answers, that in regard of the King's charge to the contrary, he could not accept of it. The Marquis nettled with this refusal, resolved to force him to fight; and watching for him a good while after in a Wood, that was not far from Marsés house, and whither he went oftentimes to walk, he perceived one morning a provost-marshal, accompanied with two of his fellows, who came along through the Forest; he hide himself for fear of discovery, and heard that one of them named him, and said that the King would have him apprehended if he could be found. This discourse obliged him to follow them afar off; but he was much astonished when he saw them enter into Marsés house: whereupon he no longer doubted, but that it would be impossible for him of a long time to find an opportunity to fight with him. He informs himself more particularly of the business; remains certain days about this house, and at length learns, that the provost-marshal was sent to Marsé to apprehend him; for the King had been advertised both of his retreat, and of the time when he departed to return into his Country; So that oppressed with many misfortunes, he resolved to go and pass away certain months in some other place, hoping that in the mean time they might peradventure be wearied with continual guarding of Marsé. He went then into Provence for his more security, where one of his particular friends lived, that was retired from the Court. Being there, he understands that the King's displeasure is pacified, and that his enemy is dead; so that the impossibility which he saw to be revenged, makes him take the resolution never to appear again at a Court, whose Prince had not entreated him very well. He passeth into Italy, as being Master of his Actions and Estate; and after he had seen all that is remarkable on this side the mountains, he stayed in the end at Genova, where such pleasant things have arrived unto him, as one would hardly believe they were true, they were so extraordinary. You have much obliged me, said the Princess, by acquainting me with all these passages; but I would fain know, what cause Marsé had so to hate him? I rather think Madam (replied the Count) that there was some love in the quarrel; if I be not deceived, Marsé had four sisters, and the Marquis but one; and they were both neighbours together in the country, so that visiting one another very often, according to the custom of France, Marsé fell in love with the Marquis his Sister, and the Marquis, who always returns Love with usury, became enamoured of all his four at once. He loved the eyes of the one, the stature of the other, the voice of the third, and the wit of the last. And in these four maids, he said that he had the most accomplished Mistress in the world. This folly lasted long enough to give Marsé leisure to become desperately in love with the Marquis his sister, who at her brother's entreaty had entertained him very civility during certain months that he was away in the Province, albeit she could by no means endure him. In the mean while the time of his return being come, Marsé gins to think seriously of his affairs, believes they will succeed well; and finding that the Marquis took great delight in resorting to his house, thinks to give him the choice of his four sisters, and by that exchange hopes to establish his felicity, and possess his Mistress. He employs one therein, who was a friend both to him and the Marquis; gives him order to discover which of his Sisters he hath a mind to, that he may prepare her to  him the better. This friend acquits himself dexterously of his Commission, he repairs to the Marquis, speaks to him of Marsés Sisters, and demands of him which of them pleaseth him most. He answers, that they please him all alike; that the eldest is plump, fair-hayred, white-skined; that she hath a great deal of sweetness in her eyes, and in her humour, but that it is great pity she is no taller. This man, who was called Alsac, believed that this was she which touched the Marquis his heart, since he found but this little defect in her. But the other proceeding on in his discourse, he thought it was the second; for (said the Marquis) the advantageous stature of the next; that stately look; that dark hair; that oval visage; and that noble pride, which appears in her port and all her actions, would render her incomparable, were her complexion somewhat clearer, and that she spoke a little more than she does. I was deceived (said Alsac then) and it is this same that hath vanquished him. But (continued the Marquis) the mouth of the third; her white teeth; that quaintness which she hath in the air of her face; that merry and jovial humour; and that which goeth beyond all the rest, that charming and passionate voice, which she governs with so much art, gives her such a grace, as would make her surmount all hearts, were it not for a little inequality of humour that appears in her. Nay now I know not which of them it is, said Alsac to himself; but for the last (continued the Marquis) it must be acknowledged, that that fresh and vermilion hue, proceeding from her youth, which may be named the soul of beauty; those sparkling eyes; that black hair; that comely neck; that mean and well proportioned stature; those white hands; and that which is most marvellous in the age of fifteen years, that nimble wit, which renders her the entertainment of a company; which makes her talk very agreeably of all matters; and which puts a particular charm into every part of her; deserves almost the whole heart of a worthy man, if she did not live in the Country, and had but for six months only breathed the air of the great world: but that original sin which takes off much of her value, and the sole thought that she is a country Gentlewoman, is a sovereign preservative for a man of the Court. Alsac was then very much perplexed; howbeit he conceived that the obstacle which the Marquis brought to this last, was the least considerable; and that thereby he would conceal his passion. But this conjecture was not for all that so strong, as he durst settle his judgement on it, as on an indubitable thing. He presses the Marquis yet in another manner, and precisely demands of him, whether he be in love or no; the Marquis, who thought he was not to speak seririously, answers, that he is, more than all the men of the world; the other entreats him to tell him with whom; and the Marquis, who believes that this man hath no hidden design, is contented to tell him, for to keep him still in doubt, that it sufficeth he assures him, how in that which he loves, all the beauties of the body, and all the graces of the mind, are encountered; and that a masterpiece of Nature might be made of it, if one could see together, what he loves asunder. Alsac comprehended nothing by this discourse, although it were true in the Marquis his sense, who indeed was in love with these four maids; in each of which he found things that touched his heart, and others that did not please him.  
This man then being in despair of being able to acquit himself of his Commission, inquires howsoever, whether it be at Court, or in the Country, that he loves? The Marquis answers, how it is in the Coutry that he loves, and after this they part. Alsac goes to Marsè, and tells him that all the fruit of his voyage is, how he certainly knows that the Marquis is in love in their Country, and that of necessity it must be in his house, since there were no other Gentlewomen thereabout; but to understand precisely which of his Sisters held the chiefest place in his heart, was impossible for him to discover, so well had he spoken to him of all four; howbeit it seemed to him that the last touched him a little more than the rest; but this too was so uncertain, as he counselled him not to rely on it. Marsé finds himself hereupon sufficiently troubled, howsoever he resolus to clear himself therein, and believes that entertaining all his Sisters, one by one in particular, he may discover the truth; it being impossible, said he, but that I shall observe by their countenances, to which of them he hath spoken seriously of love. He sends for the eldest to him into his Cabinet, speaks to her with a great deal of testimony of good will, and to oblige her the more easily to discover her heart unto him, he assures her that he thinks of nothing with more care, than to establish her Fortune; that he should hardly resolve to marry before her; and at length, having made a turn or two, he demands of her whether the Marquis had ever given her any particular proofs of his affection, and whether that match would be agreeable unto her. This proposition having made her blush, she answers, casting down her eyes, that in this occasion she had no other will but his, and that she was ready to obey him. How it was true, that the Marquis had testified that he greatly esteemed her, and that in an hundred encounters he still seemed to prefer her before the rest; and that she also had known how to acknowledge his merit to the prejudice of them that came near him; but that for three or four days since he had applied himself more in talking to the third than he was accustomed to do. This Maid giving no further marks in this discourse of the love the Marquis bore her, than that which she bore to him by the jealousy which she shown, Marsé was at a nonplus; he perceives by his Sister's speech, that the Marquis had spoken to her of love; that she did not hate him; and that she suspects notwithstanding that he hath a mind to her which sings, although according to Alsacs' opinion it should be to the youngest. Howbeit he conceals his unquietness from his Sister, and resolves to sound them all, charging this not to speak a word to the rest of what had passed between them. She withdraws, and the s●●ond arrives with a look and a modesty that made him believe he should be much troubled to draw any thing out of her concerning that which he desired to know. But he was much amazed, when as at the first proposition which he made to her of it, she freely told him, but with some little preparation before hand, that she believed the Marquis loved her eldest as a Sister; that he delighted to hear the third sing; that the wit of the last did not displease him; but as for her, she thought that he had given her such tokens of his esteem of her, as he had given to none of the rest; and that he had at sundry times spoken to her in that manner, as she could no longer doubt of it. Howbeit, that for three or four days last passed, she thought that to spite her, or to make her more favourable unto him, he had caused one of her Sisters to sing more, and had eyed the youngest more than he used to do. That as for her, she could always rule her will by his, but if he would permit her to speak the truth, she must confess unto him, that she could be contented to marry with a Courtier, being so strongly dis-inclined from the Country, as she could hardly resolve to talk with them that came to visit her. Her Brother promises to do what he can to content her, and having charged her to be secret, he dismisses her, and sends for the third. What shall I make of all this (said Marsé to himself) I cannot learn yet whether the Marquis be truly in love or no, however I am sure that I have two Sisters which are already desperately in love with him, but it may be, continued he, that the other two will clear this enigma unto me. In the mean time she whom he had sent for appears with her jocund humour; she demands of him at the first dash, whether it were to propound a Lover unto her that he had sent for her so in secret; he answers her, that she was not deceived, for indeed it was to ask of her whether the affection of the Marquis did satisfy her? She replies laughing, that the obligation which she had unto him for having taught her so many excellent airs, for having taken such pains to make her sing well, and to tune her Lute to her voice, deserved that her answer should be favourable unto him. But, said Marsé to her, speak seriously, for though you be the third, yet if the Marquis loves you, you shall be the first married. Can you doubt of it, said she? and see you not that the conformity which is between us must needs produce a fair affection? He is merry, I am not melancholic; he understands music, and I can sing; he plays on the Lute, and so do I; he dances admirably, and I do not dance with an ill grace; in conclusion, there is a kind of I know not what invisible thing, called, as I think, Sympathy, which makes us that we cannot hate one another. I but, replied Marsé, this is not enough, and you must tell me more seriously whether he loves you. Expect not any thing more serious from me, said she, for I should cease to be that I am, and peradventure should not please the Marquìs, if I were wiser; wherefore be pleased to let me tell you only, that if he speaks to you with as good a grace when he demands me of you, as he did in discovering his passion unto me, I shall not answer him cruelly. After this she went away singing a Song which the Marquis had made for her, and left Marsé so confounded, as he could scarcely believe what he had heard. But at length the last arrives, and whereas he knows that she had more wit than the rest, he also employs more art in speaking to her: He cajols and carresses her; calls her his Favourite, and his dearest Sister; and after an hundred protestations of good will, conjures her to deal ingenuously with him; and to oblige her the more, confesses unto her, that he is in an extreme passion for the Marquis his Sister; and believing that he is so too for her, he desires her to tell him the truth of it, and if it be so, to use him kindly, for fear he should oblige his Sister to oppose his affection. She answers thereunto with a great deal of wit, that she would think herself infinitely happy to be sacrificed for the felicity of her Brother; but as for that which concerned the Marquis, she was to tell him, that her life had not yet been long enough to be able to discern a feigned affection from a true; that it was so little a while since one had given over entreating her like a Girl, that she durst not as yet rely on her judgement; that indeed it was true, the Marqu●● had taken some such particular care of her, as made her think he did not wish her ill; and whereas he was the first worthy man that had spoken civilly unto her, she confessed freely unto him, she could not choose but be obliged to him for it; but that therein she promised to follow his directions exactly. The address of this maid was not such, but that her Brother perceived by the change of her countenance that the Marquis pleased her more than she made show of: But whereas he desired to have the liberty to think of so strange an adventure, he sends her away, enjoins her to be secret, and assures her that he will always testify that she is dearer to him than his other Sisters. When she was gone, he fell a walking up and down (for the Marquis knew all these things afterward by the third of these Gentlewomen, who out of the conformity that was betwixt them continued still his friend, maugre all their disorders) and having been a while without speaking; What, said he, the Marquis shall make my four Sisters be in love with him, whilst himself peradventure is not taken by any of them, and I shall be so unhappy as not be able to touch the inclination of his one? He will laugh in his mind at his conquests, and my misfortune; and whilst to the prejudice of my house he shall be laden with the favours of four maids, I shall get but cold civilities from her, whom I love passionately, and that alone can make up my felicity. But, continued he, what counsel can I take? If I have recouse to violence; if I quarrel with him; if I fight with him, and will make him explain himself by force, for the interest of my Sisters, than I ruin myself with her; I lose the hope of ever possessing her; and it would be an ill way for one to prove his love unto a generous person, to kill her Brother. It is better for me then to dissemble a while; to observe all his actions; to endeavour yet to discover whom the Marquis is in love withal; and if at last I can learn nothing certain, then to propound unto him the choice of my Sisters, in demanding of his. Behold in what sort Marsé reasoned with himself about so intricate an affair (at leastwise he hath recounted it since in this manner.) But as Marsé was thus troubled at home, so was the Marquis in some sort with his Sister, who having another design with herself than the marrying of Marsé, would have him dispense with her for entertaining him any longer, and permit her to take all hope from him. Howbeit the Marquis, who could not endure that his Sister's rigour should deprive him of the favours of all Marsés, unto whom he durst not have gone any more, if once she should have put him into despair, could not consent unto her desires. Why, Sister, said he unto her, you see me to be an hundred leagues from the Court, in a solitary Country, where one can hardly behold any thing that so much as resembles a woman, and you will be so cruel as to deprive me of a company, wherein I meet with four very amiable ones; so as if it be true that the loss of one Mistress brings an unquietness that cannot be ended but by Iron or Poison, what do you think will become of me, when you shall have taken from me four at a time, which I love passionately; and in a place where I can find no others? If I were at Paris, I should comply with you herein, not only for four, but for thirty, being well assured that I should repair this loss in a little time: But in the midst of a desert to deprive me of four sole maids whom I can love, is so great an inhumanity, in the humour wherein I am, as if you consider it seriously you must needs repent you of it. But, answered his Sister laughing, you do not love them, for how can you share yourself amongst so many? Not love them (replied the Marquis) naughty Sister, come, you do not know me, if you believe as you say; for it is most certain that I love them with all my soul; and that in all my life I never found myself so constant, nor so amorous. And whereas this maid could not very easily comprehend, how a man could love four at once, and term himself constant: for to make her understand it, he told her, that by a very extraordinary adventure he had no great affection ●or any of them in particular, but meeting in these four persons separately, with that, which he would have in one alone, he was so desperately in love therewith, as he was never in such a passion before. He told her further, that ordinarily when he found any thing that was amiable in a woman, he excused the defects which were in her, and became in love with all her person; but that in this encounter, through a caprichiousness of love, he was wounded in another sort. For, said he seriously, it would be impossible for me, in the estate wherein my mind now is, to love any of those maids single; and I am never more joyful than when I see them all four together. I behold the whitness of the first; the look of the second; I hear the voice of the third; and admire the gentleness of the last. In conclusion, I am so satisfied with this manner of loving, that when I could, by an unheard-of miracle, take from those four maids all that doth please me in them, to make thereof a Masterpiece and a marvel, such as I may imagine, yet should I rather choose to love them as I do. For if I should love but one of them, I should be without consolation when she were in choler; whereas contrariwise I am never altogether unhappy: if I have angered the fair one, the brown one regards me favourably; and if I am out with the serious one, the merry one comforts me with her jocund humour; and when it falls out, that I am upon good terms with all the four, I have such delight as cannot be expressed. One prepares a bracelet for me, another ties a band about my hat, a third gives me powder and essences, whilst the fourth causes her picture to be drawn for the love of me. In pursuance hereof, I sing a song that is agreeable to all four, which each of them applies to their own particular for a mark of my affection, and which they all commend with address and joy: and that which is yet more worth than all these things, is, that this passion is so fair and so extraordinary, as the end of it can never be unhappy. For when as I myself would contribute to mine own ruin, it is impossible that ever I should arrive to that infortunate term, which for the most part finishes all loves, I mean marriage. If I should love one of these maids, it may be that utterly losing all reason against my custom, I should also marry her; but loving these four sisters as I do, unless the Law should permit me to marry them all four, as the Turks does, I am in no danger of being their husband. In this manner I shall be always free, and always amorous; and the impossibility that there is for them ever to be my wives, gives them a charm, which will make me love them until I return again to the Court. Judge now after this, cruel sister, whether you are to rob me of all my pleasures. You know, continued he, that I do not cross yours, that I have never pressed you to hearken to the sighs of Marsé, more than was needful for my diversion, and not to constrain you to marry him. I am so much a friend of liberty, that I cannot endure the least violence, either in myself, or in another; and if you resist me never so little more, I feel that I shall do what you would have me; but at the very same instant I shall take Post to go seek out some new object for my passion, without which I am not able to live. They were a long time yet pleasantly disputing on either part concerning this matter; but at last the Marquis his Sister, who would not lose so favourable an occasion to discover unto her Brother the design which she had, gives him to understand, that during his absence, a Gentleman of their Neighbours, extreme rich, of great courage, and of much spirit, had fallen in love with her; and that he being to return from the Army in a short space, she was afraid lest some mischief might fall out between him and Marsé. It is not that I have any affection for him, said this Maid, but I must confess to you, that I will never marry Marsé, though I think I could resolve to be the others Wife. Come, my dear Sister, answered the Marquis, do not disguise your thoughts; say that you are in love; that your passion is violent, and with these charming words you shall obtain of me all that you can desire; I will return to the Court eight days sooner than I would have done, to leave you the liberty to use Marsé as you please; but when I go I will leave our Mother an absolute power to marry you according to your own mind; for I am so glad to see that you are not insensible, that I love you for it far more than I did. As they were thus talking, Marsé arrives, the Marquis hides himself against his Sister's will, gets out at a back-gate, mounts on horseback, and rides to Marsés house, which was not far off, where he finds those four fair Sisters, or to say better, his four Mistresses, all of them more jovial than ordinary, for they had every one in particular some hope to be the Marquis his Wife, by reason of the proposition their Brother had made to them of it. They had also attired themselves extraordinarily, to give him new wounds; for they knew well no day passed without his visiting them. The eldest had a garment on of green cloth-of-Silver, whereof the sleeves were tied up with carnation-silvered ribbon, and her hair with the same, which did not misbecome a person fair-complexioned. The second had on a night attire of pure white silver tinsel, which gave a kind of lustre to her serious and modest aspect; the third always glittering, was in a waistcoat of gridilyon satin, set all over with silver oes; as for the youngest, though her garment was plainer than the rest, yet was it the gallantest; her habit was nothing else but silvered tiffany, embroidered with flowers, lined with carnation taffeta, and her head was covered over with carnation and white feathers, which must needs do well with a young person, whose hair was black, complexion clear and lively, and eyes wonderfully sparkling. All these Sisters were much amazed in themselves, at the care which each of them had taken on one and the same day, in setting forth themselves as much as possibly they could; and the Marquis was so surprised to see them all at once with such magnificence and jollity, that he could not imagine what should be the cause of it; for commonly they observed this order amongst themselves, that there was one always carelessly dressed, to the end that each of them in their turn might show, both affected handsomeness, and handsome carelessness. But at length the Marquis accosts them, divides his compliments and looks, commends them all four together, and without knowing what was in their thoughts, does things which confirms them in their opinion. He talks to them of love openly, swears that he is in such a passion for them, as he was never in the like before; and whereas their minds were prepossessed, they believe that it is an address of Court to speak overtly of these matters, and to leave it to her, whom one loves, to apply it to herself. She whom he beheld believed, that it was as much as to say, it is for you; and those whom he did not behold, believed, that out of respect he durst not encounter their eyes, in speaking of a thing which might make them blush; in fine, they were all very well contented and very well satisfied. The Marquis, who did not love to make unprofitable visits, demands new favours of them; he will have a bracelet made of the hair of all four; they laugh at it at first; they refuse him, or to say better, they make him the more earnest to entreat them for it; and at last they grant it him, still in the thought, that it is a trick whereby he will get the hair of her eh loves, without making show that it should be a particular favour, or that she should have cause to be offended at it. This promise was soon executed; the youngest of these maids being the most dextrous, was she that plaited this hair together, and made a bracelet of it, where the different colour of their hair appeared all asunder. In labouring at this work, she laughed in her sleeve, to think how her Sisters were beguiled, if they believed that it was for them the Marquis had desired that which she was making; and the rest, who thought they were more cunning, mocked at the simplicity of their younger Sister, for taking such pains about a thing wherein she had so small a share. And those several concealed opinions which they all had, gave them so strong a disposition to laugh, as upon the least pretext for it, they fell into it; finding too amidst their laughter occasion to redouble it, each of them believing in their mind, that the rest would not always laugh with so good a will when once the Marquis should declare himself. As for him, who never lost time, after he had spoken to them all in general, according to the French liberty, he spoke to them in particular; he singles out one into a corner of the room, and there says gallantries to her; a little after he talks with another at a window, which looks upon the garden, and seeming to admire the beauty of the flowers, he praises that of her eyes; he accompanies the youngest when she goes forth, and makes use of this occasion to cajole her. And when they walk in the garden, he sometimes draws one of them also from the rest, that he may be able to speak two or three words to her in private, or to kiss her hand. In the mean time, Marsé, who had not received such caresses at the Marquis his house, returns to his own, where he finds him still to be; he does what he can to make him stay all night, but the Marquis, who began to fear lest Marsé should press him to explain himself, withstands it, parts from this fair company, carries away the bracelet, and comes back to his Sister, who was very melancholic. For it had happened, that her Lover being returned, had surprised her talking with Marsé; and whether he had understood of his design, or that she had before acquainted him with it, they had saluted one another very coldly, and had talked as men that took pleasure to contradict each other. So that, said she to the Marquis, after she had recounted unto him that which had befallen, I see the matter in a case to break forth, and suddenly to produce some mischief, if we do not look to it in time. No such thing, answered the Marquis, for whereas I have promised nothing to Marsé, and that he too hath not spoken to me of his love to you, or of any purpose he had to marry you; I may tell him if he moves me about it, that I am engaged to another, and to make that true, cause your Lover to come to me, and I will promise him my consent. I know that thereby I shall banish myself from a place, where I have a great deal of pleasure; but since I am of necessity to be gone away within eight days to the Court, I could not make a better end of this adventure. For Marsé forbidding me his house, I shall have a fair occasion to write them a letter of adieu and despair: withal, continued he, I perceive that I begin to accustom myself to the favours which I receive from these Gentlewomen, so that now the happiness which love gives me, being turned into an habit, it is no longer happiness to me. The Marquis his Sister was so astonished to hear him talk thus, as she could not forbear laughing at it: They passed the evening in this sort, and not to lose time, the Marquis his Sister advertised her Lover, that the next morning he should repair to her Brother to acquaint him clearly with the intentions he had for her. The note which she sent failed not to work the effect she expected from it; her Lover comes just as the Marquis is rising, speaks to him of his passion for his Sister, shows that he covets his alliance, and in the end expresses his desires so clearly, that the Marquis without further delay leads him to his Mother's chamber, who favoured her Daughter's wishes, propounds the matter unto her, gets her to agree unto it; and whereas this Lover was absolute Master of his Estate, and of his own will, they resolved to accomplish this Marriage within four days, to the end that the Marquis, who was to return to the Court, might be at his sister's wedding. Things being in these terms, Marsé arrives, who was come on purpose to his Mistress' Mother, to discover his design unto her. As soon as the Marquis saw him enter, he descends, he goes and embraces him, invites him to his sister's wedding, before he acquaints him to whom she is to be married; seems to believe that he is not interessed therein; talks to him of dancing and joy; hoping thereby, that Marsé, seeing the matter resolved, would not explain himself further, and peradventure would alter his mind. As indeed, Marsé hearing this discourse, and knowing that his rival was returned, makes no doubt but the Marquis spoke the truth, only he doubted, in regard of the manner of the Marquis his speech to him, whether he had observed that he affected his sister. He was mad that he had not declared himself sooner, and that he was arrived so late; and in this unquietness, he knew not whether he should go in or no, to be the spectator of his Rivals triumph; whether he should quarrel with the Marquis, though he knew not as yet that he was faulty; whether he should departed away without saying any thing unto him; or whether he should trouble this wedding with some strange violence; in fine he was so confounded, as not knowing what to do in so unpleasing a conjuncture, he suffered himself to be conducted along by the Marquis, whose address in this occasion was such, as without seeming to perceive any change in his countenance, he still continued talking to him of diversion and joy: and that too with embracing and putting him gently on towards his Mother's chamber; whereunto as soon as ever they were entered, the Marquis presented his brother-in-law to Marsé, who saluted him very coldly; in the mean time he had leisure to tell his Mother and his sister in two words, that to keep Marsé from showing his hatred and resentment, he was not to be left alone with any body. After that civilities were rendered on either part, the Marquis thought it was fittting that he should entertain the company; he began then to quarrel with his sister, for that she was the cause of his rejoicing at a thing which was repugnant to his mind; but withal he was well assured, that this thing should never give him joy again, either for her, or any other, and that this compliance was no doubt the greatest mark he could render her of his love. Marsé hearing this discourse, demanded of him, whether he meant marriage by that which he spoke? and the Marquis without further delay, answered him laughing, that it was of that destroyer of love; of that Tyrant of liberty; of that enemy of pleasure; which most commonly disjoins all that Love hath united; which discovers all the defects of the mind and humour, to persons that believed they were altogether perfect; and that which was worse than all the rest for him, which banishes love, inconstancy, and gallantry from amongst men, to introduce into the stead of it, jealousy of honour, a false constancy, and domestic cares. So that, as you speak (replied Marsé interrupting him) you believe it may be that you should much oblige one of your friends, if you should marry his Mistress to another. If he should tell me, answered the Marquis, that he would marry her, I should not contradict his intent, for I am so much an enemy to constraint, as I never oppose any thing; but otherwise if a worthy man of my friends should appear to me extremely amorous, I do not think I should do him any great wrong, if I should deprive him of the means of marrying his Mistress, in case his passion should disorder him so far, as to give him a desire to do so: And in the humour that I am, the greatest proof of affection that I can render unto a maid, when I become enamoured of her, is, not to marry her: yea, and I have met with some, unto whom, the more favourably to receive my affection, and to testify unto them the respect which I bore them, I have declared at the first sight, that in becoming their Servant, I had no design to become their Master; and in assuring them that I was their slave, I assured them that I would never be their Tyrant. It may be, replied Marsé, you have not always spoken so openly; that I have not, answered the Marquis, when I believed, that those whom I loved had wit enough not to suspect that I had any such bad intent; but howsoever I have never done or said any thing which could make them believe, that I had any other aim, than to love them, to be kindly received of them, to be heard with pleasure, and to obtain of them all those petty favours, which are no part of the Husband's demean, and which ought always to remain in the disposition of Ladies, therewith to gratify their Lovers. For since there are not men found, which amuse themselves in wearing bracelets of their wife's hair; which demand favours of them; which are ravished with kissing only the tip of their gloves; with saying gallantries to them, praising their beauties, giving them serenades; making verses to their glory; and telling them that they burn and die for love of them. Is it not strange they should be deprived of all these pleasures? and is it not unjust, that men which do not love them should possess them absolutely? and that they which adore them should not at leastwise have all those petty things, which are not directly opposite to virtue? Your maxims are so bad, said the Marquis his Sister, speaking to her Brother, that if you had not always been at Court, and that we had always been brought up together, I should have some cause to fear, that one might imagine you had persuaded me to your opinion. I dare not say, replied her Lover, that these maxims, which you condemn, have nothing in them that clashes with reason; nor also maintain that they have nothing in them but that which is bad; for I have too much love for the Sister, and too much respect for the Brother; but howsoever I am confident that you will not follow them. It is true, said Marsé, tartly enough, that inconstancy is not that wherewith he is to be reproached; and I know not whether on the contrary, Virtue opposed will not prove to be the only crime that may be imputed to him. The Marquis perceiving that the other was preparing himself to answer, and peradventure with bitterness, continued to speak of the injustice of men in the discerning of things. For, said he, if the diversity of good books renders a man knowing; if diversity of voyages serves him for an agreeable study, which illuminates his mind, and informs his judgement; if the diversity of fair arts is a knowledge that pleases; if the diversity of tongues passes for a laudable curiosity, why should one think that the diversity of loves can produce nothing that is good? And why will one have the grace of novelty, which is the charm of nature, to be a defect in love? For my part, said Marsé, I will no longer oppose this doctrine, since an universal change cannot be but advantageous for me, glorious for some, and equitable for others. The hidden sense of this speech was easily understood by all the company; but the Marquis, who in this occasion did not desire to dive into things, altered the discourse, and said unto Marsé, that his Sisters must needs honour this Wedding with their presence, and that he must rejoice with them, for that they are not so near to slavery. The honour that you will do them, answered Marsé, will surprise them, not because your civilities hath not given them occasion to attend more from you, but whereas this news is unexpected, it is fit that I should go and advertise them of it, to the end they may prepare themselves to receive the grace that you will do them. The Marquis pressed him extremely to pass away the rest of the day with them, but he would by no means stay; He invites him also to his Sister's Wedding, talks to him of Balls, Lutes, Music, and of all the entertainments usual in such like Feasts: whereunto the other answered still with speeches of a double sense. The two Rivals quipt one another civilly, which doubtless might have produced some unlucky adventure, had not the merry humour of the Marquis sweetened the conversation. Marsé took his leave of the company, with a forced countenance, which made them conceive that he had strange unquietness in his mind. He went home then with so much grief, as he could not longer conceal it, and to minish it in some sort he desired to make his Sister's partakers of it. He sends for them, acquaints them with the marriage of his Mistress, tells them that the Marquis is unfaithful, inconstant, a cheater, a courtier; that cares for nothing but to please himself; that hath made a mockery of them; and then recounts all their conversation unto them. These four Sisters were not more amazed at this Wedding whereunto they were invited, and the lightness of the Marquis his humour, than to know by their Brother's discourse that they were Rivals, and equally beguiled of the hopes which they had conceived. At first they beheld one another, as if they would silently reproach each other for concealing themselves in their designs: But the third of these maids, whose mind was not so sensible of grief, and that could not be long without giving some marks of her humour, after she had paused a little, began to speak, and said with a tone of the voice of admiration, I must confess the Marquis is wonderful dextrous, that could deceive four interessed maids; and though I did infinitely esteem him, continued she, I did not think he had had so much wit, nor that he was so unworthy of my friendship. The minds of the three others were not so moderate; and though the eldest was of a very sweet disposition, yet could she not choose but show her resentment. The second, always haughty, manifested hers, by seeming to share very much in that of her brother; but as for the youngest, she was vexed to the heart, for having so ill assured her first conquest; and albeit she had a great deal of wit, yet she could not forbear showing her choler. Howsoever the third continued still saying, that this adventure was a new charm, which she discovered in the Marquis, and that engaged her to esteem of him the more. In the mean time the wedding day arrives; Marsé feigns himself sick because he would not be at it; the sisters excuse themselves upon their brother's sickness: Howbeit the third makes a secret match with one of her kinswomen, that dwells not far of, to go and see this feast in disguise; they mask themselves then very bravely, and appear in that assembly accompanied with certain men disguised too as they were. As soon as they were entered into the rooom, the Marquis knew her that touched his heart still; he approaches to her, makes her an hundred compliments, and continues telling her, that he loves her passionately. But she without reproaching him, answers, that she does not doubt of it, and that the conformity which is between them ought to work so fair an effect. That nevertheless it was fit they should a little better examine their thoughts, it seeming just unto her, that two persons, which made profession of beguiling all the world in gallantery, should not be beguiled between themselves. This said, this gentlewoman made the Marquis sit down by her, whilst the rest of the company were dancing, and with a most pleasing relation acquainted him with all that had passed, betwixt her brother, her sisters, and herself. Hereupon they promised much good will one to another, esteeming too much of themselves for ever speaking together again of love. She counselled the Marquis not to come at their house, but since he was to be gone to the Court the day following to send a compliment to her brother and her sisters, as indeed he did. The Marquis took post the next morning, leaving his sister very well contented, Marsé in despair, three of his sisters in cholerenough. & the other satisfied. Ever since that, Madam, there hath always been a secret hate between these two houses, until such time as Marsé made the report that caused the cmobat, which I have recounted unto you, & that consequently hath so happily for us brought the Marquis into Italy. I confess, said the Princess, that the history hath much delighted me; and that I am much obliged unto you for acquainting me with so gallant and extraordinary a man. As she was saying so, the Marquis came into the chamber again; whereupon she began to charge him for keeping so long away from a company, which found his infinitely agreeable to them: But he with a respective boldness, answered, that knowing very well how the Count would impart some part of his humour unto her, he feared not to acknowledge, that being in doubt he should not always well remember what she was, and also what he was, he went away to expose himself to the looks of the fair Aemilia, to the end that having his heart replenished with love, he might have nothing but veneration for her. Isabel could not forbear laughing though she blushed in looking on Justiniano: who told the Princess, that this foresight and respect of his, merited a great deal of acknowledgement. And I too am resolved not to be ingrateful; but I fear when as you know me, said she to the Marquis, that you will have a passion for me quite contrary to that which you seem to fear. For in fine, whether it be constancy or obstinacy, I never change my determination; when once I have taken a resolution, nothing can destroy it; so as I have great cause to doubt, that this difference of humours which is seen betwixt us, will set me at odds with you: but that which gives me a little hope yet, is, that I know you have friends that are not inconstant. I confess, Madam, replied the Marquis, that I am inconstant, and that following the order of Nature, I should hate that which is directly opposite to me; but for all that it is certain, that I am not incommodiously inconstant; I never contradict any in their opinions, nor in their pleasures; I give unto others the liberty which I desire they should grant me; I do not blame constancy, though I like well of change; and my soul is so full of passion, as I cannot condemn all that which is called Love; wheresoever I find this passion, it pleaseth me, and all the effects of it are agreeable unto me. I love jealousy in this same, despair in him, dissimulation in some, infidelity in others; and although it seldom produces any thing but joy in me, yet does not the melancholy of a Lover, who is not of my humour, offend me. I am so powerfully persuaded of the excellency of Love, as I hold for infallible, that the most unfortunate Lover in the World hath more happy days, than the freest of all men can have. For in fine, the remembrance of what is past, or the hope of what is to come, still gives him felicities, which are not met withal in the possession of other good things. Verily, said the Princess, there was never any one so sociably inconstant; for commonly we are so unjust, as to desire that our sense should rule that of others, to approve of nothing but what pleaseth us, and to condemn all that contradicts our opinions. And they which are of this humour, find in themselves wherewith to maintain their severity. They say, that whereas there is but one reason in all things, there is but one way to be followed; that all they which esloign themselves from that, do go astray, and that so they may be justly blamed. I acknowledge, Madam, replied the Marquis, that there is but one reason, but I maintain also, that it is so difficult to be known, as he who thinks he hath found it, is oftentimes further from it than others, which without judging sovereignty of any thing simply, follow the sense wherewith Nature hath inspired them. And indeed to speak truth, if it be necessary for the equitable judging of a matter, that one should be lose from all, and so indifferent as to lean equally to each side, or to say better, not to lean to either; how is it possible that any man should be so hardy as to make any judgement of the actions of others, principally of that which regards Love? But since I have been taken at Genova for an ginger, permit me to play the cunning man in this encounter; I say then, Madam, that our reason is not so absolutely loosed from sense, but that our temperament hath a great share in our opinions; and that that just mixture of the four humours, which renders the spirit so clear and solid, and our health so sound, is seldom found in any body. There is always one of them that predominates over the rest, and by it we act according to the pleasure thereof; we are grave, merry, choleric, or patiented; insensible, or passionate. And certainly it is not so much the rigour of a melancholic man's Mistress, that makes him cry out, sigh every minute, shed tears, pass away nights without sleep, rave from the purpose, talk always of despair, and appear with a langor, that seems to be an effect of an extreme affliction; as the power of this predominant humour, which forces him to receive all things after this sort. And to prove that which I say, we are but to consider, that if the same rigour were addressed to a man of my humour, he would receive it in another fashion; the jollity and joy which proceeds from the temperament, is not easily troubled by things without; and certainly, that which makes the melancholic man complain in Love, would give me occasion to laugh; that which makes him to sigh, would induce me to make verses of gallantery; that which makes him weep, would quite cure me of my passion; and if I should pass nights without sleep, it would be, doubtless, to give Serenades; I should not rave in conversing, to weary others, and make them hate me; I should not entertain my Mistress with my despair; nor should I fill her imagination with sad thoughts, which putting her into a bad humour, might make her to use me ill afterwards. But contrarily, I would talk to her still of all the delights of them that love one another; and whereas Love is always represented in the midst of sports, laughters, and pleasures, I would endeavour to inspire her heart with joy, that so I might the more easily introduce love into it, to whom the painters do always give a bed of flowers, without ever laying him on thorns. In fine, Madam, far from persuading my passion unto her by the langor of my face, I would show her so much satisfaction in my eyes, as she might very well perceive that her dominion would be pleasing to me; and that I would not be like those people newly conquered, who by their melancholy makes one believe that they are always meditating some revolt. There are also two kinds of Lovers, who by the humours which predominate in them are made to do strange things, the anxious, and the choleric. And though the former are not so far eloigned from the melancholic, but that they have some conformity together; nor the choleric from that sparkling humour, and that fire which animates me; yet are they for all that differing in many things. The anxious is satisfied with nothing; the possession of felicities, which he hath desired, molest him; he wishes for quite contrary things; he loves and hates all at a time; he hath a secret enemy within himself, that mingles bitterness with all his pleasures; he believes when his Mistress shows him favours, that she is too prodigal of them, or that she deceives him; in conclusion he is easily displeased; nothing can content him; and when the person whom he loves gives him the least cause of jealousy, it is enough for him to meditate on a murder. A man like me, in such a like occasion, would mock at his Mistress, and his Rival; a melancholic man in France would fight very courageously, but as for an anxious man, Steel, Iron, and poison, would be the least arms that he would make use of. As for the choleric, he would receive the rigours of his Mistress with transports of fury, so far forth as to offer affronts to her, to threaten her with all things; but as the clouds, which form the tempests, are dissolved when thunder breaks forth, so this man of choler hath no sooner exhaled his fire by his cries, but he goes out of himself, and one only look of the person beloved finding yet some impression of heat in his heart, doth therein easily kindle that again of love; Finally he is easily angered, and is as soon appeased. There are yet of another temperament, who are so patiented, as they are almost insensible; and cold predominates so much in them, as if it arrives that love warms them a little, they are capable of enduring any thing: For they are so powerfully surmounted by laziness, that for fear of stirring they dare not change their Mistress, but suffer all things without complaining. You see then, Madam, that the diversity of the humours of the body contributes much to our apprehensions; and that one and the same thing is seen after a quite different manner. And if we will give credit to the Astrologers in this behalf, they will tell you also, that Saturn by his influence makes all the melancholicks act, as I have declared; that they, over whom Jupiter predominates, are of my humour; that Mars inflames the souls of those, whom he governs, with the fire of choler; and that the Moon inspires those, whom she commands, with a coldness, which makes them almost insensible. You will tell me it may be, Madam, that these Stars are so far distant from us, as it is hard to comprehend how they exercise an absolute power upon men; but if you consider that which they do in the universal world, you will the more easily believe that which they do particularly in man: for in fine the diversity of seasons is derived from them; and this successive change of heat and cold, of flowers and fruits, which are seen every year, is found also in ourselves. We have our seasons as well as the year, and even as age changes our temperament, in changing our humours, we likewise change opinions. The second age of life, which is the first for love, seldom fails in producing of violent passions, which are often followed by imprudence and indiscretion. As for the third, the passions therein are not so lively, but withal they are better governed: One conceals the pictures which he hath of his Mistress; One no longer shows the bracelets of hair which she gives; One hath as much care of her conservation as of his pleasure; and it is in this age alone, where gallantry, a little reason, and a great deal of love, may sometimes be encountered all together. But for that which follows, and is called the age of Wisdom, Love doth in it appear so strange, so dreadful, and so ridiculous, as I cannot find any thing more horrible than an amorous old man. For of all the apprehensions which this passion inspires him with, he hath none left him but jealousy: Liberality, Address, Gracefulness, Vivacity of Spirit, that fire which sparkles in the eyes of a Lover, Respect, Care, cajoleries, Verses, Music, Dancing, and an hundred other things, which are so dependent on Love, that if it be despoiled of these ornaments, it almost ceases to be Love; all these things (I say) are no longer found save in his memory, and that too in a manner, which time and use hath rendered ridiculous. But instead of all that, he is covetous, uncomely, of a languishing spirit, disrespectful, careless, uncapable of delivering a civility with any good grace, or of making Verses that have any life in them; for the Muses do not use to favour old Lovers: And for the language of the Eyes, how should they make use of them to express their passion, when as ordinarily they are become so weak, or sunk so far into their heads with age, as they are hardly to be seen, neither can they distinctly see others. Finally, that Love which is painted so plump to us, so fair, so jolly, so amiable, so merry, so young, so vigorous, a torch in one hand, a bow and quiver on his shoulder, and a scarf over his eyes, should for them be painted, withered, lean, hideous, hoary, sad, and languishing, having neither bow, nor quiver, nor making other use of an extinguished torch but to lean on it, nor of his scarf but to wipe his eyes. So that, Madam, this diversity, which is seen to arrive to one and the same person, according to the change of his humours, of his temperament, and of his ages, doth demonstrate, that albeit there is but one reason to be followed, yet we do oftentimes form many according to our fancy. Wherefore I do not think I am upon a bad ground, in not amusing myself about so vain a search, as that of the true reason of all things, seeing it is so difficult to find; nor in following, as I do, that which pleaseth me, and all that which seems amiable to me; neither in leaving that liberty to others, which I give unto myself.  
After the Marquis had given over speaking, and left the company very much satisfied with his wit, Justiniano, who would not abandon reasons party, and who desired the Princess should think it was not out of caprichiousness and fancy that he had veneration for her, answered the Marquis in this sort. You combat reason with so much force and address, as it cannot be easily believed that you do not know her; and the same wit which you have made use of to overthrow her dominion, manifests sufficiently unto us that you are one of her subjects; and if at any time you quit her, it is only in this passion, from whence some, who are not acquainted with the nobleness of Love, would banish her. But for all that it is certain, that she finds a place every where; that she can be the Mistress of all m●n; that she can subdue all the passions, and all the griefs of the mind; make those of the body to be supported without impatience; withstand our temperament, and the influences of the Stars; and by her infinite force makes us vanquish ourselves, by obliging us oftentimes to destroy our own pleasures.  
To know this truth, we are but to consider, that the humours which predominate in us, the constellation of the Stars, and that change which time works in our temperament, do not change any thing but our inclinations, which certainly are caused by all these things: Howbeit that is not powerful enough to delude reason, who no way depending either on the melancholy humour, or on the Stars, can also judge sovereignly of all the apprehensions wherewith she inspires us. She hath a seat more transcendent than our inclinations, which many times are found to be very low, and corrected by reason. All Antiquity would furnish us with examples of it, and the wisest have left us marks of owing all their virtue to their reason, which having made them prefer the study of Philosophy before their inclinations, hath kept them from being the most infamous amongst men. And truly, it were to deprive us of all the advantages which we have over beasts, if our only inclinations should have the conduct of our lives: And to make it appear that we have a destiny more noble than that same, we are but to observe, that the Creatures, which move not but by instinct, have one like unto it, and general to all their kind. All Hearts seek dictamum when they are hurt; all Birds of season seek for the Springtime, and fly from the Winter without failing; which the Lions do not, nor so many Birds that do not shift Country. This instinct than is seen in all the creatures without ever failing, even as the race of the Sun, the course of the Rivers, and all other things which do not depend of themselves, do always follow the first order that hath been given them, and that is so ne-necessary to them, as they cannot fail. But as for man, it is not so with him; he is absolute Master of his thoughts, and of his actions; nothing forces him, nothing violents him, and he is so independent from all things, as he can even attempt upon his own life, as was often seen at such time as it was lawful to prefer death before servitude. It cannot be said that this action, which destroys Nature, is an effect of a natural inclination; there must be then a more powerful reason than our inclinations, seeing it is certain, that of all the interior apprehensions which Nature gives us, there is none so strong, so predominant, nor so universal, as the desire of life. In the mean time, since there have been men found able to vanquish it by reason, it may be consequently believed, that there are a great number of others, who can force their inclinations, and judge sound of all; and who, without considering that which pleaseth them, consider only that which ought to please them. For in conclusion, our inclinations do not move in us so powerfully as one may imagine they do; they having nothing common, as I have already said, with this instinct of unreasonable creatures, which forceth a whole kind to do one and the same thing, and which is instead of reason to them; since we see, that not only all Nations, all Provinces, but all men in particular, are so different one from another, that many times there is more difference between an Italian and an Italian, than between the whole Nation, and that of the Persians and Tartarians. Our inclinations, if we will know them well, are no other than a secret motion, that carries us without violence to please ourselves more with one thing than another; some love the Woods better than the Rivers; and others the Waters better than the Forests, and that may be peradventure by temperament; they leave not both of them for all that to know, maugre their inclinations, the beauty of those things, and to delight in them, which do not touch their minds the most sensibly. But to show that it is somewhat too weak a thing to deceive reason, we are but to consider, that use alone forces our inclinations. Liberty, which is so natural to all the World, is a good that is not desired by all the women of Italy; custom only makes them find their houses large enough for their walks; and the place of their devotions far enough for their voyages. Judge then after this, whether reason can suffer herself to be vanquished by enemies which time doth surmount. As for the passions, I confess, that they are a little more difficult to be destroyed; but yet I maintain, that if reason will oppose them, she will appease them, and restore tranquillity to the mind that is most troubled. If reason than will act, it is certain, that, maugre the force of temperament, the influences of the Stars, and the ages of men, we shall see the melancholic sociable; the choleric patient; the slothful more active; a young Lover without inconstancy, and without indiscretion. I acknowledge nevertheless, that there is a kind of passion, or to express myself more clearly, a kind of Love, which reason cannot destroy. This impotence proceeds not, for all that, from her weakness, but it is because she never destroys that which she hath established; and because this Love, whereof I speak, is rather an effect of our reason, than of our passion; and truly, when a Lover hath, in the person whom he loves, met with the beauty of the body, of the mind, and of the soul; when as Virtue is mingled with all these charms; when as his vows are not rejected; when as he fears but the inconstancy of Fortune, and not that of his Mistress, it is impossible to say otherwise than that reason is the Mother of a passion, that doubtless cannot disorder the mind; that hath nothing base, nothing abject; that produces none but fair thoughts; that propounds no recompense unto itself; and that hath no other aim but to love eternally. If I were of a humour to contradict the opinions of others (answered the Marquis, laughing, and looking on Justiniano, and then on Isabel) I could show you in few words, that at the very same instant when as you maintain, that one cannot be preoccupated by his inclinations, you do not consult so much with your reason, as with your sense: But let it suffice for the finishing of our dispute, that I will make you see by my experience, that my inclinations shall be always stronger than my reason; and not to stay longer in giving you an example of it, know, that though I am by the most perfect Princess in the World, and in the conversation of the worthiest persons of Italy, yet can I not choose but be in some unquietness for that I do not see the beautiful Aemilia. The whole company could not forbear laughing at the freedom of the Marquis; and the Princess demanded of him, whether he had yet taught her Kinswoman the French liberty, by having persuaded her to receive his visits without her permission. Madam, said he unto her, if any one be faulty in this occasion, it can be none but I; who going out of your chamber for the reason which I have declared unto you, I took the boldness to make use of your name, to be received into that of Aemilia, from whence I had not departed as yet if she had not driven me away. Justiniano seeing it grow late, wished the Count to bid the Princess good-night, for fear of incommodating her, by making her stay up too long; and though she made them a compliment to assure them that they could never be troublesome unto her, yet they retired, and were conducted by the principal Officers of her House to their Lodgings. The Marquis would not abandon the Count, nor Doria, his dear Justiniano, who nevertheless could have been well contented to have been alone for the better entertaining of his thoughts, but civility and friendship kept him from it. When as they were a-bed, Doria, who could conceal nothing from his friend, acquainted him, that Horatio, of the illustrious House of Cibo, and the Count's Brother-in-Law, was in love with his Sister; and that he almost was so too with the Count's Sister-in-Law, although he had seen her but twice since his return: Howbeit that he had used his best endeavour to oppose this passion, in regard he knew very well that this Maid had an imperious humour, which would not be easily vanquished. Justiniano answered thereunto in such a manner, as persuaded Doria that he had a mind to sleep, but indeed it was because his mind was so taken up with his own, as he was not capable of harkening to other men's affairs; so that Doria fearing to incommodate him, gave over talking, and slept more quietly than Justiniano did.    

IBRAHIM: OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The second part. The second BOOK.  
THe morning bringing joy and delight again to this fair Troop, the Princess would needs have the Count and the Marquis bestow that whole day too upon her, and to pass it away the more agreeably she led them to Monton, a little Town, some mile from Monaco, where the Princes of her House had built a magnificent Paviglion, which she desired to show unto the Marquis. Aemilia finding herself better that night, made one also of the company, so that the Marquis was in the best humour of the World. And whereas the Princess observed that his respects were not displeasing to her kinswoman, she said to the Marquis, for to oblige him to talk, that whereas love aught to be without supercherie as well as war, he having not as yet declared himself to be Aemilia's, she might by his observance and services be induced to believe that he was capable of a solid affection, and so engage her further than was fitting. Aemilia blushed at this discourse, and the Marquis without giving her leave to speak, assured the Princess, that he should not long conceal himself, and that the Count could confirm this truth unto her. Indeed, said the Count, he hath not used to keep himself from being known, and if he would take the pains to recount unto you the first adventure that befell him at Genova, his address would appear to the beautiful Aemilia, and the relation no doubt would give your Excellency much content. Withal it will be better walking towards the evening, than in the midst of the day, and you cannot pass it away better. The Princess, who was persuaded, that the Marquis his adventures could not choose but be very pleasant, entreated him thereunto with a great deal of civility; he excuses himself a while, but in the end she conjures him to it in the name of his last Mistress; It is she indeed, answered he, that is most powerful in my heart, and that makes me to obey. The Princess conducted them then into a Cabinet, that was open on four sides, and whereof all the walls were of crystal glass from the top to the bottom, that so the prospect might be the more free. After they were set down there on seats of ebony, covered with carnation and silver tinsel, the Marquis began his History in this sort.  

The History of the feigned ginger.  
BEfore I begin the relation which I am going to make, remember, Madam, though I speak your language as if I were an Italian, that I am for all that a Frenchmam, that is to say, an enemy of the coldness, and reservedness of your Nation; That it is I who have reconciled virtue and gallantry at Genova; who have declared myself the protector of the liberty of you Ladies; and who in conclusion have by my care and address deserved amongst them the glorious title of their Deliverer. I tell you all these things, that you may not think it strange, if in the sequel of this discourse you understand some adventures, where the civility of this side the mountains is not regularly observed. I know, answered the Princess, all that you have done for the public liberty; the Count hath already acquainted me, that the gallantry, which is seen now at Genova, is an effect of yours; and that in the end you have been so powerful in persuading the virtue of women, as there is scarce any brother or husband that is longer jealous. I am not sorry, replied the Marquis, that so worthy a man hath drawn you my picture, for though I doubt not but that he hath somewhat flattered me, yet you will not choose but know me. In the mean time since I must satisfy your curiosity, it is necessary that I give you to understand, how assoon as I was arrived at Genova, with a design to stay there so long as my humour should find wherewithal to entertain itself, I observed, that near to the lodging where I lay, there was a maid, who seemed beautiful enough unto me, as indeed it must be acknowledged, that Livia hath something, that is very bewitching, in the air of her face, especially for a man that is not melancholic; and that she hath a kind of I know not what cast with her eyes, which persuaded me she would not be very cruel. If I were known more particularly of you than I am, I would not tell you, Madam, that I loved Livia, since it would be enough to make you comprehend it, that I say to you she seemed fair unto me. In fine, she had no sooner made an impression in my heart, but I sought the means to touch hers. And although it be my custom to explain myself clearly in matter of love, and never to leave her, whom I serve, to divine of my passion, yet in regard I durst not yet publish my precepts openly, it is true that I continued a whole week together in using all the fantastical tricks of a Lover of this Country. I passed twenty times a day before her door; I followed her in the streets; I accompanied her in her devotions; I saluted her with respect; I beheld her a far off with languishing eyes; I went every evening to make a noise under her windows with a Gittern; and according to the fashion I employed the very address of my horse to let her see mine, in making him curvet an hundred times before her lodging; In fine, I omitted none of those fooleries, which are introduced amongst you. But whereas I advanced my design very little by so long a way, and perceived apprehensions of curiosity in Livia, but none at all of love (at leastwise as I could judge by the manner of he● beholding me) I began to accuse her of stupidity, or ingratitude, and to think of a retreat. But coming suddenly again out of this error, I resolved not to quit her, until I had served her some time after the fashion of France; or at least used the means so to do. For, said I, am not I unjust in desiring she should love me, because I pass oftentimes through a street where I do lodge as well as she? In desiring that she should be obliged unto me, because I take pleasure in looking on her for that she is fair? In desiring too that she should recompense me, because I hinder her from sleeping some nights, with a bad harmony? And lastly, would I have her judge of my wit and love, by the address of my horse? No, said I, I must write to her, I must talk with her, I must make verses for her, I must entertain her with her beauty and my love, and after I have showed her all the gallantry of our Nation, if she be still rebellious to my desires, let me quit her without much pain, and comfort myself easily enough after it. And the better to bring my purpose to pass, I had recourse to the address of a servant of mine that waits on me in my chamber, who certainly is incomparable for intricate businesses. After I had propounded unto him that which I desired, he assured me that within few days he would furnish me at the least with means to write unto Livia, as indeed he failed not to do. For it had fallen out that Livia had a maid, which served her, called Lucretia, to whom la Roche (for so is my Agent in love named) had taken a liking, and she, through a sympathy of humours, as I learned afterwards, had not beheld him with indifferency. It was then by this way that I wrote to Livia, for after that la Roche had understood my intentions he had redoubled his addresses to Lucretia, and for the advancing of my affairs, I had given him wherewithal to be liberal; so that he got this wench to promise that she would show my letters, and some verses, wherein I had painted forth my love, to her Mistress; but though I had employed all my skill therein, yet could I not obtain any answer. Lucretia indeed told la Roche, that Livia esteemed very much of me, that my wit pleased her, that my conversation was agreeable unto her (for I had talked with her twice at the window by the means of Lucretia) but that after all I was not to pretend to her affection. I confess that for this time her resistance provoked me more than her beauty. Behold me then resolved to know from whence the impossibility of my enterprise proceeded; I call la Roche to my succour, and command him to repair to Lucretia, and to employ all his cunning to discover Livia's true thoughts. He presses her, he entreats her, he threatens to abandon her, and yet for all that she acquaints him with no part of that he desires to understand. At first she tells him, that she knows nothing; afterwards, that she is obliged to be faithful to her Mistress; then, that it is a thing past remedy; and last of all, without any thought of telling him that which he required, she says that Livia is engaged in an affection to another, whom she will not name. This news put me into choler, and made me resolve once more to tempt the fidelity of Lucretia; to which effect I gave la Roche a diamond, therewith to oblige this wench to meet him one evening, and discover unto him the whole truth of Livia's history. My liberality failed not to persuade her better than his eloquence, she meets him in a place far enough out of the way to be overheard of any but myself, who understood what she said without her perceiving it; and there, after she had suffered herself to be a little entreated, she spoke in this sort unto him. I know very well that I commit a strange infidelity against my Mistress, but since it is to conserve you, and that you promise me you will not speak of it, I hope I shall not repent me. I will tell you then, continued she, that about three days ago, when as my Mistress was making an end of dressing her, and that she was doing something about her head, where she had no need of me, she observed that I looked out at the window with a great deal of attention, and that I had also pulled up the grate. And whereas she asked of me what it was I looked at so earnestly, I answered her boldly, that it was at the worthiest man of all her lovers; meaning your Master, who then passed along through the street. I fear me, replied she sighing, that you and I are not of the same opinion; howbeit, Lucretia, who is he that you do treat so advantageously to the prejudice of others? It is, said I being become more hardy, the French Marquis, who verily hath an air, and a countenance, which none of the rest have. And for my part, I confess unto you, that I should be more sensible for a man of his Nation, than of ours. I cannot tell, Lucretia, answered she, whether I should have been as sensibly touched as thee, if he of whom thou speakest had found my heart without engagement, but this I can tell, my dear girl, that it is not in an estate to receive any new impression, for the truth is, I am in love. Are you in love, said I mightily surprised? I, said she, I am in love, and that so exceedingly, as I am resolved to tell him so much this day, who is the cause of my passion; and who after my ill entreating of him for two years together, is resolved to return unto Naples, of whence he is, and never to come to Genova again. But I do not purpose to be so virtuous, as to be thereby infortunate all the rest of my life, wherefore, my dear Lucretia, thou must this night, when as he is to come and take his leave of me, bring him into the garden at such time as my father is asleep, where I will be ready to receive him; for I cannot endure he should go from me. He is of a condition equal to mine, so that the greatest harm can arrive to me by it, is to marry him whether my father will or no, who peradventure will make some difficulty of it, because he is not so rich as I; howsoever, Lucretia, do as I have bid thee, and be assured that I will make thee happy, if thou prove faithful to me. As I was preparing to answer, her father came into the chambsr. In the mean time night arrived, and whereas I could do no other but obey her, I brought in Hortensio the Neapolitan, who was received by Livia with a great deal of joy; and for a conclusion of this interview, it fell out, that after he was come to complain of her rigour, and to take his last farewell of her, he returned more beloved than he loved. But that the World might not think it strange that he went not away after he had taken his leave of his friends, they concluded that he should make a show of departing, but that indeed he should remain concealed in Leander's house, where at this present he is, and that in the mean time he should come every night into the garden to her by my means; and if it should happen at any time that she should not meet him there, than he should be advertised thereof, by not seeing a handkerchief hanging at the Window, which peradventure you marked there to day, and which makes me now to leave you in haste, for that the hour wherein Hortensio ought to come, is at hand, being sorry that I have lost so much time in speaking of other folk's affairs, and omitted our own; howsoever, be faithful to me, and so be gone. I confess, Madam, that this Wenches relation moved me more than ever any thing of that nature had done; for ordinarily, in that which concerns Love, I measure the esteem which I make of Ladies, according to that which they make of me; and if I chance to encounter one who receives not my services, at least with civility, I presently judge her unworthy of my choler, and love, and within a quarter of an hour after I never think of her more. But in this encounter it fell not out so, for still I conserved a little affection, and a great deal of desire to be revenged. But before I would resolve on any thing, I was willing to be yet better informed of the matter, and to understand certainly whether Hortensio lay concealed at Leander's. It was my good hap, that Valerio, whom questionless you know, and that hath a wit very proper to embroil an intricate affair, proved to be a dear confident of his. And whereas we had contracted a great friendship together at my being at Rome, I went and sought him out, and having found him, I soon obtained of him what I desired. He told me, that not above an hour before he parted from Leander; how it was true that Hortensio lay concealed in his House, by reason of an amorous adventure wherewith he was very much troubled, because he was enamoured of a neipce of C●nthioes, named Aurelia, with whom Hortensio had had a particular commerce for a good while together: How he was in good hope, Hortensio going away, and having no further pretention there, that he might have declared his love to Aurelia, but how far from that, Hortensio, not only remained hid in his house, but had also obliged him to carry a letter to this Gentlewoman, to crave her pardon for his parting away without bidding her farewell, excusing himself upon this, that his grief for leaving her had kept him from doing so. He told me likewise, that Aurelia had received Hortensio's letter with much testimony of affection; that Leander had been greatly tempted to discover unto her how she was betrayed, and to make his profit of his friend's deceit; but that in conclusion friendship had prevailed with him above love. That being returned to Hortensio, he had very much pressed him to let him know why he was unfaithful to Aurelia? how he had freely answered thereunto, that his inclination was to Livia; how for the other, he served her out of acknowledgement, it being most certain that he was very much obliged unto her. How after all this he had demanded of him, whether a friend of his should disoblige him in thinking of her, since he loved her but for consideration? How Hortensio was nettled with this discourse, and had testified unto him that he would not endure it. Behold, Madam, the estate of things; Livia loved Hortensio, and was beloved of him; I loved Livia, and was ill entreated of her; Aurelia loved Hortensio, and was betrayed by him; Leander loved Aurelia, not daring to discover it unto her, and was an instrument of his friend's treason; Valerio was Leander's confident, and betrayed him for my sake; Lucretia for being faithful to la Roche, was unfaithful to her Mistress; in fine, we all of us almost did that which we ought not to have done. The business standing in these terms, I resolved to speak once more with Livia; and whereas it is most certain, that when one comes to know that the person beloved accords to another favours which she refuseth to him, he changeth respect into boldness, and no longer demands her affection as a grace, but as a debt. I went and attended Livia some three or four steps from her door, with a mind that retained little of the French civility. At her first appearing, followed only by Lucretia, I advanced directly unto her, and presenting her my hand with a contemning negligence, I said unto her in somewhat a bitter manner: It may be, fairest Livia, that being unable to merit any thing of you as a Lover, yet in the quality of a Gentleman-Usher I may be permitted to help to lead you. I know not, answered she, with a serious countenance, what renders you so bold as to interrupt me in my way; but I know very well, that if you have not a purpose to displease me, and did know my humour, you would not be so inconsiderate as to dare to speak to me with so much liberty; for I make profession of a modesty, which cannot suffer such things, and which you might very well understand by the coldness wherewith I have always treated you. I confess that the discourse nettled me; I could not endure this severe virtue in a person that had none but for me; and that reproaching me with her rigour, seemed as though she would make me serve for the triumph of her Lover. I retained her then by the arm, as she was offering to go away, and in a quipping and jeering manner, beholding her with a malicious smile, I said unto her; it is true, Livia, that I have been rash and inconsiderate in daring to lift up my eyes towards a person of so extraordinary a virtue, as cannot suffer one to adore her; as cannot endure one should speak to her of Love; as love's even darkness, and hates the light, because it might discover that which she would conceal from most men. Indeed, answered she, I hate the Sun, because by it I see you. It may be, said I unto her with the same countenance, and looking justly on her, that you do not hate the Moon so much towards midnight. Whereupon she strove mightily to get away, but in regard I held one corner of her vail, she durst resist no further, perceiving plainly that I no longer respected her. Nay, said I unto her, as she would have gone from me, you must hear me whether you will or no, for since it is a suit of Love, it is but just that you should hear me, as well as you have heard my Rival; and that to be well informed of the justice of our cause, you give him audience in the night, and me in the day; for I do not desire that in consideration of me an handkerchief should be hung in the Window; that Lucretia should descend into the garden; that a door which seems to be shut, should be left open; nor that I should be a gallant, who seems to be absent, and yet fails not to be at the assignation which is given him. Verily Livia's astonishment made me almost repent for what I had spoken, but indeed I could not contain my resentment, The first thing that Livia said after this discourse, was; Ah Lucretia, you have betrayed me! But this Wench, who in this occasion appeared to me to be the most dextrous and daring that ever was, answered her with an extreme precipitation; I Madam! would to Heaven you were not more betrayed, in acknowledging that which I never revealed. In the mean time, lafoy Roche, who had heard all that I said, was much vexed at my engaging Lucretia by my discourse; so that approaching to me, he said softly to me in French, O Sir, what have you done? I do not know, said I stepping a little back, but, if thou canst, re-accommodate this disorder. During this, Lucretia swore false oaths to her Mistress for the clearing of her innocency; and the poor Livia was so surprised, as she could resolve of nothing; in fine, we were all four exceedingly perplexed; I was vexed for having spoken so lavishly; Lucretia was much troubled in justifying herself; my Agent knew not what to do, either for Lucretia, or for me; and Livia could think of nothing that would satisfy her: She would fain have railed on me, but she see that I was too much acquainted with her affairs to be incensed more; She could have been contented never to have seen me again, but she feared lest parting away without saying any thing unto me, I should publish that which I known. At last, she would willingly have recalled me, for I was stepped a little from her, and stood musing with myself, but her heart would not consent that she should use any civility to me after that which I had said unto her. Behold, Madam, the estate wherein we stood, when as la Roche, the most daring fellow that is, approached unto Livia, and said unto her for the justification of Lucretia, with a seeming sincerity: I know very well, Lady, that I do put myself in danger of being turned away by my Master, in discovering a thing unto you, which he greatly labours to conceal, but the condition wherein you are, and the innocency of Lucretia, forces me to open it unto you. Know then, continued he, that whatsoever he hath said unto you is not the effect of my body's treason, but of Astrology, which he understands perfectly. It is a science wherein he is become so expert, that if I should recount unto you the marvels, which I have heard him tell, you would be mightily surprised with it. And whereas he is passionately in love with you, seeing you very rigorous to him, he hath spent every night for these eight days in contemplating the Stars, and turning over his books, to discover the cause thereof, and without doubt it was by this means that he is come to know that which he hath said unto you: he hath showed me, continued he, the garden, where you were, in a great glass, though I would not understand what you said. Truly the invention of this lad amazed me; it was in vain for me to make signs unto him to hold his peace; the more unquietness that I shown, the more he continued speaking; and I may say that I was never in greater pain, for I heard all that he said. But whereas I saw that he went confounding things, and that from an ginger he would quickly make me pass for a Magician, in talking of an enchanted glass, I resolved to help forward this trick, that so I might make him hold his tongue, wherefore I called him somewhat rudely, and having commanded him to withdraw, I came to Livia with civility enough, just as Lucretia was saying to her boldly, how she had already heard it assured indeed, that I dealt with telling of fortunes. And having saluted her for the better colouring of the business, I seemed to be very angry with la Roches imprudence, in discovering to her a thing, which I would not have known, in regard of the brutishness of the people, who imagine that one cannot observe the Stars, without having commerce with the Devil; and know not how to put a difference between Astrology and enchantments. But since the fault was done, I desired her to oblige me to her discretion, by not publishing that which had been told her. I said unto her also, that parting from the Court of France, I had passed through Provence, where happening to be lodged near to a great Nostradamus', so admirable in this science, as it was not known whether he should be termed a Prophet, or an ginger, I had been so happy, as to touch his inclination, and to gain his friendship even to the point to teach me a part of the excellent things he knew, either for Astrology, Physiognomy, or chiromancy. In fine, I spoke to her with so much art, as she believed me; and believed too that Lucretia was innocent, who on her side played her part so well, as she made me ashamed. She clapped her hands together, she accused her Mistress for having accused her; and the poor Livia was almost ready to make excuses unto her, so well was she persuaded. And the cause why a discourse of this kind did not surprise her so much as another, and was more credible with her, was, for that she had all her life-time heard her Father talk of this science, who just as we were there came out of his house; assoon as I saw him I would have been gone, but Livia stayed me, and said to me with a great deal of spirit, I know too well what respect a man of your condition doth owe to one of my sex, to be afraid you should be indiscreet; and since it is true, that y●u do know the force of destiny, and the influences of the Stars, you may well know by them, that I cannot eschew what they have resolved. In the mean time the old man, who was not accustomed to see his daughter in such a conversation, drew near, and after he had but coldly saluted me, demanded of her what she did there? but I was strangely amazed, when as she answered him, that meeting not long before with a friend of hers, whom she loved very well, she understood by her that I was one of the greatest Astrologers in the world, and that being curious to know weather she should be married or no, she had desired my acquaintance, which the same friend had procured her. I perceived that Livia had spoken in this manner, notwithstanding the request that I had made unto her, to the end she might know whether I had said the truth; so that I resolved to stand to it. But I found my self much perplexed, when as this old man said to her in a grave tone, that many men had employed all their lives in this study, and had taken upon them the name of Astrologers, but that few had come to the point of deserving it. Then turning him to me with a more open countenance, he said unto me, that if I were such a one as his daughter told him, he would serve me with all his heart; that he was very much affected to men of merit, and to the lovers of sciences, whereof the vulgar were ignorant; and that in conclusion, if he should tell me truth, he must confess that in times past he had given himself to judiciary Astrology; but that the trouble of domestic affairs had kept him from excelling therein; howbeit that he still knew enough to be able to discourse a little with me of it, if I would come and visit him at his house, whereof he shown me the door. I leave you to judge, Madam in what a case a man might be, that known not so much as the names of the Signs and Planets; I made use of confidence then in the encounter, and told him that I would not fail to come and take out a lesson with him, and assured him that he should have a scholar of me, which would receive his instructions with a great deal of joy. Leonardo (so is this man called) took this true speech for a modest civility; and said unto me again, that he should be glad to hear me tell him something of his fortune; and to persuade me that he was knowing he said to me also, that he had a great desire I should go and dispute with him a little in his Cabinet, that he might know whether the Planets (except Mars and Saturn) whose influences be the happiest, are not they whose pararells are the greatest. Now for me, that should have been healed of a quartan ague with a word less terrible than this, I see it was time to retire, which I did after I had told him again that I would very shortly come home to him and show him my ignorance. He would have obliged me to enter presently with him, but I excused myself dextrously from it, and so departed, after I had saluted Livia civilly enough, and beheld Aucretia with a sign, that testified unto her how I was sorry I had given her so much unquietness in so little a time. I was not four steps from them but regarding this adventure with a more quiet eye, I found it so pleasant, that I had no other passion but to make it last as long as I could: And this manner of revenging myself appeared so sweet unto me, as I thanked la Roche above an hundred times for finding out this invention, seeing it had succeeded so well, Now entering into my lodging I met with Valerio, unto whom I gave an account of all that happened unto me, wherewith he was so surprised and ravished, as he could not believe that which I told him, so much did he fear that it was not true. He would not rely upon my word, but would have the testimony of my Agent too; and though I was offended at it, yet was he above an hour doubting whether it were a jest, or a truth, which I told him. But in the end, perceiving I spoke seriously he believed me, and this trick so pleased his humour, and touched his inclination so mightily, that he loved me a great deal the more for it. It was advised than, since the father had had a part in the deceit, and that the business might be divulged, that it was better to have me pass for an ginger than for an impostor, and to sow the bruit of it about the Town, before Leonardo should have leisure to discover that he had been gulled: But I opposed this advice a good while, for, said I, no sooner shall I be considered as a Contemplator of the Stars, but they will come and ask me an hundred questions, whereunto I should not know what to answer, so that I cannot tell how to turn myself in this affair. What you shall answer, said my Agent? You shall answer, continued he, just as others do; sometimes I, sometimes no, be it favourably or fatally, and for the rest, much good may it do them; for in conclusion, an ginger never warrants any thing. Valerio fell a laughing at this discourse, and told me likewise for the upholding of this opinion, that this science being so difficult as it was, it might be that chance would make me prophesy sooner, than all Astrological rules and speculations; That I was but to speak always obscurely; never to affirm any thing with certainty; to consider a little the quality and age of persons; to speak seldom of the past, or the present, without good information thereof; and of the future to discourse always by Emblems, and Enigmas, and commonly to foretell more good fortune than bad. In the mean time la Roche went and got me a book of Centuries for the forming of my stile, an Almanac to teach me the names of the Signs and Planets, and another Book which treated confusedly of the manner of making of Horoscopes, of the Sphere, and of chiromancy. Behold me then well entered into the Zodiac, whilst Valerio and my Agent went as soon as we had dined to begin the publishing of the Wonders of my Science. I set myself then with a great application of my mind to the comprehending of some part of this mysterious Doctrine; but at length I judged that it would be enough in this occasion, without employing either the mind or the judgement, to make it a labour of the memory; so that before Valerio was returned, I could already tell that the Stars have three sorts of rising and setting, called Heliack, Cosmick, Acronick; I could tell also that there are ten circles in the Sphere, six great, and four little; that the great are the Equinoctial, the Zodiac, the Meridian, the Horizon, and the two Colours; and the little ones, which cut it unequally, are the two Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, and the two Polarie Circles, the Arctic and the Antarctic. I knew the Septentrional and boreal Bear, the Zenith, the Hemisphere, the Colour of the Equinoctials; the five Zones, the Torrid, the Cold, and the Temperate; I could say too, that Saturn regarding Hecate with a trine Aspect, and the tail of the Dragon folding itself about the Scorpion, prognosticate no good; That Venus receiving the opposite radiations of Jupiter, and Mars and Venus of the Moon, do presage nothing but disorders: In fine, I knew the Parallels, the Ecliptic, the Climates, the point Vertical, the Crab, the Bull, the Ram, the Lion, and all those illustrious animals, which command over men so far off. So that Valerio coming in, I began to make a flourish, and to tell him, that Mars and Saturn being diametrically opposite to Diana, but without giving me leave to make an end, he told me that he had such pleasant things to acquaint me with, as he must needs relate them to me presently for fear of forgetting them. And when as I had given him all the attention he could desire, it was a good while before he could speak, he was so taken up with laughter. And truly I proved plainly in this occasion, that this is many times a contagious disease; for though I knew not what had arrived unto him, yet could I not forbear laughing almost as much as he, so ready I am to comply with my friends. But at last, after he had above twenty times interrupted his relation, he recounted unto me, that the first man which he had taken in his trap, was Leander, whom he had encountered a little from thence when he went forth; that as soon as he had perceived him, he had made as though he had not seen him, and that passing by him with his eyes on the ground, he said somewhat loud, I did never think that a man could have wrought such Prodigies; That thereupon Leander had stayed him, and asked him what those marvails were which he had seen? That he seeming to be much surprised with his overhearing him, had answered, I can scarce tell, so much am I still transported with astonishment and admiration at that which I have seen; That afterwards Leander had pressed him very much to tell him what it was; and whereas he would have been sorry not to have satisfied his curiosity, he had consented thereunto, but that first he had used all the ceremonies of a man that would deliver a great secret; that he had looked all about to see whether they might be overheard; that he had made him swear that he should not speak of it again to any body, unless it were to his most special friends; That in fine he had omitted nothing of whatsoever might make him hearken with attention, and render him credulous. And that after all these preparations, he had said to Leander, would you believe that this French Marquis, who is so much my friend, and with whom I am so often, could in my presence do the most miraculous things that ever you heard speak of, or can possibly imagine? Now I beseech you, said Leander unto him, hold me no longer in suspense; know then, answered Valerio, since you will needs know it, that yonder man, whom you see so jovial and so gallant, is the greatest ginger that ever was, or ever will be; if so be there be no enchantment in that which I have seen, as I much suspect. He declared himself to me this morning (continued he) and told me such particulars of my life, as none but myself could know; and this he found out almost in an instant, by drawing some figures upon a paper, and looking on my hand, for he is also both a Palmister and a Phisiognomist. Is it not the French Marquis (said Leander, interrupting him) otherwise the Marquis of Touraine, that lodges here hard by? The very same, answered Valerio; I had never the honour, said Leander, to talk with him above once or twice, but I perceived then by his countenance and his discourse that he was, I will not say, an ginger, but at leastwise a man that was addicted to extraordinary sciences; howbeit I did not believe that it was at that point you speak of. You will then be far more surprised yet, replied Valerio, if I carry you along with me one day, when he hath promised to let me see a woman that lives at Rome, and whom I loved at such time as I was there. And this too is one of the least things he can do; for if I shall tell you the truth, I have seen and heard a picture speak, and that is it which causes the confusion wherein you see me. Leander was so surprised, as Valerio told me that he changed colour at it, and earnestly entreated him to bring him acquainted with me, which he promised to do, upon condition that he should not publish what I had told him, for fear I might be suspected to be a Magician; and that at length, after many other discourses on this subject, they parted very well satisfied one of another. And for a conclusion, Valerio said unto me, this is the first fool I met withal; then he recounted to me how he went unto the Academy, where he had imparted to a great many the Wonders that I did; that to publish them the better, he had told them unto them in their ear, and had prayed them not to speak of it, or at leastwise not to name me; that going from thence he went and made a turn about the Marketplace, where he had met with a man, who recounted unto him part of the things that he had told in secret to the Academy, as one that was verily persuaded of it; which had so astonished him, as to keep his countenance he was fain to enter into a Tennis-court, where he had found another man, whom he known not, that was talking very earnestly to five or six persons, which harkened to him very attentively, and assuring them that I was the greatest ginger of this Age; and that he had seen me do an hundred things, which he recited unto them. That whereas he could not forbear laughing, he had set himself merrily to contradict him, but that this man without going about to seek for reasons to convince him, had told him roundly, that he spoke in that manner, because he did not know me, but that he spoke upon certainty, for that I was one of his best friends, it being not an hour since he parted from me; so that after he had recounted all these things unto me, said Valerio, despairing of making a better encounter than that of this man, I came away to find you out, so satisfied with my lie, as if it should always succeed so luckily, I would make a vow never to speak truth again. After we had laughed well at this adventure, and rightly admired the fantasticalness of the World, which loves to believe, or at least to publish bad news, and prodigies, we saw my Agent return, whose voyage had had a quite other success. He had met but with few to publish that which he desired should be known, so that being mad for having done so little for a man of his humour and address, he had resolved not to come back till some good adventure befell him. He had sought then in vain for some one to deceive, when as a Maid, named Camilla, who served Aurelia, said to him in passing close by him at such time as one could scarce see, follow me. It is sufficient to say, that this Lad was brought up in my service, to make one be assured that he followed her foot by foot, for fear of losing the sight of her. This Wench led him into a by-lane, where few folks came, for it was almost nothing but garden walls; When they were arrived there, Camilla told him, that a person very considerable, both for her merit, and her beauty, attended a special service from me; that the reputation which I had of being the civilest of men, made her hope that I would not refuse her; and that if I would do her this grace, I should not fail then to be at a little garden door, which she shown him in the same lane; and to oblige him to trust in her words she gave him a note which her Mistress had written unto me. My Agent assured her, that I placed my greatest glory in doing service to Ladies; but whereas he pressed her to tell him what it was that Aurelia desired of me (for though it was almost dark, yet knew he Camilla, whom he had often seen with her Mistress) she said to him, that if I were such a one as I was reported to be, I could not be ignorant, as he was, and therefore that might suffice for the present. La Roche judged rightly then, that there was somewhat of the ginger in this adventure, so that to help on the matter; you have reason unknown fair one, said he unto her, to think that Aureliaes' secret will be none to my Master, for if he pleases he knows that which now we do. Alas! said the wench again, how afraid am I of his acquaintance, and how do I wish that he may never think of me. There is nothing to be feared, said la Roche unto her, when as he knows your adventures, for he is as discreet as he is knowing. But at last after a reasonable long communication, where Camilla still assured, that she would by no means serve such a Master, she told me, that I was not to fail, if it were possible, in being at that garden door the same night when as the Moon was down; or if I could not be there accordingly, that then I would be there the next night at the same time; that she would be ready at that place to give me entrance, and her Mistress in the garden, where I should speak with her. I confess, when la Roche related this unto us that I could not choose but take great pleasure in it, and much desire to read the note that was written to me. If I had as happy a memory as a Romanzes Heros, I would recite it unto you without changing a syllable, but since I have it not, it shall suffice that I do tell you in general, how Aurelia entreated me with a great deal of civility and affection, that I would employ that mervelous science, which I exercised so nobly, in setting her mind at rest; that from me alone she expected succour for her unquietness, and that in fine, if I were a Frenchman (which according to her sense was to say civil) I would not refuse her. Valerio was so ravished with this encounter; my Agent was so glad of it, and at first dash I found it so pleasant, as we passed away an hour very merrily. But when I perceived that Valerio would have me try this adventure, my pleasure diminished by the half: The more I opposed his will, the more he persisted in vanquishing mine; it was in vain for me to represent my ignorance unto him, the disorder that might arrive unto me by it, the perplexity wherein a man would find himself to be, when he must speak of that he does not know; for to all these objections he had wherewith to answer me. He in the first place laid it down to me for a ground, that to the end I might not be taken for an impostor by Leonardo, and to authorize the cheat which he had used to an hundred persons, in assuring them that I was a great ginger, it was necessary, that I should use two or three one after another; that otherwise I should lose the reputation which he had gained me; tha● if I refused to meet Aurelia, it was impossible but she should speak of it to some body, and so I should be cried down, and out of ability to be revenged of Livia by this artifice; that I could not meet with a fairer occasion to make show of my art with facility, in regard it required but the beguiling of a maid, who doubtless was well persuaded already of my science, since she had been so hardy as to entreat me to come and speak with her; that in fine, seeing Aurelia had been so weak as to believe things just as one would desire she should believe them, it would questionless be very easy for me to satisfy her; And for a conclusion, said he unto me, she is young, she is fair, she will meet you in a garden, and in the night, judge now after all this, whether you are not to go thither. It is certain that this last reason moved me very much; and I felt then such a repugnancy in refusing a fair maid, as I made no longer question what I should do; wherefore I prepared myself for it, and for the more security, Valerio and my Agent armed themselves to attend me at this garden door. As for myself I carried nothing but my sword with me, for I could not fear that the universal adorer of women, should be betrayed by a woman. But before I tell you what arrived to me in this garden, I must recount unto you, Madam, that which was the cause of this adventure; for we were made acquainted with it afterwards; You remember, no doubt, how I told you, that Leander was the first whom Valerio had persuaded that I was an ginger, and somewhat more; and that Leander was the same in whose house Hortensio lay concealed. I remember all this, said the Princess, interrupting him, and to testify it unto you, I remember that Leander loved Aurelia, and durst not tell her so much, because Hortensio had some commerce with her, although it was Livia that possessed his heart, and that Leander played but an outward part in being constrained to serve the imposture of his friend, and to carry Hortensioes' letters to Aurelia as if he had been absent, though indeed he lay concealed in his house for to go every night unto Livia in a garden. Since it is so, said the Marquis, I am then but to tell you, Madam, that after Leander had been powerfully persuaded of the wonders which Valerio had told him I could do, he changed the resolution he had taken to stay till Hortensio had broken off with Aurelia, into that of disabusing her by a pretty subtle way, if she had had a true ground for it, and that I had been such a one as he believed me to be. And behold how he reasoned with himself; I am going, said he, to Aurelia for a letter which she is to give me to day for Hortensio, whom she believes to be at Naples, or on the way thither, she hath already showed a great deal of grief for his absence; now if I can bring her to speak of that again, I will tell her what Valerio hath told me of the French Marquis; so that if she shall happen to be curious to see her absent Lover by the science of this man, she shall likewise see that he is not at Naples; that he is still at Genova; that he loves another, and by these means I shall destroy her affection to him, and it may be make my profit of this disorder. This resolution taken, he goes to Aurelia, who after she had given him her letter, failed not to speak of the absence of her Friend, to ask of him whether he thought it would not be long ere he would return? Wither he had not taken this separation heavily? and whither he had not already a longing to see him again, though it were but lately since he went away? Yea so great a one, answered Leander, who would by no means lose so fair an occasion, as I am almost resolved to try the science of a great and excellent man, that is not far off. Aurelia straightway would needs know of him what he meant by that which he said, whereupon he recounted unto her all that Valerio had told him, and a great deal more; that I made the dead to speak, and those that were absent to return again, but in such a manner, that one saw the persons, whom one desired to see, as if they had been effectually in the place where they seemed to be; and that this was done without enchantment, and by natural causes, but hidden from most part of the world; that one must be very skilful in the knowledge of ideas and sympathies for the comprehending of any part of these mervelous effects; but in fine, how he was certain, that what he said was true. Aurelia harkened to this discourse with much attension; at first, she seemed to doubt of that which Leander told her, but it was doubtless to make herself the more assured of it. For after he had confirmed the matter unto her, as she desired it; and that he had told her my name, she demanded dexterously of him where I lay, and by what way one durst propound such things unto me, seeing I was a man of quality, and that made no public profession thereof. He answered her, how it was to be done by request, and that if she desired any thing of me, he had a friend that was very intimate with me. She thanked him, and so civilly gave him to understand that she would be well contented with his departure. He was no sooner gone, but she called Camilla, who was the confident of her secrets (for she recounted all this to me afterwards) and reported faithfully unto her all that Leander had told her. And for a conclusion, she shown her that she was absolutely resolved to speak with me, and to entreat me to let her see her dear Hortensio, of whom she had not taken her leave. They reasoned a while upon this subject, but at last love prevailed with her above good manners. Camilla told her Mistress, that she known a man by sight which served me; so that without further delay she chose rather to write to me, as I have declared unto you, and to make use of this wench, than to accept of the offer which Leander had made her. In the mean time, the hour of assignation being come, I went to the garden door; Valerio and my Agent stayed three or four paces of, till I entered, which was not long first, for scarcely had I touched the door, when as Camilla came and opened it, with a light in her hand, and told me that her Mistress attended me in a Cabinet, which was at ●ne corner of the Garden, whether she presently led me. It is very true, that when first I saw Aurelia, she seemed so fair unto me, though she were half covered with her vail, as little lacked but that I had spoken to her rather of the beauty of her eyes, than of the influences of the Stars. But she gave me no leisure to deliberate on my compliment; for she spoke first, and desired me to pardon her the boldness she had taken in putting me to the trouble to come to see her; she prayed me to consider, that since she had failed in the respect which she owed to herself, she might well fail in the civility which was due to me. I answered to this discourse with a great deal of submission; afterwards she spoke to me of the reputation which I had for Astrology, of the things that she had been told of me, and how much she had desired to see me. I received these praises with a carelessness, respectful enough for all that, which doubtless made her believe that I thought I well deserved it. And still to gain time I lengthened this discourse as much as possibly I could; but she, that came not thither to make compliments, said with a low voice, as though she had been afraid to be overheard, though there was no body there but Camilla, that kept Sentinel at the Cabinet-dore; the Wonders which have been recounted to me of your Science, persuades me, that it would be easy for you, if you will, to spare me the labour to tell you that which I desire of you, since without question you know it already. It is certain that this discourse surprised me after a strange sort; and I believed, in the confusion wherein I was, that I should find nothing to answer her with; but at length, after a great contest with myself, it is for the same reason, said I, that your modesty ought not to keep you from speaking; for seeing it is a secret which I am not ignorant of, what you shall say of it ought not to add any thing to your confusion. It is true, said she, but I should be gladder to hear it from you, than to have it delivered by me; be not therefore so rigorous, and if it be possible, do that which I desire without my telling it you. This obstinacy made me almost mad, and I vow to you, that the modesty of the severest Mistress that ever I had, troubled me not so much, as that of this Maid. And seeing this confusion still augmenting, I said unto her with the tone of a more serious voice; Fair Aurelia, I should be willing enough not to oblige you to the doing of a thing that seems unprofitable to you, if I had not a secret reason which constrains me thereunto; and since I must let you understand it, know, that by the force of my art, I can tell not only that which you desire of me, but whatsoever hath arrived unto you, that which you think at this present, and that which shall befall you hereafter; but if by a plain and faithful relation, you do not show the consent you bring to that which you would have me do for you, it will be impossible for me to serve you; and beware, said I unto her, lifting up my voice, lest that which you call modesty, be not an effect of the doubt you have of my Science, in desiring by this essay to assure yourself of it. There must be confidence in this mystery, continued I, for I do not work only by the ordinary ways of Astrology, but I think I have gotten some extraordinary knowledges which go beyond them: And to testify it unto you, I will presently tell you, if you desire it, all the most secret thoughts of your heart, but after that look for nothing more from me. She stayed me then with a great deal of precipitation, and said to me almost trembling, seeing it is a tribute which I must render unto you, I am resolved for it; then she recounted unto me that which I knew already without enchantment, I mean, that she loved Hertensio; but she told me afterwards that which I knew not, namely, that she would have me show her that Lover, whom she believed to be at Naples, but was still at Genova. This proposition put me into a strange disorder; I told her at first, that the matter was not easy; that it behoved her to have a great deal of courage to undertake it; that the apparition of Spirits, which were not at that time in any other but a fantastical body, did always bring fear along with it; and that she should think well of that which she desired, before she undertook it. She answered me then, that nothing which resembled Hortensio could scare her. When as I saw her obstinacy, and that I was reduced to that point, as I knew what to say the necessity wherein I was, rendered me ingenious, and I imagined a trick, which hath showed by the event, that it was well conceived. I told her then with a more open countenance that her confidence pleased me; and that I was ravished to see a person of her Sex have a Spirit hardy enough for an enterprise which made the boldest to tremble. But to make it succeed, she was to write a note, according to the terms which I would dictate unto her, and let me carry it away to make my figures upon it, assuring her that I would tear it as soon as the mystery was finished; and that this amongst the Learned was called, the making of a covenant with the Ideas. She made a little difficulty at it, but having told her how I could do nothing without that, she consented thereunto; and by good hap there was a pen and ink in the Cabinet, and a Table-book, wherein we found a white leaf. She began then to write what I dictated unto her, which if I be not deceived was much after this manner.  
ALthough you go in the night like an Angel of darkness, yet pass you with me for an Angel of light; wherefore I conjure you, O blessed Spirit, by Heaven, by Love, and by the Sympathies, to appear unto me before my window the night ensuing, as soon as the Moon shall be down, in the true form of Hortensio. And do not doubt that so agreeable a vision shall fright me, for I assure you that it shall give me more pleasure than fear.  
Aurelia.  
Whereas her mind was already preoccupated with the opinion of my skill, these equivocating words, of an Angel of Light, of Darkness, of Conjuration, of blessed Spirit, of Heaven, of Apparition, of Vision, and of Fear, failed not to confirm her in this belief. And then too I pronounced all those great words with so imperious a tone, as I perceived her to be terrified therewith. After this, I would needs see her hand also, and would have her fix her looks upon me; I demanded of her the hour and day of her birth, and made many other observations, which would be too long to recite. But at last, all these devices being over, I quitted Aurelia, after I had promised her that within three nights she should see her dear Hortensio, and so Camilla came to conduct me forth. In traversing the Garden I observed that Camilla hide her face with a great deal of care, for fear lest I should read the secret of her heart in her eyes; and when aa I perceived it, I said to her, laughing for the making up of the Comedy, in vain, Camilla (for so had I heard Aurelia call her) do you seek to hid your eyes from me, when as I plainly see your heart. Now I beseech you Sir, said this Wench unto me, mightily surprised, and that was naturally merry and jovial, if you know my secret, do not tell it unto my Mistress, for than will the poor Nastagio be turned out of doors. I had such a mind to laugh at this simplicity of Camilla, as I got me out in haste, for fear I should burst out into laughter, or be stifled in the place, howbeit I told her in going forth that I would be discreet. I found Valerio in so great an impatience to know what I had done, as I could not make him resolve to stay till we came to our Lodging to recount it unto him, for we had not made three steps but we stood still, so that little lacked but we had past all the night in the streets; but at length we came thither, where I recited all this unto him. By'r the pleasure of it was, that I had been so accustomed to speak to Aurelia in a grave tone, as I delivered every thing unto him just as I had said it. And to make up the matter, there were some instances, where I was not very certain whether I were not indeed the same which I gave out myself to be. When as I shown him Aurelia's Letter, he demanded of me what design I had in making her to write it? What design, said I, even to have it to fall into the hands of Hortensio, who believing that Aurelia knows he lies concealed at Leander's house, in regard she writes unto him, will not fail to be at the place which she hath assigned him by her letter, to see if he can justify himself; and so will she learn that he is effectively at Genova, all will break forth, Livia's concealed pleasure will be destroyed, and I shall be revenged. And if it happens that she takes him for a phantasm, the reputation which you have given me will increase the more. Valerio acknowledged that this trick was well invented; and la Roche mass mad because he had not imagined, or at least conjectured it, upon the sight of Aureliaes' letter; but to comfort him for that he had contributed nothing to the adventure which I had encountered, I left him the care to cause the letter, which was directed unto Hortensio, to fall into his own hands. Whereupon he told me without further delay, that he would go and carry it to him instantly. And when as I demanded of him how he could pretend to obey me so readily? He told me how he had learned of Lucretia, that Hortensio was this night to go and see L●via; so that, said he unto us, it being yet not very late, it may well be that he is not already come forth: I know the garden door, and whereas he knows not me, I will go thither and wait for him, and deliver the letter unto his own hands, as from Aurelia whom I will name in accosting him. This advice seeming to be the best we could take, we thought of nothing else but of executing it; and for fear lest some mischance, which we could not foresee, might happen to my Agent, we followed him a far off in this expedition, which succeeded as happily, as the undertaker of it had foretold. For Hortensio retiring very late from Livia, we had had the leisure to attend for him almost an hour before he came forth. If the passion wherein I had been in for this maid, had been as strong still as it was the day before, I had past that time with a great deal of unquietness; and I should without doubt have rather given some marks of my resentment to my Rival, than have caused a letter to be delivered unto him; but I never needed four and twenty hours to cure me of such a disease I felt then nothing more for Livia, but an extreme desire to trouble her pleasure; so that to arrive thereunto, I had as much patience, as was requisite for me to have in this encounter. We set ourselves, Valerio and I, some dozen paces from the doo●, out of which Hortensio was to come, under the jetting-out portal of an house, that was built after the antique manner. As for la Roche, he approached nearer, yet not so far from us, but that we might hear all that he should say unto him. And whereas it was extreme dark, and that his way tied him to pass by the place where we were, we conceived that we should hear, without being perceived, how he would receive this message. As indeed, he was no sooner come forth but I heard my Agent say unto him, that Aurelia having understood he was in Genova, had sent him with a letter unto him, which he delivered him; and that she earnestly desired him not to fail the assignation she had therein given him, for that she would receive no answer but from his own mouth; in regard whereof, continued la Roche, I may not stay to hear any thing you would say to me, for so am I enjoined by Aurelia. Hortensio would have laid hold on him, but my Agent was not accustomed to le● himself be taken, when he had no mind to it; Hortensio then was constrained to be contented with that which had been said to him. We heard him stamp with his foot on the ground, clap his hands together, and say with a kind of voice, which shown both astonishment and grief; what devil hath discovered to Aurelia that I was here? It must without doubt be an effect of the secret passion of Leander, who hath hoped by ruining me with her to establish himself in my stead. Some three steps from thence he stood still, and whereas we saw that this adventure made him talk like a man besides himself, we resolved to follow him. This design was no sooner taken, but he began to go on and talk all at an instant. What said he, hath my friend betrayed me? however I must see Aurelia, to the end I may keep Leander from reaping the fruit of his cunning, and that this incensed maid may not revenge herself upon Livia. She loves me, and I do not doubt but I shall pacify her easily enough. But it may be, said he again, that it is not Aureliaes' letter; let us stay, till we can be cleared of it, before we resolve on any thing. Verily, this manner of discoursing by himself seemed pleasant enough, howbeit that which I found to be yet better was, that we perceived (for we followed him very close) how though the night was exceeding dark, and that we were in a very narrow street, where it was so obscure, as nothing could be discerned, yet had he broken up the seal of this letter, opened it, and made as though he would have read it, at leastwise the noise which the paper made caused us to conjecture so. But the ill luck was, that in handling it in this sort he let it fall, and doubtless with the violence of his action he fling it a good way from him, without purposing so to do, for he sought for it a pretty while after. We understood this accident, both by the discourse which he held, and because he stood still. We got us up, Valerio and I, against the brickwall; but I confess to you, that this adventure was not pleasing to me: I was so afraid that Hortensio would not seek as he should do for the letter, and so my design should fail, that I may say I was never in more unquietness. Me thought he went too far from it to find it; that he had forgot the place where he had let it fall; that peradventure it was near to me, though I did not perceive it; in fine, I was even wiling to seek for it with him; and my imagination so troubled me, as I believed I see it in twenty places, where certainly it was not. And when my mind was deceived in this manner, I was in a pain that cannot be expressed; For when as I thought that I see it in a place, I understood by Hortensioes' going that he went from it, which so madded me, as I had like to have lost all patience. But at length, after he had sought up and down a great while for it, and that he had said an hundred things, which would have pleased a man that had no interest in the affair, I heard him upon a sudden say with much joy, at last I have got you again, and have not lost my labour: Whereupon he went presently away, and I retaining Valelerio, who would have continued following him, told him, that if the like should befall me again, I should go wild; that this adventure was both too pleasing, and too offensive, for me to be once more exposed unto it; and that withal we had nothing else to do with him. We got us away then to our lodging, where we found my Agent, howbeit we went not to bed before we had laughed sufficiently at the accident of the letter, and at all that which Hortensio had said in seeking for it. In the mean time he was come to Leander's house, where after he had read the letter, which he knew to be written with her own hand, he was confirmed, as we understood after, in the design of seeing her. He believed, that all those words, of blessed Spirit, Angel of light, and darkness, which Aurelia had taken for marks of enchantment, were terms of gallantry, that could not part from a spirit that was much incensed. He firmly resolved then to see her the night ensuing; and thereby to conserve her to himself, preserve the reputation of Livia, and destroy the designs of his friend, whom he was persuaded had betrayed him; for he could not conceive how Aurelia could come to know any thing of him other ways. But at length day came, which I passed away with an impatience that holds me still; for though I had the same very day two very pleasant conversations with two men, whereof the one mocked at Astrology, to oblige me thereby to speak of it, and the other said that it was the excellentest of all Sciences, to carry me to the same thing, yet will I not speak thereof; for even as I am now talking, I am in haste to tell you, that assoon as the time of Hortensioes' assignation approached, I went and put myself in ambuscado, with a resolution to see the end of my enchantment. Now it happened, that the weather being extreme hot, Aurelia lay in a low room, whose grated windows were upon the street, and where Hortensio had often talked with her. But, Madam, to give you the full pleasure of this adventure, I am to tell you, not only that which I saw, and that which I heard, but that which passed between Aurelia and Camilla, who recounted it afterwards unto us. Assoon as Aurelia had supped, she made as though she were not well, that so she might be alone with Camilla, and when she was come to her Chamber, this wench asked of her, whether she did indeed believe she should see Hortensio that night? For, said she, how can a man that is so far distant from hence come hitherto you in so short a time? The Mistress, who thought herself a great deal more able, laughed to hear her say so; and took a great care to make her comprehend, that this Science was above her understanding; and told her moreover, how it would not be effectively Hortensio which she should see, but something that should resemble him so perfectly, there would be no difference. Howbeit, said Camilla unto her, what do you hope by seeing him so? what entertainment? what satisfaction do you expect from it? Only to see him, said Aurelia, and if thou be wise, said she, demand not why Love doth cause any thing to be done, for he himself is the reason for that which he forces us to do; And than my curiosity is not particular to me, for I have heard of many women that use to do so. But, reply●d Camilla, will you not be afraid? Never a whit, answered Aurelia. Just as she was saying so, Hortensio, who I had seen pass by the place where I was hid, and whom I had followed pretty close, knocked softly, according to his custom, at the window. Which Aurelia hearing began to change colour. It may be you believe, said Camilla unto her, that it is Hortensio which makes this noise, or to say better his phantasm? I do not believe it, answered Aurelia, howsoever open the window, and pull up the grate. This wench had no sooner obeyed, but perceiving Hortensio, they both of th●m gave a great shrick; Camilla finding herself as very a coward, as she believed she was; and Aurelia being nothing so confident, as she had thought she had been. Hortensio expounded this astonishment after another manner, and believed that the choler she was in against him, put her into that case wherein he see her, namely with a countenance extremely changed, and her spirit so confounded, as she could neither sit still, run away, nor behold him. And whereas he was come th●ther only to appease her, he said unto her that at last this Angel of darkness wa● come by her conjurations to see an Angel of light. O me, said Aurelia, it is the voice of Hortensio! but I am not able to answer him; nor is it to speak to him th●t I have wished to see him. In saying so, her exceeding fear so reanimated her forces, as she was able to get away into a Cabinet, whereof the door was open. As for Camilla, she would said have followed after her Mistress, but her astonishment kept her from it: Not being able then to do more, or to say better, not knowing what she did, she hide herself under the table. Hortensio was so amazed at that which he see, as Aurelia could hardly be more. In the mean time, that he might get her to come back again, and knowing, that she could hear him well enough from the Cabinet where she was, he said unto her with a languishing voice to move her the more; Am I come so far then, Aurelia, only to see you, and will not you vouchsafe to look on me? Alas! Cried Camilla to her Mistress, that which we think is but too sure, for he says he is come only to see you. Aurelia, that was ready to die in hearing Hortensio speak, whom she believed to be a phantasm, cried to him out of the Cabinet to be gone; and that she made a vow how she would never see Hortensio more; unless it were Hortensio indeed. He who believed that she meant he was no longer Hortensio, by reason of his change, called to Camilla, with an inten to desire her that she would get Aurelia to come forth to him again; but scarcely had he named her, when as this wench, who had marked on which side the door of the Cabinet was, moved herself with such violence to get from under the table, for ●o escape away, as she overthrew it, together with the light that stood upon it, which in turning down was extinguished; Th● noise which the table made, the cries of Camilla, the voice of Hortensio, and the darkness, so frighted Aurelia (for she believed that all this disorder was caused by the phantasm) as she fell into a swoon: So that although Hortensio continued saying many things, yet heard she nothing of it, no more than Camilla, who was fallen to her prayers. Hortensio seeing no body answer him, and having heard some noise which I made with going to step back a little, that I might have the liberty to laugh, he retired away in such a choler, and fury, as gave so great a blow with the pummel of his sword against the grate of Aureli●s window, that he all so battered it; which Camilla forgot not to tell her Mistres●, a● believing it to be the last effect of the devil, when as she was come out of her swoon, which lasted till day break. As for me, I never troubled myself with following Hortensio, who without doubt talked sufficiently of this adventure as he returned, but coming to Valerio and my Agent, who stayed for me some twenty paces off, w● w●nt to my lodging, that we might have liberty to laugh at our good fortune in this foolish matter. We were no sooner a bed, but a new entertainment kep● us from sl●●ping. I know very well, Madam, that the recounting of it to you would be in some sort to pass the bounds of respect; but the matter is so pleasant, as it were better I should want good manners, then deprive you of the pleasure of hearing it. I will tell you then, Madam, since your silence seems to permits me so to do, that Valerio had a setvant, called Vespa, whose inclinations were proportionable to his condition, being of somewhat a dull spirit; he never came a nights into the chamber where we were, but to help to make his Master unready, and then went presently to lie with la Roche in a room which was separated from ours only with thin boards and tapestry hang, so that speaking never so little loud one might hear from the one place what was said in the other. When la Roche and Vespa were a bed, this last demanded of the other, whether it were true that I knew all that was done in the world, as he had been lately told? La Roche, who meant to make himself merry with him, assured him that it was so far true, as that I perfectly knew what any body did, if I did but know the name of the person. Alas, said Vespa then, I would not be bound to serve with such a Master! For how should one spend his life with a man, to whom one durst never tell a lie? It is somewhat an hard case, said my Agent, speaking a little loud, to the end we might hear him; howsoever it must be so. I had as leefe dy, said the other, as have my Master know all the lies that I tell him, when as I return from some place, where I have stayed longer than I should: for, as you know, we want not excuses for the stealing of an hour to bestow in our pleasures; Mounsieur was not at home; I waited for him a long time; he stayed me with a purpose to have written to you; I sought for him in divers places; your clothes were not done; I was to see as I went along whither your Gittern were strung or no; and so, according to the diversity of occasions, diversity of pretexts are always found: But as for you, I do not see how you can live; you durst not, I assure myself, entertain two three of your companions whilst he is at the Comedy, and pass away an afternoon in making good cheer. I durst not indeed, answered my Agent, unless it were at such a time, as I know he had great affairs in hand, and so had no leisure to think of me. Neither could you have the pleasure, said Vespa, to recount his secrets; to say he is in love with such a one; he goes often to such a place; he writes to such a person; and that which is the worst, if he hath ill entreated you; whether it be in revyling you; or in threatening you with the bastinado; or if occasion serves, in giving you a whirret on the ear; you durst not complain to your friends of it: Whereas to me, it would be the depriving me of a great consolation, if I could not say to one; he is more fantastical than a Mule; more extravagant than a Hobgoblin; and to give him to all the devils in hell when he is untoward. For when I have said all this, I return home, as if I were well revenged, and had said so much to him himself. As for me, said la Roche, mine is none of the worst, and I am seldom in the case you speak of. I wish it may be so, replied the other, how ever you must needs confess, that he would very much incommodate me in one thing; for how could one serve him well, or be well clothed, if a man should not make some profit to himself of the money that passes through his hands; I should be very sorry to steal aught from any body, but in that case I must be excused. It is not to hord it up, that I take any thing, but to do him credit with it; and then the recompenses which Masters make us is not so great, but that we may with some justice recompense ourselves. For that, said la Roche, you have reason; and there I lose a fair opportunity, which you enjoy. You are so unhappy too, continued Vespa, that as I perceive you dare not think of quitting him, and of looking out for a Master secretly, as we commonly do, when we find not ourselves well with him whom we serve: and to conclude, I should choose rather to be in the galleys, than in the service of this man: I should not have spoken thus freely to you, added he smiling, for fear he should have known it, if you had not told me, that he is to know the name of them whose secrets he desire to know; for as for that which I am called by, he will be cozened in it, because I took it upon me but when I came to Genova, by reason of a small adventure which befell me a Savonna, of whence I am. You would have reason for that you say, replied my Agent, who was willing to put him in fear, if he did not know mine; but if to morrow he should have a desire to know what I have done, he would also know what you have said unto me; for otherwise his science would be very confused. Then am I undone, said Vespa, but howsoever, if he must know all that I have said unto you, let him know also that I never took much from my Master at a time, to the end that he may be contented with making me to he turned away. We burst out then, Valerio and I, into such a laughter, as he could no longer doubt but that we had heard him without enchantment. And whereas there was a backdoor that opened out of their room upon the stairs, he risen in haste, and got him away, so that we never heard of him after. The rest of the night was spent in sleeping, but the next day I had employment enough; for I was scarcely out of bed, when as I received a Note from Aurelia, whereby she prayed me that she might speak but one word with me at the Garden door, where I had formerly been, out of which she would come forth, and seem as though she had met me by chance. I made some difficulty of going to her, but at length Valerio constrained me thereunto. As soon as I came at her, being still pale, and amazed with her last night's adventure, she said unto me, that having been advertised since morning, how Hortensio was effectively at Genova, and had never been absent from thence, she found that she had great cause to complain of me, for that I had not undeceived her. Hereupon I was very much perplexed how to answer her; but at last I told her with civility enough, how it was true that I knew of it, but having promised her no more than to let her see Hortensio, I never thought of any thing else: That if instead of this phantosm she had seen the true Hortensio, i● was an undoubted mark of the power of my art, which had constrained him to come unto her, though he desired to be concealed. I acknowledge, said she unto me, that this reason is so forcible, as I cannot destroy it; but since it is true, that nothing can resist you, do me the favour that Hortensio, who as I have been told, lies secretly at Leander's house, that he may go a nights to see a maid whom he loves, may no longer love her; or if it be possible, that he may despise and hate her. This proposition began to put me into such choler against Astrology, that little lacked but that I had left Aurelia without an answer; howbeit my wit served me yet this once again dextrously enough: For I assured her she was ill informed of the matter, and that Hortensio did not lie concealed for any new love, but that being grown jealous of her, he had feigned a voyage to Naples, the more exactly to observe her actions; and that without doubt she was beloved of Hortensio, as much as ever she had been. This poor Gentlewoman was so satisfied with that which I told her, as she verily believed it; and so I left her with a great deal of joy. As I was returning home, I was mightily surprised, to see how the people began to note me, and point at me; some saying, that I was a learned man; others, that I was half a Prophet; these same, that I was an Enchanter; those, that I was a Sorcerer. There were some too, that not far from the truth, took me for an impostor, and scoffed at me; at leastwise I interpreted their looks and their actions so. I went then in a rage to find out Valerio, whom I met withal some three or four steps from my lodging. I did not recount unto him what had happened to me, but I quarrelled with him for that he was the cause of all the confusion I was in. He, that was ready to burst with laughter, asked me whether I had not given him order to publish my science? Yes, said I unto him, but not to make me pass for a Magician. You know, said he unto me, still laughing, that Fame augments every thing; and than what is it you complain of? all the world is satisfied with your skill, and that which should more content you, you are revenged both of your Rival and of your Mistress, by giving them so much unquietness as you do. He had no sooner said so, but Leander appeared, and seemed to come to us; I would have declined his encounter by entering into my lodging, but Valerio told me that he had promised him my acquaintance, and that he was too near then for me to avoid it. Indeed he was so near as I could not answer Valerio, so that I was constrained to receive the civilities of Leander, who after a great and long compliment, recounted unto me all his love to Aurelia, who loved Hortensio, that loved not her, because he was engaged elsewhere; and therefore he conjured me, as well for his interest, as for that of Aurelia, so to do, that she might no longer affect Hortensio, but accept of his service. I was so confounded with all these adventures, as I scarce knew which way to turn me; howbeit seeming to consider of all that he had told me, at length I assured him, that if he continued loving and serving her, he should be beloved of her, provided he acquainted her with his passion. He went away very well satisfied, and Valerio demanded of me, how I hoped to keep my word? I answered him, that at last Aurelia would be weary of Hortensioes' despising her; that Leander by continuing to serve her would touch her heart, and to would think that he obtained that by the power of my art, which was due to his own industry. But, said I unto him, now that we have a little rest, let us go into our lodging; howbeit we were scarcely in the middle of the Hall, when turning my head about, I perceived Leonardo the father of Livia, coming to me with an open countenance, which made me conceive that he had something to demand of me. I received him with a forced civility, which might have made him know, if he had heeded it, that the sight of him had put me to a nonplus. And to give him yet more liberty to persecute me, Valerio, who took great pleasure in all these things, made show of taking his leave of me, and went and stayed for me in my chamber. Then began Leonardo to tell me in a serious manner, which vexed me exceedingly, how he was ashamed that his first visit was to request a favour from me, rather than to let me know that he was in love with the reputation which I had gotten in so short a time; but in fine, that he might oblige me by his freedom to use the same to him, he besought me that I would cast a Figure to discover who it was that had got an Emerald Ring which was lost out of his house. I must confess, that I found myself then in so strange a case, as if by wishing I could have become a Magician indeed, to get out of this cross adventure, I verily think that I should have wished it. What shall I do, said I to myself? What counsel am I to take? And what can I answer to so pressing a discourse? It concerns not now the beguiling of an amorous maid, or an ignorant Lover; it is an old man that says he knows Astrology, that will discover my ignorance as soon as I shall speak; For to tell him a l●e about this Ring, it will destroy itself: It were better for me to deal freely with him; he will be obliged to me for undeceiving him; and then all things well considered, I had rather spoil all my designs than put a trick upon a man of this age. After I had determined to do so, I took a more serious look upon me for to tell him, how it was true, that heretofore I had understood some principles of Astrology (for I could not resolve to confess myself to be directly an impostor) how upon that ground my friends had given me the reputation of knowing somewhat; but that none of them had ever any experience of it; how it was true also, that I had many times delivered myself to be more knowing than I was, in some occasions, where feigning was rather a gallantry than a crime; but as for him, I desired it should appear, that the reputation which I had gained was not so dear unto me, as his friendship, seeing I confessed ingeniously unto him, that I did not know enough either in Astrology, or in the other sciences depending thereupon, for to be able to tell him that which he desired of me. This discourse so clear and true had not the effect I expected from it; for very far from being believed, I heard Leonardo say unto me smiling, Had I not known by the report of others, that you are a learned man, your humility would suffice to persuade me that you know much. I swear unto you, said I laughing (for I could not possibly forbear) that I know nothing. Even this which you say, answered he, is that which confirms me in my belief of you; and thus modest and discreet, continued he, ought they to be who know much; for their science makes them to be known well enough, without any intermixture of their vanity. If I were what you think me to be, said I interrupting him, I would acknowledge it to you; but it is certain that I do not merit the honour you do me. I have already told you, answered he, that this humility is the greatest science of all; it being most sure, that every man which says he knows a thing well, is ignorant of it, since he is arrived at the point to think that he knows it perfectly, But at length let us return to our purpose, and permit me to tell you, that this Emerald is graven, and may serve for a Seal as well as for a Ring. I was so madded to see that when I had told lies, I had been believed, and now that I spoke truth, I could not be credited, as I was not able to answer him any thing, so much was I transported with choler and unquietness. But he, who was not repulsed by my silence, and that on the contrary conceived how I was thinking on something to satisfy him, said unto me again in a gentler manner than before; You are pleased to dissemble with me upon a premeditated design, and I consent to all that you have said of yourself, so as I may obtain that which I desire of you; and to facilitate the business, said he further unto me, you are to know that this ring was lost between ten and eleven of the clock in the forenoon. Whilst I was in this case, namely in the strangest that ever any body was, I saw la Roche enter with a paper in his hand, who said unto me aloud, that he desired to speak a word with me about an important affair. I stepped then from Leonardo and went to him; but I was joyfully surprised when I understood, that Lucretia, for her own interest, and the better to keep the jest afoot, had advertised him that Leonardo would come to learn some news of me concerning a ring, which his daughter had given to Hortensio, who had visited her about ten of the clock in the morning in a riding suit, making show that he was returned unto Genova by his Father's command; and that Leonardo having found them together, Hortensio had made as though he had lost a letter, which a brother of his had written him from Naples; that after he was gone, Livia seeming very sad, and her father having demanded of her what she ailed, she had told him, that the ring, which she had given to Hortensio, was lost, to the end he should not marvel if he saw it no longer. This discourse made me wonderful glad; I took the paper from la Roche the better to dissemble the matter, and using a great deal of civility to Leonardo, I desired him to excuse the liberty which I had taken. He answered me, that with him I was justified, provided I would not refuse him. I confess that the occasion of gulling him was so fair, us I should have had much ado too forbear; and Leonardo too had such a mind to be so, as he would have been disobliged more in not being gulled, than in being gulled; besides, it was in vain for me to tell him the truth again, which he would not understand, do what I could. He began again to press me; I resisted yet a while; but at last, when I saw that he would needs have me divine, I spoke to him with more certainty than an ginger, and more clearly than a Oracle, if he would have understood me rightly. After I had made a turn in the room without speaking a word, I made a stop just before him, and said unto him; hitherto I have done what I could to dissemble the little knowledge I have, that I might not do any thing which would displease you; but since you will needs know it, I will confess freely unto you, that I have already cast a figure for it upon the entreaty of a kinswoman of Livia's; so that disguising the truth no longer, I am obliged to tell you, that a man, whom you saw this morning in a riding suit, is he which hath the ring you speak of. Who would ever have believed it, said Leonardo, that a man of his fashion and quality, had been capable of so strange an action? But young people that have covetous fathers, are many times carried to ill habits by necessity; howsoever I must find out this ring, and if it be possible demand it of him that hath taken it away without charging him that he stole it. After this discourse he gave me thanks, and made me promise to come to supper to him. An hour after he was gone, came an old fellow, who had served Leonardo about thirty years, presented to me by la Roche, that told me with a simplicity which made me to laugh, how being resolved to return into his Country, and carry with him the little money which he had gotten, he besought me that I would cause him and his treasure to be transported thither in a moment, for fear of robbing by the way. I know enough for that, said my Agent then, without my Masters meddling in it; and when I had confirmed him in this opinion, away they went together. But whilst Valerio laughed at my adventure, and I was thinking how I might finish it, the poor Hortensio passed not his time away so well. For it fell out that Leonardo had encountered him just as he went out of my lodging; howbeit he accosted him civilly, and said no more to him but that he had been an hour in seeking of him: For Hortensioes' countenance so little resembled that of a thief, as he was somewhat afraid to speak to him. Hortensio answered thereunto, that he would think himself happy, if it were to command him any thing. How courteous he is? (thought Leonardo with himself as he delivered to me afterwards) and what a pity it is, that so handsome a man should have so bad an inclination? Then taking courage, he said unto him, that having understood there was a ring in his hands, which had been lost out of his house, he desired he might see it. And whereas Hortensio was surprised with this discourse, he seemed to be so confounded, as Leonardo no longer doubted but that he was guilty. O me! cried Hortensio, what is this I hear? I do not say, replied Leonardo, that you are faulty, but the party from whom you had it. How unhappy am I, said Hortensio interrupting him? Afflict not yourself, replied Leonardo, for the hand which gave it you, hath alone committed this fault, and so you are justified with me. Whilst Leonardo did what he could to conceal from him the bad opinion he had of him, he was persuaded, that this man knew the truth of the matter; and to justify Livia as much as possibly he could, he assured him that he alone was culpable; that he alone had deceived him; that he denied not but that this ring was in his hands; and therefore he acknowledged he had just cause to complain of him. This is strange, said Leonardo to himself, that the more I would excuse him, the more he accuses himself! I say it to you again, continued the other, that I alone am worthy of punishment. No Hortensio, said Leonardo, you shall not persuade me to it; for I am well informed of the truth of the business. Why then it is best for me, answered Hortensio, not to make any further denial, but in restoring you the ring to confess ingenuously that I was constrained by an inevitable necessity, to do you this wrong. I know well enough, replied, Leonardo, what youth is capable of, and what necessity will make one do. Hortensio, seeing Leonardo speak so gently unto him, and believing, so ill did they understand one another, that he knew all which had passed between Livia and him, believed also that he was to make his profit of this occasion, and to speak plainly unto him. Since you know, said he to him, how to excuse my errors, will you be pleased to render them legitimate, in giving me leave to marry Livia? you know my birth, and you may know my estate when you please. Marry my daughter! cried Leonardo, this proposition is so pleasant, as our conversation shall end there, for I do not think that you have reason to continue it any longer, after I have assured you nevertheless that I shall be discreet. Saying so, the old man went away, and left Hortensio more amazed, than ever he was in his life, for he no way apprehended that Leonardo would accuse him of theft; and to perplex him yet further, Aurelia appeared, who believing, according as I had told her, that Hortensio had not concealed himself but because he was jealous, would en passant have said some manner of gallantry unto him. But he, who was not in a case to dissemble, and that saw well enough how his love to Livia was upon breaking forth, said unto her somewhat rudely; you drove me away at such time as by your direction I came to wait upon you, think it not strange then if after that I never do see you more; and to recompense the love which you have borne me with some freeness, know, that I am engaged in an affection, which cannot end but with my life. This said, he left her, for to go in all haste and try if he could see Livia, to the end they might advise together about what they were to do in so cross an adventure. In the mean time, Aurelia so replied upon my words, as she had much ado to believe but that Hortensioes' despisall was a mark of love. As she was returning home in this irresolution, she encountered Leander, who had seen Hortensio enter into Livia's house, and Leonardo presently following in after him; so that enforced by his passion, and my counsel, he discovered unto her the truth of the History: He informed her how it was by his means she was advertised in the morning, that Hortensio never parted from Genova; and that to let her see how Livia wholly possessed his heart, he knew for a certain that he was at that instant with her; having said to him just as he was going in, and he passing by, I will no longer oppose your love. This discourse so nettled Aurelia, as suddenly she felt a strange revolution in her mind: After she had mused a little, and shown by her countenance how great a combat she had in her heart, she addressed her speech to Leander; If that which you tell me be true, said she unto him, I confess that Hortensio is not only unworthy of my affection, but is also unworthy to live. If you did not seem to me somewhat interessed in this encounter, your word alone should suffice to make me give credit to all things; but in this, where you are the accuser, mine own eyes must be the witnesses of his crime, if you will have them favourable judges to you: conduct me to Livia's house, and be assured that as soon as I have disturbed their felicity, for I mean to do it, I will establish yours. Leander, who would gladly have done more difficult things, for the hope of a prize that was so dear unto him, told her with a great deal of respect, joy, and love, that he was ready to obey her. In the mean time it had fallen out, that within a minute after Hortensio was gone in to Livia, Leonardo came home; so as he had no more leisure but to let her know that her father had demanded the Ring of him, which she had given him, and that he had used all his endeavour to draw the crime wholly upon himself; for as soon as Lucretia perceived Leonardo, she advertised them of it; whereupon Hortensio was constrained to hid himself in a corner of the Garden where they were, it being impossible for him to get forth without being seen. When supper time approached, I went thither; for I was not sorry to seek for an occasion of seeing in what case Livia was in af●er so many odd adventures; as I was going along I met with la Roche, who told me that he came from working his enchantment for the man who was afraid of robbing by the way; that after a thousand devices, he had made him get a stride upon a pale, as it were upon an horse; and there having bound up his eyes, and tied both his hands and his feet, he left him talking the maddest things in the world, out of a conceit he had that he was flying in the air; and that to keep him from being rob by the way, he had taken his money from him without his perceiving it. I rebuked him for his foolery, and having commanded him to follow me, I entered into Leonardoes' house, just as he was going to accost his daughter, who seeing me, would have pulled down her Veil over her face, but he not permitting her so to do, told her, that a man, to whom she was engaged for the recovery of a Ring which was so dear unto her, well deserved to have the pleasure of beholding her. We were both of us then very much abashed, for I knew nothing of that which had passed betwixt him and Hortensio; and she feared that her father would give her some cruel check or other. Howbeit I was not so taken up, but that I heard, in regard I was advertised of it before, how the poor simpleton whom la Roche had tied up in this garden, said, that he had dispatched a great deal of way already; and I find, continued he, hearing us talk a far off where we were, that I fly very high, for the sound of voices doth diminish. In the mean time we were mightily surprised to see Aurelia, led by Leander, come in, who appearing with an angry countenance put the whole company into a great confusion. Leonardo, who perceived that this visit was not made in an accustomed hour, could not imagine the cause of it; Livia, who before time had had some jealousy of Aurelia, and knew that Hortensio was not above five or six steps from thence in a green Arbour, could not tell what to think of it; Leander though he was very certain that he had seen Hortensio enter there, and Leonardo follow him, yet was afraid that he should not keep his word with Aurelia; Hortensio, albeit he were hid, was not in the least pain, for that he could not doubt but that he should have some share in Aureliaes' visit; lafoy Roche too was not very much at ease to see so great a company in the very same place where his traveller was, which still continued prating, though not heard of any but myself, who in conclusion was not without a great deal of unquietness, to behold so many folks together, which in all likelihood would complain of me. These several reasonings, which I have declared unto you, were made for all that in one instant, for we were not long without knowing wherefore Aurelia came; who, having neither father nor mother, & living only under the tuition of an uncle, took more liberty to herself than ordinarily the Maids of Italy use to do. She advanced then with a boldness that amazed me, and addressing her speech to Le●nardo, without scarcely turning her eyes towards Livia; Marvel not, said she unto him, Leonardo, to see this visit made to you, rather than to your daughter; seeing it is from you that I expect the revenge I desire. You are abused, Leonardo, and I am despised by a man whom Livia loves, and who at this present is hidden somewhere here about your house; I desired to advertise you of it, that we might both of us be revenged together. This discourse dejected Livia; made Leonardo knit his brows; Leander shrink up his shoulder; Lucretia give back; as for Hortensio, it is easy to imagine that he was but in an ill taking; and touching myself, in the midst of the amazement wherein I was, I felt some joy in hoping to see an end of this adventure; in the mean time I could not choose but hear the new Astolpho say, what lamentable voices are these, and into what a fright do they put me, ah, lafoy Roche, am I to fear nothing? At length, Leonardo, being come out of the astonishment which had seized upon him, beheld Aurelia with fury, and taking her by the hand, What, said he unto her, a man hid about my house! we must seek every where, for I will not have this suspicion rest with any body; come, Aurelia, that I may revenge you, or be revenged on you, if that which you tell me be not true. What a confusion of voices is here, said the Traveller? In the mean space Leonardo commanded all the doors to be shut, and leading Aurelia, and causing Livia with all the rest of the company to follow, he began first to search in the Garden. We had not gone four steps, but they perceived this man tied on the pale, who made a great coil as it were to go the faster. The sight of him arresting all the troup, Leonardo asked whether this was his daughter's Lover; Aurelia looked on Leander; Livia began to take a little heart, hoping they would search no further, and so Hortensio would not be found. But going foremost, I untied the poor sot, and said to Leonardo, that this was without doubt the knavery of my servant, who was willing to make sport with the simplicity of this man. He was no sooner untied, but following his imagination, Behold, said he, how at length I am come into my Country; it is fit I should kiss the earth where first I drew my breath. And when as Leonardo demanded of him, what it was that he did. Alas! Master, said he, are you also come into my Country, with all this goodly company? La Roche approaching said to him softly, you have not done all that I enjoined you, for do not you perceive that you are still at Genova The poor wretch grew then so astonished as he could not answer a word. In the mean time Aurelia having told Leonardo, that this was not he she sought for, we continued going on. And when Leonardo had demanded whether there were nothing behind a Jasmin hedge which was right before us; Hortensio, who see that he should be discovered, because the Arbour where he was hidden was hard by it, resolved to show himself, rather than to be taken with the manner. He went forth then boldly, and speaking to Leonardo; Seek no further, said he unto him, I am he alone who is hidden here, and that will not oppose the revenge which you will take of me for it. This is not amiss, said Leonardo to me, I seek for my daughter's Lover, and I find a Thief. You think peradventure, said he unto him, to steal another Ring from me, but I will keep you well enough from it; and in the consideration of your Father, who is a man of honour, I will only secure myself of your person. Aurelia thought Leonardo was wild, in taking Hortensio for a thief; Leander and Livia believed the same thing; Hortensio himself knew not what he meant by it; and I alone was he that could clear this Enigma. And as I was preparing to speak, Hortensio said to Leonardo, that he had loved his daughter two years; that he had had the Ring from her; that he was no thief; and that he might know of her whether he told the truth or no. Aurelia would have spoken, but choler would not suffer her; Livia indeed had love enough to have confirmed that which Hortensio said, but she was retained by shame, howbeit she was fain to surmount it, when her Father asked of her, whither that which he heard was true? for she answered, how hoping that this marriage would not displease him, it was true that she had given him that Ring for the first obligation thereof. Leonardo had no sooner received his daughter's answer, but taking me aside he consulted with me about what he ought to do in this encounter; for he did not suspect me as yet. I confess, that then I took pity of all the displeasures I had done them, and in that good thought, I counselled him for the honour of his daughter, to marry them together. He told me how that indeed was the custom of Italy, and that he was glad my advice was conformable to the use of the Country, which in these occasions will have them to be either poniarded or married. Leonardo having resolved on the last, came to them again with a calmer countenance, and making some excuses to Aurelia for that he did not revenge her, he told Hortensio, that for my sake he not only pardoned him, but also promised him his daughter. These two Lovers were so satisfied, and so pleasingly surprised, as it was impossible for them to express their joy; Leander was so contented in seeing no further an obstacle to his love, as he presently summoned Aurelia to the performance of her word, who confirmed it unto him with generosity enough. But the best in this general rejoicing was, that Livia, in a gallantery, came, and smiling said unto me, I counsel you another time to rely more on your merit than on your science, since though you have wholly employed it for the interrupting of my marriage, yet you see that your Art is deceitful. And continued Aurelia, in somewhat a sharper manner, you assured me that I was beloved of Hortensio, whereas I no sooner encountered him, but I see him married to another, which shows that your Astrology is false. As for me, said Leander, you persuaded me that Aurelia did not love Hortensio, in the mean time the proof she hath rendered of the contrary, testifyes the untruth of your books. And for my part, said the Traveller, he promised to send me into my country without any danger of robbing, and lo I am still at Genova. All this was spoken to me so precipitously as I was surprised with it; nevertheless being fully resolved to continue no longer an ginger, I made use of this occasion; for causing Lucretia to approach, that she might witness that which I meant to say, I besought Leonardo to pardon me for that I was going to confess unto him, seeing my gullery had had so happy an end for him; and that he would call to mind how it was not long of me, that he did not believe me to be no ginger. I recounted unto them my love to Livia; in what manner I knew her secret, and consequently all that I have told you. And after I had obtained Lucretia's pardon as well as mine own, I made it appear that I had satisfied them without Astrology: For, said I to Leonardo, you asked me for your Ring, and I have made you to find it; to Livia, I have told you the most concealed particulars of your adventure; to Leander, I made you hope for the possession of Aurelia, which she promises to you herself; to Aurelia, I have undeceived you from Hortensio, and made you acknowledge the fidelity of Leander; to the traveller, I promised you that you should not be rob by the way, and I have kept my word with you; for I am sure you are not in case so to be, la Roche having provided for that by taking away your money, which I command him to restore unto you presently; so that you see I have not failed in my promise to every one: for touching myself, said I laughing, you perceive I am he alone for whom I have done nothing; so that to recompense me in some sort for so many unprofitable pains, grant me Valerio's pardon, which especially I demand of Leander, as of the most offended, but withal the most obliged to his friend's gullery, since without him he durst never have thought of the happiness which he possesseth. In conclusion, said I to them still laughing, whereas you know that I am a dangerous enemy, I counsel you, as persons whom I esteem, to receive me for your friend. They burst out then into so great a laughter, as they thought they should never have been quiet again to hear the compliment, which Leonardo made me, who assured me that the pleasure I had given him by my relation, was so great, as he should always remember it, as an important service which I had rendered him, and that he would not for any thing but that this gullery had been, it was so diverting: Livia told me next, that she was of her father's mind, and though she had denied me her love, yet did she promise me her friendship; Hortensio added thereunto, that he was so much obliged unto me for drawing him out of prison, as he could not choose but swear an inviolable affection to me; and Leander, who was engaged to me for the possession of his Mistress, gave himself wholly unto me; for Aurelia, as she was least satisfied, so was her compliment the coldest, being contented only to tell me, that she should never forget the visit I had given her, but nevertheless whensoever she had any hate, it should not be for me; whereupon she would have gone away, but I advised Leonardo to send for Cinthio her Uncle, and also for Valerio, to the end they should not part asunder till all things were peaceably concluded. This was almost as soon executed as I had mentioned it; in the mean time Livia and Aurelia, having talked a pretty while together alone, called Hortensio and Leander to them, and such things passed between them, as they found themselves all four extremely contented. Cinthi● and Valerio being come, and a fair conclusion made on all sides, the whole company supped with Leonardo, though none but I was invited. Howbeit that I may not, Madam, further extend a relation, which is already but too long, I shall tell you, that within a while after I was bidden to their wedding, whither I came with more love than all these four together had; for I had enough for every woman of the assembly. But at length, night being come, I left them married and contented; I say contented, because I am not an Historian but for the first day of their Nuptials, which ordinarily is full of joy and gladness. Nevertheless that which troubled me afterwards was, how not able to keep the matter from being divulged, the same people who had pointed at me before as at a Magician, looked upon me then as on an impostor, and jeered me in such sort as I durst not peep out of doors. But it is also true, that the same adventure was the cause of a greater good unto me; for by the Count of Lavagnes curiosity I got the honour of his acquaintance and friendship, which hath likewise produced yours too, Madam, and hath also given me the noblest passion that ever I had in my life. I must confess, said the Princess, that you are incomparable, and that in regard of what I have heard, there is none but will say how you are a dangerous enemy, and a pleasing friend. Ah, Madam, said the Marquis, do not ruin me with Aemilia! no, no, said this maid, for I promise you not to judge of you but by yourself, who, as I believe, will persuade me that, which her Excellency speaks of, better than she can, as eloquent as she is. I would fain know, said Doria, speaking to the Marquis, whether they from whom you take your love, may pretend still to your friendship. Yes, answered he, provided they have been favourable to me; for as for the rest, they are so indifferent unto me, as it would be more advantageous for them, that I should hate them. This is a pretty discourse indeed, said Justiniano, since that by this reason, the fair Aemiliae aught not to be cruel unto you, to the end she may by receiving your love favourably pretend one day to your friendship. I confess, said the Count, that the Marquis his opinion teaches me a new tenet, which I did not believe could be possible; I have always heard it said, that friendship is many times a way to love, but that love should be the way to friendship, is a thing which hath but few examples, and no reason at all. This dispute would be a little too long, said the Princess, both for the time and the place, and I think it were fit for us to return unto Monaco before the ending of the day, which will not permit us to walk; but this agreeable discourse hath given us so much satisfaction, as we have no reason to regret it. The whole company than arose; the Count led Isabel; the Marquis Aemilia; Justiniano and Doria went together; and the Princess' women, together with other of her servants, followed after without order. All this fair troop went aboard of the Galley which brought them thither, whereof the Princess never made use, but when she went to this place The rest of the evening was wholly employed in talking of the Marquis his adventures, each one repeating in particular that which had seemed most pleasant to them therein. Isabella likewise caused her kinswoman, who had an excellent voice, to sing; the Marquis played on the Lute, and sung also with the beautiful Aemilia; so that concluding this day with Music, they bid the Princess good night, and retired to their lodgings.    

IBRAHIM: OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The second part. The Third BOOK.  
HOw delightful soever this company might be, yet was the Count to return unto Genova, not daring to stay longer in a place whither he had been sent. He took his leave then of the Princess, who desired him to assure the Senate of her acknowledgement, and that ere long she would be at Genova herself to render them thanks in particular for the honour they had done her; The Marquis also kissed her robe; she caressed him very much, and prayed him to remember, that he left a Mistress at Monaco, showing him Aemilia. The Marquis answered laughing, that he should not fail therein, and to the end she might not doubt of it, he would take the liberty to write unto her. I shall be glad of that, said the Princess, and will enjoin Aemilia to receive your letters. In the mean time Doria, who was in love with the Count's sister-in-law, named Sophronia, began to be in some unquietness for that he did not return unto Genova; which being observed by Justiniano, he conjured him to abide no longer at Monaco, and to go along with the Count Doria withstood it a while, but at length he suffered himself to be persuaded to that which he desired. The Marquis was so dextrous, as he took the opportunity, whilst the rest were complementing with the Princess, to approach unto Aemilia, for to assure her a little more seriously than he had used to do, that he had such thoughts for her, a● he had never before but only for two or three of all that great multitude of women which he had loved in his time; it is likely he would have said more unto her, had not the Count gone away. They departed out of the Princess' chamber, accompanied by Justiniano, who conducted them to the Port, where they embraced one another with a great deal of kindness, and also renewed their friendship with new protestations. Having weighed anchor, upon the Count's Signal given, the slaves fell to rowing, and in an instant the galley was carried far from the shore, and from Justiniano, who in returning to the Castle began to fear, that the Princess would press him to declare the end of his History, and likewise to consider with astonishment the deplorable estate he was in; but going insensibly along towards the Princess, he found himself in her chamber, before he was ware that he was com● thither. This sad thought had already painted such a melancholy in his face, as Isabel perceived it as soon as he entered, and for which she quarrelled with him, saying that it proceeded from the absence of his friends. Justiniano, surprised with this discourse, laboured to recollect himself, and told her, he had been so accustomed to sadness, that assoon as he was but a moment out of her sight, it still regained some empire over his heart. And to keep the Princess from speaking to him of ending his history, he besought her to be so good as to relate to him all that had arrived unto her during so long an absence. Alas! said she unto him, what do you ask of me? Doth it not suffice that you know you were not here; that I believed you to be either inconstant, or dead; and that being in a place wherinto I could forbid an entrance to all the world, I have scarce had any other adventure, than to weep all day long, at leastwise since the death of my mother, and the unlucky love of the Prince of Masseran, which Doria hath recounted unto you, as also that of some other Sovereigns of Italy, where nothing hath passed more remarkable, than the coldness which I have used towards them. And truly in so austere a solitariness, I wanted not employment; the remembrance of our felicities past, and of our then miseries, furnished me but with too much entertainment of myself: and I may say that the memory of our good fortune was more cruel to me, than the sense of our ill fortune. But, continued she, these thoughts are too doleful, for so happy a season as this is, wherein I see you; and we are not yet so far eloigned from the time in which we thought to have suffered shipwreck, as to look upon this Sea without dread or grief. The adventure of the Prince of Salerno, and of Don Fernando de Mendoza, said Aemilia interrupting her, is not so inconsiderable, as that you should not be obliged to impart it unto a person who hath rendered you so exact an account of his life; but if either your modesty, or your compassion, doth hinder you from acquainting him with the effects of your beauty, and the mischiefs which you have caused without thinking of them, I do offer to make him a faithful recital thereof. You will be unjust, Madam, answered Justiniano, if you will not permit that I shall know what hath befallen you, and you will give me cause to fear that remembrance of some one of my Rivals doth touch you but too sensibly. The Princess did what she could to remit the matter to another time; but Justiniano, who sought to shun the occasions of speaking of the end of his adventures, was willing to oblige the Princess to let him understand hers. When as she saw then that he was resolved for it, she took a pretext to go and write to Leonardo, the Count of Lavagnes wife, to the end she might not be present at Aemilia's relation. Justiniano complained for that she deprived him of the sight of her, but whatsoever he could say, she entered into her Cabinet, saying she would punish him for his obstinate curiosity. She was no sooner gone, but Aemilia, having first been permitted by Isabel so to do, began to speak in this sort to Justiniano.  

The History of Isabel.  
SEeing the Princess hath commanded me to render you an account of her life, I am very willing to obey her, having nothing to tell you that is not advantageous for her, and also for you. I will not repeat her first adventures, since I know that you are not ignorant of the Prince of Masserans' love, Juliaes' violence and artifices, Felicianaes' treason, Doriaes' generous resentment, the death of that infortunate lover, and consequently that of Julia. But I will only tell you, that when she saw she was Mistress of herself, by the loss of her mother, and that she had in vain sent to seek for you in Germany, she resolved to go no more to Genova, but to live always at Monaco to avoid the counsels and propositions, which she foresaw would be urged upon her for to draw her to marry, though she had engaged her faith to you. For whereas your long absence had made all the world believe that you were dead, there wanted no reasons to be alleged unto her for the persuading of her to the change of her resolution. As indeed, notwithstanding all the care she had taken, to bar an entrance into Monaco of all those which might speak to her of such like matters, yet the fame of her beauty and virtue was spread abroad in such manner, as there was not a Prince in all Italy, which sent not unto her for a permission to visit and serve her. But she, who feared her Lovers more than her Enemies, brought so much care to the frustrating of all their designs, as none of them could ever obtain so much as the liberty to see her. She lived in this austere retiredness until such time, as about a year ago, or little less, there ran a rumour in Genova that you had been seen at Naples; whereupon she sent the Lieutenant of her guard unto you, who, as you know, found you in a place far from that where he went to seek you. It was much about that time, when as, having lost my mother, I came against the Princess' mind, to shut up myself with her, she being unwilling, as she said, that I should be made unhappy for her sake. But do what she could, my entreaties were stronger than her reasons, so that she was contented to accord me that, which I demanded of her with so much affection. That false news which had been reported of you gave her a true joy, and made her with the more case constrain herself, and not seem to be so melancholy as before. But to the end her retiredness might be the more supportable to me, she walked oftener than she was wont to do; she retired less into her Cabinet, for the entertaining of her thoughts; and her compliance for me, together with the secret hope she had of seeing you again, wrought so powerfully upon her mind, as they dissipated a part of her grief, and put her soul into a more peaceable estate. She took pleasure in recounting to me your first adventures; she shown me your letters, and the verses which you had made for her; and by the praises which I gave them, I quickly got more esteem, and love, from her than I had before. She suffered me also sometimes to sing an air unto her; and whereas she called to mind the passion which you had ever had for music, I dare say, how it was more for the love of you, than for the love of me, that she retained one of your Rivals in her service. Aemilia, perceiving that this discourse had made Justiniano change colour, could not forbear laughing at it; and desiring to draw him out of the pain whereinto she had put him; Be patiented, said she unto him, and judge not precipitously of a matter, for which you will afterwards without doubt repent you. I know, answered Justiniano, that I should be unjust in desiring to be a judge of Isabel; but I know withal that fear is inseparable from love, and that in this occasion I ought to give you some marks of it. I will soon make it cease, continued Aemilia, but prepare yourself to understand the most fantastic adventure, and the strangest encounter, that ever you heard off: You are to know then, said she going on, how that great reputation of beauty which the Princess had all over Italy, begot a curiosity at one and the same time in the minds of the young Prince of Salerno, and Don Fernando de Mendoza, who for a long time had been in the War of Milan under the Marquis of Gnast; and albeit they known not one another; though the one was of Italy, and the other of Spain; though the first was at Naples, and the other at Milan; yet took they both of them the same resolution. The Prince of Salerno was handsome, of a good mine, and full of spirit; and whereas in studying the Mathematics, he had learned to design, he had afterwards applied himself to painting, and was become so excellent in that art, as few Masters in Italy had done braver things than he. This young Prince being resolved to see whether fame did not flatter the Princess, and knowing by the example of others, that it would be no boot for him to present himself at Monaco with an equipage proportionable to his condition, he concluded to go thither disguised; and that he might the easilier find out the means to approach unto the Princess, he purposed to say that he was a Painter. Don Fernando de Mendozo, as I have already declared, having a like desire, and a like curiosity, used also the same means to content it: For as the Prince of Salerno would pass for a Painter, so would Don Fernando, who understood music perfectly, pass for a Musician. They disguised themselves then after the manner they had resolved on, and without knowing aught of one another, they came to Monaco at the time which I have noted; and when as the hope of seeing you again, and the Princess' compliance for me, had rendered her melancholy more sociable. The first that arrived at Monaco was Don Fernando, who retained this name only, leaving that of Mendoza, as too illustrious for him whom he pretended to be. And whereas the Princess had ordained a long time before, that no stranger should enter into the Town, without first advertising her of it, they came presently and told her, that a man, which gave himself out to be a Musician, desired to enter. At first she thought not to have seen him, but as for me, who had no other design but to delight her, I besought her to command he might be admitted to enter, to the end we might see whether he were skilful enough to keep me from forgetting that which I had already learned in Music; and to oblige her not to deny me, I caused her to remember the passion which she had told me you had ever had for this excellent art; and it was without doubt that in this sort the sole consideration of you introduced Don Fernando into the Castle, although the Princess had the goodness to tell me, that she should be very glad there could any thing be met withal, which could keep me from being weary of Monaco. But in the end, Don Fernando appeared, and albeit both the Princess and myself found something that was great in his countenance, yet suspected we nothing of the truth, attributing that lofty air to the Nation, whereof he said he was; for he did not conceal himself from being a Spaniard, in regard, though he spoke Italian well enough, he would yet have been known by his pronunciation. The Princess demanded of him, of whence he was, whether he was going, what he could do; and to all those particulars he answered exactly. As for his science, he desired the Princess that she would be the judge of it, and hear him sing. She would fain have referred herself to me, but giving her no leisure to command me unto it, I sent for a Viol and a Lute, to the end he might show us what he could do. I well observed, how he beheld the Princess with a great deal of attention, and also how he blushed two or three times. But whereas the greatest beauties strike every one with admiration, I took his blushing for a mark of his respect, and his attention for an ordinary effect of Isabellaes' beauty. When that was brought which I had sent for, he took a Lute, and truly touched it reasonably well; but when he had played on it, and that to sing he had taken a Viol in his hand, he persuaded us yet better by his play, that he was a Spaniard, than he had done by his pronunciation, it being most certain that it is impossible to play better: He sung also with a very good grace, and with much art; As for me, I confess unto you that I was ravished with it. And whereas the Princess perceived the satisfaction that I received by it, and was resolved to please me as much as she could, she demanded of Don Fernando, whether he would abide with her for some time to be my Master? He very well contented with this proposition, told her, that she did him too much honour, and though his purpose was not to make any stay at Monaco, yet should he esteem himself infinitely happy, if he could be able to render her any service. Thus see you Don Fernando lodged in the Castle, and in the rank of the Princess' domestical servants, but more yet, of that of her lovers. For as we know afterwards, he became so desperately in love with her, as he resolved to do all that he might for to gain her to himself, by any way whatsoever. Certain days after, the Prince of Salerno, who gave himself the name of Lucilio, arrived also at Monaco, and according to order it was told the Princess, how there was a young Painter, who said, he came from Rome, that desired to show her some small pieces of his own drawing. She who, as I have already declared, sought to delight me, commanded him to be brought to her; Don Fernando was at that time in the Princess' chamber, whom I had caused to come thither to hear a Spanish air, which had extremely pleased me. The Prince of Salerno being come to the Castle, entered into the room, where we were, with a profound respect, and shown the Princess two small pieces of his drawing, admirably well done. In the first was seen a Sea represented, whose waves seemed to be very much moved, and a far of on the shore a man, who, manger the counsel of divers persons, which seemed by their actions to hinder him from it, leapt into a skiff, and abandoned himself to the fury of the Sea, showing them with one hand the point of a Rock, which stood up in the midst of this Sea, as if he had a desire to go and suffer shipwreck there. The second picture was an Icarus, of an extraordinary design; and though the first piece expounded unto us that of the Prince of Salerno, yet did we not understand any part of that emblem; and the Princess, without comprehending aught that was mysterious therein, exceedingly commended his work. For, as you know, she might be a competent judge of such like things, in regard she herself could paint very well, though since your departure she hath wrought so little, as one may say, she hath nothing left but the bare knowledge of that rare art, having utterly lost the use of applying the colours. In the mean time the Princess finding those two pieces to her mind, bought them to bestow on me. And having demanded of this pretended Painter, whether he could work in great, as well as in little, and he answering that it was ordinary with him, she resolved to have him paint a Cabinet that was within the lodgings, which she had given me, to the end she might at leastwise render my prison the more agreeable, as she said. She demanded of him if he would undertake it; and he, more contented than I am able to tell you, expressed a mighty desire to be at her service; so that the matter being resolved on, and the Princess having commanded him to see the Cabinet, and to think of contriving the design thereof, she appointed him to be lodged with Don Fernando, holding it an injustice to separate two such fair sisters, as Music and Painting; and so did she lodge the two Rivals together, that is to say, two Enemies, without her knowing of it, and without their knowing of it also. For if Don Fernando was become amorous at the first sight of the Princess, the Prince of Salerno was charmed with it. I very well perceived, as well as Don Fernando, how He beheld her with an extraordinary attention; but I marvailed yet less at that than at the other, imagining that as he was a Painter, so being well seen in beauties, he would conserve some Idea of that of the Princess, to make use thereof in his Pictures. Don Fernando and he complemented very kindly one with another, and were as great friends at first, as they were foes afterwards. They thought in the mean while, each of them in particular, of the design they had in hand, and dextrously informing themselves of the Princess' mind, they learned how she loved you still, and that although the greatest part of the World believed you to be dead, yet was she absolutely resolved never to engage that faith unto another, which she had given you: Whereupon they conceived it would be to no purpose for them to discover themselves as yet to the Princess; but contrarily, that it would be the means of ruining all their designs, and depriving them of her sight for ever. Wherefore they resolved to continue with her as long as they could; carefully to observe her disposition; to please her as much as possibly they could; and to work according to occasion. For afterwards we understood both all their designs, and all their reasonings, which in this encounter were almost the very same. Behold them then in the determination to render themselves agreeable to the Princess, and to me also, because they perceived that I was gracious with her. Don Fernando taught me Music with a great deal of care, and concealed none of the secrets of his Art from me; yet sometimes he was vexed for that I learned so fast; for, said he to himself, as we understood afterwards, as soon as she knows as much as I know, I shall be discharged; and if I do not teach her as I should, they will turn me away. Howsoever he made choice of the first, and indeed was one of the best Masters in the World. The Painter on the other side drew out the designs of his Pictures, where I think he put all the disguisements of Jupiter, Apollo, Mercury, and of all the other Gods of the Fiction. But the best was, that what he did to continue the longer at Monaco, had like to have driven him from thence; for fearing lest he should be discarded when the painting of this Cabinet came once to be finished, he wrought so slowly, as one might say it was Penelope's Web, and how he undid that in the night which he had done in the day. Nevertheless, whereas the little which he did was very excellent, the Princess would not follow the counsel that my impatience gave he about it. Now if the Prince of Salerno intimated love to the Princess by his Pictures, the Musician did no less by his Songs; for with equivocating words he told her what he was, and what he thought. But she had her mind so eloigned from such like things, as she made no application, either of the one, or of the other of them to herself. In the mean time, these two Rivals becoming every day more and more amorous, and the Princess always expressing a great deal of goodness towards them, they believed, each of them in his particular, that she esteemed them enough to pardon a violence when as they should execute it; though not enough to receive the● favourably when as she might refuse them: so that carried with some hope, and a great deal of despair all at once, the Prince of Salerno, by the means of the Master of his Horse, who came into the Town in the habit of a Fisherman, to know if he wanted any thing, gave order to have a vessel of War brought near to Monaco, for the design which he premeditated: And Don Fernando, who knew well enough that the Spaniards do not disapprove of those who augment their dominion by any way whatsoever, sent a Gentleman, whom he had drawn disguised into the town, to f●tch him money, and some troops of the Milanese, by the permission of the Marquis of Guast, to whom he wrote about it, for the executing of that which he thought on. During these preparations, the Painter and the Musician continued their endeavours still about the Princess; the one always made mysterious Pictures, and the other always sung Songs, wherein he spoke of love without being understood, so that they came to be somewhat suspicious one of another; and that which began to make them so, was, for that Don Fernando not seeing the Princess enough to content the extreme passion wherein he was for her, had entreated the Painter in private to draw her picture for him, and let no body know of it. The manner of Don Fernando's making this proposition begot some suspicion in the Prince of Salerno; and the manner also of his excusing himself from embracing it, made Don Fernando observe him with the more care; so that passing over again in their memory how they had lived together before, they found wherewith to augment their suspicions, but not wherewith to doubt of that which they thought. After this they never lived well together; they traduced one another's profession; the Painter said that he had heard better singing at Rome; and the other affirmed that all the designs of the Prince of Salernoes' Pictures were stolen from ancient Painters. One day as they were in the Princess' chamber, they entered into a dispute before her, and by that liberty forgot the personage which they represented; yet was not she offended at it, but contrarily took pleasure in hearing them. The Painter would have his Art carry it from Music; he said that it was the imitator of Nature; he vaunted that he could beguile the eyes, and deceive reason by the illusions of perspective; he said moreover, that it was Painting which made men live after their death; that it was she which erected Trophies for the victorious; that by her we see battles which we had not seen; that by her we know Alexander and all the Heroes of Antiquity; that by her we make voyages without stirring out of our Cabinets; that by her we see our friends though they be absent; that she was a visible History, a mute Poesy; and to say all, that she was so excellent, as a good Painter might almost boast himself to be the creator of the things which he represents. The Musician, who would not give place to the Painter, maintained, that there was the same difference between Painting and Music, as between the body and the soul; that this first was wholly material and gross in comparison of the other, which was altogether spiritual; that if Painting erected Trophies to the victorious, Music sung their victories; that the one touched nought but the eyes, whereas the other, all celestial and divine, wrought upon the very soul with so much power, as she excited or appeased the passions as she pleased; and by this sweet tyranny rendered herself absolute mistress of all reasonable persons. He said farther, that to judge rightly of the advantage which she had over Painting, we were but to consider, that the best illusions she can make, do always work a greater effect upon the rude vulgar than on worthy people; that indeed she might strike these with admiration, but never utterly deceive them, so that she operates more powerfully upon the ignorant than on the able. He added, that it was not so with Music, which did not predominate absolutely but over reasonable person: that to have wit is not enough for us to become her subjects, and be charmed by her; but we must also have, not only some knowledge of this Art, but likewise a great and noble soul; so that quite contrary to Painting, the more able we are, the more we suffer ourselves to be vanquished by her charms: That the other was but a deceiver, which pays us with nothing but apparences, and so impotent, that she can do nothing of herself, or to say better, that she is nothing without the help of cloth, pencils, and colours; That the beauties of Music were effective beauties, and to show her independency we are but to consider, that she is no other than a pure effect of the imagination, guided by judgement; so that having no need of foreign things, it is not hard to judge, what advantage she hath over Painting. It is certain, that the dispute of these two men seemed too transcendent to me for persons of their profession, and I began to look on the Princess in a manner, which testified unto her how much I was amazed thereat, when as Don Fernando, perceiving it, took presently upon him the humour, which is ordinarily attributed to Musicians; and with a caprichiousness, wherein no feigning appeared, he gave an hundred jeering quipps to the Prince of Salerno, who played his part as well as the other; so that returning out of the amazement which I had been in, I reflected no further upon it, but heard the rest of their dispute with great delight; for they made so pleasant a Satire against each others profession, as the Princess herself, spite of her melancoholy, could not forbear laughing. Howbeit she would have them become friends before they departed; and having demanded of them why they bore such a spleen one to an other, for she had been advertised of it, they were much troubled how to answer her. Don Fernando, being ever the bolder, spoke first in this encounter, and told her, that on his part she was the true cause of it. The Painter, exceedingly surprised with this discourse, knew not what to think thereof; when as Don Fernando prosecuting it, gave them to understand, how that which made him so averse unto him, was the thought he had, that when he should be gone from Monaco, the Princess could not choose but remember him, because she should always see his Pictures, whereas if it were his ill fortune to departed from thence, she would presently forget him, nothing remaining of him that might make him be remembered of her. If this jealousy did not show as much malice as affection, replied the Painter, I should fear the Princess might take it well at your hands, but as I believe her to be very equitable, so I think she will find the coldness which is betwixt us better grounded, when as I shall tell her, that our dissension proceeds from our not knowing one another. Or it may be, said Don Fernando interrupting him, from our knowing one another too well. Never a whit replied the Painter, for you are as unskilful in painting, as I am in music, and so we are but bad judges of each other; and it is the Princess alone, which will one day put a difference between us, when as she shall know me better: and that the designs which I am about shall be wholly finished. The Princess, who thought he spoke of the designs of his Pictures, told him, that she knew him enough already to admire all that he did. And whereas Don Fernando would have replied, she forbade him, and commanded them both to live better together afterwards, than they had done. They answered, that they would obey her as much as they could, and so retired with a great deal of unquietness. The Prince of Salerno found Don Fernando too ha●dy for a Musician, and found also, that all his songs were too passionate, too amorous, and suiting too much with the Princess, for to be sung without design. In fine, he thought, that as he was capable of disguising himself like a Painter, so might another be of disguising himself like a Musician. Nevertheless this likely suspicion continued not long with him; and considering how much men of this profession are caressed by great persons, he no longer mervailed at his boldness; he found likewise that his observations upon his songs were ridiculous; for, said he, as we understood since, upon what subject would I have them made, that they should not suit with the Princess? All songs for the most part are of love, they speak of beauty, of despair, of respect, of fear, of Jealousy; they say that they dare not discover themselves; that love would have them, and that respect will not suffer them to do so: And whereas few songs are made upon giving of thanks, I am not to wonder if Don Fernando sings ●hat, which is sung every where, and in all languages. Whilst the Prince of Salerno deceived himself in this sort, the Musician reasoned with himself about that which had passed between them; but that which he stood most upon, was his observation, that in all the designs which this Painter had drawn at Monaco, there was always some disguisement in them. Howbeit he himself destroyed his own reasonings, as well as the Prince of Salerno; and coming to consider, that Fiction is one of the greatest sciences of Painters, he changed his opinion: And that which prevailed yet more with him, was to see him, whom he beheld many times as his Rival, paint so excellently; for he could not imagine that a man of quality could understand this Art so perfectly. These divers thoughts were never for all that so well settled in their minds, but that they passed often from the one to the other, and so were always ready to quarrel one with another. Sometimes the interest of their Nations was the occasion of their disputes; and if the Princess authority, joined to the fear which they had of venturing themselves unseasonably, and destroying their designs, had not kept them from it, they had without doubt fought more than once. In the mean time the Princess and I lived without suspecting any thing of the truth; Howbeit I remember, that one day it came into my thought, that there was something extraordinary in Don Fernando; for teaching me an air which I found to be extremely passionate, and of his own making, I demanded of him laughing, whether it were possible for him to speak so of love, without being in love. He answered me thereunto, that he could not, for that it was impossible for him to speak against his heart. But, said I unto him, may not I be your confident, and may not I know the person for whom you make such excellent things? You would not sooner be my confident, answered he, but you would be mine enemy, wherefore I will not tell you any thing, nor shall you know it but when I can no longer conceal it. I confess my simplicity unto you, for my first apprehension being over, I believed that I had some share in this discourse; and fearing I should be obliged to entreat the Princess to turn Don Fernando away, if he came to lose the respect which he owed me, I pressed him no further, contenting myself with being his scholar, and not his confident. And I was so afraid to part with him, as I never spoke of this matter to the Princess, who past a good part of her time in seeing the Prince of Salerno paint.  
In the mean space these two disguised Lovers finding no reason for them to discover themselves, were even in despair with it. They saw the Princess every day more firm in the resolution she had taken; for whereas they were dextrous and interessed, they had so gained some of the Princess' Officers, as by them they knew all that did pass, and all that had past. I have told you already, that the Princess employed a good part of the day in seeing him paint, this entertainment agreeing better with her melancholy, than Music; It was then impossible, but that, being good as she is, the Prince of Salerno should often have occasion to talk with her; and in those encounters, she had found so much spirit and civility in him, as one day she pressed him to let her know where he had led his life. And whereas he had taken a resolution, which you shall understand by and by, he answered her, that he had never had any other Master but the Prince of Salerno, who was one of the most considerable, both for his birth and riches, that was in all the Kingdom of Naples; that it had been in his late father's house where he had learned to know the fashions of the world better, than ordinarily Painters do; and that not long before, through a mischance, which he could not avoid, he was come away from the Prince of Salernoes' service; But, Madam, continued he, though I be from him, I cannot choose but say, that his inclinations are great; that he loves glory and virtue, for touching his wit, it is not for me to judge of it. I marvel, said the Princess unto him, if he be such as you say, that you would leave him; for being great in birth, mighty in riches, and so virtuous as you paint him forth to be, he must also without doubt be liberal, so that I do not see any reason for your abandoning him. That is it, Madam, answered he, wherein I can not satisfy you; howsoever I can assure you, that next to you, there is no body in the world whom I would serve with more affection. It was in this sort that the Prince of Salerno began to give good impressions of himself to the Princess, that he might prepare her the better to his desire; and divers times the Princess and he had such like conversations. At length that Master of his horse, whom he had sent to Naples, returned unto the Town disguised as he used to be, and acquainted him, that he had left at Villa-franco, which as you know is near hereunto, a vessel throughly furnished with all things, and an hundred well resolved and affectionate soldiers in her. The Prince told him, that he would have him come and present himself the next day at Monaco; and giving him a letter for the Princess, and another for his Governor, who was come thither whither he would or no, he gave him an express charge not to make any show of knowing him, if so be his people should happen to be admitted into the Town. He sent him away then throughly instructed in all that he had to do. The day following, the vessel belonging to the Prince of Salerno (who that day found out the means to be near the Princess) presented itself for to enter into the port; but according to order, a barque having been sent unto it, and having understood what this vessel was, the Princess was presently advertised thereof, who continuing in her resolution, commanded, that the Prince of Salernoes' messenger and his train only should be admitted, and that withal they should come into the port in the same barque which had been sent forth to discover them. The business was executed as she had commanded it; the Painter, the Musician, and myself, were at that time with her; and whereas she remembered that this Painter had told her, how he had belonged to the Prince of Salerno: You shall see now, said she unto him, that your old Master will draw you away from my service; if it should be so, continued she, what answer will you have me make? That I will die rather than abandon you, replied he: But I do not think it is his design, and knowing him as I do he will rather increase the number of your servants, than rob you any. As he said thus, his people arrived, who, without making show of knowing him, saluted the Princess with a great deal of respect, and the Prince of Salernoes' old Governor delivered her a letter written to her from his Master; she read it with blushing, and though I perceived a great deal of unquietness in the Painter's face, yet was I persuaded that only the interest which he seemed to have in the Prince of Salerno, or the fear he was in lest he should be forced to quit the Princess' service, was the cause of it. After the reading of this letter I knew by her discourse that it was a proposition of marriage, and a declaration of love. She said to the Prince's Messenger, that his Master did her an honour which she was unworthy of. And whereas this Governor would have enlarged himself upon the praises of his Master, I know his virtue and his merit, replied she, and here you see one by me, said the Princess, showing him the Prince of Salerno, who hath drawn me his picture, and I doubt not but it is very like him, since I can assure you that he is one of the best Painters of the world. This gallantry gave great hope to the Prince of Salerno, and filled the mind of Don Fernando with despair. In the mean time the Princess told the Prince's Messenger, that he should have her answer the next day, and then commanded her Officers to have a care of him, and to conduct him to the lodgings where strangers were entertained. They were no sooner gone, but the Prince of Salerno making use of the liberty which the Princess' goodness gave to all her servants when she was in private. I rightly foresaw, Madam, said he unto her, that the Prince of Salerno would not make me change my Mistress. For my part, said Don Fernando interrupting him, and addressing his speech to the Princess, with an intention to use a trick for the destroying of the Prince of Salernoes' designs (whom he did not imagine was so near him) I think I should betray my duty, and be wanting to the fidelity which I own you, if seeing your happiness, or unhappiness concerned, I should not tell you, that this Prince of Salerno is nothing less than what you are told he is. Do you know him, demanded the Painter of him with a great deal of coldness? I have seen him an hundred times, replied he, during three months' space that I was at Naples; he would have had me live with him, after I had taught him some Spanish Airs, but having been acquainted with the fantasticallness of his humour, I would not serve him. Besides, Madam, this Prince is neither rich, nor powerful in his Country, in such manner as one would make you believe; and I wonder how he should be so hardy, as to extend his ambition so far as to you. Permit me, Madam, said the Painter interrupting him, to clear myself of the doubt wherein I am, and to ask of this enemy to the Prince of Salerno, whether he be young, or old, and in what place they grew acquainted together? for as he talks, I dare say he knows him him not. He is young, answered Don Fernando, and that you may not think but that I know him, I assure you that I found him the first time I see him at Naples to have but a bad aspect, and to be very uncomely in his behaviour. The suspicion which I have will not end so soon, replied the Painter, for if I had undertaken it, I could let her excellency see, that he is not so unhandsome as you would make him to be. The Princess, who had no interest in this dispute, nor apprehended that which the Painter said, as he meant it, interrupted him, for to demand whether he could draw the picture of a person that was absent, and make it like him? Never doubt of it, Madam, said he unto her. If you draw that of the Prince of Salerno, said Don Fernando, I am sure it will not resemble you, for indeed he is nothing so handsome. You do me too much honour, answered the Painter coldly; but to draw me out of the doubt wherein I am, tell me, who hath informed you that the Prince of Salerno is so fantastical? All his servants, replied the other, who complained exceedingly of it. I wonder at that, said the Painter; but who hath told you too, that he was not rich? All the people of Naples, answered the other, who are well acquainted with the disorders of his House; and then again I perceived it well enough myself, for he gave me nothing for the pains I took in teaching him to sing. It is not his custom to be so sparing, answered the Painter; But tell me yet, who served him at that time? This old Governor which you saw but now, was he with him? What were his recreations? what was his delight? what was his employment? I think I did not see that man about him, answered Don Fernando, and for his Master, I found him so little worthy of esteem, that I did not observe him; howsoever I am very sure that he is not considerable at all, either in the Court of Spain, or with the Viceroy. I see no likelyhoood, replied the Painter, for one to believe that the Emperor and the Viceroy have entertained you with these matters, whilst you were playing on the Viol. There is yet less, said the Musician, that they should tell you the contrary of that which I affirm, whilst you were besmearing of walls. Ah! Madam, said the Painter interrupting him, permit me to punish the lying and malice of this impostor, who dares traduce a man so insolently, whom certainly he does not know, and a Prince too, who cannot be absolutely without merit, since he is capable of the design to serve you; He hath been my Master, and is now your servant, pardon me then if for your sake I lose the respect which is due unto you. Do not you fear, said the Princess unto him, that Don Fernando's speeches shall ever hurt the Prince of Salerno; neither doubt you, that this noble ardour which you show in maintaining his party shall displease me, but contrarily I shall esteem of you the more for it; and I forbidden Don Fernando from ever speaking of that Prince but with respect; but withal I charge you not to remember what he hath said, and command both of you once more to live lovingly together. The Painter wholly filled with hope, rendered thanks to the Princess; and the Musician not able to do otherwise, got him away assoon as the Princess was entered into her Cabinet, with a purpose to answer the letter which she had received from the Prince of Salerno: Who being withdrawn in private, and reflecting on Don Fernando's boldness in maintaining of a lie, and on all that had passed betwixt them, he no longer doubted but that he was a man of quality, whom, the same reason which had made him a Painter, had made a Musician. Coming then to look on Don Fernando, as on his Rival, he had an hundred times a mind to discover himself unto him, that he might oblige him to fight with him; but this first sense of revenge and jealousy being over, he known it would ruin his design; For He considered, that if the Princess answer to him was favourable, he should have time enough to be revenged; and if it were not, that then he should discover himself to ill purpose, and deprive himself of the means of executing that which he had premeditated; he resolved then to make a show, in case the Princess answered rigorously, of having forgotten what had passed, with an intent to live very civilly with Don Fernando, to the end that conversing often with him, and observing all his actions, he might not be prevented by him, Don Fernando on his side believed, after he had well thought upon it, that this Painter had been sent by the Prince of Salerno to speak well of him to the Princess before he declared himself, knowing well enough that she permitted not the entrance of any person of quality into Monaco; and in this thought he purposed likewise to observe him very carefully. In the mean time, the Princess sent the next morning for the Prince of Salernoes' messenger to receive his answer, where the Painter, and the Musician were also present, having thrust themselves amongst those which conducted this Messenger to her. The Princess, in giving him her letter, prayed him to assure his Master, that she should be eternally obliged to him for the honour he had done her; that she besought him to believe, that though she did not grant him that which he desired of her, yet could it not be termed a refusal, since she refused him nothing but what she could not grant him; that she owed that respect to the ashes of her father, as not to violate that faith which she had given by his commandment; and that being thus no longer her own, he was not to take it ill, if she assured him that she could never be his; that nothing resting in her power, but the esteem of him and his friendship, she assured him both of the one and the other, and of an acknowledgement that should last as long as her life. This obliging refusal assuaged not the Prince of Salernoes' grief, who himself heard his own sentence pronounced; nevertheless he had reason enough left to use his uttermost endeavour to conceal it, for fear he should be suspected of the Princess. As for Don Fernando, the joy which he testified for this adventure was so great, as the Painter was the more confirmed in the opinion which he had. After the Prince of Salernoes' Messenger was gone, & that the Princess had given him a diamond of great value, and that she had commanded him to be conducted to the Bark, which was to carry him back to his Vessel, the Painter craved leave of he, that he might accompany him with the rest, for he durst not speak to him, said he, unless it pleased her to permit him. You are discreet, said the Princess, and this respect merits more than this which you demand of me. The Painter having obtained this permission, went and overtook his Governor, to salute him; this man, who was instructed as he ought, used him like a Painter, and dexterously giving him the commodity to talk with him, this Prince willed him to return unto Villa-Franco, under pretext of mending something about his vessel, and to send the Master of his Horse the next morning disguised unto him, with as much money as as he could bring. Now you are to understand, that the day before he happened to meet and know an old Soldier, which sometime had born arms under his Father, and whose life he had saved, being at that time Sergeant of one of the Companies of the Garrison. The Prince of Salerno coming to know him, found the means to speak with him in private, and after he had given him three hundred pistolets, he made himself known unto him. This man ravished to see the Son of his old Master, but more yet with his liberality, testified after his manner, both his acknowledgement, and his joy. In the mean time the Prince of Salerno, who had not made himself known unto him only to enrich him, told him how he was to serve him in a business that concerned all his happiness. This man told him, that he was his subject, and his obligee, so that consequently he might expect any thing from him. Then the Prince asked him, whether he lived alone in his house, and having learn: that he did, he asked of him further, whether he could not suborn a Fisherman with money; this Soldier having answered him, that the poverty of those kind of people did not permit him to doubt but that he should find out an hundred in stead of one, he gave him wherewithal to gain him, without discovering any par● of his design unto him, assuring him only that this Fisherman should be exposed to no peril, nor have aught else to do, than to carry his nets: That which made the Prince of Salerno do thus, was, for that he had observed how just at ten of the clock in the forenoon the ordinary Guard still used to rise, and thereby had conceived, that they which saw a Fisherman go forth laden with his nets about nine, would not be there at five in the evening, and so consequently he might come in again accompanied with two men attired like Fishermen, and laden with nets a● he was, without any notice taken of them. After he had reasoned thus with himself, he resolved to execute that which he had premeditated long before, judging rightly by the answer which the Princess had given his Messenger, that nothing but violence could put him in possession of her. This design being absolutely concluded, he sought for the means to execute it. This Sergeant brought him a Fisherman into a place apart, whom he instructed with that which he would have him to do; and the next day this man went out of the Town about eight of the clock in the morning laden with nets, and (as I have already said) before the Guard was risen; but when it was towards evening, he gave over fishing, and went to meet with two Soldiers disguised like Fishermen, who came by Land from the Prince of Salerno's Vessel, which was at Villa-Franco, and waited for him at a certain Rendezvouz which had been appointed him: Having shared his nets amongst them, he reentered into the Town, and encountering none of those soldiers at the Gate which had seen him in the morning, no notice was taken of them, and so they went along with him home; where they stayed till it was night, and then these two men having left their nets there, were conducted by him to the Sergeant's house, in which they abode concealed until the Prince of Salerno had need of them. By this device there entered every day two soldiers into the Town, who carried two Pistols and two short swords hidden in the nets, wherewith they were laden. But whereas there was to be thirty days before the threescore soldiers, which he had destined for his enterprise, could enter, he was in an extreme impatience; howbeit he concealed it so well, as we could never perceive it. In the mean time he had gotten him a ladder of cords, wherewith he purposed to bring a dozen soldiers into the Castle through the windows of his chamber, which opened upon a place where no body usually passed, and where no body could trouble his design; for upon the disorder which had been between him and the Musician, they had been lodged asunder. For the rest of his Soldiers, he had resolved to send them under the conduct of the Master of his house, and that Sergeant, to the gate of the Town, for to render themselves Masters of it, whilst he should carry the Princess away by force, for which effect his Vessel was to be at the Port. But whilst he attended for the entrance of all his soldiers, and that Don Fernando also attended the return of him from whom he hoped for secure in his enterprise, they lived better together than ever they had done, and in show they loved one another extremely, though indeed they hated and observed one another as two enemies. As for Don Fernando, he had (during the design which he kept close) fallen into a strict league of friendship with one of the principal Inhabitants of Monaco, whom the Princess had made Captain of the Gate. His first admittance into this man's house, was to teach his only daughter to sing, afterwards his conversation grew so pleasing unto him, as he frequented thither very often, and so they came to love one another exceedingly. Don Fernando, in the thought which he was in, turned his eyes upon this Captain, and having heard him say divers times, that the people began to murmur against the Princess, for that it seemed she had resolved all her life-time to make a desert of Monaco, and utterly to ruin the trade thereof, by the difficulty which there was of entering into it, he resolved to confide in him, as he hide, after he had blinded him first with a great sum of money, which he gave him. And that which made him not doubt but that the Gentleman, whom he had sent, would bring him Troops, was, because he knew the Armies of Spain were very powerful in Italy, and that if he could once render himself Master of this place, she should not only be justified, but quickly succoured; the Council of Spain never wanting pretexts to invade the territories of their Neighbours, when as they find occasion for it. During this expectation, the Princess had had her unqu etness, as well as her Lovers; for that Lieutenant of her Guard, whom she had sent to seek you, seemed too long to her in returning: and whereas she had made it a secret, I was she alone to whom she complained of it; Nevertheless one of her women chancing upon a day to overhear somewhat confusedly what she said unto me, believed that you were suddenly to return, and her joy was so great for it, as she told this false news to all the Prince's Officers, who quickly acquainted the Painter and Musician with it, never dreaming that they would be otherwise concerned in it than to rejoice at it as they cid. Howbeit this news wrought an other effect, for thereupon both the one and the other of them hastened the finishing of the designs they had in hand. They wondered notwithstanding to see that that which it seemed should have made the Princess glad, should render her so melancholy as she would scarce see the Prince of Salerno paint any more, nor hear Don Fernando sing any longer: But I found a means to make her change her resolution; for calling to mind two songs, which you had made for the Princess, I got Don Fernando to learn them; and that he might take more care in singing of them, I told him whose they were, and for whom they were made, for fear his negligence should cause the Princess to hate him. I marked well that he blushed when I propounded this unto him; but whereas I have always been ingenious in finding out reasons to deceive myself, I was yet more ●n this occasion; and I believed that only the spite of being obliged to sing the Airs which he himself had not made, was the cause of his choler, and in this error I continued even unto the end. For when he had learned these Airs, after they had been repeated unto him above twenty times, yet did he not sing them very well: Nevertheless the Princess would hear no other thing, howsoever I entreated her to the contrary; so that Don Fernando was thereby reduced to that point, as he could not see the Princess unless he would sing his Rivals songs: Which he did with so much constraint, as he made me to laugh at him; For still I was persuaded that he did it out of caprichiousness and pride, though indeed it was out of jealousy. As for the Prince of Salerno, another adventure befell him. When as there lacked but two days of the time wherein all his Soldiers were to come in, the Princess remembered how she had heard him say, that he could draw the picture of one that was absent, that should be like him, and thereupon believed that by the instructions which she could give him he might peradventure draw a picture that would resemble you, though he had never seen you. She propounds the matter unto him, assures him that he shall infinitely oblige her if he can do it; and though she told him not precisely who the person was that she desired the picture of, yet he knew that undoubtedly it was yours which she would have. At first he said, that he believed he could not do it; but after he had thought on it a little, I will endeavour, Madam, said he unto her laughing, to content you, provided you will have the goodness not to entreat me as an ordinary Painter, and that you will acknowledge unto me, after you have seen it, that it is the picture of the man, who of all the world honours you with most respect, and loves you with most passion. You know too much for a Painter, said the Princess unto him blushing, howsoever I will pardon you this boldness, and will acknowledge that unto you which you say, provided you presently go in hand with your work. The Painter having for answer made a love obeisance, went to fetch a cloth and colours for him to work in her chamber. When he was arrived there the Princess would have had a great glass taken away, which hung right opposite to the place where he had seated himself, for fear the Sun which gave full upon it, should mar it; But he prayed her that it might not be removed, because as he said, it served to ease his sight. The Princess then began to describe you as you are, and particularising unto him all the features of your face as well as possibly she could, she thought she had instructed him sufficiently. Whereupon he began to design this picture, and pausing at every draught that he made, as it were to recollect his memory, at length he traced our all the rest. And after the Princess had caused him to alter something, she professed that it was very near to the same which she desired; but for fear he had forgotten what she had already told him, she represented unto him again the colour of your hair, of your eyes, and of your complexion. Then he took his palet, and his pencils, and tricked the picture, which certainly resembled you a little, but less than when it was only traced out with the coal. The Princess mervelled hereat; and known not whereunto she might attribute the cause of it; for considering every feature in particular, she see that little lacked but they were just as she had figured them, and yet for all that the whole put together scarce resembled you at all. But the Painter nothing abashed at it, told her that it was but a tricking, and past his word unto her, that the first time he should touch it he would bring it to that pass, as it would be impossible for her not to know in this picture the most faithful of her Lovers. The day following the Painter came again into the Princess' chamber by her order, and seated himself in the same place where he sat before. The Princess instructed him again, and he making show of harkening very attentively unto her, beheld himself in that glass which hung before him; but the more he wrought, the less did this picture resemble you, though she could not well say where the fault of it was. She made him touch the eyes again, altar something about the mouth, and so of all the other features; and though he seemed exactly to obey her, yet kept he still from the Princess design. And this shadow of Justiniano which appeared in this picture was defaced at every stroke that he gave, although he seemed to use his uttermost endeavour carefully to follow the Prince's directions. And when she testified to the Painter the unquietness she was in for it, he told her, that to judge well of a picture, one was not to look upon it whilst it was a doing, and to discern the faults the better of that which he was about, she was to let him work an hour upon it without looking on him. The Princess believed him, and taking me away with her to the other end of the chamber, we left him alone; but we were much amazed, when he had advertised us that his work was done, and that he had brought it into the light for us to judge the better of it, to see that it was his own picture which he had drawn, and not yours. The Princess then perceived plainly, that this was not a matter of chance, and in an instant calling to mind so many things, as she had seen without thinking of them, she made no doubt but that there was somewhat, which was mysterious enough in this adventure; Yet had she sufficient constancy of mind not to show all her amazement, and to take from the Painter the means of discovering himself further; I well foresaw, said she unto him with a seeming simplicity, that this glass would make you spoil your work; And I am very sorry, continued she, going towards her Cabinet, that you have lost your time, and I too. If this picture, said the Prince of Salerno, in following her two or three steps, does not resemble the most passionate of your Lovers, I with all my heart renounce the profession which I make. Take heed, answered the Princess, that my anger becomes not as strong, as your presumption is great. Madam, said he unto her, retaining her by the Gown, I am not so faulty as I seem to be, and to justify myself in some sort to you, I must tell you, that I have no other design in drawing this picture, than to let you see that the Prince of Salerno is not so ugly as Don Fernando hath described him unto you; For by a strange chance, I resemble him so near, as I might well be taken for him: And that I may not conceal all the truth from you, continued he, I will confess to you, that it is by his consent that I am here at Monaco, that it is to speak to you of his affection, that thus I cast myself at your feet, most humbly entreating you to believe, that no man ever adored you with more respect. Answer then, Madam, I beseech you, but not with fury, to the end that that faithful Lover may show himself to you. Under what form soever the Prince of Salerno may present himself, he shall always receive the same entertainment from me; my resolutions do not easily change; and should he lay all the Crowns of the world at my feet, yet should I refuse him as now I do; But as for you, said she unto him, I shall know how to use you as you ought to be, and I am very much deceived if you talk to me long of loves. After this the Princess retired without attending his answer. For my part, I profess unto you that I was so astonished at this adventure, as I could not speak. Howsoever I followed the Princess into her Cabinet, and respect obliged the Prince of Salerno to go out of her chamber, conceiving rightly by the manner wherewith he was answered, that his persuasions would obtain nothing. That which made him carry himself thus, and to use this dangerous gallantery, was, that being upon the point of executing his design, he would have been glad to have found an occasion to see, whether he could not by fair means have prevailed with the Princess, without having recourse unto violence; and whereas his men were ready for the action, he feared not the hazarding of the matter; and then again the love which he bore to the Princess was so strong, as he was resolved to perish, or possess her. In the mean time the Princess and I knew not what to think, nor what to resolve; and she demanding my advice about it, I knew not what to answer her. What think you of it, Aemilia, said she unto me? This Painter, hath he lost his respect, or his reason? Is he an impostor, or a Prince? For my part, Madam, said I unto her, I cannot tell what to say to you of it; he hath had patience enough for a Prince, in the abode that he hath made here, and in the disputes which he hath had with Don Fernando; But it must be acknowledged also that he hath too much wit, and too much boldness for a Painter. Whatsoever he is, said the Princess, he shall not stay in Monaco. Madam, said I unto her, I am even of your mind, Prince or Painter, Lover or Enemy, it is fit he should be gone; But if by chance he be the latter, it should be done without ill-intreating him, for truly the loving you is no such great crime: And if it be the Prince of Salerno, he is more unhappy than faulty, and more worthy of your pity than of your indignation. I am of a contrary opinion, said the Princess unto me, for if he be a Prince, I look upon him as a dreadful enemy; But if he be a senseless Painter, he is unworthy of my anger, and his folly may beget compassion in me. We reasoned in this manner all the evening, without being able to judge certainly whether this Painter were the Prince of Salerno, or some one of his servants whom he had sent to be about the Princess, howbeit we believed him to be rather the first than the other: And after we had examined the matter, it was resolved that this Painter should the next day be turned out of Monaco, without letting him know that he was suspected to be a Prince, and also without any other ill usage, than banishing him. With this intention the Princess went to bed, and would have me lie with her that night, it being impossible for her, as she said, to have any hope of sleeping, as long as you should have a Rival in Monaco. Whilst the Princess and I were agitating in this sort, the Prince of Salerno, who had found that all his hope consisted wholly in force, resolved to defer his design no longer, and to execute it the night ensuing; he went then to seek out that Sergeant with whom he held intelligence, and to speak with the Master of his horse, to the end his vessel might not fail to be at the Port just at the hour which he had appointed, and that he should deal in such sort, as all might be ready against need should be. He gave them the time and the signal of the enterprise, and thinking that he had well disposed of every thing, he retired into the Castle as he used to do, taking but two pistols and a sword along with him, which he carried secretly into his chamber, in case any violence should be offered him before his design could be executed. If the Prince of Salerno was busied, no less was Don Fernando; For he had understood some days before, by the return of him whom he had sent into the Milanese, that according to his, and the Marquis of Guasts directions, he had brought him store of money and jewels, together with five hundred men, which were come thither not in a body, but two and two in a company, and so were lodged in all the Villages about Monaco, with express order to render themselves all upon a certain night, whereof they should be advertised, within a mile of the Town; So that Don Fernando stayed for nothing but the return of the Captain of the Gate, who was gone to Genova, and whose faith he had corrupted. This man, for our ill fortune, or to say better for our good fortune, came back as he desired, so that the next morning, which was the very same day wherein this Painter finished the picture that resembled you so ill, he went and found him out, and having given him to the value of ten thousand crowns in jewels, he confirmed him by this liberality in the design he had undertaken. But not to prolong my discourse, it sufficeth that I tell you, how after he had discovered himself to this man to be that he was a good while before; after he had persuaded him, that the retiredness wherein the Princess lived, would in the end undo Monaco; because, said he, it was impossible, having no Prince to defend it, but that some one or other would seize upon it; after he had told him, that this place was too important, for to be left undefended under the Government of a maid; and that seeing it was to pass into the hands of strangers, he was to desire that it might fall into the power of a man, who would be obliged to him for it, and that was able to make his fortune. After all these things, I say, this man charmed with the present benefit, with the hope of what was to come, and believing too that it would be somewhat advantageous for the Princess, he promised Don Fernando, who communicated his whole design unto him, to deliver him the Gate whensoever he pleased. Hereupon he sent that Gentleman, which belonged unto him, to carry his directions to all the several places where his soldiers were, to the end they should precisely meet together within a mile of Monaco an hour after midnight, and that they should repair to the gate of the Town as soon as they could see a flaming Torch on a Tower. The strangeness of this encounter was, that the very same night wherein the Prince of Salerno was to execute his design, Don Fernando resolved, without knowing aught of his Rivals affairs, no longer to defer his interprize, purposing to die, or to render himself Master of the Town, and possessor of the Princess: so that whilst we were all the afternoon seeing the Prince of Salerno paint, he had been taking order for all things as well as the Captain of the Gate. Their designs being in these terms. You make me tremble with astonishment, said Justinianio, interrupting Aemilia. You will have yet more, continued she, when I shall tell you, that just about two hours after midnight, which by an extraordinary chance proved to be the very point, both of the Prince of Salerno's and Don Fernando's enterprise; that first having caused twelve soldiers to enter through the window of his chamber with the help of a lader of cords, and commanded the Sergeant to go and seize upon the Gate of the town, that he might forcibly carry away the Princess in his Vessel, which was to be at the Port at the same hour, we heard the outward chamber-door broke open; whereupon the Princess gave a great skrike, and without standing to know what the matter should be, the first thing that came into her thought was to put on her clothes, to the end she might not be found in bed, wherein I helped her with all the speed that possibly I could. In the mean time her women cried out at the windows, but the Princess' Officers lay in a quarter so far of, because she never feared any thing from the Town's side, and the Prince of Salerno's execution was so sudden, as scarcely had the Princess gotten on a Nightgown with much haste, but he entered into her chamber followed by ten soldiers, having left two at the Castle-gate, who had stabbed the Porter upon his awaking. I leave you to think what the Princess became in this occasion, when as maugre her resistance and mine, maugre her tears, and maugre her cries, she saw herself carried away forcibly, by these soldiers, and led out of the Castle. I can endure no more, said Justiniano, with as much grief, and almost as much choler as if he had seen his Mistress carried away by force. Have patience, said Aemilia, for yet you do not see all our Enemies. When as the Prince of Salerno had forcibly carried away the Princess, I followed her all in tears, and catching fast hold of one of the corners of her gown, we went in this sort even to the Gate of the Town, neither the Princess nor I having the power to cry out, so much were we seized with fear, and our judgements troubled. The Prince of Salerno found not the matter so easy as he had believed it; for the Sergeant, who had gotten the Ward, and that was to make use of it for the surprising of the Court of Guard, and cutting them in pieces, arrived just at the gate, as the Captain that served Don Fernando, was delivering it up to his men, who were come thither under the conduct of the Gentleman which belonged unto him, after they had seen the Signal on the Tower. And whereas he had order to die, or to render himself Master of it, what resistance soever he met withal, he had already begun a sharp and bloody sight, when as the Prince of Salerno, and those that kept the Princess, arrived at that place. And being a Prince of a great courage, after he had commanded his ten soldiers to look well to the Princess, he went with his sword in his hand to see what the matter was. Never was there any thing more dreadful than that same night; Don Fernando, who lay not in the Castle that night, who was ready at the gate to receive in his men, and who was in the head of them, when as the Sergeant arrived there, thought he was discovered, and so did likewise the Captain of the gate; the Prince of Salerno encountering so great a number of Enemies, could not tell what to imagine; and the darkness of the night augmenting this disorder yet more, there was one of the greatest conflicts that hath been seen; for in this confusion they killed on both sides without knowing one another. In the mean time the alarm being taken up throughout the whole Town, and the bruit spread abroad that the Princess was forcibly carried away, all the Troops repaired to the place of arms, and all the people put themselves into a posture of succouring us. And whereas it was easy to discern on which side the Enemies were, the Prince of Salerno saw himself quickly enclosed both without and within; but first he came twice or thrice to the place where his Soldiers guarded us, to see in what estate the Princess was. And when he perceived by the abundance of people, which came running from all parts, that it would be impossible for him to finish his enterprise, he came o●ce more unto her. I will die, Madam, said he unto her, seeing I cannot possess you; But first know, for the rendering of my memory the less odious unto you, that after I have fought to carry you away, I go now to fight for to keep you from being carried away by Don Fernando, and the Prince of Salerno being unable to live for you, will die at leastwise in defending you. This discourse surprising the Princess; What said she, have we more Enemies than one? This while the Prince of Salerno, who notwithstanding the darkness of the night, having observed that Don Fernando was in the Head of the Troops which he fought withal, called him so often by his name, that at length they met together, and entered so furiously into a particular combat, as losing the care of their men, it was the easier for them of the Garrison, and the people, who were all up in arms, to defeat them. The treacherous Captain laboured in vain to put Don Fernando's people into order; and the Prince of Salernoes' Master of his Horse, and the Sergeant, whom he made use of, opposed themselves also in vain to the disorder of theirs. The confusion increased with the number; The Princess' Troops augmented still; those of the Enemies diminished every moment; And whereas her voice was heard at last by some of her servants notwithstanding the fearful noise that was made, they which guarded us having marked it, and seeing above an hundred men come from divers parts upon them, they abandoned us after some small resistance, and that they had showed a great deal of care of not exposing the Princess to any danger, as the Prince had expressly charged them. They had no sooner left us the liberty which they had taken from us, but the Princess, seeing herself in the hands of her own People, got into the nearest house, and appointing Soldiers for the guard of it, she commanded they should send her word how things stood, and that if it were possible they should not kill the two Heads of the Enemy's forces. In the mean time the Prince of Salernoes' Soldiers, which had abandoned the Princess, went amidst the press to seek out their Master for to advertise him of it, and having by chance found him still in fight with Don Fernando, they told him confusedly that the Princess was carried away. This discourse equally surprised them both. The Prince of Salerno believed that Don Fernando's men had done it, who on the other side knew not what to think of it: At the same instant so great throng of people pressed in amongst them, as they lost one another in the crowd; and each of them seeking to be cleared in this matter, they got out of the Town spite of the obstacles which they met with at the Gate, whereof the three parties had been Masters more than once. I cannot repeat all this sight unto you; but at length the Princess' people fought with such courage, as they killed very near all the Prince of Salernoes' and Don Fernando's Soldiers. And when it appeared that there were no more enemies in the Town, they shut up the Gate; Part of the Garrison and of the inhabitants, having in the mean time pursued and made an end of defeating them, returned into Monaco. Hereupon the Prince of Salerno having certainly understood, that the Princess had not been carried away by Don Fernando (for we learned so much by certain Soldiers) and seeing that he was hurt, that it was impossible for him to do more, and that he had lost his Rival in the press, he resolved to get to his Vessel. As for Don Fernando he found himself yet in a stranger condition, all his Soldiers having been well near slain, or fled away whilst he was fight with the Prince of Salerno, he beheld himself almost alone, covered over with wounds, and not knowing what to do, having no Vessel to facilitate his flight by Sea, nor any security on Land for him, with so little company. It is credible, considering what I have said, that seeing himself in that estate, and perceiving that the Prince of Salerno, followed by some of his men, made towards the port, he with his Soldiers mingled amongst them, and entered into his Vessel with him; the darkness of the night favouring the design, which doubtless he had to kill the Prince of Salerno, and to make himself master of his Vessel. For when the day began to break there was a great noise heard on the Port side, which made every one to get up on the walls for to see what the matter was. The Princess and I went up to the top of the lodgings where we were, which looked upon the Sea, and whereas it was grown very light, we saw a Vessel, that was making from the Port, and on the hatches a great number of men fight together, whereof some tumbled alive into the Sea, and others fell down dead at their enemy's feet. In the midst of this disorder we knew the Prince of Salerno and Don Fernando by their apparel, who combated with such violence, as moved the Princess to compassion, but at length, the Vessel still getting further of, we saw that after a long combat these two Rivals remained fight almost alone, and presently after both of them tumble down upon the hatches; and so on an instant the Vessel vanishing, we could no longer discern those two courageous Lovers, who more happy in this sad adventure, than they were ware of, made the Princess shed tears of pity; but she shed them abundantly, when as in her return unto the Castle she beheld so great a number of dead bodies as the streets were even covered with them. The Prince of Salernoes' Master of his horse was found living still, as well as he whom Don Fernando had sent into the Milanese; and it was by their means that we came to learn the particularities of this History, which without them I could not have told you; for the Princess understanding who they were, caused them to be very carefully looked unto, that she might learn that which I have related. The Captain of the Gate, and the traitorous Sergeant were found amongst the number of the dead, and as if the Prince of Salernoes' Master of his horse, and Don Fernando's Agent, had prolonged their lives but only to tell the Princess what she desired to know, they died within a few days of their hurts. As for their Masters we heard afterwards, that being fallen down as it were dead, in the manner as I have told you, the remainder of the Prince of Salernoes' men having made an end of killing those which had followed Don Fernando de Mendoza; and believing their Master to be dead, three or four of them took up the body of Don Fernando for to cast it into the Sea, when as the Prince of Salerno coming out of his swoon, and seeing what they were going to do, recovered so much strength as to forbid them from it; generosity being greater in him than hatred, or revenge. This commandment of the Prince was executed, and that too of seeing whether he had any life remaining in him; and when it was reported unto him that he still breathed, he charged them to have as much care of him as of himself; as indeed he was looked unto and treated in the same manner. I will not declare the conversations of these two Rival unto you, but in brief it sufficeth to let you know, that the Prince of Salernoes' generosity so nearly touched the heart of Don Fernando, as he ceased to hate him, and would needs land with him at Naples to be throughly cured there. And as if on the healing of their wounds that of their minds had depended, they surmounted the love which they bore to the Princess, the first out of reason, and the other out of his pride. And each of them following his own sense, they sent to the Princess, & wrote unto her, the last with rhodomontades, according to the humour of his Nation, and the other with a great deal of civility; beseeching her to remember that she had promised her friendship to the Prince of Salerno, and praying her also to attribute all that had passed to the passion of the Painter Lucilio, and not to him, who vowed always to seek occasions to serve her, and to publish every where, that she was the admirablest creature on the whole earth. The Princess answered with much discretion both to the one and to the other; and in this sort ende●● the adventure, which she would not recount unto you, and which possessed me with so much fear, that though it be now three months since it happened, I am not yet well recovered of it. Justiniano thanked Aemilia for the pains she had taken, commended her wit and her address; and after he had ended th●s compliment, he saw the Princess come out of her Cabinet, who having heard Justiniano talk, judged rightly that Aemilia had finished her relation. This faithful Lover no sooner saw her, but he complained for that she would have concealed an adventure from him, where things had past, which heaped glory and confusion on him; how it was almost as much as to say, that she repent the having of too advantageous thoughts for him, in that she would not have let him have known them; but she answered him very obligingly, that the remembrance of others misfortunes always touched her so sensibly, when as she esteemed herself the cause of them, as she thought she should render herself guilty of those of the Prince of Salerno and of Don Fernando de Mendoza, if she should hear them without grief, and that having desired to avoid all occasions that might bring her to a sense of sadness, in a time when she had the pleasure to see him, she had withdrawn herself. In this sort it was that Isabel entertained Justiniano, who ordered the conversation so dextrously, as he bade the Princess good night, without her pressing him to acquaint he● with the end of his History.    

IBRAHIM: OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The second part. The fourth BOOK.  
WHEN as Juctiniano was retired to his lodging, and that he had commanded his servants to leave him alone, after they had got him to bed, his imagination represenred unto him more lively, than ever it had done before, the inconsideration of his voyage; the promise he had made to Soliman to return unto him; the necessity, either of breaking his word with a prince who had so much obliged him, or to quit his Mistress: Alas! said she, how unhappy am I, and how imprudent have I been? what shall I do in so deplorable an estate? What shall I say to the Princess? Wherefore came I to Monaco? Had I the design to betray her, in coming to marry her, and then to steal away from her the very next day? Or have I passed my word for to falsify it? No, no, that was not my design; I desired to see Isabel, my love carried me unto it, and doubtless it ought to carry me unto it; and were I to dispose of myself again, I should still do the same thing. And could I, said he aloud, refuse to see Isabel? Then turning himself about with precipitation, he recommenced his complaints. What, continued he, did I come to the Princess, only to acquaint her that I was Grand Visier; that I was the chief of all the Orient; that I was the Favourite of a great Prince; and afterwards to abandon her to grief and despair, and so return again to enjoy all those greatnesses? Ah no, Justiniano is not base; he will not quit a Princess, who is not unhappy but for the love of him; he will not sacrifice her so cruelly to the pleasure of a Prince, who may find men enough in his Empite, that will take the place which he held there; For in fine, if Soliman loves us, this princess loves us too; and if I have friendship for this Prince, I have love for Isabel. Let us not balance the matter any longer, let us enjoy the good we have, and let us not destroy ourselves: Whereupon he thought that he had found some rest, but on a sudden a sense of honour coming again into his mind, he went on passionately; Why, thou base man (said he) canst thou resolve to cover thyself with infamy? to break thy word with one of the mightiest Princes of the world, and that hath the most sensibly obliged thee? And dost thou believe that this generous Princess whom thou servest, would think thee worthy of her affection after this baseness? Thou deceivest thyself Justiniano, and with her own mouth she hath pronounced thy sentence: That which she hath said of this Prince, the praises which she hath given him, makes me know but too well that she could not esteem one that should betray him. But, continued he, if in this occasion honour should give place unto love, yet wouldst thou not find thyself at rest, since this love well considered, will in this encounter have the same thing which honour requires: Seest thou not (wretch as thou art) that this Prince whom thou wouldst betray, is the most rigorous observer of his word that is in the world? and that if thou shouldst fail in that which thou hast given him, he is capable of coming with an Army of an hundred thousand men, not only to undo thy Country, but thy Mistress herself, as the cause of thy fault: Save her then from this mischief, sacrifice thyself for her, and follow the Fate which will have thee always unhappy. But wilt thou also deprive thyself for ever (said he further) of the sight of Isabel? of the hope of thy possessing her, which is to say, of all thy felicity, to render thyself the most infortunate, and the most desperate amongst men? Yes, I must resolve for it, and withal resolve to die. Have courage enough then, continued he, not to hid a thing from her which thou canst not conceal without baseness; speak then, wretched man: but how darest thou tell her that thou art a Slave, that thou wilt abandon her, and that thou preferrest thy word before thy love? No, that may not be, thou canst not consent unto it, and death hath something sweeter than this woeful speech. But again, added he further, wilt thou consent to the undoing of Isabel? and thou that canst not resolve to betray Soliman, wilt thou betray this Princess, by disguising the truth unto her? Wilt thou be so inconsiderate, as to let her marry a Slave: Ah, this thought is too unjust! No, no, be far from so bad a design, do only that which thou oughtest to do, and leave the rest unto fortune: let her entreat thee ill, let her persecute thee, let her pursue thee every where, it imports not, so as thou dost nothing contrary to that which thou owest to Isabel. It was in this manner that Justiniano agitated in his mind so difficult a thing to resolve on; and honour and love tyrannised him so cruelly, as his reason was almost lost therewith. But at length, after he had past the greatest part of the night without sleeping, he generously resolved to speak plainly to the Princess, and in this design pressed with weariness and thought, sleep surprised him whether he would or no, or to say better, a dull and melancholy vapour brought a senselesness upon him, which yet could not keep his imagination from representing still unto him the deplorable condition wherein he was. Day being come, he found himself so altered, as one would hardly have believed, that the miseries of the mind could in so little a time have brought such a notable change to the face. As soon as the Princess was in an estate to be seen, she sent him a compliment to advertise him of it, whereupon he came straightway to her Cabinet, but with a countenance so pale, and eyes wherein grief was so visible, as Isabel was surprised with it; But whereas she did not believe that he had any cause to be afflicted, she thought he was sick, told him that he should not have come out of his lodging in the case he was in, asked him what he ailed? whether he had a fever? whether it were still on him? and finally propounded very many questions unto him, whereto Justiniano answered not a word. For upon the point of executing that which he had resolved he felt so extraordinary a trouble in his mind, as he suddenly passed from paleness to redness; he was taken at first with an universal shivering which made him to tremble, and then with so great a burning, that he seemed all on fire. The Princess seeing him in this case, conjured him again with more earnestness to acquaint her with the cause of all these alterations in him, that they might labour to give some remedy unto it. Alas! Madam, (said he unto her with somewhat a low voice, that he might not be heard by one of the Princess' women, who was at the other end of the Cabinet) the knowledge which I shall give you of my disease will not make you find a remedy for it; for it is of a nature not to be cured, but by death. Yet if I should suffer it myself alone, I would not complain of it; but I am afraid that it would be contagious for you; that the knowledge which you should have of it would increase my grief by causing yours; that I should be more infortunate in your person, than in mine own; and that in conclusion you would be yet more to be lamented than I, who deserves the miseries which oppress me, since I am the cause of all yours. The Princess judging rightly by this discourse, that there was some great matter to be known, commanded her woman that was still in the Cabinet, to go and stand at the door for to keep any from coming to interrupt her. This order given, she turned back to Justiniano, and scarce knowing what to say, or what to demand in so unexpected an occasion, she beheld him a while without speaking, neither durst he likewise open his lips; but after she had recollected her spirits, and knew that it concerned not the sickness of the body, having a great and generous soul, she said unto him with a firm and assured voice; What mark have you had, my dear Justiniano, of my little affection, or of my weakness, that you fear so much to give me a part in your griefs? No, no, cast off this fear, and permit me to tell you, before you acquaint me with that which I can neither divine, nor comprehend, that besides the loss of your affection, there is no misfortune wherein I shall not receive some comfort, partaking it with you. Ah! Madam, said Justiniano interrupting her, cease to be unjust in being too good to me, and believe that when you shall know the point where at this present we are, you will find that I have reason to be greatly troubled in resolving to acquaint you with it. Why, said the Princess, exceedingly impatient, concerns it life, liberty, or honour? if it be the first, provided I may die before you, I have felt sorrows sharper than death; if it be the second, and that I may be a slave with you, I will accustom myself to wear irons; but if it concerns honour, I confess that we have reason to despair, and that to conserve it, any thing is to be done: you see, said she unto him, that I am prepared for the greatest misfortunes, and for such as seem to be the furthest off from me; hold me no longer then in pain, if it be true that I have any power over you. Justiniano seeing he could not avoid it, went on with his History from the point where he had left it, he recounted unto her his pains, his unquietness, and his joys, when as he knew that she was not inconstant; that not knowing what else to do, he had been constrained to acquaint Soliman with his whole life; and consequently, that the permission which he had obtained to come and see her was but for six months only, having engaged his word to that Prince to return unto him precisely within that time. Judge (after this, Madam, said he with sighs that well near suffocated him, and that scarcely suffered him to speak) whether my complaints be not just, whether I am worthy of your favour, and whether death alone be not the remedy which I can find for my miseries. For consider (I beseech you) the pitiful estate whereunto I am reduced; which way soever I turn me I see you still infortunate, but unhappy and infortunate only for the love of me. Ah Madam! if you knew how touching this object is, how sensible and grievous it is, you would easily apprehend the evil that I suffer; it is so great, as there is no expression strong enough to represent it well: You have believed me to be dead, and I have thought that you were inconstant; your virtue hath been tried by a long absence, and my crime hath been punished with slavery; but when as fortune seemed to be weary of persecuting us, when as your constancy was sufficiently known, and when as my crime was punished enough, she made some truce with us: I knew that you lived for me, and you were not ignorant that I always lived for you. I am returned Madam, but must I repeat it once again? I am returned a Slave, fortune hath but lengthened my chain, and not broken off my irons. You seem, Madam, continued he, by your silence to tell me that I had done better for your rest, not to have returned, and to have left you in the belief of my death, than to come for to assure you that I do live, but that I do not live for you. I think, Madam, that reason is on your side, but it is a reason which I cannot follow. My voyage is not an effect of my reason, nor of my will; I never stuck at the taking of this resolution, I followed my sense and my love, and my passion so mightily blinded my reason, as my soul abandoned itself wholly to joy. I no longer thought that I was to return again to Constantinople, but only that I was going to Monaco, that I should have the pleasure to see you there, and that afterwards I could not be unhappy. In fine, Madam, I have not done that which I ought, but I have done that which I could not choose but do. In the mean time I have no sooner seen you, but I have beheld you as a good which I was to lose, and as a person which I have made unhappy. For Madam, if I break my word with Soliman, I am an infamous creature, I shall put your State and your Honour in danger; and if I abandon you, I am treacherous to you, and cruel to myself; and to say all, I am so unhappy as death alone can succour me: But for all that Madam, it is you that must pronounce my sentence, and dispose of my life. Justiniano then felt himself so pressed with grief, as he could say no more. The Princess, who had heard him with a great deal of attention, astonishment, and sorrow, was also a good while without answering him; agitating in herself so difficult a thing to be resolved. She was then leaning with one arm on a little table of ebony, looking on Justiniano, who durst not lift up his eyes for fear of encountering those of the Princess, which were full of tears; But at length this generous person, who had a great and noble soul, brak off her silence, and said unto him with a constancy, which hath scarce any example; I confess, my dearest Jus●iniano, that our miseries are so great, as I could not foresee them; and one had need of a mind, that is firm indeed, not to be abandoned wholly to grief, i● an occasion where it is so hard to satisfy together, both honour and love: I confess, continued she, that these two passions reign both at once in my heart; but I confess also, that the last cannot be satisfied without the other; and that in conclusion, to express my thought unto you, had I not found a means to satisfy them both, I should die, and let you go. For know, that I am too generous to suffer you to testify your love unto me in an unworthy way; and I am ravished to see you love glory, as much as me. No, Justiniano, you must not break your word with a Prince, who hath so much obliged you; for so should you be both ingrateful and perfidious; neither must you too abandon a Princess, who loves you so dearly; for so should you be both cruel and unfaithful; and if you love her perfectly, you can never do it. I know full well, answered Justiniano with a deep sigh, that death alone can acquit me of that which I ought to do. That is not my meaning, replied the Princess, and to clear it unto you, you must return again to that generous Prince who hath loved you so much; I am no less obliged to him than you, since I owe your life unto him; and for this reason, together with that of honour, I will no● hinder you from it: but withal you must permit me to follow you. Oh? Madam, said Justiniano, do you think well of that you say? yes, answered she, I have thought well upon it, and am resolved for it. But whereas love can never vanquish honour in my soul, I will not follow you as a vagabond, and forsaken one, you shall marry me here, and that done, I will follow your fortune over all the earth. You have told me already, that Soliman permits you the exercise of your Religion, I may enjoy the same grace, either as passing for your slave, or for your wife. And then again, I have not forgotcen that you have told me, how this Prince hath made you hope, that if he could support your absence during the time of the six months which he hath given you, he would grant you your full liberty: Let us go then, my dear Justiniano, and demand it of him with tears; Do not slain your glory, in breaking your word with so excellent a Prince; and offend not your love● in refusing a request which I make to you with so much earnestness. The generous discourse of the Princess had wrought strangely on Justiniano, during the time that she spoke to him, though he left not harkening unto her; and this proposition gave him a great deal of joy, though he meant not to accept of it. And as if it had been a thing which he would deliberate of, he had in an instant passed over in his mind all the reasons, which might either carry him to it, or keep him from it. The firs● thoughts were without doubt a pure effect of that passionate instinct, which will not have one abandon the person beloved; but those that opposed them were altogether an effect of a true love, of a clearsighted reason, and of a secret jealousy. At first he considered the dangers whereunto so dear a person might be exposed, either by tempests, or by Pirates: But that which most troubled him, was, that knowing how Soliman had a soul as amorous, as ever Prince had any, and remembering withal, that he had been in passion for a picture which resembled Isabel a little, he believed already that this monarch was his Rival; and by a moment's reflection, he fortified his reason so well, as he had generosity enough to refuse a good, which was the uttermost term of his felicity. The Princess had no sooner given over speaking, but beholding her which a little more confidence than before. Must you, Madam said he unto her, surmount me in love, as well as in greatness of courage? No, it would not be just. Leave me the only thing whereunto I can pretend, and possess all the other virtues, wherein I can have no part. I must in this occasion, Madam, show you, that Justiniano knows how to love, and by the hardest trial that can be desired of a Lover; I will make you see that my love considers nothing but you alone; that it is wholly disinteressed; that I regard not myself; that in fine I am as perfect a Lover, as you are generous. But this trial, ah how cruel it is! And how hard a matter it is to refuse that which one desires! Yet it must be, and nothing can distract me from it. To testify my love unto you then, Madam, at that height which speak I of, I must not accept of the offer you make me; I must refuse to marry you; I must abandon you; I must deprive myself of all my felicity; I must fight with all my desires; I must destroy myself; and I must become the most wretched of all men: Behold, Madam, all that I can, and all that I ought to do for you; for to expose you to tempests, to the fury of Pirates, and to consent that you should marry a slave, is a sacrilegious thought, which would render me the most criminal person in the world, and which shall never arrive unto me. It would be enough indeed for fortune to make me feel my own miseries, during so fatal a voyage, without enforcing me to resent those which should happen to you. Let me departed then, Madam, or to to say better, let me die. I will do neither the one, nor the other, said the Princess, and in this occasion you shall not dispose of yourself. Nevertheless it is needful that you should give me a public act of your will, before I can execute mine. Resist me not, Justiniano, unless you desire to offend me; suffer me to follow you with honour, and put me not in the condition of increasing the number of those indiscreet ones, who many times have followed their Lovers, without being their wives. Think of my glory, I conjure you; and think too, that if you abandon me, I may peradventure be capable of forgetting it. Do not expose me, I beseech you, to that peril, since it is greater for me, according to my apprehensions, than the dreadfullest tempest that you can describe unto me. And fear not I pray you, continued she, either shipwreck, or Pirates; if we perish together, we shall die almost without grief; if we be made slaves, you will help me to bear my chains; or if we be separated, the fury of those barbarians shall do no more, than what you would now do. Cease, Madam, from adding to my sorrow, said Justiniano interrupting her, complain of my misfortune, but complain not of me in this cruel adventure. When I parted from Constantinople to come hither, I blindly followed my passion; but at this present, Madam, I will blindly follow reason: She will not have you follow a wretch, and an infortunate man; Do you not consider, how if it should happen that I should die, in what an estate you would remain? Ah! my dear Princess (if I may be permitted to call you so) give over so woeful a design: Live in tranquillity, whilst I go and combat my evil fortune at Constantinople; with a promise, if I cannot overcome it, not to survive her victory very long. But it may be we shall not be so miserable; Soliman hath a great and virtuous soul; that which I am going to do may please him; he may be moved with my tears and prayers; he may break that invisible chain which ties me unto him; and being no longer a slave, you might then without shame accord me the honour, which now I refuse. This hope is too weak, said the Princess, to make me change the resolution I have taken: No, Justiniano, to speak to me thus, is not to love as you should; this is to blind me with an artifice, to doubt of my affection and courage, and to say all, this is to offend me sensibly. My tears shall not hinder yours from having their effect, but contrarily I am of a sex accustomed to vanquish even cruelty itself with such like arms: Suffer me then to share this victory with you, if you are to carry it; or that I may be vanquished with you, if you are to be so. You do not consider, Madam, said Justiniano, that if Soliman should see you at Constantinople, it would be the means of never obtaining my liberty, because I should then have all there that could render me happy. The Princess stood a while to answer so pressing a reason; But whereas her affection would not be surmounted; May I not follow you, replied she, without being known, and under the habit of a slave? No, Madam, you cannot, answered Justiniano; there is something that is so great and so dazzling in your face, as you could not conceal yourself; But it is not for this reason alone, that I will not consent thereunto; I love you, Madam, and that is to say all: I will keep my word then with Soliman, since you do consent unto it, if it be true that I can absent myself from you, without dying in despair: and all the grace which I demand of you is, that you will not dispose of you● self, until my return, or the news of my death, have made you shed tears, either of joy or of grief. Ah! cruel man, cried the Princess, cease to outrage my affection! Madam, answered Justiniano, pardon a wretch, who not knowing how to hope, is capable of fearing all things. Assure yourself of my person, replied the Princess, for to assure you of my constancy, and permit me to follow you in the manner that I have told you. I may not, too generous Princess, said Justiniano, my love and my reason will not suffer it. But sufficeth it not that I will have it so, replied Isabel, for the obliging you to obey me? No, my Princess, it is not enough, answered Justiniano, and my misery is arrived to that point, that I must for the love of you oppose you; and I cannot acquit myself of all that I am owing to you, but in disobeying you. The Princess then found herself so seized with grief, as she remained a long time without ability to speak: the use of her eyes was almost gone, and so was that of her tears too for the easing of herself; so much had the excess of her sorrow suspended all the functions of life in her: She was negligently leaning on the table near to which he sat, and without giving any sign of sense, save that of breathing, she was in an estate of moving to pity even cruelty itself. Justiniano seeing her so, was afraid she would have swooned: He took her by the hand, and besought her to remember that great courage, which she had always showed against the persecutions of fortune. It is not fortune that surmounts me, said she sighing, it is thy insensibility. Ah! Madam, replied he falling down on his knees before her, and wetting her hand with his tears, wholly transported with love and grief, will you have me render myself infamous, break my word, and not return to Constantinople? I am ready to obey you. This courageous Princess did her uttermost then to take heart again, and beholding him with eyes whence the first tears began to issue forth; No, my Justiniano, I would not have that, said she unto him, but only I would have you promise me, that within the time you are to stay here, you will obtain the resolution from yourself to marry me, and to permit me to follow you; for in conclusion I cannot consent, that we should be separated from one another but by death alone. This last word was no sooner pronounced, but the Princess found he self very ill; she became pale and languishing; her eyes, that were so clear, so piercing, and so full of fire, grew dead and dull on a sudden; and gently closing themselves up, she fell backward on her chair, her head leaning on the left side, and weakly reaching out her right hand to Justiniano, who was so surprised to see her so changed in an instant, as he could not forbear crying out pretty loud. But forcing herself to speak, she bid him with a low voice, not to fear the end of an evil, whereof the beginning was so violent, foreseeing well that fortune was not yet weary of persecuting her. But Justiniano without answering her, opens the Cabinet door, calls her women, who frighted to see her in that case advertise Aemilia of it; and losing their respect in this sorrow, they demand of her all at once what she ails? What her disease is? and so busy themselves in succouring her, as they render her no service at all. But she being unwilling to give them leisure to inquire it to the cause of her sickness, did her uttermost for to tell them in half opening her eyes, that some days past she had indeed foreseen that she should be sick, and having neglected those little symptoms which she had concealed, she perceived very well that she was entering into a fit of a fever, which was beginning upon her by this weakness that she felt. Justiniano admiring her wisdom and prudence, did what he could to imitate her; and concealing a part of his grief, he persuaded her to go and lie down on her bed; but having not strength enough to sustain herself, they carried her in the same chair wherein she sat to her chamber, whither her Physicians where already come, for being encountered by good hap in the Castle they had been advertised of this accident by one of the Princess' women. They beheld her, feel her pulse, ask her questions, to come to the knowledge of her disease, and not able to find out the cause of it, they testify by their actions, and by their unquietness, that not knowing it perfectly, they are troubled how to resolve on the choice of the remedies that they would apply thereunto; At length they ordain her to be laid in her bed, that still they might gain time to think of that which they had to do. Justiniano out of respect retired all in despair, and without being able so much as to reason about his misfortune, his sorrow became so strong, as he felt it but confusedly. The Princess was not long in her weakness, and Nature doing her uttermost, gave her spirits the liberty again which grief had arrested: But thereupon, there was so great and sudden a revolution of all her humours, as she fell into a violent fever, so that the Physicians knowing then the Princess disease, albeit they were ignorant of the cause of it, they began to treat her according to the precepts of their Art. Justiniano was also desired by order from the Princess to repair unto her; he obeyed, and came into her chamber, with a face wherein the grief of the mind so nearly resembled that of the body, as he seemed to be sicker than the Princess. He approaches, every one withdraws, and when the Physicians told her, that after such an accident as this which had befallen her, it was fit she should not speak much, she assured them that their conversation should not be long; as indeed all that she said to Justiniano was, comfort yourself for the love of me, if you will have me live for the love of you, and be mindful not to speak of our misfortunes, no not to Doria himself if he comes hither. And whereas she saw that Justiniano could not answer her without discovering his grief, she wrung him gently by the hand, and calling Aemilia, she commanded her to have a care of Justiniano, until her sickness was abated. This infortunate Lover, not daring to speak, for fear of augmenting the Princess' distemper, and making too much show of his despair, which she would not have him to do, retired away without saying any more, than, Ah! Madam, if you will have me comfort myself, you must then recover of this sickness, which I have been the cause of. After that, the Princess grew extremely worse and worse; the fever held her ten days with so much violence, and weakness together, as the Physicians durst not warrant her life: But it was nothing in comparison of the eleventh day, for then Justiniano, who scarcely had abandoned her all that time, absolutely believed that she was a dead body. The fever was very much increased, her strength diminished, the remedies unprofitable; Nature seemed to want power, and to be so oppressed, as it was impossible to hope that she should escape. But in the midst of all those miseries, and in so great an extremity, the constancy of the Princess was admirable; who, notwithstanding Aemilia's tears, the cries of her women, and Justinianoes' despair, who was no longer in the terms to suffer himself to be constrained by reason, expressed such a tranquillity of mind, as it might well be judged, that life was not very dear unto her: Yet could she not for all that endure Justinianoes' looks, nor see his tears trickle down his cheeks without resentment, and besides that deplorable object, she was insensible to all things. But whilst they were in these terms at Monaco, there was nothing but rejoicing at Genova, where it was not known that the Princess was so sick as she was; for from her first time of being ill, she had given in charge that it should not be published, to the end she might recover without molestation, or at leastwise die quietly. It was only then known at Genova that she was not well, but that kept them not, from meeting almost every day; according to the order which the Marquis had established, either at the Counts, or at Doriaes', who after his return had taken an only sister, that he had, to govern his house; and who was associated with this fair Troop, which had no other thought but of delighting themselves. The most considerable of this assembly, were the Count of Lavagna; Leonora his wife; Horatio of the illustrious house of Cibo, the brother of Leonora; Soph●onia her sister; Hippolita Doriaes' sister; Alphonso Spinola; Leonardo the widow of Livia, of the race of the Adorns; the French Marquis; and Doria; whose love began to be somewhat violent for Sophronia, who certainly was very capable of begetting an ardent passion; she had not only a piercing and majestic beauty like her sister Leonora, but a noble stateliness, which rendered her least civilities so obliging, that one of her looks touched more sensibly, than the tenderest caresses of others: The beauties of her soul were no less considerable than those of her face; and the graces of her mind did not give place to all the other excellent qualities that she had; it is not to be wondered then, if Doria, who was a man of much virtue, and of much judgement, suffered himself to be touched with such powerful charms. As for the Count, it might be said that he loved Leonora his wife dearly, but it may be said also, that he was truly in love with nothing but glory: His gallantry, his civilities, and his liberality, were not terminated with the conquest of the good graces of one only Lady, but with the esteem of all the world. Horatio was of a less active humour, but for all that very pleasing, of a solid judgement of a gentle and complying spirit, and that notwithstanding some coldness that appeared in his countenance, had yet been a long time in a burning passion for the fair Hippolita, whose jealous and distrustful humour troubled him not a little. Alphonso likewise had much spirit, and Leonida, whose beauty gave place to none of the rest, added thereunto a gentileness and liveliness, which rendered her the entertainment of a company. There were many others besides which had also both wit and beauty, so that the Marquis being joined to so many excellent persons, it might have been said, that this Assembly had been perfect indeed, had Justiniano and the Princess of Monaco been there. The next day after that the Count, Doria, and the Marquis were returned to Genova, this illustrious company failed not to meet at the Count's Palace; and whereas it was forbidden to speak in these occasions, either of war, or of general affairs; and that Verses, Painting, Music, Love, Virtue, and all other things that depend of an excellent wit, were those only, wherewith one might entertain himself in this encounter; the constancy of Isabel, the merit and love of Justiniano, made an overture to the conversation. The beauty of the place also added something to the beauty of the Assembly; for the more magnificence, and making of the better and more glorious show of their jewels, those days wherein the women decked and set forth themselves all the windows were shut up, and torches served to light the room, which this day Leonora caused to be sumptuously furnished, because the company was to be more than ordinary. The hang were of Carnation Velvet, embroidered all over with tears and spangles of gold and silver; the bed, chairs, and stools were of the same; and instead of a Persian Carpet, the floor was covered with a great piece of Gold, Silver, and Carnation Silk tinsel. This chamber was lighted with thirty Candlesticks, whereof the one half were of gilt Vermilion set with Stones, and the others of Crystal engraven, and garnished with gold. Round about this Chamber hung at an equal distance, great Plates of Goldsmith's work all set with precious stones, and upon a Cabinet of Nacre and Coral, a great vase of Agate, and two baskets of Gold engraven full of artificial Flowers. There were also between these Plates great myrrors, with the Pictures of all the Ladies of the company; and the same placed in such sort, as opposite to every mirror hung the Picture of a Lady, drawn in the habit of a Nymph, or a Goddess. The beauty and magnificence of so many agreeable objects, did without doubt excite some more than ordinary joy in all the Assembly; and in so charming a place it had been very difficult for one not to have been wounded with love, which presents not itself but in the midst of pleasure● and delights: And indeed Doria was more powerfully touched therewith than before; Horatio felt new flames for Hippolita; Alphonso began to look on Leonida without indifferency; and the Marquis seeing never a woman in the company with whom he had not been already as much in love as was possible for him to be, was constrained to conserve that still which he bore to Aemilia; yet was it not for all that so strong in him, as to keep him from complaining of this adventure; so that after they had spoken enough of Justiniano and Isabel, and that there was a certain kind of silence amongst the whole Assembly, which gave way to every one to begin some other discourse; I would never have believed, said he, that being at Genova in the midst of twenty of the fairest persons of all Italy, I should be constrained to send my mind to Monaco, there to encounter my Mistress. It is not, continued he, because it is an effect of Aemilia's charms, or of the change of my humour; but it is because I seeing never a woman here, for whom I have not already been in passion, I am enforced to conserve that for her still. And certainly if I had thought I should have tarried so long at Genova, I should have taken a better order for my affairs. I would have loved Hippolita a full month, Sophronia as long, and so all the rest; by which rule I should have needed but twelve Mistresses every year: But in the manner that I have carried myself I am utterly ruined. For my part, said Leonida with her jovial humour, I will forget if you will, that ever you were in love with me, to the end, you may not give any occasion of sadness to our Assembly: and I assure you that if you could resolve to make a new declaration of love unto me, I am deceived if you would not love me more the second time than the first. I have known since, continued she, that I was to indulgent to you; I commended the first Verses that you made for me; I took too much care in learning a song which you gave me; I danced better with you than with all others, and I know not any testimony of esteem and good will which I did not render you; in the mean time you quitted me cruelly, to love the severe Sophronia, whose coldness could not keep you from serving her six days longer than me; and I confess that I should not be sorry to know for what reason her rigours have charmed you more, than my compliances and favours; to the end, that if ever we have such another adventure, I may govern myself therein with address. But I pray you, added she, do not content yourself with telling me, that the same thing arrives almost to all the world, that difficulties and obstacles augment Love, since custom passes not for a good reason with me, and that all which I can do, is to follow it only in apparel. It is certain, beautiful Leonida, answered the Marquis, that this matter is a little too delicate to be disputed with you; but since you have denounced war against me, it shall not be to offend you that I do answer you; hear then, if not a satisfaction to your complaints, at leastwise a resolution to your doubts. I think, if I understand well that which you marvel at, and that which you cannot comprehend, it is but to know by what reason rigours and neglect do augment love, rather than caresses and favours: but if I deceive not myself, it will not be hard for me to demonstrate it unto you. No man is ignorant but that beauty engenders love, and so love is no other thing but a desire to possess beauty, in such sort, that if love be a desire, it will be so much the greater, by how much the thing desired shall be difficult in acquiring; since being once possessed, the cause of the desire utterly ceases: wherefore it is not an improper action for Love, but forced and necessary, to be more vive and earnest in rigours than favours, seeing they excite and entertain it. But to explain myself more clearly, I say, that desire cannot be at rest, because at the same instant that it arrives at its end, it ceases to be desire: So that if love be a desire, as I have already said, what stronger proof can one have to show that it ceases to be love, than to see it arrived at its end? But if (fair Leonida) you should not agree that love is a desire, I think at leastwise that you will not deny but that it is a fire, since so many have told you, that they burned for you, as you cannot be ignorant of this truth. But if you consider the effects of it, you will see that I am not altogether out of reason; fire is of a nature so active, as it consumes all that opposes it; if any thing resists it, if we stop its passage, far from the end which we had propounded, that which seemed should have served for opposition, serves it for nourishment; for in conclusion, fire is quick and ardent as long as it finds resistance; but as soon as it hath vanquished, and that it hath nothing left to consume, it consumes itself, and ceases absolutely to be fire, when it hath nothing more to vanquish. If it be then true that love is a fire, it is true that it kindles by difficulties; that rigours serve to foment it, and when it happens that it hath nothing left to surmount, it loses its being like the fire, and ceases absolutely to be love. Let us not marvel then any longer, if it decays with caresses, and augments with rigours. You have ingeniously defended your opinion, replied Hippolita, and satisfied the beautiful Leonidaes' doubts, but not those which your discourse might have begotten in the mind of the Mistress whom you serve, if she have any friend here, seeing if it be true that one is to attend that effect from your love which you speak of, she would not be very judicious in favouring you, since that would be for her to furnish arms herself for her own destruction. If I had had any interest in this company, answered the Marquis, I had not explained myself in this sort: But I would fain know, said Sophronia, why that which Leonida calls rigour in me, hath not wrought that effect in you which ought to be expected from it? I mean the augmentation of your love, seeing according to what you have told us, your desires having never arrived at their end, and your fire having always found many obstacles, it should have been still as lively for me, as the first day that you spoke to me of this flame. All that I have said, replied the Marquis, are general rules, which convene not perfectly with me, yet is it notwithstanding true, that the death of desire is in me, as in all men, the death of my love; and if I should not cease from desiring, I should neve● cease from loving. But by a particular grace the term of my love is to love, I desire little, and I am easily repulsed. If I obtain at first that which I would have which is to be received favourably, I am arrived at the term that I propounded unto myself; and if I do not encounter it, I have so delicate a spirit, as being unable ever to hope for any but facile things, in losing my hope, I lose the love too which I had for the cruel one; and changing of object, I arrive still at my end, which is to love eternally. But if this reason which is particular to me, doth not satisfy you, I have no more to say than this, that as we see Amber and the Adamant, and so many other wonders which are in Nature, working by reasons that are hidden from the knowledge of men, so am I inconstant in that manner, by a particular virtue, whereof I cannot reach the cause, and which at this present doth also enforce me to have no more but good will for the fair Leonida. It were fit then, said Leonora, to the end we may not be troublesome to you now, that you would talk to us of your past-loves, since you can find none here that is worthy to be beloved of you twice. We know already, said the Count, that which befell him in his Country, and that which happened unto him here in Genova; but we know not his adventures in the Court of France, and the proposition which you have made cannot be but very pleasing to the company. For my part, said the Marquis, I will not resist it, and I will indeed acquaint you with one. But whereas the anger he was in, for that he could not be amorous in this place, had taken up his thoughts, he acquitted himself of it after an extraordinary way; yet was it not without musing attentively on that which he had to say, never regarding whether all the company were in case to hear him or no; and after he had performed all the ceremonies of a man that prepares himself for a long Narration, he began to speak in this sort.  

The third History of the Marquis.  
I Loved a woman passionately, that was of a condition equal to mine, she answered my affection, whether feignedly or truly, I know not; but I know that I received all the honest favours from her which I could expect; and that at such time as I was the most favourably entreated by her, without having any occasion to complain on my part, nor seeking any pretext on hers, she forsook me for another. Behold the end of my History. The whole company than broke out into such a laughter, to see that his attention, his silence, and the preparation which he had brought to the hearing of a long adventure, had been paid with so short a Narration, as they thought they should never have given over. It must be acknowledged said Leonida at length, that if they which writ our Romanzes, did make them deliver their Relations in this sort, we should not admire, as we do, the wonderful memories of their Heroes, who make narrations, which cause them to pass whole days without eating, and nights without sleeping. For my part, said the Marquis, I found myself so ill with such another adventure at Monaco, where I recounted my follies of Genova to the Princess, as I am fully resolved never to fall into the like again; and I should rather choose to talk to the beautiful Aemilia, whom I did love, and still do love whether I will or no, than play the ginger a second time. In the mean while Doria, who was infinitely desirous to speak to Sophronia of his growing passion, thought there was no better way to make the general conversation cease, and bring on a more particular one, than to propound the Music, for the charming of the Marquis his bad humour. To which effect than he told the Count, that if harmony had at other times had the power to appease the fury of some, it might easily allay the melancholy of a man that was not accustomed to have any. The Marquis, who could not be deceived with such like things, presently perceived Doriaes' design; and to vex him a little he told him, that the remedy which he propounded unto him could not work but upon the melancholic, and so by consequence, it would be unprofitable for him. But after he had waggishly caused the conversation to endure a little longer, he was the first that pressed Leonora to impose silence on the company by a consort of lutes, which she had made them hope for. The Count then arose, and pushing open the door of a Cabinet, he ordained the Musicians to begin. In the mean time the Marquis, who was willing to oblige Doria, said, that the Ladies were first to be placed, where they might best hear; thereupon he made a demy-circle of chairs some four or five paces from the Cabinet door, wherein he placed all the women, and behind every Lady, he seated a man, playing the Master of the ceremonies so dextrously, as without any show of affectation in his choice, he placed Horatio behind Hippolita, and Doria close to Sophronia, who failed not to make use of so favourable an occasion: For after they had hearkened a long time to an excellent consort of Lutes, with a silence worthy of so charming an harmony, and that he saw how in the assembly each one in particular began softly to commend that which seemed to be the most agreeable in the Music, he took the liberty to say unto Sophronia with a low voice; I may not venture to deliver my opinion of those exquisite lessons I have heard; because the small attention that I have lent unto them, would not permit me to be an equal judge thereof. Doubtless the thought which hath diverted you from it, replied Sophronia turning her head about towards him, was either very pleasing, or very melancholic. It was both together, answered Doria, and if I might presume to make you the confident of a matter that imports as much as my life, you should see without question that I am not far from the truth. It is for you to consider, said she unto him, whether this secret, if it may be told me, would be advantageous to you for me to know it; and on the contrary, I being of a sex that is accused of being unable to conceal any thing, whether you are to fear the exposing of yourself to the hazard of my publishing that which you shall have told me. If that were the only obstacle, replied Doria, that could keep me from speaking to you, I should not be long without discovering the bottom of my heart unto you, seeing I am but too sure, that you would never tell that which you had known of me: But there needs so much boldness in daring to declare unto you, that you are adored, as I dare not undertake it. Doria was no less surprised for having said so much, than Sophronia, who blushed at first, and hiding her face with a fan of carnation feathers, which she held in her hand, she was constrained, to avoid being seen of all the company, to turn herself yet more towards Doria. But whereas she very much esteemed him, she was contented to say to him notwithstanding her ordinary severity, You have so surprised me with the conclusion of you discourse, as I have not the judgement free enough to discern, whether it be a cast of your wit, or a design to offend me. Nevertheless, seeing I have an inclination to honour you, I will believe, without examining the matter, that it is the first I have spoken of. But whereas it might happen, that if any one should hear this gallantery continue any longer, one would not have the same indulgence for you, as I have showed you; and that your words might be interpreted more disadvantagiously, both for your glory, and mine; do● me the favour then, either to speak to me no more, or to change your discourse. I will obey you, answered Doria, but remember; that nothing shall ever alter the resolution I have taken to love you eternally. Sophronia returned no answer to these last words, and turning herself to Leonida, who sat next her on the right hand, for to demand of her how she liked the Music, it fell out that in going to avoid one discourse of love, she interrupted another; For Alphonso, who began already to be in a strong passion for Leonida, had laboured to show it her with the most address that possibly he could. But whereas she was of a wily humour, and would contrary to that of Sophronia, cunningly conceal things which were near her heart, by feigning to discover them; in stead of answering to Sophroniaes' question, she said unto her smiling, and pointing to Alphonso; this Cavalier hath talked so much to me of love, as I had no leisure to mind the Music. Alphonso was somewhat amazed at this discourse, but seeing that she did not behold him, either with choler, or contempt, he said unto her with address; there appeared so much of it in your eyes, as it would be as difficult for one not to be taken with it, as it would be impossible for you to bemoan the evils which you are the cause of. Whilst these amiable persons entertained themselves in this sort, Horatio was not so happy, for whatsoever care he took about it, he could not obtain one favourable look from Hippolita, whose jealous humour had made her believe that he had beheld Leonida with too much attention, whether it were that he had observed Alphonso, who spoke softly unto her, or had without design cast his eyes that way; but in conclusion all that she answered to whatsoever he could say unto her, was to pray him with a quipping gear not to be Alphonso's Rival, who was her brother's friend, for fear lest the share which she was to have in all his interests, might oblige her to break with him. At the same instant the consort ceased, and the Count desired the company to renew their attention for the hearing of a Dialogue, sung by two most excellent voices; after which the Marquis, who had set himself down by Leonora, continued the conversation still for some time with his ordinary address; and then all this fair Troop departed away, but with different thoughts. Doria felt himself so eald, for having made his first declaration of love to his Mistress, that he was as much satisfied therewith, as if he had received a great favour from her. But though Sophronia esteemed very much of Doria, though he was of an illustrious race, though he was beloved of her brother-law, and that according to apparent reason she could not make a fit choice, yet was there a particular one, and that was hidden to all the world, but not unknown to her, which made her fear the sequel of this passion. For she was not ignorant that the Count, albeit he esteemed of Doria in particular, yet bore an irreconcilable hatred to the whole family in general, though in his actions and words he testified the clean contrary. It was in this sort that this beautiful and prudent maid reasoned with herself, not doubting but that Doriaes' discourse was unfeigned, because she was sufficiently persuaded that he would not easily venture to say such like things unto her, having always mad● profession of a virtue austere enough. On the other side, Leonida was not sorry for having touched the heart of Alphonso; and this new conquest made her return home with joy. As for Alphonso, he could not very well judge of his happiness or unhappiness, so much did the proceeding of Leonida seem extraordinary unto him; howbeit he had some hope in the gentleness of her looks, which promised no rigour unto him. Hippolita had more sullen and unquiet thoughts, although she had no just cause for them; but it is sufficient to say that she was jealous for to persuade one that she went not away very well contented. As for Horatio, he was so afflicted with his Mistresses odd humour, as he could not resolve to return to his own house, till he had sought for some comfort from his sister Sophronia, who lived with Leonora, because her mother was dead: He went then to her chamber to communicate his thoughts unto her. Ah! sister (said he to her when he came where she was) I am the most unfortunate of men, and Hippolita the unjustest of your sex. It may be you call that injustice (said Sophronia unto him) which I should call virtue. No, no, replied Horatio, and I desire that you would be my judge, if you have nothing else to do, and can intent to hear my reasons. I am well contented, said Sophronia, but I am so ill informed of that which hath passed betwixt you these six months, wherein I know you have loved Hippolita, as I am in doubt whether I may judge rightly. It is true, answered Horatio, that I was willing to acknowledge unto you, that I loved her, and that she hated not me, without recounting my adventure particularly unto you, because I always thought that discourses of this nature did not please you: But albeit you have the goodness now to let me entertain you with the estate of my affairs, I will not repeat unto you the first speeches of Love, which I had with Hippolita, seeing they are for the most part all alike amongst worthy persons. and whereas time presses me, I will only give you an account of all that hath arrived to me since, but it shall be in few words. I served her then with assiduity enough, as you might well observe; and even to that point as she was no longer able to doubt of it. I perceived by her looks, that my person did not displease her; that my wit and my humour contented hers, and then when I expected some testimony of affection for a recompense of my pains, guess, my dear sister, what it was that she gave me, and the only one that I received? Horatio stayed a while, in expectation of Sophroniaes' answer, who presently said unto him laughing, I think, brother, that I cannot without trespassing against good manners show myself very spiritual, in guessing at the favours which may be done to a Lover; wherefore it were fit that you should let me know what this favour was, than to trouble me to tell it you. Hearken to me more seriously, I conjure you, replied Horatio, and know that this testimony of affection, which I have so often received from Hippolita, was not the giving me occasions to see her, or to speak to her in particular; it was not an obliging letter; it was not a bracelet of her hair; it was not a picture; it was not assuring me with her own mouth that she did not hate me; but it was telling me, that I did not love her, and that I loved another. In fine, the first proof which I had of her affection, was a mark of her choler; and to express myself more clearly, jealousy alone hath showed her love to me. You cannot receive a more undoubted proof thereof, said Sophronia interrupting him: Nor a more grievous one too, replied Horatio. For you must know (continued he) that after I had done an hundred incivilities to satisfy her, whereof you have many times demanded the cause of me, though I never told it you; yet could I not cure her mind of this fancy; And of all the women of quality of Genova, I do not know one, that hath fair hair, which she hath not believed that I have been in love withal, Leonida only remains, who at this present sticks in her stomach, and for whom she hath ill entreated me to day. If it be so, said Sophronia, you are to take comfort, and be careful to justify yourself unto her; for when her jealousy shall want an object, she will questionless be constrained to give you another mark of her affection. Ah, sister, replied Horatio, you are but little acquainted with this passion! it form's phantasms, it deceives the sense, it illudes reason, and without any ground, or subject, it leaves not to work in those whom it possesseth; it makes them to see that which is not; makes them believe impossible things; and utterly perverts the understanding. At leastwise, so far as I have observed it in others, for I have never tried it otherways, which certainly hath been crueler to me, than if I had been jealous myself. Bemoan then, my dear sister, the misery, wherein I find myself engaged, and whence I know not how to get out. Verily I do bemoan you, said Sophronia, and so much the more, for that I do not know how to ease you. I am eased already, answered Horatio, by recounting my torment unto you; but it is time to let you go to Leonora. Horatio departed then half comforted in having discovered his grief to the virtuous Sophronia, but the next day was no sooner arrived, but he was taken with his unquietness again; which made him go in all haste to Doriaes' house, though he could not hope to see Hippolita so early; but he was happier than he thought he should have been, for it fell out that Doria was in his sister's lodging, at such time as he was advertised that Horatia asked for him: And whereas he was not ignorant of the passion he was in for Hippolita, he would needs have him come into her chamber, howsoever she withstood it, to the end he might oblige him to a like courtesy, when there should be occasion for it. Hippolita received Horatio somewhat coldly; but yet with civility, being unwilling her brother should see their petty disorders. Horatio thought that he had never seen her so beautiful, as she appeared to him in a neglectful habit, which she had put on, with an intention not to have been seen of any body all that day. Their first discourse was of the last evenings entertainment, but after that had continued a while, Doria went into his sister's Cabinet, to write a letter to Sophronia; for he was not yet fully satisfied with the declaration he had made her; and though he was long about it, yet could he not draw up one that contented him, so much did he fear to offend Sophronia. He thought that the incivility which he used in leaving Horatio upon his going from him, would be in stead of a favour to him; so that only making him a compliment about ●t, he left him the liberty to entertain his Mistress. He was no sooner alone with her, but he undertook to justify himself, and gave her so many reasons to make it appear to her that he did not love Leonida, as all her jealousy could not furnish her with one to oppose his: After that, he besought her to call to mind the care he had taken to please her; the extreme affection which he had always born her; and how many times she had permitted him to interpret her resentments and choler to his advantage. Hippolita heard him with a great deal of attention, but for all that he could not persuade her, for with a precipitous voice she sad unto him; Suppose that your endeavours and services have been powerful enough to obtain my affection, yet have they not been powerful enough to conserve it; and thereof I could bring you a thousand testimonies; but whereas they are matters wherein your excuses might give me satisfaction, and not desiring to receive any from you, I will not furnish you with means to do it; but to convince you, I will only say one thing, which admits no reply, and which all your cunning cannot destroy. Have you not seen me, continued she, receive the civilities of the youngest of the Fregoses, of the eldest of the Adorns, and of some others, without regarding yours? Have you not been in some assemblies where that last hath always taken me out to dance, whilst I have scarce so much as turned my look towards you? Have I omitted any occasion of testifying unto him, when you passed with him before my window, or in all other places where I might have you for a witness, that his love did not displease me? No, Horatio, I have omitted none, and the affection which I bore you, made me have recourse to this artifice, hoping I should know, by giving you some cause of jealousy, the force of your passion; but I have not seen, though you have seen all these things, that you had any sense of them; and albeit I knew that by this untoward experience I should be in danger of losing you, if you were sensible, yet chose I rather to resolve upon it, and to assure myself of your love, than to conserve you with a lukewarm and indifferent affection. I have ever heard, that jealousy is the daughter of love, yet do I not say that love cannot be without jealousy. Questionless you will tell me, that by my own reasons I am unjust in complaining of you, since it is possible, that you may have love without having jealousy. But alas! this discourse hath not so much as an apparent reason, neither can I suffer myself to be persuaded to that which I desire so passionately. And to show you that I cannot force my mind to deceive myself, hear a thing, which hath made me to think upon this matter. I have been persuaded then, that love alone cannot produce jealousy; and how it is necessary that jealousy should have a mother which may contribute to her birth; this mother, if I be not deceived, is occasion; and as love without her cannot produce jealousy, so she without love cannot beget jealousy. This reasoning seems so powerful to me, as you cannot make any objection which it destroys not; for in fine, you may well have love without jealousy, when as you have no occasion for it; but I having given it you, and you not having taken it, is to say absolutely, that you have had no love. Ah! fair Hippolita, answered Horatio, how I do rejoice at these complaints of yours? for the more reasons you have brought to maintain your opinion, the more have you established my felicity. You say then, amiable Hippolita (continued Horatio) that there can be no love without jealousy, and because I have not been jealous, I have had no love; you shall pardon me if you please, if without losing the respect which I owe you, I dare take the liberty to contradict you, in maintaining with reason, that the perfectest and sincerest reason is that which admits of no jealousy. It is a th●ng known of all reasonable and disinteressed persons, that he who loves truly, loves only to love, and not to be beloved, or ro expect any recompense; for that thought is too base and abject for so noble a passion. Now if the love of beauty, which is that whereof we speak, springs from an object that is pleasing to the sight, it follows, that so long as this object seems amiable unto us, so long will our love continue; and whether the person beloved answers our affection, or answers it not, this love shall be still the same love. But that I may make use of a comparison as well as you, a man sees a fair Lady, and love arises in his heart, is it necessary for him to examine whether this Lady be engaged to another in affection? it is certain that it is not; and it is every day seen that love doth subject us to them, whose love is engaged otherwhere: so that one may well judge from thence, that a man ought to persevere in his love, though some cause be given him of jealousy, since when he was not beloved, and that he was induced to love by the only sight of beauty, he left not to be infinitely amorous. And if I may be permitted to make use of History in this encounter, what sympathy, or what affection could that young Athenian expect, who became so desperately in love with a beautiful Statue, and whose passion was so extreme, as the like was never heard of? It is very certain, that he loved only to love, seeing the object of his passion was absolutely incapable of any correspondence. Now than if it be true, that a Lover is satisfied in knowing that he loves, he is most assured that jealousy is not of power enough to destroy his love, and that this jealousy is rather an effect of a defective, than of a perfect love. And to speak freely unto you, tell me, I pray you, who can be so hardy, after a worthy person hath had the goodness to receive our services favourably, and to testify some affection unto us, as to suspect she should have the same thoughts for another? Ah, fair Hippolita, the gallantry and civility which you have used to the eldest of the Adorns, could not oblige me to draw so bad a consequence against you. And to comprehend all the rest of my reasons in one alone, I am but to say, that he who by his discourse gives some marks of his jealousy to his Mistress, names her inconstant, facile, and almost infamous: Judge now, fair Hippolita, whether these be words agreeing with a Lady. In the mean time it is most undoubted, that in what terms soever jealousy is expressed, it cannot be expressed but in this manner: whereas quite contrary, this confidence which we have in the person beloved, which makes us to approve of all her actions, is the true mark of perfect love, and indeed merits the most acknowledgement, if I may be permitted to say so. I have not suspected you then, beautiful Hippolita, of inconstancy, because I have esteemed you very much; and if I had had as good a place in your heart, as you have had in mine, you would questionless have done me justice, ●n not accusing me of infidelity. Hippolita was not sorry to find Horatio's reasons stronger than hers, but whereas she was highminded, she would not let him see that she began to repent her; but contrarily making show as if she thought it strange her brother should leave her so long entertaining Horatio, she called him, for fear she should be constrained to say something that would be too obliging unto him. And whereas Doria could not satisfy himself, he came out of his Sister's Cabinet, and went down to wait on Horatio, whom she could not let part, without beholding him in such a sort, as he might easily perceive, that he was in better terms with her than when he came thither; for it is the custom of those that are easily angry, to be as easily pacified; to accuse, that one may justify himself; and to complain, that ' they may be satisfied. In the mean time Doria had no sooner left Horatio, but the Marquis came to him for to show him a Letter, which he had written to Aemilia. Why, said Doria unto him, do you think of her still? I must needs think of her, said the Marquis, in the necessity I am in: But before you marvel●t my constancy, read that which you shall find written in this paper, and halving opened it, he saw that it was thus.  
The Marquis his Letter to Aemilia.  
AFter the knowledge you have had of my humour, you will doubtless find it strange, that the passion which you begot in my heart at Monaco, should be conserved there still in Genova, and that an absence of three days hath not destroyed that which you established in a moment. I am for all that constrained thereunto by a necessity, which I never tried before, and though my mind be not changed, yet am I forced not to change you. Make use (fair Aemilia) of a good which fortune presents you with; for not to abuse you, albeit you have the fairest eyes in the world, and that in the thought I presently am in, you are the most charming person that I know, my fidelity is for all that rather an effect of my inconstancy, than of your beauty; for there being never a woman in Genova whom I have not loved, I am compelled to love you still, and to fear that Destiny will force me to become faithful: But at least I can assure you, that if this misfortune should arrive unto me, there is none in the world that could render it so supportable unto me as you; and the passion I am in for your beauty is so strong, that I wish I may not be put to so hard a trial, as not to be able to be absent from you, for fear I should be constrained to quit Italic, or at leastwise Genova, rather than quit my inclinations.  
I must confess, said Doria, that I never saw a Love-Letter of the stile of this same; and how pressing soever it be for you to send it away to Monaco, I am resolved not to let you have it again, till all our friends have seen it. The Marquis resisted it a while, but at length consented thereunto; and in regard the Assembly met not very soon, the Marquis sent not away his Letter till just the day before they thought the Princess would have died: So that when La Roche was arrived at Monaco, and entered into the Castle, he was much amazed to see them all in tea●s. And whereas in this occasion the Officers had no care of any thing, he went even to the Princess' chamber without any impediment; where he saw Justiniano, he not seeing him, for grief so absolutely possessed him, as he was incapable of all knowledge, but of that of his own misfortune. He could not endure the sight of the Princess, neither could he also keep from her, so that he was in a continual agitation. In the mean time the Physicians desiring to do their uttermost endeavour, still carefully observe the estate she is in, they consult with their books, and in so desperate a disease they resolve to have recourse unto extreme remedies; so that abandoning ordinary Physic, one amongst them, who was an excellent Empirick, made her take so wonderful an essence, that after it had caused her to sleep eight hours, it rectified the blood, diminished her Fever, restored her strength, and put her quite out of danger. The indifferency she had showed at the approaches of death, seemed the same, when as the Physicians assured her that she should not die of this sickness; and she gave them greater thanks for their affection to her, ●han for their saving her life. Howbeit they were not without thanks for this resurrection; for Justiniano received so great a satisfaction from it, as he could no● give them thanks enough of his acknowledgement. His joy nevertheless was mingled with a great deal of bitterness, and his soul was not in an estate of tasting a quiet pleasure. This while La Roche, whom the Marquis had sent, hearing th● the Princess was out of danger, went to Justiniano's lodging, for to render him ●●e civilities of his friends, and to assure him that they knew nothing of his aff●●ction. Justiniano received him with more coldness, than his friendship to them se●med to permit; but the displeasure wherein he was, dispensed with him from being regular in his compliments; he willed lafoy Roche for all that to render his back ●nto all them from whom he had received any, and to pray them not to think it strange if he returned not to Genova before the Princess were fully recovered. That doubt, la Roche went to Aemilia to deliver her his Master's Letter, which she received with a great deal of joy. For the Princess' amendment had put her mind into so favourable a posture for him, as she told lafoy Roche that she would return an answer thereunto, albeit the Princess was not yet in case to have her permission demanded for it, and without further delay she caused Paper to be brought her by a Maid that served her, and answered the Marquis in these terms.  
Aemilia's Letter to the Marquis.  
IT would be too much vanity in me to pretend unto the obtaining of that from you, which so great a number of fair persons could not oblige you to render unto them. Do not believe then that I regard you as a conquest, which I may never lose, but contrarily I am resolved to do in this occasion, as great Captains use to do, who, after they have taken a place which they think they cannot hold, set it on fire, and destroy it themselves, to get some advantage still by this loss. And whereas there was never place so hard to be kept, as your heart, I purpose, in order to that you have written me, to bring new flames unto it, rather than to resolve to lose you altogether: There will be shortly at Genova a fair kinswoman of mine, whom I conjure you to love, when as you shall no longer judge me worthy of that honour, to the end that in losing your love, I may at leastwise comfort myself with your sight, with your conversation, and with your friendship.  
Aemilia.  
This Letter being sealed, she gave to la Roche, who presently departed for to return unto Genova, without speaking to the Princess; for ever since she was out of danger, the Physicians had absolutely forbidden any one from talking to her, no not so much as Justiniano, who saw himself very soon kept from it by a stronger reason. For whether he had been too long without eating or sleeping, or that grief alone had been the cause of his indisposition, he found himself within a short time, in a sickness as desperate as that of the Princess, who not seeing him about her, was very inquisitive to know where he was. The Physicians and Aemilia, who feared she would afflict herself too much if she knew the truth, told her, that Justiniano having seen her quite out of danger, and being pressed by an important affair which had be fallen him at Genova, was gone thither with an intent to have returned back again before she should have taken notice of his departure. But when they saw Justiniano's sickness grow dangerous, and that the Princess was as much troubled with hearing no news of him, as she could have been if she had known the condition wherein he was, they conceived it was sit, fearing the sad event of Justiniano's malady, to acquaint her with that which they had concealed from her. Aemilia was she that charged herself with this heavy Commission, she carried the matter so dextrously, as she engaged the Princess to speak of Justiniano, and to marvel at his unexpected absence, and so unthought-of a silence. It would not be hard for me, answered Aemilia, with a sad countenance, to take you out of this unquietness, if I did not fear to give you another greater than that. Whereupon the Princess, leaning with her right arm on the pillow, and with her left hand also drawing the curtain, fixed her look on Aemilia, and after she had been a pretty while without speaking, as it were to divine of that which she should be acquainted with, she said unto her in such a fashion, as shown that she would be obeyed; disguise not the truth unto me, let me know my misery as great as it is, and tell me whether Justiniano be dead or unfaithful; for provided he be neither the one nor the other, I shall receive all other misfortunes with a great deal of indifferency. The last cannot be, answered Aemilia, and heaven will not permit that the other should arrive unto you. But not to disguise the truth unto you, Justiniano never parted from Monaco, and the fear alone of redoubling your sickness, in acquainting you with his, hath kept us from telling it to you; but finding it to continue longer than we thought it would, I held it my duty to advertise you of it. You are a cruel creature, replied the Princess, to conceal a thing from me, which concerns my life. And what will Justiniano say of the little care I had of him? It is by his order, answered Aemilia, that we have carried the business in this sort. If you will have me pardon you this fault, said the Princess, so order the matter, that Justiniano may not be surprised when he shall see me. Aemilia did what she could then to keep her from getting out of her bed, but neither her entreaties, nor the counsel of the Physicians, could alter her resolution. She calls her women, gets on a nightgown, and causing herself to be held up by the arms, she goes to Justininoes' lodging, whom she found so changed, as he could hardly be known. Assoon as he saw her enter he endeavoured to salute her, but being unable to lift up his head, he was constrained to be contented only with turning his eyes towards her, and saying to her with a feeble and languishing voice, which could not be heard by any but herself, for her women were a pretty way distant from them; At length, Madam, fortune shall not separate us, and death is going to do that, which I expected from the cruelty of the former: Nevertheless I shall die contentedly, since I have still the pleasure to see you, provided you will promise to live for the love of me, and that my memory shall be dear unto you; For I find this advantage in death, that it keeps me from being unfaithful to you; It finishes the combat of love & honour which could not be vanquished in my soul; it makes me satisfy them both; and to say all, it separates us, but I do not forsake you; and I do nothing in this occasion, but what I cannot choose but do. The Princess having her cheeks all bedewed with tears, answered him sighing, I am not yet so far from the grave, but that I may enter into it with you if death should carry you thither; but if you do love me, you will strive to live. Think not of conserving yourself, since you have no will to it, but of conserving me, and believe not that you can die without me. I have let you see what grief can do upon me; and I should have no need, either of poison, or poignard, to quit me of this life, for the loss of you alone would suffice for it. Think not for all this that I speak to you thus out of the fear to die, it is an apprehension which is not my soul, and I do not find death dreadful but in the person beloved; let me not make trial then of so sharp a grief; live, if it be possible, and contribute at lest what you can unto it. I will indeed obey you, replied Justiniano, but take heed you do not thereby deprive me of a remedy which I shall not easily meet with again. As he would have proceeded, one came and advertised the Princess, that Doria having understood of his Friend's sikness, was arrived at the Castle, and desired to see him. The Physicians than approached to Justinianoes' bed side, and told the Princess, that if she loved his life, she was to let him rest in quiet, and suffer few to see him. Justiniano entreated them to let him embrace Doria, who presently was brought in. This interview moved all them to pity that saw it; for Justinian● appeared so constant, Doria so afflicted, and the Princess so forlorn, as it was impossible to forbear shedding of tears at so lamentable a spectacle. The chiefest of the Physicians coming to Justiniano, and feeling his pulse, found that his fever was increased, and judged by the unequal beating thereof, that the agitation of his spirit had redoubled that of his blood and humours; so that approaching once more to the Princess, he told her that Justiniano was not to be succoured with tears, and that she must absolutely be resolved to leave him to their conduct, and not to see him again till he was in a better estate. Since my sight is so deadly to him, replied the Princess, I must obey you, but I believe it will not be for any long time. This said, she went out of Justinianoes' chamber, after she had charged him again not to resist any remedy, and to remembrr that she would have him live. Doria and Aemilia helped to lead her to her chamber; but that which was wonderful in this encounter, was, that the Princess, who had not been out of her bed since she thought she should have died, felt herself less weak than before, and the desire she had to be able to assist Justiniano in person, whether the Physicians would or no, was so powerful in her, as in four days she found her sells in an estate strong enough to be almost continually with Justiniano, for the space of two months and an half 〈◊〉 that the violence of his sickness lasted. During which time, the Count, Doria, and the Marquis, made many voyages to Monaco, and whereas Justiniano was very considerable at Genova, there was not a person of quality which took not great care to be informed of his health. All the assemblies, which were made at Leonora's, were melancholy too; and their conversations, which were wont to be full of nothing but love and gallantery, were wholly now of the inconstancy of things; of the necessity of dying, and of the little lastingness of the most assured pleasures. They could not marvel enough, that after so long an absence; after the escaping from so many misfortunes; after the drying up of so many tears; and when it seemed that nothing could oppose Justinianoes' and Isabellaes' content, they should find themselves more unhappy than before: they knew not for all that how far their unhappiness extended, for their secret misfortunes were without doubt the greatest and most sensible. And when as Justinianoes' sickness was no longer dangerous, and that he had recovered his strength, than it was that he was the most afflicted. For coming to consider the little time he had remaining to make good his word which he had given Soliman; and that he was to quit Isabel, his grief became so great, as had not his soul been already long accustomed to melancholy, he could not without dying have supported so grievous an apprehension. But a little while after he had begun to go out of his chamber, for to repair to that of the Princess, being still very feeble and languishing, he said unto her with a great deal of pain; Now, Madam, is the time wherein you are to dispose of me, and to let me know, whether I am to be wanting, either to my love, or to my honour; live with infamy, or die with glory; satisfy Soliman, or oblige him by the breaking of my word to ruin not only all the Christians that are in his Empire, not only all Europe, but you too, who is more dear to me than all the world beside. I think, Madam, I have already told your excellency, what I ought to do in such a grievous case, advise then what you will have me to do: But I beseech you, make me no more such propositions, as an excess of generosity would render unjust; harken to nothing but reason in this encounter; do not follow that which your affection inspires you with; and remember how I ought not to do any thing that is unworthy of the honour which I have to be beloved of you. I have told you already, replied the Princess, what power I have over myself in this occasion; and my proposition seems so just unto me, as I can find nothing that can destroy it; For in fine, you will satisfy Soliman, and you will satisfy me also; I will do nothing against my honour, and I will satisfy that which I owe to our affection: Resolve then to marry me and to part away, and never hope that I will change my design. When you were at Constantinople, did you believe that I had so little affection, as I could easily resolve to receive a visit from you, for to be deprived afterwards of your sight, it may be for as long as live? Ah! Madam, said Justiniano interrupting her, I had no other intent in parting from Constantinople, than that of seeing you, and of coming hither time enough to keep you from shutting yourself up in a Cloister. For understanding the resolution you had taken for it, upon the belief you were in of my death, nothing could have been able to retain me. What, said I, the incomparable Isabel shall make herself an eternal prisoner for thee, and if fortune ever restores thee thy liberty, thou shalt find her without hers! Ah! no, no, rather do any thing to hinder it. It was in this sort, Madam, that I reasoned with myself; and that, together with the hope of seeing you, made me, without examining the matter, take my resolution. And I believe I have accomplished that which I propounded to myself; I have seen you, Madam, and having let you know that I am living, it is no longer in your power to dispose of yourself, seeing your word keeps you from it; And for me, I promise you if I cannot break my chains at Constantinople, the news of my death shall soon set you at liberty: For to expose you to all the misfortunes, which I foresee, in permitting you to follow my fortune, is a thing that I will nevever consent to. The Princess, seeing Justiniaenoes' firmness, said unto him with a kind of tone, which testified some choler; if the resolution you have taken be an  one, add not to you cruelty, that of excusing it with weak reasons; and to take from you the means to do it, I conjure you never to speak to me more of it, for fear I should not have power enough over myself to keep me from giving you some marks of my resentment. I assign you eight days, to think yet of this important affair; but hope not in the mean time, to see me change my mind. I will obey you, Madam, answered Justiniano, but if you knew to what an hard trial you do reduce my soul by this excess of generosity; and how difficult it is to refuse, out of an excess of love, that which love itself doth make us desire, you would have the goodness without doubt not to give me a mark of affection, which love and reason will not have me receive. The conversation of these two Lovers finished in tears and sighs; and each of them resting in their first determination, Justiniano retired to his chamber, but in such despair, as never man was in more. At length, after he had combated, but in such despair, as never man was in more. At length, after he had combated sufficiently within himself, he took his last resolution; and knowing full well that the Princess would never permit him to part without her; neither would have him b●eak his word with Soliman; and which too he could not endure to do; he concluded to go away without bidding her farewell: And to favour his intention, Doria arrived at Monaco, whom he told in private, for to give some pretext to his departure, that having seen the Princess given over by all her Physicians, he had made a vow not to marry her, till he had been at Jerusalem, if it pleaseth Heaven to restore her to her health; That whereas he was resolved to perform this pilgrimage unknown, and that this voyage could not be but long, he conjured him to take care of the Princess and her affairs in his absence; That in the mean time he should not speak of this design, till he was gone; and that then he should deliver his compliments to all his Friends. He told him moreover that he was obliged to steal away from the Princess, who would not have him make this voyage without her; but being loath she should be exposed to the incommodities of so painful a pilgrimage, he had concluded to part without saying any thing to her, but only leaving her a letter. Doria was strangely surprised with this discourse; but seeing that Justiniano spoke seriously, he offered (how amorous soever he was of Sophronia) to accompany him in this voyage; and the contestation which they had upon this subject had not ended so soon, had not Justiniano told him that the necessity of his affairs required it to be so; and that to render him a proof of his affection it would suffice he should furnish him with means to get from Monaco secretly. That will not be hard for you to do, answered Doria, for yesterday, when I arrived at the Port, I heard by chance of a French barque, that is bound for Venice, which parts away to morrow morning by the break of day, and no doubt will receive you, assoon as you shall present yourself; so that you shall have no more to do, but to get aboard her, and I will stay here to deliver your letter to the Princess. You will be but unwelcome to her for it, replied Justiniano, who was not willing that Doria should be present at Isabellaes' receiving of a news, which would so much afflict her, for fear lest the constraint she would be in, should more augment her grief. He prayed him then not to see her, till he had her permission for it. And whereas he demanded of him, who should wait on him in this voyage? Justiniano answered him, that one of the conditions of his vow was, to go alone and unknown. Doria opposed this as much as possibly he could, but vain was it for him to give any counsel to his Friend; and Justiniano, taking a part of the money which he had at Monaco, desired Doria to let him go and write, and to get him to bed. After that Doria had obeyed him, and that all Justinianoes' people were gone out of his chamber, except it were one, whom he had commanded to tarry in a withdrawing room till he called him, he leaned on a table, and looking on the paper which he found there, but without marking that which he looked on, he passed up and down in his mind all his past misfortunes, all those which then he resented, and all those which he foresaw for the future; but of all these deadly thoughts, the cruelest, and the hardest to be endured, was that which set before his eyes, how he was to abandon Isabel: His heart was not strong enough to support with constancy so dolorous an apprehension; and his tears falling abundantly on his paper put him in mind how he was set there with a purpose to write: So that after he had spent a great part of the night in an estate which may be more easily imagined than described, he took a pen, and inspired more by his grief than his wit, he traced these sad words.  
Justiniano's Letter to Isabel.  
NOt having been able to surmount your generosity, either with my tears, or with my prayers, I have at length surmounted mine own apprehensions, both with my love, and with my reason. I have found that though Fortune will not let me be happy, yet that I shall at least be unhappy alone; and that it is just I should steal away from you, that I may steal you from the cruelty of Fortune, by keeping you from following of mine. I am gone then, Madam, or to say better, I do separate myself from myself, in separating myself from you. I do obey the desire which you had, that I should satisfy my honour, by showing myself not unworthy of your love, and by a most sensible misfortune I am forced to absent myself from you, without having so much as the consolation to bid you adieu, and to let you see by my tears what the grief is which I suffer. It is so great, Madam, that losing the use both of sight and reason together, I am compelled to shut it up in my heart, being impossible to express ie. But before I leave you, remember that I beg the conservation of your life of you, till such time as you shall understand how heaven will dispose of mine. I have told Doria, that I am going to Jerusalem to accomplish a vow, which I made for you during your sickness; make use of this artifice as you please, and believe that before it be six months, I shall return happy unto you, or be dead with grief.  
JUSTINIANO.  
After that Justiniano had made an end of writing, and sealed his Letter, he called that servant, which he had stayed to wait on him, and willed him to deliver it the Princess three hours after his departure. And when this man demanded of him whether he would not go to bed, Justiniano made a sign to him to be gone, feigning as though he had somewhat else to write; but it was indeed because his grief was so great, as not being able to sleep, he thought that the agitation of his body would case that of his mind. He passed the rest of the night in walking up and down, with so great an unquietness, as one is not able to describe that which he resented. He oftentimes opened the window to see whether it were day; and though his greatest misfortune was to part from Monaco, yet one would have said, that he was impatient to be gone from thence; so much was his soul troubled, and so much was his reason confounded. In the mean time Doria, who had not slept all the night, hearing Justiniano walk, (for his chamber joined to his) caused himself to be made ready, and entered into his friends, just as the day began to break. He would yet have dissuaded him from this voyage, and once more desired him to let him accompany him, but Justiniano would by no means accept of so obliging an offer; so that Doria seeing his friend's resolution, was constrained to follow his pleasure. And whereas the shadows of the night were almost quite dispersed by the approach of the Sun, Doria went and treated with the Master of the French Bark for Justiniano's passage, who followed him to the Port, his face covered with his cloak. The Guards of the Town and Castle, who saw him go forth so early, marvelled not at it, for during the little time wherein he had been well at Monaco, he had used to walk out at such hours to entertain his thoughts at the Seaside. The separation of these two friends had been with more tenderness, if Justiniano had been less afflicted; but love so strongly possessed his heart, as there was no more room left there for friendship: so that when he came to embrace Doria, all that he could say to him, was to conjure him to have a care of the Princess. He would fain have disclosed the truth unto him, but Isabel having forbidden him so to do, he durst not disobey her. He got aboard then being scarce able to speak, and suffering himself to be disposed of by them that received him, he abandoned himself not so much to the Sea, as to his grief. The Pilot having order given him to part, steered his course for Venice, and Justiniano standing up beheld Monaco, with his arms across, and his eyes full of tears, never marking Doria, who still made signs of farewell to him from the Port, whereunto he returned no show of answer at all. But when Doria had lost the sight of him, he went back unto the Castle, with a purpose not to show himself to the Princess till she commanded him, that he might exactly observe what Justiniano had entreated him unto. In the mean time the three hours after his departure being past, he with whom he had left his Letter, went and delivered it to the Princess, who was but newly awake. At first when she heard that Justiniano had sent her that paper, she changed colour, and asked where he was: He went forth very early with Doria, (answered this man) whom I saw return back alone to his chamber. Without doubt (said the Princess then to herself opening the Letter) Justiniano hath deceived me, and Doria to be faithful to his friend, hath betrayed me. But when she had read that which Justiniano wrote her, and that she knew he was gone, as also that Doria was deceived as well as she, though in a different manner, she gave a great skreek: howbeit desiring to conceal her grief from him that brought her these deadly news, she commanded him to withdraw, and to stay in her house till he had further order. As soon as she was at liberty to complain, what said she not against Justiniano, against fortune, and against herself? Am not I culpable of mine own misfortune? (said she ●ighing) Ought not I to have had him watched? Had I not made sufficient trial of the steadfastness of his resolution? he had resisted my entreaties, he was not moved with my tears, he would not hearken to my sighs: With what stronger arms could I hope to vanquish him? but now is no time to reason of things done; Justiniano is gone, and how strong soever my love is, I may not forget mine honour; I cannot resolve to follow him as a forsaken one; he separated himself from me that he might be generous; and that I may not swerve from virtue, I will not follow him. But what say I, unfortunate as I am? if I know not where he is, how can I follow him? Then suddenly holding her peace, and turning herself on the other side, she sighed with so much violence, as it was impossible for her to speak. A little after for all that she fell to speaking again in this sort. Ah, Justiniano, (said she) what a sensible outrage to my affection was this excess of love, that hath torn thee from me! the tempest whereunto thou exposest thyself, is to be less feared, no doubt, than that which is raised in my soul. Is it possible (continued she) that thou couldst resolve to refuse the having of me for a companion of thy miseries? Certainly thou didst not believe that my soul was strong enough; and thou thoughtest peradventure that I did not entreat thee, but to be denied. But I ams cruel (said she) to make so ill a construction of the meaning of the most generous of men; who deprives not himself of me, but for the love of me; who consider none but my interests, and who loves not even his own honour, but for my proper glory. Let us think better of Justiniano; let us live to obey him; and let us not give fortune that advantage, to have more cruelty, than we have constancy: Let us force her by our resolution to be weary of hurting us, since indeed there is nothing left us but that to do. After she h●d been a pretty while without speaking, and that she had hidden his Letter, she sent for Doria to confirm that unto h●m which had been told him by his friend. And whereas she had a great and generous soul, she composed her countenance so well, and so throughly restrained her tea●s, as no more sorrow appeared in her face, than that which the absence of Justiniano alone might well be the cause of. Is not your friend cruel indeed (said she to Doria as soon as he came to her) to steal away from me, for the satisfying of a thing which he owed not but to my consideration, seeing it seems to me that there is some justice I should follow him in a voyage, whereof I was the occasion. And if I may be permitted to accuse you of too much fidelity towards him, I shall tell you freely, that you would not have a little obliged me, if you had betrayed his secret in discovering i● to me. There is sometimes (added she) a great deal of generosity in not serving one's Friends according to their intention, and in considering rather that which is utile and glorious, than what is pleasing to them; and if I be not deceived, the matter ought to have gone so in this encounter. But in conclusion Justiniano is gone, and there is nothing left us but to make vows for him, as he hath made them for us. It is certain, replied Doria, that Justiniano's voyage stangely surprised me; and that I was tempted to acquaint you with his design: but I confess, Madam, when I knew that his voyage was absolutely necessary, seeing he had promised it, and that he did not steal away from you but to keep you from following him, I found that he had reason for it, and I served him in his design; Yet was it not till I had first offered to accompany him, with all the testimonies of affection I could render him; and I had added force to entreaty, had he not assured me that he should not accomplish his vow, if he went not alone and unknown. But is it possible that he is gone, said the Princess? disguise not the truth unto me, is he not concealed in some place, to take order for his affairs? No, Madam, answered Doria, for he hath given me the charge of them. If that be so, said the Princess, who would fain have been at liberty to shed tears, I hold it fit that you should go and publish at Genova the true cause of his absense, for fear lest so unexpected a departure should cause bruits to run about, either to his disadvantage, or mine. But before you go, tell me I pray you, whether Justiniano were afflicted indeed to quit me? whether he said any thing to you to tell me? and what were his last words? They were all for you, replied Doria; for after he had embraced me, all that he could obtain of his grief was no other than force enough to enjoin me to take care of you; so that Madam, you may dispose of me as you please, and believe that never any eloignment begot so great an affliction, as that which I saw in Justiniano: And knew I not that he loves you more ardently, than ever person did love, I should hardly believe that absence alone could cause so great a displeasure in his soul. The Princess felt herself then so pressed with grief, as it was impossible for her to retain her tears, and seeing that she could not hid them from Doria, she said unto him wiping her eyes; You may not think it strange, that I am not more constant than Justiniano, since I am as unhappy as he; and that I yield not to him in affection. This weakness justifies his, said Doria, and I profess he were unworthy of the honour which you do him, if he did not resent, as he doth, an absence that separates him from the only person which can make him happy. The princess and Doria had some more such like discourses, but at last she prayed him once again to return with all speed to Genova; and for that effect she commanded a Vessel should be made ready to part away presently after dinner. The thing was executed accordingly, Doria departed from her, and by her direction carried back with him a part of Justiniano's train, the Princess retaining the other in her service till the return of their Master. The next day Doria arrived at Genova, where he delivered the departure of Justiniano to all his acquaintance. Every one received this news with marvel, but amongst others, the Count, Alphonso, the Marquis, and all the rest of his Friends, were not contented with merveling, they were extremely afflicted at it. And being all met together at Leonora's, they talked a long time of this adventure; now though they doubted not but that it was in the manner as Doria recounted it, yet was not their reason for all that satisfied. They found something that was strange in this voyage; and condemned Doria for suffering him to go. Leonora and Sophronia were not of that opinion, and maintained that he had done well, in not hindering him from accomplishing that which he had promised. For my part, said the Marquis, I do not condemn Doria, for it may be if I had been in his place, I should have done the same thing; but if I had been in Justinianoes', when as the Princess was sick, I am very sure that I should not have sought for remedies so far of; and I would have chosen a pilgrimage, where she might have easily followed me, to the end I might not have been separated from her, after so long an absence. But whilst his friends lamented him, indifferent persons talked of it according to their humours; and as truth altars in going far from them which speak it, so there were those that affirmed, how Isabel had made a vow during her sickness never to marry, and that Justiniano out of despair had been so precipitate. Others would have this vow, which Justiniano was gone to accomplish, to be made during his captivity. Some again said, that the ghost of the Princess Mother had appeared unto her, and had forbidden her to marry him, so that being enraged at such a resolution he was gone to the wars. To conclude, they said all things except the truth, which was not known to any but the Princess and Justiniano, who without regarding what was said of him, had his imagination filled with nothing, but his misfortunes, and the incomparable Isabel.    

IBRAHIM: OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The second part. The fifth BOOK.  
THat we may not aggravate the grief of Justiniano, since it is not the last that he is to endure, let us land him at Venice, without describing his unquietness, his sorrows, and his transports. As soon as he was arrived there, he had no other design but of thinking of his departure from thence: And whereas there was a great commerce from Venice to all the Lands of the Archi-pelago, & to Constantinople itself, it was not long before he met with a ship that was ready to set sail for the Isle of Chio, so that it was not hard for him to get passage in her upon pretext of some important affairs, which he said he had with certain Jewish Merchants of Pera. He embarked himself then without being known, and too prosperous in his Navigation, by reason of his eloignment from Isabel, he arrived at this Island; where he was not long before he found a Vessel that was bound for Pera, and shipping himself in her, he left the I'll of Mitilene on the right hand, and on the left that of Lemnos, now called Staliment. From thence he entered into the Straight of Gallipoli, where stand the two Castles of Sest●s and Abydus, which the Turks name the Dardanilli, and so came to the Prepontis, called Marmora, where he entered into the Basphorus of Thrace, and arrived at Pera, where he would not go on land till it was night, because of the habit which he wore. As soon then as he came thither, he went to the Christian Religious men that lived there, who were infinitely glad to see him again, for he was a mighty support unto them, After their first compliments, they told him that his absence had occasioned some mischiefs in the Ottoman Family; but though he pressed them much to express themselves more clearly, they would not do it, knowing full well the extreme affection which Justiniano had always born to Mustapha, and the generous Gianger. And then again Justiniano had his mind so filled with his own misfortunes, as he insisted not much upon those of others. From thence he sent secretly to an Italian Slave, whom he had left at home, to bring him a Turkish Habit: Which was done accordingly, and the next day in the eve●ing he entered into Constantinople, but so altered from that which he was wont to be, as he was hardly to be known. As soon as he was at his Palace, and that he had received the compliments of all his Officers, of whom he was exceedingly beloved, he went to the Seraglio, although it was not the custom to enter there at such like hours: but Justiniano, whom henceforward we call Ibrahim, remembered his old privileges still. The Capigis, which kept the gate, repulsed him somewhat rudely, but as soon as they heard his voice, they craved pardon of him, and a Capigibassi went and advertised the grand Signior of Ibrahims' arrival. He was at that time in so profound a melancholy, as less than a name that was so dear unto him, could not have made him answer him that spoke to him; But the name of the Bassa was not so soon come to his ear, as approaching to this blessed Messenger, which brought him so pleasing a news, he demanded of him, if it were true that he was returned, why he did not come in as he was wont to do, without advertising him of it? This demand was a commandment to the Capigibassi, who presently caused Ibrahim to enter. Assoon as he appeared, Soliman charged every one to withdraw, so that seeing himself at liberty, he embraced him with so much tenderness, that though his mind was wholly taken up with love and his miseries, yet found he himself sensible of so great an amity. Is it possible, said Soliman unto him, that I should receive this consolation in my misfortune? but am I not to blame, continued he, to doubt that thou couldst not be generous enough to come back again? This doubt would questionless be an injury, replied Ibrahim, had it not proceeded from the impatience of my return, rather than from a distrust of the promise I had made to thy Highness. It is not without reason, said Soliman interrupting him, that thou thinkest I have desired it, for assoon as thou hadst abandoned me, victory, fortune, and virtue abandoned me to. I became at once, both the most infortunate, and the most faulty of all men; and by the malice of another I lost all that thy friendship had acquired me. I am no more the Soliman, whom thou thoughtest worthy of thy esteem, and to let thee know the deplorable estate wherein thou findest me, I have no more to say to thee, but that thou shalt never understand from my mouth the mishaps that have befallen me, or to say better, the crimes which I have committed. However I will impart unto thee, that all that which my arms had conquered in Persia, by thy valour and conduct, is revolted; that Assyria and Mesopotamia are no longer under my power; that Ulama having been wounded, his Troops have been defeated; that my whole army hath been routed; that Tauris is lost; and that there is no more left me of all thy conquests, than the bare remembrance of thy victories. But, ah, how happy should I be, if I had also lost the moiety of mine Empire, and had not made myself unworthy of reigning over the other! Soliman stayed here to fetch a great sigh; and when as Ibrahim would have answered him, he would not suffer it, but conjured him not to speak at all to him, save only to promise that he would never hate him, whatsoever he understood of his violences. Ibrahim was so surprised to hear Soliman speak in this sort, as he scarce knew what to answer him. For whereas he had not reflected much on that which the Religious men of Pera had told him, imagining it had been some dissensions, which the artifices of Roxelana had sown in the Ottoman family, and none of his Officers having dared to acquaint him with that which had passed, he could not conceive how Soliman should be so faulty. He answered him then, that he would give his own eyes the lie, even when they should report unto him that he had committed a crime; that he was too well assured of his justice and virtue to doubt of it; that great Princes might sometimes appear culpable to the eyes of their subjects, and yet be innocent in their own souls; and that in fine, he gave him the same word, which he had so exactly observed, that he would always have the same thoughts for him, as he had formerly had. He besought him withal not to conceal his misfortunes from him; but Soliman half comforted with the promise he made him, desired him not to press him to it, and further obliged him by oath, not to speak of his crimes when he should come to know them; and should only believe that Roxelana was the cause of all his disasters. Ibrahim, seeing how sensibly Soliman was touched, and perceiving well by his tears that this should be some lamentable adventure, durst not speak to him more of it; and though he had resolved to cast himself at his feet, when first he came before him, to demand his liberty of him, hoping he had then been in some sort accustomed to his absense; yet held he not that a seasonable time, and that he was to wait for another occasion. This thought redoubled his grief yet more, so as that joined to the melancholy which his displeasures and miseries had painted in his face, made Soliman observe athwart his tears, that he was extremely changed. I will not ask of thee, said he unto him, whether thy voyage hath been prosperous or no; for I see so many marks of sadness, both in thy colour and countenance, that feeling not my soul strong enough to support mine own misfortunes, I do not desire to know thine, which would be no less sensible to me, than if they were arrived to myself; for in fine, I love thee still the more. Ibrahim returned no other answer to this discourse, but a low obeisance, and a deep sigh, they continued yet a while in so sad a conversation; but at length Soliman seeing it was late, and believing that Ibrahim stood in need of rest, he dismissed him, after he had told him with a calmer countenance, that as in going from him he had carried away all his good fortune and virtue, so he hoped that his return would bring him back so precious a treasure again; and that from thenceforward his innocence should not be capable of being corrupted by another's crimes. Ibrahim being returned to his Palace, found a slave of Ulama's there, who understanding by the bruit which was spread abroad amongst all the Grandes of the Port that he was come, presented himself unto him, and delivered him a letter from his Master, who had sent him to Constantinople, with order to attend Ibrahims' return there, and to beseech him to save his live in saving Felixana's. For this slave, who had followed the fortune of his Master when as he changed party, had always had a great share in his confidence, principally in that which concerned Felixana. This name of Felixana surprised Ibrahim, for he well remembered that this was the maid which had suffered shipwreck with the Princess of Persia, at such time as Rustan had forcibly carried her away; so that believing her dead, he could not comprehend which way she should be saved. He entered then into his chamber, and causing this slave to follow him, he opened Ulama's letter, and saw that it was thus; for during the war of Persia, he had learned that language perfectly enough, both to understand, and speak it.  
Vlama's Letter to Ibrahim.  
WHen as the injustice and tyranny of Tachmas had forced me to seek out a sanctuary, to shelter my head in from a storm, which love and jealousy had raised up in his soul, after I had cast mine eye on all the Princes of the Levant, I fixed it on the Emperor whom we serve. But if I may be permitted to open my heart unto you, the reputation of Ibrahim alone made me desire to be Soliman's, and if you remember it, it was unto you that I addressed myself; it was by you that I received his word; it was you that presented me unto him; and it is from you also that I a second time expect the life which you saved in that occasion. But whereas the history of my misfortunes is too long ro be written unto you, know in few wordo, that in protecting the Princess Axiamira, whom Soliman retains in prison, you may both perform an action worthy of yourself, and render me the most obliged of all men. Her high birth, her extreme virtue, and her misfortune, are reasons strong enough to carry you to serve her. But after you have satisfied this supplication, you are further to know, that in the person of Felixana, who partakes in the miseries of Axiamira, you may render me either happy, or unhappy, and absolutely dispose of my life. So do then that my sanctuary may not be unlucky to me, and that the same place which I have chosen for my security, may not be the place of my punishment. If you will take the pains to see Felixana, she will let you understand what our misfortunes have been, and I doubt not, knowing your generosity, but her tears will touch you more than my words, and that her virtue will induce yours to succour us.  
Ulama.  
The reading of this Letter touched Ibrahim very effectually; and absolutely carried him to serve Ulama, whom he had always loved exceedingly; and then his own particular mishaps taught him but too well how to ease those of others. He willed the Slave, who had delivered him this letter, to be with him the next mo●ning, that he might be a witness of the care which he would have to satisfy Ulam●. After that he retired into his Cabinet, whither having sent for the chiefest of his Officers, he enquired of the general report of affairs; but whereas they believed that the grand Signior had told him all, and that he himself was not ignorant of that which every one knew, he spoke very confusedly to him of these things. Howbeit Ibrahim picked that out of his discourse which was so lamentable in those adventures, and which the grand Signior would not tell him. And truly it was almost an advantage to him, to be so afflicted with his own misfortunes, that he was thereby made the less sensible of those of others, when they were past remedy. For whereas he had always protected the persons whom this misfortune concerned, he had resented it more if it had fallen out at another time. But it is the custom of the miserable to have one prime apprehension, which in some sort comforts them, to see that they are not the alone unhappy in the World: Nevertheless Ibrahim received this news with tears; and this man continuing to recount unto him all that he knew, told him that there was a Princess prisoner in the Castle of the seven Towers (which is a place wherein none are ever put but persons of quality) who was by report very much afflicted. Ibrahim doubted not but that it was Axiamira, though he had believed her to be dead; and having named her unto him, he confirmed him in that opinion. The grand Visier, seeing he could learn no more, got him to bed with so much affliction, as he could not sleep all that night. As soon as it was day his Palace was full of visitants; the Beglerbei of Romania, that of Amasia, the Bostangibassi, and all such as were of any rank in this Empire, presented themselves at Ibrahims' rising. After the first compliments, some of them spoke indeed of the disorders of Persia, but none durst say any thing to him of that which concerned the Imperial Hown, or that which directly regarded Soliman, as well for the respect which they bore him, as for the fear they were in, lest being unable to discourse of it without tears, the Emperor should know of it, and take it ill that they should entertain Ibrahim with a matter, whereof he desired the memory might be extinguished: Neither durst Ibrahim speak to them of it, having perceived well enough, by the confused relations which had been made him, that Soliman was not absolutely innocent of the misfortunes which had happened unto him. This conversation than was spent with constraint enough; and the hour of the grand Signiors rising being come, the grand Visior went to the Seraglio, accompanied with that multitude which usually strive all they can to render themselves agreeable to him, who was so to their Sovereign. The grand Visier made haste to the Seraglio, to the end he might have the more time to go the same day to the Castle of the seven Towers, for to see the Princess Axiamira, who known not that she should see her Protector so soon: For at the very same instant, when as Ibrahim was thinking of her liberty, she was entertaining herself with Halima, the Governor's Wife of that Castle, whose inclinations were virtuous enough. She was well stricken in years, so that being sufficiently informed of all that had passed at the Port for a long time before, she could easily satisfy the questions which the Princess asked of her; who daily resenting the effects of Roxelanaes' wickedness, could not forbear complaining of her. The very same day, Halima going pretty early to bid Axiamira good morrow (for she loved her very much) she found her somewhat sadder than ordinary. Shall I never see you, said she unto her, in a quieter mind? and shall not time work that in your soul, which it doth in all the World beside? Ah! Mother (for so she called her) answered Axiamira, time vouchsafes not to work that effect in me, which all the afflicted find by it; for could the misfortunes which have lighted upon me be defaced out of my memory (which will never be) others do daily arrive unto me, and every moment of my life furnishes me with a fresh subject of sorrow; for indeed there is no justice in it, that I should survive so many generous persons, and even mine own hopes. Is there any new mishap befallen you, replied Halima; for the extraordinary langor which I perceive in your countenance, makes me, Madam, thus to demand the cause of it? It is this, answered Axiamira, that as if I had not effectual miseries enough to prosecute me, my very dreams do join with them in it; for during this last night I saw a dreadful woman, whom I took for Roxelana, that exposed me to the fury of four Tigers, which pursued me all the night long; at leastwise, me thought so. Now though I am not so scrupulous as to stand upon such like things, yet I confess to you, that this unpleasing illusion hath so lively imprinted Roxelanaes' true cruelties in my mind, as I cannot be persuaded but that the phantasm, which I see in my dream, resembles her. Doubtless it hath much deceived you, said Halima; for if her soul were as beautiful as her body, she would be one of the perfectest women on the earth. You have so often promised, replied Axiamira, to recount unto me by what artifices she could come to share the Empire with Soliman, and seduce so great a Prince as he is, that in the anguish wherein I am at this present, if you do not keep your word with me, nothing can charm my grief: For whereas I doubt not but you will acquaint me with some of her wickednesses, which as yet I have not heard of, it would be some comfort to me to understand them, that I may hate her so much the more, and that I may learn what land hath produced so strange a Monster. I will gladly satisfy you, answered Halima, and as I have told you heretofore, I know this History very well. For besides the principal things, which no man is ignorant of, I am privy to some particularities, that are not known to all the World, and that by the information of a Slave, who was Roxelanaes' favourite during that time, but was afterwards turned out of the Seraglio by her herself, in a fantastical humour, which makes her that she never loves any one thing long, and hath ever since lived with me. You shall hear then that which you desire to know, and which I have learned from this Slave, and some others who were well acquainted therewith: But in regard you have time enough to spare, I will intermix the History of her Father, which will not be unuseful for the intelligence of hers. Axiamira consenting to it caused Felixana to sit down by her, and Halima began to speak in these terms.  

The History of Bajazet and Roxelana.  
THey which know the birth, breeding, and first inclinations of Roxelana, cannot marvel at the last things which she hath done; but contrarily they would have reason to find it strange, if she had not undertaken any thing to satisfy her ambition, which is the only passion that reigns in her soul, and for which she sets all the rest on work; never making use of love, hatred, envy, and jealousy, but to satisfy that. Now to show you that she hath drawn this inclination from her Father, who brought her up, and confirmed her in the opinion, that greatness was the sovereign good of this life; and that to attain unto it, virtue and honour were to be despised. You are to know, that in times past Roxelanaes' Father was in reasonable good favour with the Emperor Selim, Father to Soliman; and that after the death of Selim, Soliman also had a great care of his fortune: And certainly he had rendered him one of the most considerable of this Empire, had he had as much fidelity for his Master, as he had address for to please him, cunning to conserve himself, and dissimulation to conceal his vices from a Prince who never had any, and who was never carried to any violence, but by that of love. But withal it must be acknowledged, that this passion hath often perverted all his inclinations; or at leastwise hath forced him to do things quite contrary to the sense of his soul, when as it is peaceable. But to come again to Bajazet (so was the Father of Roxelana called) after he had by an hundred artifices, which would be too long to recite, arrived at that height about Soliman, which I have told you; and that there was not any charge whereunto he might not have raised his hopes: It happened for his ill fortune, that Soliman sent him to carry his directions to Scutary, where the Beglierbei of Anatolia, who was there at that time, committed to his conduct the fairest Slave that ever was seen, for to present her in his name to the Sultan, to the end that if he adjudged her worthy to be of the number of those that are destined to be his women, he should receive her into his Seraglio. Bajazet accepted of this employment with joy, without any other design at that time, than to do a thing which he thought would not be disagreeable to Soliman, who was then in the prime flower of his age, and one of the goodliest Princes of the world. But when the day of his departure was come, and that the Beglierbei of Anatolia had put the Slave into his hands, who, according to the custom of those which are to be presented to the grand Signior, was most gorgeously set forth, he was so mightily taken with the sparkling of her eyes, as if the Beglierbei, who was named Amurath, had noted his carriage, he might well have known that he was too sensible of the attracts of beauty, to be made the conductor of a slave, that was able to subject the whole world; for as I have heard say, she was as fair as Roxelana, whom I have sometimes seen on the terrace of the Seraglio, which looks on the Sea, where ordinarily she is, when public rejoicings are celebrated. But certes it must be acknowledged, that Soliman is excusable for loving her, maugre her artifices, for indeed she is the greatest beauty that imagination itself is able to conceive. This Slave, of whom I speak, being then as fair as I describe her to you, and being remitted unto the conduct of Bajazet for so long a journey, he became so desperately in love with her, as notwithstanding the respect which he owed to Soliman, and without fear of the chastisements of an offended Prince, he resolved to possess her, and not to render her unto him; howbeit he resisted so dangerous a temptation for some time; but his wit, that was but too fertile in inventions, having furnished himself with one, which he believed was good enough to make his design succeed without danger, he thought of nothing else but of executing it; and behold the way which he took to bring himself to it. This Slave destined to the grand Signior, had been sold to Amurath, the Beglierbei of Anatolia, a little before Bajazet's arrival, by certain Pirates, who not so much as knew of whence she was, though by her pronunciation it was gathered that she was of Persia: but whereas her language was not understood of any one, and that it appeared also how she understood nothing that was said to her, he judged that she knew not they were carrying her to the grand Signior. So that using her with a great deal of kindness during all the voyage, and testyfying much affection unto her, she seemed to be comforted in her misery, at leastwise she shown a more quiet countenance. He took exceeding care then, that she might not understand by signs, that which she could not understand otherways; and whereas he had been sent upon a secret expedition, he was but little accompanied, which served very much too for the furthering of his design. When as they approached to Constantinople, he took his measures so right, that arriving too late, he seemed to be constrained to lie at an house that he had some four or five miles from the City, where out of jealousy he had caused a young woman to be kept, whom he had exceedingly loved; but indeed his intent was, not to enter into Constantinople, for a secret reason which I am going to acquaint you with. He arrived then at this Countryhouse, wherein none lived but that woman, an old Eunuch that looked to her, and two slaves that waited on her, all his retinue being at his house in Constantinople, where according to the permission of our Religion he had also two wives, with whom the imperious Alicola (so was she named that abode thus in the Country) could never agree. She was beautiful, and of a great spirit, but had such a disdainful look, and so ambitious an inclination, that there was need of Bajazet's humour for one to have had any love for her. This conformity which was between them did not for all that produce a reciprocal affection; for howsoever he had endeavoured to make himself be beloved of her for the space of a year and more that she had been in his hands, yet could he never do it: whether it were that she had a natural aversion for him, or that having found two other wives already in his house, which had all the authority over it, she could not endure to be the last; so it was, that she could not love him. She was a Persian by Nation, and by what adventure she came into Bajazet's hands I am not able to say; but it sufficeth to let you understand, for the intelligence of the History which I am recounting, that she was a Persian, and that as often as he spoke to her of his affection, she used to tell him, that when he was grand Visier she would promise him her good will: And her pride was so insupportable, as he had been constrained to separate her from his other wives, being also jealous of her, as I have already declared. Knowing then her ambitious humour, and the love of the fair Slave having almost extinguished that, which Alicolaes' rigour had much diminished before; after he had conducted this stranger into a chamber, and given the old Eunuch order to have a care of her, he entered into that of Alicola, who received him after the accustomed manner, that is to say, with a great deal of coldness. And whereas he thought that he should surprise her with that which he purposed to say unto her, he mused a little before he spoke; but she without losing of time demanded of him, how long she should continue a prisoner? whether he was resolved that she should always live separated from the commerce of the world? and that she should have no other entertainment but the view of a garden, and the noise of a fountain, whilst his other women, which were not worthy to be his Slaves, enjoyed all the pleasures of Constantinople? Bajezet finding this occasion so favourable, would not lose it; so that as soon as she ●ad done speaking, he answered her in this sort. Heaven is my witness, fair Alicola, said he unto her, that the discourse which I am going to make you, is rather an effect of despair, whereunto your rigour hath reduced me, than of any new passion; seeing it is certain, that if by a coldness, which had never example, you had not extinguished the fire that your eyes had kindled in my soul, I had never been sensible of love but for you only; and I should never have been capable of seeking to cure myself with an infidelity to Soliman, nor of changing of affection, by forgetting of yours. Alicola believing that Bajazet's discourse was but an artifice, to try if he could take her with jealousy, quickly interrupted him. Have I not told you above an hundred times (replied she) that love can never touch me without ambition? If you were a King, I should be jealous of your glory, and of your Crown; but of your person, in the estate wherein it is, I should never he: Think not then that I do give you marks of my love, in giving you any of my jealousy; love as long as you please, and whom you please, I will not appose it; for in fine, my heart cannot be touched but with magnificence and splendour, and not with tears and sighs. If you will give me leave to speak to you, answered Bajazet, I will let you know, that I have a mean to satisfy both your ambition, and mine; and it is so facile, that it depends on your will alone to be a Sultana, and to render me one of the chiefest of this Empire, and one of the happiest men of the world, by putting me in possession of a person that is infinitely dear to me. This discourse is so intricate (answered Alicola) that if you do not explain yourself better, I shall not be able to tell you what my will is; but in conclusion I assure you, that if so unlikely a thing should depend on it, I would soon get out of your hands, and would choose rather to satisfy your ambition, than your love; for if I were in a condition to make your fortune, mine without doubt would be at the point I would have it, and it may be as I deserve, that is to say extremely great. Bajazet, who would not displease her, protested once again, that if he had believed he could have moved her with time, he would never have been carried to that which he was propounding unto her: whereupon he related unto her, how Amurath had trusted him with a Persian Slave, which he destined to the grand Signior; how the remembrance of her rigour had made him sensible of the attracts of her beauty; and at last said unto her, whereas you are no less beautiful than she; are also as young; are known of few; have the same coloured hair; and of a like stature; I will present you to the Sultan in stead of her, who questionless will be taken with that inevitable charm, which I so cruelly have tried; And in this sort will your ambition be satisfied, as likewise my new passion; and if you be generous, you will in that estate remember, how I am born with this conformity of my humour to yours, to believe that one may do any thing to become great. Let that oblige you then for your own glory to take care of me; that a man, who hath loved you, may not be in a rank unworthy of that honour. Alicola mused a pretty while, then speaking with a more contented countenance; Is it in earnest, said she to him, that you propounded this unto me, or is it to discover my thoughts? and when as Bajazet had sworn unto her, that he spoke with sincerity; she said unto him in a more cheerful manner, at length you are come to that pass, as to be agrerable unto me once in your life. But before you rejoice me further, tell me, I pray you (continued she) what will he say, that gave you this Slave to present her to the grand Signior, when he shall know that you have retained her? He shall not know it, replied Bajazet, and I mean to carry this design with so much address, that no body shall ever discover it. The Eunuch, and the Slaves, which serve you, have testified their fidelity to me in other countries; and for those which are come with me from Anatolia, they cannot so much as suspect that you are not the Slave whom they have accompanied. For you are not ignorant, that assoon as one is destined to the grand Signior, she is treated with a high respect, and hath a veil cast over her face, which she never takes off but when she is alone; so that according to this order, they will not wonder to see you go out in the same sort; and whereas I purpose to have you wear the same habit which Amurath gave to that Slave, they will doubtless take you for her. And for language, you need not but seem as though you did not understand ours, and make use of your natural tongue, which is the same this Slaves is. It was in this fashion that Bajazet made an end of confirming Alicola in the hope of her good fortune. And to say truth, it must be acknowledged that this design was not ill imagined; for he was very sure that Alicola was not known at all to the great men of the Port, so that if it should happen that any one of them should be present with Soliman, when he should present her unto him, that would not discover him: Neither was he ignorant, that those which give Slaves to the grand Signior, never see them again after they are once entered into the Seraglio, so that if Amurath should chance to return unto Constantinople within eight days after, he could not find out the truth; since the grand Signior thanking him for his fair Slave, would not describe her unto him. But hear the success of this adventure; The resolution which I have told you of, being taken, Bajazet calls his old Eunuch; recommends fidelity and silence unto him; and after he had charged him never to speak of the change which he was going to see, he bids him present Alicoles' richest habit to the fair Slave, with all her jewels, thereby to oblige her to part with that which she had brought from Anatolia, giving her to understand by signs, that Bajazet would pray her to wear that which he then gave her the next day. The matter was executed as he desired, the Eunuch performs his commission; and as soon as the day gins to break, Alicola attired herself with care in the fair Slaves robe, forgot nothing of what she thought would be advantageous to her; and covering her face with a very thick vail, which reached down to her waste, she suffered not herself to be seen again, till she came before the grand Signior. In the mean time Bajazet, before he parted, goes to the fair Slaves chamber, labours to make her understand, that he will see her again shortly, and that in the mean space, she may command all things there: He calls the Slaves which served Alicola, charges them to have the same care of the person whom he leaves in their hands, as they had had of her whom he carries away, and never to discover that which they had seen. He adds promises of recompense to his command, and threaten of punishment, if they were so inconsiderate as to reveal the secret wherewith they were trusted. After this he causeth Alicola to mount into his chariot, where for the more respect he leaves her alone, and follows her on horseback, accompanied by those which had made the voyage of Anatolia with him, who never perceived but that it was the Salve, for as I have already declared, seeing her of the same stature, with the same clothes, and her face being covered, they could observe no difference. In this manner Bajazet arrives at Constantinople, goes directly to the Seraglio, and with a daringness which is incomprehensible to me, gives the Sultan to understand, that he was there waiting to present a Slave unto him from Amurath, Beglierbei of Anatolia, and to give him an account also of the voyage he had made by his order. Soliman, who was then in an age, wherein such a like news brought him as much joy, as that of a conquest, caused him to enter as soon as he was advertised th●●● of. Bajazet conducts his Slave in, and after he had delivered the letters which he had in charge, he presents her to the grand Signior, takes off the veil that covers her face, and dexterously places her in an advantageous light. Alicola for her part, does all that she can to render herself agreeable, and following her inclination, she believed that an hardy and confident countenance would be more pleasing to Soliman, than a modest shame-fastness. She beholds him then with boldness, endeavours much to encounter his eyes; and whereas she had an haughty and proud look, she seemed to be rather a victorious Amazon, than an infortunate Slave. But behold here, great Princess, the caprichiousness of fortune, who mocking at our prudence, makes it oftentimes serve for our ruin. At first, whereas So●iman hath always been very civil, especially with women, he beheld Alicola with an attention that gave her hope of the victory: and whereas she understood all that Soliman said, although she made show that she understood not the language, she was ravished to hear Soliman testify that he was much obliged to the Beglierbei of Anatolia, for having tendered him a present of that importance. And when as this Prince gave over speaking, to consider her the better, she imagined that this silence was already an effect of love. So that glorious of this conquest, and not able to retain all her joy in her heart, she could not forbear looking on Bajazet, as it were to tell him that her victory was assured. This hope proved for all that but ill grounded, for though Alicola was fair, though she was very young, and that Soliman was so too, this Prince, which could never be vanquished, either in war, or in love, but only by gentleness, felt not himself sensible of Alicolaes' attracts. He considers her, demands out of what country she came into the hands of Amurath, commends her beauty, professeth that few defects could be found in it, but at length for conclusion, he tells Bajazet, that stoutness did never please him but in war; and that there was something in his heart which did so mightily resist all the attracts of this Slave, as he could not be moved with her. Alicola, surprised with this discourse, could not choose but stroke her hand over her eyes to assure her countenance. Bajazet on the other side, who had never thought that Soliman could have refused a fair woman, and that feared nothing so much as to see his design fail, was so amazed, as he could hardly speak. Howbeit he had a spirit, that left him not long in unquietness; so that striving with himself, after he had answered to all the questions which Soliman had asked him, he assured him that the journey had made this Slave lose something of her beauty, and that if it pleased his Highness to see her again a few days after, it may be he would be better satisfied of her. Never a whit, replied Soliman, who thinking that Alicola understood not what he said, disguised none of his thoughts. But, continued Bajazet, may I dare, without losing the respect which I owe to thy Highness, demand of thee what I shall write to Amurath, to let him know what the defects of her are whom he had chosen for thee? Thou shalt tell him, answered So●●●● smiling, that she looks more like a soldier, than a woman; that she would be fit to conduct amazons to the wars, than to live in a Seraglio; that I should fear her valour would equal mine; that when I should give her marks of my love, she would give me some of her courage; that I hold her more capable to make prisoners of war, than prisoners of love; and that in conclusion, finding something redoubtable in her eyes, she hath possessed me with more fear than desire. I leave you to imagine what anguish the ambitious Alicola was in, it was such, as forgetting all things, she purposed twice or thrice to have spoken; and had she not been retained by the thought, that her undoing would have been annexed to that of Bajazet's, if she discovered the trick which they played Soliman, it is certain that she had given some marks of her resentment. And to make an end of enraging her, and Bajazet too, the grand Signior told him, that to do an act of justice in this encounter, he would put him in possession of Alicola, willing him to hold this present dear; for, continued he, in this sort I testify the esteem I make of Amurath's liberality; I recompense the care which thou hast taken in conducting this fair Slave to me; and I render her as happy as she deserves to be, since I bestow her on a man whom I love very much, and that without doubt hath some conformity of humour with her, if her physiognomy do not deceive me. How much Bajazet was afflicted with this discourse you may easily conceive, but though this adventure grieved him extremely, yet was it nothing in comparison of Alicolaes' rage, who by the changing of her colour shown but too much, that she had understood what the grand Signior had said, if he had marked it. Bajazet having perceived her unquietness, being dextrous, cast himself at his feet to keep him from seeing her, under pretence of rendering him thanks, and testified a great deal of joy for a thing that troubled him exceedingly. But fearing that in the end Alicolaes' grief would break forth, he withdrew as soon as possibly he could. Scarcely was he out of the Sultan's chamber, but she would have begun to cry out, and give some marks of her choler. He speaks very gently to her, represents to her, that she would undo herself as well as him, if by her imprudence she should give any notice of their imposture. She holds her peace, but not so much to obey him, nor to conserve herself, as because she was so suffocated with choler and rage, that she t●●ught she should have burst with it. Bajazet remounts her into his Chariot, an● without going to his house at Constantinople, he carries her back to the same place from whence she came. And whereas he rightly judged that she would not much care to conceal herself upon the way, he would take no body with him but he that drove the Chariot. As long as the journey lasted she was constrained to hold her peace, because Bajazet, who foresaw that she would say strange things unto him, road thirty or forty paces behind her; but when she was arrived at her chamber, and that Bajazet had followed her, with an intent to pacify her, what did she not say against him! against the fair Slave! and against Solim●● I might well think (said she beholding him with contempt) that a Prince unjust enough to love thee, would be yet more not to love me; but I take heaven to witness, that I will cease to be Alicola, or I will be revenged either on him, or on thee that is so dear to him. Bajazet seeing her in this fury, did what he could to appease her; made as though he had an affection still to her, and would have persuaded her, seeing Heaven would not let her ambition be satisfied, to live better with him for the future, than formerly she had done. But she, that was not in an estate to be wrought upon, answered him with so much pride and insolence, as judging it not safe for him to leave her at liberty in his house, he quitted her in choler, and commanded his old Eunuch to shut her up, and not to let her go out of her chamber, what crying or violence soever she should use. This order given, he went to see the fair Slave, whom the Jewels which he had caused to be presented unto her, had rendered more tractable. The kind entertainment which she gave him was a comfort to him against all Alicolaes' fury; and coming at last to consider, that in the manner as the matter had fallen out, he might possess this slave without concealing her, as he had purposed to have done; and that Amurath returning, he might also see her in his hand without offence, since he could say, that the grand Signior h●d bestowed her upon him, he was more contented than can be expressed unto you. But to abridge this discourse as much as possible I may, you shall understand, that Bajazet's submissions put him quickly in possessession of the fair Slave, whom he took to Wife according to our ceremonies; and that his imposture gave him a year of felicity: For though it vexed him to be constrained to keep Alicola shut up for fear she should discover him, yet was it but a light unquietness in comparison of the pleasure which he enjoyed in the possession of the fair Slave; who almost as soon as she was his Wife, became with child, which was no little joy to him, for that he had had no children before. Behold him then the happiest of men, according to his opinion, and in a condition to be no longer in fear. But he knew not that Tigers chained are always dangerous, and that one can never be so well secured of them, either with chains or grates, but that they are still to be feared. As things were in this estate, Amurath was recalled to the Port by the grand Signior, who seeing him, excused the bestowing of his Slave on Bajazet, and told him some of the reasons, which laughing he had willed should be written unto him: now though Amurath had not found any such haughty look in the Slave which he had sent, yet did he not for all that suspect Bajazet of deceiving him. Some days after his return he inquires after him, and learns that he is seldom at Constantinople, but when the necessity of his attendance upon Soliman required it; and that the love of a Slave, which the grand Signior had given him about a year before, possessed him in such fo●, as he was scarce any longer visible for his friends. This discourse touched Amurath sensibly; for having had apprehensions for her, which might be termed love, yet being at that time in no very good grace with the grand Signior, he had surmounted them, out of a belief that he should make an agreeable present to Soliman; but now knowing that she made up the felicity of another, his first sparkles began to kindle again. He had without any trouble at all understood from Soliman's one mouth, that Bajazet had this Slave, but not that Bajazet was enamoured of her. And this news so disquieted him, and moved him in such sort, as without further delay, and without discovering what design he had in the visit which he purposed to make, he s●● for●h on his way to go and see Bajazet in his retirement, with an intent to demand of him only one sight more of the fair Slave, who being much indisposed by reason of her great belly, had stayed Bajazet nine or ten days with her, so that he had no knowledge of Amurath's return. The house wherein he was at that time was pleasant enough, in regard of a fair Garden which opened into a Meadow, that had a little River running through it. This Meadow was enclosed with a wall, as well as the Garden, and the River went in and out of the Meadow by certain grates, expressly made for that purpose. It was i●●his delightful place that Bajazet was walking with the fair Slave to take the air, when as Amurath arrived there. As soon as the old Eunuch knew who he was, he opened him the gate, sent to advertise his Master, and would have had Amurath enter into the house, the more commodiously to abide his coming; but finding the Court to his mind, he would needs walk therein, staying for Bajazet. In the mean time Alicola, who had no other entertainment but to see through her window what was done in the Court, hearing it said that it was Amurath the Beglierbei of Anatolia, consults a little with herself, gets a slave whom she had gained, to bring her Ink and Paper, and with very great speed writes a Note, folds it up as small as possibly she could, and sends the suborned slave into the Court, to the end that if Amurath did not receive it when she should cast it down to him, she might take it up, and so keep the old Eunuch from finding it. This order given, she goes to the window, and so luckily for the furtherance of her design, that Amurath, being weary of attending, had sent the old Eunuch to hasten Bajazet away, or to know what hindered him from coming. Alicola seeing so favourable an occasion, and Amurath being then almost close under her window, she lifted up the grate, and cast the note so dextrously to him, that after it had touched his Turban a little, it fell upon his hand, and from thence to the ground. But as soon as Alicola had cast out her note, she let down the grate, so as he could but only perceive that it was a woman that had shut it. He imagined thereupon that this peradventure was the fair Slave which wrote unto him, and that she desired to get out of Bajazet's hands; in which thought he speedily took up the paper, and being about to open it, he saw written upon the outside, Be secret, and read not this note till thou comest to Constantinople, for it imports thee, and me too. This prohibition had not without doubt been of power enough to restrain his curiosity, had not the old Eunuch come running to tell him, that Bajazet would be with him presently, and how the cause of his stay was, that walking forth a pretty way off with the fair Slave, he had been constrained to return very softly leading her, in regard she was exceeding weak by reason of her indisposition. Amurath concealed his note, and perceiving it could not be the fair Slave, because she was with Bajazet, he could not tell what to think of this adventure. At the same instant Bajazet appeared, and the subborned Slave reentered into the house; o assure Alicola that her note was received. Amurath, salutes Bajazet, and the fair Slave lifts up her vail, as her husband and she had beforehand agreed; for they had been a good while advising as they came along whether it were fit that Amurath should see her, or no. Bajazet, after such time as the fair Slave had learned ●ur language, had recounted unto her the artifice he had used to possess her, the better to testify his affection unto her. According to the resolution they had taken then, she pulled up her vail, and said unto him, that she remembered well he had redeemed her from the Pirates; that she owed all her felicity to him; and that although she held herself the happiest creature in the world, yet was she grieved for his sake, that her defects had kept her from being agreeable to the grand Signior. This woman spoke thus with an apparent sincerity, so well counterfeited, as it had been hard not to have been deceived with it. And that which rendered her so dextrous was, for that she really loved Bajazet, who on his part made an hundred compliments to Amurath, assuring him that he was more obliged to him, than to Soliman, for the possession of a person which was infinitely dear to him; since if he had not had the goodness to confide in him, by giving him the conduct of this Slave, he had never been master of the happiness which now he enjoyed. Amurath answered to all these civilities with more liberty of mind, than he could have done, if he had not seen the fair Slave: For finding her somewhat altered, by reason of her sickness and being with child, his renewing flames extinguished in a moment, and tranquillity reestablished itself in his soul. Howbeit he marvelled with himself, that Soliman should find this woman to have a proud and haughty look; for though she had a great deal of majesty, yet was it q●●te contrary to that of Alicola; having very much sweetness and modesty in the air of her face. But as he knew, that one and the same thing is diversely judged of by the most part of the world, so he made no great reflection thereupon; and the sole unquietness about the note which had been cast him, could then trouble him. And whereas he had no more to do in that place, seeing the fair Slave touched his heart no longer, he shortened his visit, and after he had been two hours in the hall, talking of the reasons which had brought him back to the Port, he took leave of the fair Slave; for as for Bajazet, whereas he had purposed to return that day to the City, he thought he should be uncivil in not going along with Amurath, who did his uttermost to keep him from it; judging rightly that if they went together, he should not read his note till he came to Constantinople; but at length he was fain to give way to Bajazet's importunate civility. As they were in the Court ready to departed, Bajazet step● in a little to say something to the fair Slave, during the which Amurath stood looking on the window, from whence the note had been thrown him. And whereas Alicola was not gone from it, she changed her first resolution, lifted up the grate, and showing herself openly, she joined the charms of her beauty to her requests; for if you have observed it, all our houses are so low, that she was not far distant from him. After she had let herself been seen a while, she saluted Amurath after the fashion of the Country; and with a suppliant behaviour seemed to demand succour of him in some misfortune that was befallen her. Amurath finding her very beautiful, made sign to her, that he would do what she would have him, not being able for all that to comprehend aught in this adventure. But at last Bajazet came, and going away together, they arrived at Constantinople just as it was night. Bajazet waited on Amurath home, where having left him, he gave him the liberty to satisfy his impatience. He was no sooner alone than but he opened Alicolaes' note, which in few words recounted to him all Bajazet's imposture; his love to the fair Slave; the supposition he had made to Soliman; his treachery to him; and his rigour towards her, because (said she unto him) she had a mind too high and generous to love an unfaithful Friend, a Love● without constancy, and a perfidious Subject. You may imagine now how much Amurath was surprised with this discourse; At first he knew not whether he should believe Bajazet to be capable of so great a treason, or whether he should think that this incensed woman's spite had made her invent this trick, to be revenged of Ba●azet; But passing over again in his memory, how the grand Signior had told him at his return, that he had not accepted of his Slave, because he judged her more proper to conduct Amazons, to the wars: than to live amongst women in a Seraglio, and a great number of other things, which did not agree with the fair Slave: this consideration made him open his eyes, and scarcely doubt any longer of Bajazet's treason. Withal, he had observed, in the little time that he had seen Alicola at the window, how she had a proud and haughty look, so that this might be she whom Soliman had refused, as she delivered in her note. All these circumstances joined together, made him resolve to advertise Soliman of it. And though it was indifferent late, and that it was not the custom to come into the Seraglio at such hours, at leastwise if it were not to acquaint the Sultan with some intelligence of importance, yet caused he him to be advertised, that he desired to speak with him about a matter that was necessary for him to know: But Soliman being then in the women's Seraglio, it was impossible for Amurath to see him till the next day. Now whereas Ba●azet believed himself more cunning than all the world besides, he never suspected that he should be discovered; and the opinion he was in that he could not be deceived, served not a little to deceive him. The morning was no sooner come, but Amurath returns to the Seraglio; presents himself to Soliman at his rising; shows him Alicolaes' note; confirms it to him by all the circumstances which I have declared; and at length persuades this truth so strongly unto him, as S●liman no longer doubting of it, ordains him to go the very same day and seize both upon Alicola and the fair Slave; and to give order for the securing of Bajazet in the mean time. Amurath, exceedingly contented with this commission, parts speedily from the Beraglio to do things necessary for the execution of his design; which could not be so secret, but Bajazet was advertised, that he was preparing of a chariot to return to his house. The first thought that came into his mind was, that Amurath was become enamoured of the fair Slave, and that he would take her away by force. He departed then in all possible haste, with an intent to remove the fair Slave from the house, and it may be to rid himself of Alicola, not knowing in so cross an adventure, in what place to put her for his own security. Now though he was more diligent than Amurath, and that by a nearer and a by-way he arrived there a little before him, yet could he not execute all that he thought to have done; for Amurath, who had not stayed for his chariot, was gone away with twelve armed men, so that he arrived at Bajazet's house, a little after he was entered into the fair Slaves chamber, whom he found still in her bed: so that pressing her to make herself ready with all speed, and remounting unto her in few words the occasion of his fear, he thought of nothing but of getting her from thence, and carring her to Constantinople, where he believed Amurath durst not enterprise such a like violence. But he was very much surprised, when as his Eunuch came and told him that Amurath, who knew not that Bajazet was there, required to enter in the behalf of the grand Signior; that he espied through a chink of the door that he was accompanied with armed men; and that to have means to advertise him of it, he had told him that he went to fetch the knies to open him the gate. Bajazet began then to change his opinion, for he was sure that Amurath durst not make use of the Sultan's name, if he had not been authorised for it. Behold him then in the belief that he was discovered; & the better o clear himself therein, he would have entered into Alicolaes' chamber, whom peradventure he would have killed, but he found that she had shut it. For when she saw the fright the old Eunuch was in, and that she doubted not but her note would produce some violence, she and her suborned slave had barricadoed their door as much as possibly they could; foreseeing well that Bajazet would turn all his fury upon her; as indeed, he did what he could to have broken up th● door; but seeing he could not prevail, and fearing lest Amurath should enter, he took the fair Slave, who had made herself ready in haste, crossed through the Garden, to get out at a back Gate, without knowing as than which way to fly; and the better to amuse Amurath if he should follow them, they shut both the gate of the garden, and that of the meadow after them. On the other side, Amurath who would attend no longer, caused the outward gate to be broken open; and scarcely had Bajazet shut that of the Garden, when as he was in the house. Never was there a greater disorder seen; the fair Slave was all in tears, and fearing she should not be able to go, by reason of her great belly and her indisposition, she besought Bajazet to abandon her, and to think of nothing but saving himself. But unwilling so to do, he laboured to give her some hope, and to go as fast as she could, until they might get up both on a horse, which the slave that was faithful unto him, was bringing them. In the mean time Alicola cried out that they would murder her, to the end that Amurath hearing her cries, might the quicklier enter into the house, and more easily follow them that were fled. But at last Amurath being got in, and Alicola having opened him her chamber door, acquainted him, how from her window that opened upon the Garden, she had seen Bajazet escape out of a back-gate; and that it were good he should be pursued with all speed. Amurath presently enjoins some of his men to do so; and charges them, if they met with him, not to kill him, howsoever he defended himself. They do as they are commanded, but finding the gates shut, they were a long time before they could break them open; so that when they were without any obstacle, they were not in case so easily to find that which they sought for. They separated themselves, out of the hope to meet with him the sooner, and omitted nothing of whatsoever they believed might be of use for this search. Two of them indeed encountered the slave which had followed them, and that was resolved not to re-enter into her Master's house; howbeit she served but to turn them out of the way, which undoubtedly had brought them to those fugitives. For not knowing that she belonged to Bajazet, they asked of her if she had not seen a man carrying away a woman? She nothing daunted told them, that they had passed by her a little before; that leaving the ordinary road they had taken on the right hand over the fields. This slave said thus unto them in such an ingenuous manner, as they believed her; so that abandoning a way which would have made them encounter what they sought for, they took another which led them far from it. After so vain a labour, seeing the night approach, without having any hope to perform that which had been commanded them, they returned to Amurath, who in giving liberty to the ambitious Alicola, was constrained to lose his own, such power had the charms of this woman over his soul. For whereas she had remembered how disadvantageous her proud humour had been to her, at such time as she appeared before Soliman, she constrained her inclination, and adding artifice to her beauty, she was so pleasing to Amurath, as he could not resist her. She related to him at length all that she had written to him in brief, and calling him her Deliverer, with her eyes full of tears, she aggravated all the rigours which Bajazet had used towards her, after that the fair Slave was in his hands. She was careful to let him know, that Bajazet could never surmount her, either with submissions or menaces; and casting herself at Amurath's feet, to implore his protection to Soliman, lest he should punish her for being an actor in the supposition that was made him, she moved his heart to pity; and he himself believing that this was nothing but compassion, found it afterwards to be love. But at last Amurath seeing by the return of his people that he had no more to do in that place, and that his Chariot was arrived a good while before, he placed Alicola in it, together with the slave that had been faithful unto her; and though it was exceeding late, yet they set forth on their way towards Constantinople. Amurath caused also the old Eunch to be brought along, that he might be made to confirm Alicolaes' discourse. When they had marched a pretty while, the night surprised them, which was so obscure and dark (for neither Moon nor stars were to be seen) as he that drove the chariot, having never been at this place before, lost his way in such sort, as after he had traveled half the night in hope to find it again, he was constrained to send one to his Master to advertise him of the fault he had committed. Amurath seeing the Chariot stand still, believed, so little had he thought of his way, and so much had he been taken up with his new passion, that they were come to Constantinople; but he was much amazed when he understood the truth of the matter, and being somewhat angry, he alighted to see if he could know the place where they were: but in fine, it was impossible for him to discern, whether in continuing that way, they should not go further from the City, or no. In this uncertainty, he sent two of his men to see if they could find out any houses, either to lodge there, or to learn of them what course they should hold: but these two having lost their way themselves, after they had found that they sought for, could not recover the place where they had left the Chariot. In the mean time, Amurath having no news of those he had sent, and not knowing what to do in so cross an accident, resolved to stay the day break, or the return of his men, before he would go on, fearing he should wander still further, and fall into some precipice. This resolution taken, he Marshaled all his men round about his Chariot, and advancing forth some Sentinels, he commanded them not to speak, nor to make any noise, that they might the more easily hear any that came to them. This order given, he placed himself near to the Chariot, with his Scymitar out of the Scabbard, to the end he might not be surprised if any body should assault him; craving pardon of Alicola for the incommodity she received. They had almost past the whole night in this unpleasing stay, and the break of day began already to whiten the clouds a little on the Sunrising side, when they heard the trampling of an horse, and suddenly after the cry and fall of a woman. Amurath being instantly advertised thereof, thought it might be the fair Slave; they went then afoot to that part where they had heard this voice, with as little noise as possibly they could make; it was not long before they heard a man speak, without distinctly understanding what he said. But at length approaching nearer to them, they heard how that woman conjured him to abandon her, and to think of nothing but his own safety; how he saw well that it was heaven's pleasure she should be cast away, and that it was impossible for him to save her. At the same instant that man's horse having got lose came amongst those of the Chariot, who thereupon made so great a noise, that Amurath, who thought it was not fit to give Bajazet (whom he knew by his voice) any leisure to put himself in defence, advanced foremost of all to that place where he had heard him speak; but he had not gone far, before he found the fair Slave at his feet, though he could not well discern her in regard it was not yet light enough for it; Bajazet did what he could to resist them that pressed him to yield himself: And whereas he knew not certainly whether these were Amaraths' men or no, he told them that they did not know him, and that assuredly they were mistaken. But when he heard Amurath bid the fair Slave no● be afraid, for that she should have no harm, his despair was then so extreme, as leaving those from whom he defended himself, he made directly towards Amurath; but before he could arrive at him, he was seized upon behind by those three against whom he had fought, who presently took his Scymitar from him. Behold him then in the power of his enemy, as well as the fair Slave: for thinking to do the best for their safety, they had hid themselves most part of the day in a wood, with a resolution to travel all night; but their horse chancing to stumble, the fair Slave fell, as I have declared, and by her crying out discovered where she was. Amurath seeing how lucky the losing of his way had proved unto him, and that it began to be light enough to discern where they were, found he was not so far from Constantinople as he thought he had been, so that considering how he might best convey his prisoners to the City, he desired Alicola that she would make the rest of the journey on horseback, to the end he might for his own security put Bajazet and the fair Slave into the Chariot. To tell you, Madam, in what a taking Bajazet was, when he saw Alicola come out of the Chariot, and behold him with a strange insolence, I dare not undertake, neither the reproaches which Amurath gave to Bajazet for the Treason he had committed. But at last, after they had said all that the divers passions which mastered their souls, inspired them with, Amurath caused Bajazet to enter into the Chariot, and the fair Slave with him, whose fall had brought her more fear than hurt, for she had but a little bruise upon one of her arms. Alicola mounted then on a horse, and her slave on another; all Amurath's people marched on both sides of the Chariot, and he with Alicola road four or five paces behind, as it were leading the prisoners, whom he conducted in triumph. They arrived in this sort at the gates of Constantinople, where having made Alicola alight, he sent her, together with Bajazet and the fair Slave to his Palace, and there after he had caused them to eat, he went to give Soliman an account of her voyage. As soon as the Sultan was advertised of the state of things, he commanded these offenders to be brought before him, which immediately was executed. You may imagine the several apprehensions that all of them had: Bajazet was in a great deal of confusion to appear before his Master whom he had betrayed; before a friend whom he had deceived; before a woman whom he had loved, and that was going to convince him of perfidiousness; but that which most afflicted him was the grief of the fair Slave. Alicola was exceedingly vexed to appear before a Prince that had despised her; yet did she comfort herself with the thought that she deprived him of a man whom he loved. Amurath had his heart filled with his new flames, which made him to be not without unquietness; for he feared that Soliman punishing Bajazet would also punish Alicola, since she had helped to deceive him. As for the fair Slave, the fear alone of losing Bajazet made her shed tears: But at length, they arrived all before Soliman. And whereas none of them durst so much as lift up their eyes, it was the Sultan's pleasure they should speak separately; and first he commanded Bajazet to render an account of his do. Whereupon falling down on his knees, he spoke much after this manner; for I think that I have heard him repeat it over above an hundred times. As love only hath been the cause of my crime, so love only must also be my defence; for, my Lord (said he unto him) I know but too well, that reason and justice are absolutely against me. I have contemned the counsel of the first, and I have not been afraid of the second; I have betrayed a Prince, who is not only my lawful Prince; who is not only the greatest Prince of the World; but who, for the greater aggravating of my fault, is a Prince which hath always loved me, and whose goodness hath been so great towards me, as it hath scarce set any bounds to my hopes. Now if after so great a crime, it is requisite to consider the rest which I have committed, I have betrayed a man that confided in me; I have abandoned a woman whom I had loved long, and have made her pay very dearly for the testimonies of my affection, with unheard-of rigour; and to say all, I have abused the simplicity of a Slave which was destined to thee, and depriving her by my artifices of the honour of being thine, I have wronged her more than all the rest. In fine, my Lord, which way soever I turn me, I see the marks of my crime; but if notwithstanding it would please thy Highness to consider by what violence my reason hath been forced to carry me to such strange things, thou wouldst doubtless have some pity of my misfortune. For if it be true that we have some compassion of a man whose imagination hath been troubled with melancholy, why shall we not have it of a man whom love hath bereft of his understanding? What imports it whether the cause of his folly be interior, or whether it proceeds from without? so it is, that I have not failed, till love had seduced my reason; till I had lost my judgement, till my will was no longer in mine own power; till all my desires persuaded me to the crime which I have committed; till all my senses betrayed me, till occasion favoured my design; and till nothing apposing my felicity, I had not strength enough to despise it, as I was obliged to do, seeing I could not enjoy it without being the most faulty of all men. In conclusion, if thy goodness will permit it, all my crimes shall be comprised in one alone word, I have loved. I do not for all that refuse the chastisement which I merit, and to that end I lay my head at thy feet. Bajazet had no sooner made an end of speaking, but Alicola said unto Soliman with a bold and firm voice; as for me, the crime which I have committed is of such a nature, as I can never repent me of it, and the only grief I have left me is, that I have committed a crime to no purpose. I know that in desiring the honour to be thy Slave, I wished for a good which I was unworthy of, but I hoped that if my beauty was not able to touch thy Highness powerfully, yet the greatness of my soul might please thee; and I attended from mine eyes, but this only advantage to be received into the number of thy Slaves, remitting my good fortune to the knowledge, which time should have given thee of the thoughts of my heart. Finally, my Lord, I was showed a way, which might have led me to glory; I followed it, and would follow it still, had I new means presented me to do it. But if nevertheless so noble a design deserves chastisement, I may say, that the punishment which I have already received for it is greater than the evil I have done. I will not reckon up the rigours of Bajazet, for I am too generous to aggravate his fault before a Prince, whom he hath but too much provoked; but I will only beseech thy Highness to remember those cruel words, and that bitter jeer, which thou usedst to Bajazet, when as thou didst refuse me: words which I understood but too well, though I made show that I understood them not. And to punish myself also in thy presence, I am but to call to mind, how thou saidst that I was fit to conduct Amazons to the wars, than to live in a Seraglio; that I looked more like a Soldier, than a woman; that thou fearedst my valour would equal thine; that when as thou wouldst give me marks of thy affection, I would render thee some of my courage; and at last that I was more capable of making prisoners of war, than prisoners of love. Ah, my Lord, if thou knewest what a punishment that is, which a woman doth resent, that is of an high spirit, and thinks herself fair, when she hears such like things spoken of her, thy Highness would not be troubled how to chastise me, seeing it is certain that I carry a tormentor about me in my memory, which follows me every where, and will persecute me eternally. Howsoever I am most ready to obey thy Highness, and to die, that thou mayest be revenged of me, since I cannot live to be thine. Herewith Alicola made an end of her speech, and the fair slave began hers; and though she spoke not one language perfectly, yet was not her discourse the least couching. The rest (said she to Soliman) have laboured to execuse their crimes to thy Highness, but for me, who may not black mine innocency voluntarily, since I cannot partake with Bajazet in his crime, I must at least wise partake with him in his misfortune. I must (I say) endeavour to make mine innocency appear, only to obtain pardon for his crime. But the misery wherein I find myself is so great, as I cannot think to save him this way, but in rendering him the more faulty. I must say then, my Lord, that when Amurath put me into his hands, I knew not that I was destined to thy Highness; he conducted me to his house, and retained me there without ever suffering me to understand so much; and having rendered me all the testimonies of love and respect, which I could have desired from a man that had not had me in his power, I acknowledge that his affection moved me; that I gave him mine; and that in the wretched condition, whereunto fortune hath reduced me, I esteem myself happy to be his wife, I acknowledge also, my Lord, that he hath confessed his crime unto me since; but whereas this crime was a testimony of the affection he bore me, and that our marriage had made me unworthy of being able to repair his fault, by restoring me into thy hands, would not thy Highness have blamed me for coming to accuse my husband of a fault, which he hath not committed but out of an excess of love? After this, my Lord, I do not think thy Highness can doubt of mine innocence; and not doubting of it, I dare hope that thou wilt not punish me more cruelly than Bajazet, by letting me live, and putting him to death; and that contrarily thou will have the goodness to grant me his pardon. For, my Lord, what reason would there be, that I who am absolutely innocent, should have the same destiny that the guilty have? Is it not enough that fortune hath forcibly carried me from out of the arms of my parents, to put me into the hands of Pirates? that I have been sold for a Slave; and to say all, that she hath deprived me of the honour of being thine; but that by the order of the greatest, and most equitable of Princes, I should also be deprived of an husband, who is to me in stead of Parents, of country, of treasures; and who in conclusion makes up all my felicity? Consider, my Lord, in this occasion, how his crime and mine innocence are linked so together, as thou canst not be just towards him, without being unjust towards me, and how the other way, thou mayst be just towards me, and clement towards him. But to carry presumption as far as it can go, or to say better, the confidence which I have in thy goodness, I humbly beseech thee again, that as it is I who have rob the unhappy Alicola of Bajazet, and that in consideration of me she hath suffered so m●ch, so thou wilt likewise in consideration of me pardon him. But if nevertheless thy Highness is otherwise resolved, grant me at leastwise the grace that I may die with Bajazet. The fair Slave mollified the heart of Soliman; and as he was about to have spoken, Amurath made haste to say to him; I know very well that I am the accuser of these offenders, and that in some sort too I am a party with them; so that, my Lord, I am to be their defender also in this occasion, and do most humbly beseech thy Highness to pardon them: It is an act worthy of Soliman not to be revenged on them that are in his power; and the true felicity of Kings is without doubt to make up that of their subjects. It will be long of none but thyself then, if thou be not satisfied, in rendering us all four happy. For, my Lord, if thou leavest the possession of the fair Slave to Bajazet, he will certainly esteem himself happy, as well as she. As for me, my Lord, if the purpose which I had to tender thee a present, that I thought would be agreeable to thee, merits any recompense, as thy highness hath been pleased to assure me, I beg the pardon and possession of Alicola, who by what I have noted in her discourse, is more sensible of ambition than love; so that enjoying by thy bounty, a rank considerable enough about thee, she will have means to be satisfied, and I too; seeing I am constrained to acknowledge, that my opinion is not like unto thine, for the beauty of Alicola; and that I have been a whole day the most amorous of all men. Soliman seeing him about to proceed, would not permit him, and reaching his hand to him smiling, I am glad (said he unto him) that we are not of the same opinion for beauty, since thereby I am enabled to satisfy thee. And for thee, said he to Bajazet, I remit the offence thou hast committed against me; but know, that if Love combated for thee in thy discourse, the goodwill which I have always born thee hath far better defended thee in my heart. Then turning him to the fair Slave, he commended her generosity, and the affection which she carried to Bajazet, assuring her that he would never trouble her rest. As for Alicola, he told her, that to render the conquest, which she had obtained, more worthy of her, and more capable of contenting her, he would make Amurath grand visier. After this he said to Bajazet, he was sorry that for the preservation of his authority, and for example sake, he could not let him live at Constantinople; but in regard it was impossible the matter should not be divulged by those who had accompanied Amurath, he must needs resolve to absent himself from the Port, for fear lest this importunity should give others the boldness to commit the like, or greater faults than this. That he did not condemn him to go out of the territories of his Dominion, but he would have him abide in one of the Islands of the Achipelago, and there lead a private and particular life. To represent unto you the joy of these four persons, would be an impossible thing, however so it was, that after they had rendered a thousand thanks to Soliman, and that he had made them all recount the several thoughts which they had had during the time wherein he had been deceived by them, they departed away. Amurath conducted Alicola home to his house, where he married her the next day, and Ba●azet went to give order for his affairs. Behold, Madam, how this matter passed; for my husband, who as you know is older than I, hath understood it from Bajazet's own mouth, whose friend he had been a long time together. Have not you told me (said Axiamira) that you knew all these things from a slave that was Roxelanaes' favourite, whom she afterwards turned away, and that hath served you a great while? Yes indeed, answered Halima, for so much as concerned Roxelana in particular; but whereas her History depends on her father Bajazet's, I was willing to recount it unto you: And you yourself will doubtless judge, that it was not unuseful for the intelligence of that which you desire to know. You have very much obliged me, replied Axiamira; for certainly this adventure deserves to be known; but let us come, I pray you, to that which regards Roxelana in particular. I shall tell you then, said Halima, that after Bajazet had well thought of the place that he was to go and inhabit in, he chose the Town of Chio, which bears the name of the Island wherein it is built; it is situated in the Archipelago, and being only tributary to the Grand Signior, is certainly one of the most pleasant Islands in the world, either for the fertility thereof, for the sweetness of the climate, for the beauty of the buildings, for the courtesy of those that inhabit it, or for the liberty of conversation, which is greater in that place, than in all the rest of this Empire. The cause of this liberty is, for that this Island is inhabited by all sorts of Nations, so that of the diversity of their customs a perfect one is made which holds a little of all the rest. It was in this blissful abode then, whither Bajazet went to find out a refuge, after his banishment. I have told you he had two Wives at Constantinople, but whereas he loved none but the fair Slave, he gave them a piece of money, and restored them to their parents, according to the permission of our Laws, and carried along with him only the person whom he loved. He laded a vessel then with his goods, and in the end arrived prosperously at the Isle of Chio; where he was scarcely settled, when as the fair Slave was delivered of a daughter, whom afterwards he called Roxelana, and is the same whose adventures you desire to know. Bajazet, as I have declared to you, was of an ambitious humour, so that after he had for a while led an idle life, and that a long possession of the fair Slave had quenched all those flames in his heart, ambition began to kindle hers again, and re-assumed her former room in his soul. He termed the place of his retreat a prison; he bore his exile unquietly; and calling to remembrance all the great hopes which he had had, he was troubled with a continual remorse for what he had done, and anguish of mind that never abandoned him; for the more he sought how to re-establish himself, the less likelihood he saw for it. In the mean time the little Roxelana grew up still, and she might be about four years old, when as Bajazet considering her upon a day, in the midst of a great assembly, where every one admired her springing beauty, and took pleasure in beholding her; he heard one ask her what she would most desire in the world? she strait answered without sticking at it, that it should be to make her father rich and powerful. This was no sooner spoken by her, but Bajazet coming as it were out of a dead sleep, took a resolution, which I will relate unto you. And consider I pray you, how a weak beginning hath many times a long and dangerous consequences the little Roxelana was not more beautiful that day than at other times, howbeit her father's anguish had been so great, as one would have thought he had never taken notice that she was the fairest and wittiest child that ever had been seen; for as soon as he had opened his eyes, and that the acclamations which were given to Roxelana had made him perceive she was a Masterpiece of Nature, his heaviness diminished, and all his industry and care was no onger, but to endeavour to make her wit as dextrous as her beauty was charming. And truly it was not hard to bring her to what he desired; for as she had all the beauty of her mother, so had she all the inclinations of her father. And whereas they are perfectly discerned in that innocent age, she that acquainted me with all these things, and that lived with her both at that time, and afterwards in the Seraglio, hath told me, that in her rendrest infancy, she had an imperious spirit, which could not endure to be controlled by any body. She would always be mistress of all the other little girls that played with her; and her very play was dextrous still, and malicious. She told me further, that she was never seen to weep, nor ask for pardon, neither did ever person tell a lie with more confidence. She was curious to know all things, and one of her greatest delights was to see beasts fight together. This cruel humour was for all that so well concealed, by the gentleness of her look, as she seemed to be the most amiable child that ever was beheld. I leave you to judge, Madam, whether Bajazet finding so toward a disposition to receive his instructions, did not make up an accomplished work. He did not teach her to be virtuous, but only to be careful to seem so. In her youngest years he laboured to frame her to a graceful behaviour, and to entertain her always with great hopes; to promise her that one day she should be rich, and that she should have stately Palaces, to the end that he might insinuate into her betimes, that Greatness was the sovereign good: and that so desiring it with passion, she might be the more easily carried afterwards to do all things necessary for the acquiring of it. When she had attained to the age of eleven or twelve years, and that she had a forward wit, able to apprehend his maxims, he began to speak more plainly to her, and to tell her, that being born with no common beauty, she was to make herself an extraordinary fortune. But as it was the office of the eyes to obtain conquests, so it was the office of the wit to conserve them. That all things which are gained by violence, are to be retained by address. That it was time for her to learn to know herself, and to know others; to the end that being accustomed to apply her mind to the divers humours of those she conversed with, she might one day be capable of thoroughly disguising her thoughts: that she was not to live so out of a base compliance, and with no other design than to please; but only to attain to some thing that was great. With such like discourses as these did Bajazet instruct Roxelana, whose inclinations were but too much carried to dissimulation. Nevertheless it is true, that these dangerous lessons, which she willingly learned, were combated by the wisdom of her mother, whom I have always called the fair Slave, because my memory could not give you her name. This woman was good and virtuous, and did all that she could to make Roxelana resemble her, as well in the qualities of the soul, as in the features of the face: which Bajazet perceiving, and having in vain forbidden her to reprehend her daughter for her bad conditions, he fell into such a hatred of her, as he could not endure her; and having looked upon her in former times as the object of his love, he considered her no longer but as an obstacle of his ambition. But to keep her from destroying that which he had established in the young heart of Roxelana, he thought it would be requisite to make her hate her. And to that end, he dextrously persuaded her, that her mother standing yet upon her beauty, was jealous of seeing hers surpass it; that her reproving her, was an effect rather of hatred than affection, and that therefore she should beware of harkening to her Remonstrances; there needed no more to stifle all the motions of Nature in so depraved a spirit, and to carry her to insolency. Roxelana, to obey her father, was to do no more than follow her own humour, but to content her mother, she was to fight with all her inclinations. The first was the easier, and made her hope that it would produce great things; and the other being harder, and without other recompense, than that which gives us the satisfaction to do what we ought; she had not much ado to resolve upon the despising of virtue, and embracing of vice. Behold her then abandoned to her own sense, and to the evil counsels of Bajazet, and the fair Slave almost reduced to be a Slave to her daughter, who within a while used her so cruelly, that she fell sick with grief upon it. Now to make a trial of what she could do in dissimulation, as long as there was any company with her mother, she seemed respectful, affectionate, and obedient; but as soon as they were gone, she mocked openly at her goodness, and with an hundred bitter jeers, struck a dagger into the heart of her that had given her life. This prudent woman was for all that so good as not to publish the cruelty of her daughter, who in the opinion of all them which saw her, was as virtuous as beautiful. Bajazet seeing so fair a beginning in Roxelana, caressed her extraordinarily, and by this cruel proceeding still advanced the death of her, whom he had loved so much before. At last, that deadly moment, wherein she was to leave this life, being arrived, this infortunate one called to her the Slave, who hath recounted all these things unto me, and that had wit and some virtue, and secretly commanded her not to abandon her daughter after her death, because it might happen that this first heat of youth being over, she might peradventure be capable of following the counsel which she had given her; that for this effect she prayed her to do two things; the one was, not to bewail her death, for fear it should oblige Roxelana to turn her away; and the other, that she should not directly oppose her will, for fear of incensing rather than correcting her; but to wait upon her till she was of a more reasonable age. This S●ave promised to perform all that she desired, and indeed kept her word with her. Presently thereupon this woman died, and left Bajazet in full possession of Roxelanaes' heart, who with feigned tears testified so much grief for the loss of her mother, as she moved all them to pity that saw her, though in her mind she was very joyful. She lived two years in this sort after the death of her mother, being then about fifteen; during which time she was beloved of all the young Gallants where she dwelled; she persuaded them all that she loved them, without engaging herself for all that in any thing; and taking delight in giving them great hopes, to put them into despair afterwards, she made some dye with grief; others killed one another by means of the hatred that she sowed amongst them, and the jealousy which she herself gave them, when as they importuned her, and that she would be rid of them. And all this with so much address, as all the world believed her to be innocent of all these crimes, and attributed i● to nothing but the excess of love which her extreme beauty had begot in the heart● of all those that beheld her. But at length being arrived at the age which I have noted unto you, Bajazet called her to him one day in private; and after he had told her, that the time was then come wherein he was to reap the fruit of his travels, and she to put in practice that which he had so often taught her, to the end she might that way become the chief of all the Orient. Roxelana answered him, that he was but to explain his intention unto her, and then he should be sure to have it executed. Whereupon he recounted all his History to her, which she had never understood well before, and after that elevating his voice, and taking her by the hand, Thou seest then, my dear child, said he unto her, that love did heretofore undo my fortune, and that a Slave which I took from the grand Signior, took from me all my hopes, and banished me from my Country. But to find out my re-establishment by the same way that caused my undoing, love, and a voluntary Slave shall restore me into grace with Soliman. And not to conceal my thoughts from thee, I purpose to present and give thee to the Grand Signior, leaving the rest to fortune, and thy address. I know that this Prince being advanced in age, is become yet more sensible of love, than he was fifteen years ago, when as he was but nineteen; for out of the design which a long time I have had, I have carefully informed myself thereof. He is still young, he is handsome, he is full of spirit, he is courageous, he is liberal; and what is most considerable, he is one of the greatest Princes of the world. If thou makest good use of the lessons which I have given thee, continued he, and of those which I will give thee, thou mayest become Sultan●, and crown the rest of my days both with honour and wealth. Bajazet stopping here, Roxelana answered him according to his desire, and assured him, that if she cou●d be received into the Seraglio, she would make no doubt of the rest: and for a conclusion, she so pressed him to part away, that in a little after having found out a Vessel which was bound for Constantinople, he embarked himself in her with his daughter, and the slave to whom her mother had recommended her; who had so insinuated herself into her affection, as she had often believed her in things which contraried her inclinations. At length they arrived at Constantinople, and went to the house of one of Bajazet's ancient friends, where the day being come, in which he purposed to present Roxelana, her slave helped to dress and set her forth, being glad to see her going out of the hands of Bajazet, for that she was persuaded there could be no place in the world where she would not be better than with him. But whereas the habit of the women of the Isle of Chio is more advantageous than ours, it was in this fashion that sh● was attired; and I have heard it said, that one could not see any thing more magnificent, or more beautiful than she was in that estate. She had on a waistcoat of silvered Damask, with two rows of Diamonds set upon a welt of curled cloth of gold, which bordered it all about; the petticoat was of the same stuff, and adorned in the same manner, and according to their fashion plained very thick both before and behind, and smooth on the sides. Her petticoat came not but to the middle of the leg, because in the Town of Chio they much affect to show the handsomeness of it, as well as that of the foot, which is very neat; for they ordinarily wear high Cork shoes of fine leather of the Levant, sharp at the toes, and all garnished over with Goldsmiths work enammelled. Roxelana had also an apron of cloth of gold, a little shorter than her petticoat, and which was tied behind with two silver strings, whereat hung two tassels of gold. She had upon her shoulders, as it were to fasten on the sleeves of her waistcoat, a great many of ribbons of divers colours, and athwart her neck a scarf of Tiffany hanging baudrikewise, and closed together with Diamonds, in such sort as all her neck was seen, about the which she had a chain of Pearl, with a little jewel of Emeralds. The attire of her head was of cloth of silver, plaited with a great deal of address, and enriched all over with Pearls and Diamonds: This head-tire was of a round form, and standing up very high behind; and to hold it on the better, she had according to the use of the Country a little gold fillet with which it was made fast behind on her neck, where hung two tassels of the same in the midst of a great number of knots of several colours, which fell carelessly upon her shoulders. And on the cop of her forehead, descending a little into a peak, she had a dressing of Cobweb Lawn streaked with gold, which also was fastened behind, leaving her hair hanging down in curls on either side of her cheeks. In this manner was Roxelana attired; but before he led her to the Seraglio, Bajazet would give her his last instructions; wherefore he took her aside, and willing her to hearken attentively unto him, he spoke to her much after this sort; for the slave, who hath told me all these things, overheard him without his perceiving it. It is time, my daughter, for me to discover unto you the means whereby you may arrive at the point which I desire. I have indeed said something unto you at several times, but now I am resolved to hid no part of a Science from you, on which I have a long while meditated. Before I show you then the ways you are to hold, I must propound unto you the term of your pretensions, which ought not to be only to please the Grand Signior; to make him in love with you; to be a Sultana, as many others; but indeed to become his wife. For although none of the Ottoman Emperors since Bajazet the first hath been married, because they would not share their power; yet ought not this obstacle smother your desires, but contrarily it ought to inflame them the more. You perceive then, continued he, that in so great a design, there is need of a great deal of prudence to carry one well unto it. The general precept which I will give you upon your entering into the Seraglio, is, never to do, nor to say any thing, which tends not to this design, either directly, or indirectly; and to remember, that all the ways which may conduct us whither we would go, are permitted us by true reason. Never amuse yourself then in consulting, whether that which you do be just; but indeed whether it be advantageous for you. Consider not, whether you hurt any, but whether that which you do may serve your turn. For in fine, you go to a place where you will meet with envyers, and enemies, and no sooner shall Soliman be stricken in love with your beauty, but you will be hated of all the Sultanaes'. Prepare yourself then to know how to make a right use of all these things; and so do, that the hate which is born you may destroy them, who would destroy you. Never undertake to be revenged, but when you can absolutely do it; yea, and if it be possible, revenge yourself so as you may not be suspected for it. Moreover, Alicolaes' adventure makes me remember, that Soliman is pleased with modesty, wherefore so carry yourself, as it may be very much seen in all your actions; and beware of trusting any body. Regard every one as your enemy, caress all your fellows, and love none of them; make not their defects known to Soliman, but in seeming to excuse them; be careful to let him understand by some other the malice which they bear you; be liberal to them that are about the Grand Signior; be very submissive and pleasing to him, until you know that you are absolute Mistress of his heart; for in fine, you must serve, that you may reign; but then, you must change your stile, and by some artifice, which you may invent according to the time and occasion, oblige him to marry you. And after that, whereas I have told you heretofore, how that which is gained by violence, aught to be conserved by address, in this encounter, that which you have gained by address, must be conserved by violence. You are to undo all those that would hurt you, and not to spare either Iron, fire, or poison, to maintain the power whereunto you shall be arrived. In the mean time, to facilitate the matter, and to procure you friends out of the Seraglio, it will be requisite for you, when you are once there, to win Soliman with tears of tenderness to render my fortune happy, assuring him that you cannot be perfectly contented, so long as your father is not so too. If you behave yourself in this sort, said he unto her, you shall be sure to be very quickly the chiefest and most powerful of your sex, and the happiest creature that ever was. Bajazet had no sooner made an end of speaking, but Roxelana said to him smiling, that to do all those things she had no need of his counsel, but was only to follow her own inclinations, which would carry her to more yet than what he had told her. He embraced her then wholly ravished with joy to see her in this resolution; and before she departed, she assured her slave, that ere it were three days she would get her into the Seraglio for to wait upon her, as indeed she failed not to perform it accordingly. But at length Bajazet conducted his daughter to the Seraglio, and caused Soliman to be advertised, that there was a man attending to present a slave unto him, without letting him know who he was. For whereas the Officers had been all changed since his departure from thence, and that he had not been seen in sixteen years at Constantinople, he did not fear he should be named to Soliman. The matter fell out as he desired; and the grand Signior, very luckily for his design, happened to be in the best humour of the world, by reason he had received news of a great Victory which he had obtained over the Christians. Wherefore he presently commanded, that this slave, and he which brought her, should enter. When Bajazet first appeared, Soliman knew him not, whether it were for that time had altered him, or that his eyes and heart were so fixed on the beauty of Roxelana, as he did not consider him. But as soon a● Bajazet had cast himself at his feet, and that he had begun to speak, the tone of his voice made him call him to mind: He did not interrupt him for all that, but looking still on Roxelana, he harkened to Bajazet, without turning his head towards him. Roxelana on her side appeared with so modest a Majesty, and so charming a sweetness, as it had been very hard to discern the motions of her soul in her eyes, and not to be strucken in love with such powerful attracts. But whilst Soliman takes in so sweet and so deadly poison, Bajazet spoke to him in these terms; I know very well, my Lord, said he unto him, that it is a crime in me to present myself before thee, after I have been banished; and that if thou be'st not the most indulgent Prince of the World, thou wilt not permit me to give thee reasons for it, which may excuse me. But since thy silence seems to accord me so much, I shall let thee know, my Lord, that this young Slave whom thou seest here, and whom I present to thy Highness as a thing that appertains unto thee, is the daughter of that fair Slave whom I presumed to retain for myself, though she were destined to thee. Reject her not, my Lord, since though she be the daughter of an offendor, yet is she so too of a woman that belonged unto thee, and whose virtue hath passed into her as well as her beauty. In fine, it is a sacrifice, which I offer up unto thee, to expiate the crime which heretofore I committed, and that also which at this present I commit. Consider, I beseech thee, that having rob thee of one slave, it is but just that I should render thee another; but with this difference, that the former was thy slave by violence, and that this same is a voluntary slave: That the other had been in the hands of Pirates, and that this same hath been always conserved as an offering, whereof the purity ought to deface the blackness of my faults. But if nevertheless thou judgest her unworthy of this honour, I am most ready to give thee both her life and mine own, rather than resolve to live any longer absent from thy service, and to spend the remainder of my days without contributing aught to thy glory. When Soliman saw that Bajazet had made an end of speaking, he cried out, reaching forth his hand to him, O happy was that theft of thine, since it was the cause of thy now rendering me an inestimable treasure! For I profess unto thee, that I never saw any thing so beautiful as thy present. Then turning him to Roxelana; and for thee, fair maid, said he unto her, be assured that in losing a father, thou findest a lover; and that in consideration of thee alone, I will give Bajazet his liberty again, and restore him to all his former charges and honours. Roxelana made no other answer thereunto, than with a profound respect; but Bajazet was so overjoyed with so happy a beginning, as he thought he should never have done rendering thanks to Soliman. At last, after some other speeches, the grand Signior caused one of the Governesses of the women of the Seraglio to come to him, and remitted her into her hands, with order to lodge her alone, and in one of the fairest lodgings in the women's quarter. And out of a particular grace, he commanded to be given unto her the very same day, great store of jewels, apparel, sumptuous householdstuff, and money, with six slaves to serve her. And whereas she seemed to regret one which she had, the Grand Signior caused her to be instantly brought in unto her. But I had forgot to tell you, that when she was separated from her father, she affected to seem good and sensible; the tears came into her eyes, she looked after him as far as she could see him; and with this feigned testimony of natural affection, she touched the heart of Soliman yet more; for whereas her tears were without bitterness, they did but make her show the fairer. But consider, I pray you, how deceitful and ill-assured humane prudence is, especially when it works against reason and equity. Bajazet had all his life-time been mastered by two mighty passions, love, and ambition; the first made him lose his fortune, when as he betrayed Soliman, and the other made him lose his life; as if the divine Justice would not let him enjoy a good, which he had acquired by a crime: For he had not been eight days reestablished in his charges, and Roxelana in the Seraglio, when as being gone to visit the Bassa of the sea, who was then at Pera, where the Arsenal and Magazine of all Maritime things were, he arrived there just as they were ready to try fifty Cast-pieces, which were to be used in some shipping that was shortly to be set forth. And whereas the Bassa would be present in person at this trial, it was in this employment that Bajazet found him. After the first compliments, the Bassa told him, how that which he was going to do, was as much to congratulate his happy return to the Port, as to acquit himself of the duty of his charge; whereupon he commanded fire to be given: But to show that the justice of heaven would punish Bajazet, the first piece burst asunder, and in the midst of two thousand persons, and some four paces from the Bassa of the sea, a shiver of that Cannon picked him out, and carried him away, with such violence, as he was almost reduced into powder, so strangely were his limbs dispersed. And that which is yet remarkable also in what I deliver, is, that he was the sole man, I do not say of them that were killed, but of them that were hurt, and how that was the only piece that burst in sunder. Behold, generous Axiamira, in what manner Bajazet enjoyed his hopes, and the recompense which he had for all his crimes. The news of his death was soon carried to the Seraglio; Roxelana shown a great deal of sorrow for it; and out of a sense of interest she was really grieved thereat. But in a few days, the marks which the Grand Signior rendered her of his affection comforted her. For whereas she did not regret him, but because she had believed him to be useful for her greatness, when as she hoped that she might attain thereunto without him, she quite forgot him; Yea and was glad that she was discharged of the care of his fortune, and to have nothing to think of but her own. Roxolana had not been fifteen days in the Seraglio, but she so absolutely possessed the Grand Signior, as none of the rest of the Sultanaes' could pretend to a favourable regard from him, but by speaking well to him of her; or that he knew they had been somewhat gracious with her; which possessed them with no little jealousy, and no less spite. But that which vexed them more was, that they could not find occasion to missay of her amongst themselves, whereby they might at leastwise have been eased with this weak remedy. For she was excellently fair; she seemed extreme gentle; she had an agreeable and entertaining wit; she was civil to the Sultanaes'; liberal to the Slaves; most respectful of Soliman; and in all her actions affected an extraordinary devotion. She lived a while in this sort, without any cross in her good fortune, and with so much satisfaction to Soliman, as there was never any joy equal to that which appeared in his humour. But at length the Sultanaes' seeing that the love of the Grand Signior was not allayed by the enjoying her, and that contrarily it augmented daily, they combined together, and forgetting all the jealousy and secret hatreds which they had had one against another, they endeavoured to destroy the person that destroyed them. She that incited them the most thereunto, was the chief of the Sultanaes', the mother of Mustapha, who at that time was brought up in the Seraglio, and was then about six or seven years old. This wo-woman, who had a great and generous spirit, could not endure to see, that she, who had given Soliman a Son, and a successor to the Empire, should be less considerable than Roxelana. It was by her interposition then, that all the other Sultanaes' joined with her, and promised never to omit any opportunity that might annoy Roxelana. This counsel, or to say better, this conspiracy, could not be so secretly made, but that Roxelana, by her liberality to the Slaves, which brought her presents from their Mistresses, and that much affected her, was advertised thereof. But hear, I pray you, in what manner she opposed this storm which was rising up against her, and I am sure you will acknowledge, that she was then as ingenious, as she hath been wicked since. This conspiracy nothing daunted her; she seemed neither more unquiet, nor more pensive; and all the change which she brought to her life was, that she never saw Soliman, without speaking some good of one or other of the Sultanaes'. She praised the beauty of one, the humour of another, the gracefulness of this, and the stature of that; but particularly she seemed very much to esteem of the mother of Mustapha; and so caressed that young Prince, as it had been impossible at that time to have foreseen by the apparences that which hath since fallen out. And whereas she knew that the mother of the Sultan had a great power over him, she won her wholly to herself. Now Roxelanes design was, to destroy by this artifice all the ill which the Sultanaes' could say of her to Soliman. For said she, when he shall see that they, for whom I do so many good offices to him, would hurt me, he will have them in horror, and think the better of me. The matter failed not to succeed as she had imagined it. For one of the Sultanaes', whom Roxelana had the most commended, having understood that she had sent a little coffer full of jewels out of the Seraglio, which is not permitted in that place, she advertised Soliman of it, who scarcely harkening to what she said, called her ingrateful and disacknowledgledging; and without obliging Roxelana to the justifying of herself, he sent her a present of importance. After this, none of the Sultanaes' durst venture upon any such like adventure. But Roxelana, who was not contented with keeping them from doing her hurt, and that placed her supremest felicity in doing hurt to others absolutely gained to her three Slaves, two Eunuches, and suborned also two of the Sultanaes'; who went jointly together and advertised Soliman of this secret counsel which was held against Roxelana, without making show for all that of her knowing any thing of it. Soliman recompenses them for this advice, commands them not to speak of it; and whereas this crime was too general, he resolved to punish them who had committed it, and by one only way, which was to make Roxelana, richer, greater, and more happy than she was. He sends for her, recounts unto her that, which she knew better than he, by telling her what had been done against her; and in conclusion assures her, that nothing can destroy the affection he bears her. Roxelana, after she had heard this discourse, entreats Soliman to pardon them this crime who had committed it; and with a false generosity so powerfully charms the heart of this noble Prince, as it was more at the disposing of Roxelana, than of Soliman himself. But to come to the end of my discourse, a little while after she found herself with child, and the time of her lying down being come, she brought forth Soliman a son, who was named Mahomet. Until than she had never thought of any thing but maintaining herself; but when she came to consider that Mustapha would reign one day, and that according to the custom of the Empire, her son should be strangled; this awaked her former ambition, and all her designs tended no longer but to be speedily the wife of a Prince, of whom she was the absolute Mistress; to the end that in this illustrious estate, she might the more easily destroy Mustapha, for her son to reign. And mark a little whereunto ambition carried this woman, who thought already of setting the Crown on the head of a child, who knew not as yet that he was living! howsoever, it was not out of the absolute power that she had over the mind of Soliman, that she attained to her desire, but by an artifice which I am going to relate unto you. She knew that in one of the books of our Religion the Sovereign is forbidden the possessing of a free woman; and she knew also that in another, a Slave is not permitted to build either Mosque or Hospital, or to do any other thing that may be available for the other life. Upon this foundation she built her design; and knowing that the Muphti carried a great stroke with the Grand Signior, she wone him with presents, which she sent him secretly; and so being sure of his assistance when she should have need of it, behold how she proceeded therein. She sent to the Muphti, who is the man that takes cognizance of all matters of Religion, to let him understand that she had an extreme desire to build a Mosque, and an Hospital, where all poor Pilgrims might be lodged and fed; but before she would undertake it, she would fain know whether this would be pleasing to the Prophet. The Muphti answers according to her desire, and as she knew that he would answer; that the thing would be pleasing to the Prophet, but absolutely unprofitable for the second life of her soul, because she was the Grand Signiors Slave, and that whatsoever she had being Soliman's, and not hers, all that she should do in this estate would be to the advantage of the Grand Signior, and not of her. This answer received, she feigns to be exceeding melancholic, she deprives herself of all her ordinary delights; and when the Grand Signior visits her, she lets herself be surprised still in some muse, whereat she seems afterwards to be somewhat grieved, and to strive to break herself from it. At last she plays her part so dextrously, as the Grand Signior began to be troubled upon his observing this change of her humour. At first he was contented to ask of her what it was that made her so sad? but she answering that it was an effect of her temperature, it put him into further pain. He inquires of the slaves that serve her, whether any one hath given her cause to complain? they answer, that they know of none; but how it is true, that their Mistress had been for a good while so melancholic, as they did not think she could live long in that sort. For indeed when Roxelana was alone with them, she always seemed exceeding sad, to the end that being the first deceived, they might the more easily deceive others, foreseeing rightly, that Soliman would inquire of them that served her, what she ailed. But because she would not be always in constraint, she shut herself up the most part of the day in her Cabinet; and this unaccustomed retirement served yet very much to make it be credited that she had some hidden grief. Soliman being advertised then of all these things, began to fall into extreme unquietness: he conjured Roxelana to acquaint him with the cause of her sadness, and not to conceal the secrets of her heart from a Prince, who had given his so absolutely to her; he told her, that if any one had wronged her, he would revenge her for it; and in conclusion, that there was nothing which she might not obtain from him. Hereunto she answered, that the respect alone which she bore him, kept her from obeying him, and that she had always rather die than displease him. So pressing a discourse failed not to work the effect which she attended from it; Soliman was mightily moved with it, and beholding her with eyes, which shared with her in her grief, he swore that he would not part from her till he knew what it was that troubled his felicity. She resists yet a while, he presses her the more, and speaks to her with such earnestness, as she thinks it was high time to discover herself. She falls then at his feet, beseeches him to pardon her, and at last frames a discourse filled with artifice, whereby she causes him to comprehend, that having had a design to employ the treasures which he had given her, for the honour of the Prophet, and her own salvation, in building of a Mosque and an Hospital for Pilgrims, she had understood that she was incapable thereof, because she was his Slave, whereas for that purpose one ought to be of a free condition. That she confessed unto him, how the fear of the second life had so seized upon her soul, as she doubted she should not be able to answer the two black Angels; and how the thought that she could never be able to do any thing for her salvation, troubled her in such sort, as it was impossible for her to hope for one hour of tranquillity in all her life. Soliman hearing her say thus, lifts her up, complains for that she hath so long concealed so just a desire from him, and in the end assures her, that within a short time she should be contented. As indeed the next day he sent her a Patent of her Affranchisement, which he had caused to be drawn up in the most authentical form that is used amongst us, and withal ordered so much money to be delivered unto her as she would demand. Behold her then the most contented woman that ever was, seeing so prosperous a beginning of her enterprise. She thinks no longer in appearance of any thing but her buildings; she communicates her designs to Soliman, who on his side esteemed himself very happy in having been able to cure the mind of Roxelana of so black a melancholy. But when as a little after he would have her come and pass the night with him at his lodging, he was much abashed to see her, being alone with him, cast herself at his feet, and with her eyes full of tears, and a voice interrupted with sighs, hear her say unto him; I know full well, my Lord, that thou art the Master of our goods, of our bodies, and of our lives; and that thy will ought to be absolute Mistress of ours. But, my Lord, it now concerns the Ordinances of Heaven, the Precepts of our Prophet, and the Law which we profess, which will not permit thee to dispose of me being free. Give heed then, my Lord, to that which I say, and draw not the indignation of Heaven upon thy head, for a crime whereof I should be the cause: For rather than I will resolve to commit this fault, I am capable of taking away mine own life, so much do I fear lest it should prove unlucky and fatal unto thee. As long as I was thy Slave, I never resisted thy pleasure, knowing that both divine and humane Laws commanded me unto it: But now that I am free, and that therefore I cannot be thine, without transgressing the Law, I think that I do as I ought in this my opposing thee. Soliman was so surprised with this discourse, as he knew not what resolution to take. His passion was strong, but his respect to matters of Religion was also very great, and the tears and prayers of Roxelana fortified it in such sort, as he resolved to obey the Law, if it proved to be so. He sends for the Muphti, propounds the question to him, and commands him to examine it well. But this man who had already been made, and instructed by Roxelana, tells him that this question was fully resolved; that the Sovereign could not possess a free woman without marrying her, or without committing an horrible crime. He reports the passage of the Alcoran to him, fortifies it with reasons which he had premeditated, and at last leaves Soliman persuaded that he cannot possess Roxelana without sinning. Behold him then, in a grief which is not imaginable: For Roxelana had chosen out a time when as he was in the violence of his love. The respect of the Law retained him, the heat of his passion solicited him, and the example of his Predecessors, and the Maxims of State, kept him from satisfying himself by a lawful way: For never since the ignominy which Tamerlan caused the wife of Bajazet the first to suffer, none of the Emperors had married, for fear lest by such a like adventure, their enemies might a second time do that wrong to the Majesty of the Empire. What shall I do, said Soliman, in so cross a conjuncture? If I possess Roxelana without marrying her, I shall be faulty towards her, and culpable towards heaven. If I do marry her, I shall make all my Empire to murmur at it, I shall break an Order established by my Predecessors with reason, and introduce a Novelty, which it may be will cause some revolt in my Estates. Now again, if I do not marry her, and resolve not to possess her injustly; will Soliman be satisfied, after he hath satisfied Religion, and reason of State, which ordained him so to do? Ah, no, no, he cannot live without Roxelana, and whatsoever comes of it we must be inseparable; and without offending Heaven, I must render her happy in contenting myself. If my Subjects murmur at it, I shall tell well enough how to bring them to their duty again, and teach them to submit unto the pleasure of him, to whom they are but Slaves. This resolution being taken, he imparted it to Roxelana, who, as you may judge, rejoiced excessively at it. Howbeit she in appearance received this news with a great deal of moderation, saying, that she thought herself unworthy of so great an honour. But within a few days after Soliman married her publicly with a solemn pomp. She sent presents to all the Sultanaes', but the Mother of Mustapha, to decline the seeing of her that day, feigned herself sick. Now to do her the more honour, and to declare her more absolutely Queen, and Mistress of all the Sultanaes', he caused a great Hall to be most sumptuously furnished, where at the one end he made a Throne of four steps to be erected, covered all with cloth of Gold, and two Cushions of the same stuff, upon which sat he and Roxelana, who had a Crown on her head, and her Gown set all over with Diamonds. Upon the second degree of the Throne was the Mother of Soliman, who loved Roxelana as herself; and upon the two lowermost, sat the sisters and daughters of the grand Signior, for he had three by two of his slaves. Things being in this estate, all the Sultanaes' came one after another richly apparelled, to do obeisance to Roxelana with an high respect; and for a mark of their dependence, they all brought magnificent presents, and placed them some four paces from the Throne where Roxelana sat. Divers of them brought Mands of Gold full of Flowers; others, Vases of Emeralds replenished with Essences; some, little Coffers, garnished with precious Stones, and filled with Perfumes; and after they had left their presents at the foot of the Throne, they went and placed themselves in order on both sides of the Hall upon their knees, as it were to do homage to the new Queen. All these Sultanaes' having remained so a while, an hundred young children, which are brought up about the grand Signior, came out of a particular grace to the women's Seraglio, where this ceremony was performed; and being arrived in the Hall, they began to dance, and to sing somewhat to the glory of Roxelana; and being retired, all the Sultanaes' went to kiss her Robe, and then her hand, which she held out unto them. And for a mark of their slavery, and her liberty, she gave to each of them a chain of Diamonds; and so returned in the same order as they came, carrying in their hearts as much envy and jealousy, as Roxelana had joy. As for the mother, the sisters, and daughters of Soliman, they conducted Roxelana to the Grand Signiors lodging, where they left her in the height of her felicities, and retired to the old Seraglio through a door that opened near upon Soliman's chamber. Until than fraud and artifice were the only things which she had employed to arrive unto the point she had desired; but alas, how well did she in this estate remember the bad lessons which her father had given her! when as he had told her, how that which was gotten by address, aught to be conserved by violence. For she no sooner saw herself the Wife of Soliman, but she would needs share with him in his power, and be acquainted with all the affairs of the Empire; she banished from the Port such as were not pleasing to her; and for fear lest the Muphti, whom she could not make greater than he was, should reveal to some one, that her good fortune was not so much an effect of her devotion, according to her own saying, as of her artifice; it was thought that she suborned one of his slaves, and caused him to be poisoned; for he died suddenly; and some have conceived that he himself was ware of it, because that having been sick not above an hour after supper, when as he could scarce speak for the violent pains that he felt, with much ado yet he said, that Roxelanaes' Crown cost him his life, whereupon he presently died. After she had secured herself on that side, she turned her eyes to Mustapha. I think I have told you, that in the first year of her being in the Seraglio she brought forth Soliman a son, named Mahomet, but I am to let you understand further, that in the four following, she had also three sons and one daughter; the next after the eldest was called Bajazet, the third Selim, the last Gianger, and the daughter Chameria. She had been then five years in the Seraglio, and four the Wife of Soliman, when as they spoke of sending Mustapha forth from his Mother, because he was twelve years old, which is the furthest age wherein men are permitted to abide in the Seraglio. And whereas Roxelana saw how this young Prince promised great matters, she feared it would not be always so easy to destroy him, who alone could keep her children from reigning, when he should be out of the Seraglio, as when he was in her hands; whereupon she plotted his death, and for that effect, the same day that he was to departed, and the last meal that he was to make in the Seraglio, she wrought in such sort, as there were served up unto him certain fruits that were poisoned, and which he exceedingly loved (at leastwise the slave, who recounted these things unto me, believed so much) but whereas the Prince was very much grieved to part from his mother, and to see the extreme sorrow she was in for it, he never thought of contenting his palate; and perceiving that his mother did eat nothing, he besought her not to afflict herself so much, and that she would eat something for the love of him. Saying so, he presented her with some of those empoisoned fruits, which were prepared for him, he little dreaming of any such thing. The poor afflicted Mother, thinking it a crime to refuse her son, takes the fruit which he presents her with, and to content him, eats it with her eyes all bathed in tears. But the infortunate Mustapha known not that he gave death to her who had given him life; and that this crime which he committed so innocently should be one day severely punished in his person, though he were never accused for it: Having been in this occasion, like those innocent offerings, upon whom in times passed amongst certain Nations the crimes of all the people were charged. The poison which Roxelana had caused to be prepared was slow, to the end it should make no noise; and that when Mustapha should be out of the Seraglio, and Soliman should be told that he was sick, she might make him believe, that change of air had caused this malady. But destiny would not have the matter go so; for in fine, not to prolong this discourse any further, Mustapha went out of the Seraglio in good health, with no little grief to Roxelana, who had been advertised that he had not eaten of the empoisoned fruit. As for the mother, that never troubled her; for though she fell sick the very same day, and died a month after, no body believed there was any thing extraordinary in her death; because Roxelana had caused it to be bruited, how the sorrow for Mustapha's cloignment was the cause of it, and how since that day she had never been well; as indeed she lied not: and this was so generally believed, as the sick Sultana herself said so much to them that came to visit her, she never suspecting any wickedness. Behold, Madam, Roxelanaes' first persecution of the Prince Mustapha: Indeed it is true, that he was not sensible of it, for he never knew any thing of that which I have told you. Now you must not imagine, that this violent desire which she hath always had to destroy Mustapha, whereby her children may reign, is a sense of affection for them; she hath not so legitimate a design, and the only thought which she hath, is to remain the mother of an Emperor after the death of Soliman; because she knows very well, that this quality gives always a great credit to those which possess it; and brings them into veneration amongst us. I should never have done, if I would relate all her wickednesses unto you. But at length Mustapha in spite of all her artifices lived, was brought up with great care, married an excellent Princess of the blood of the ancient Kings of Capadocia, whom he loved passionately, and proved, as you know, as excellent a Prince as ever was. And the hate which she bore him could not keep the Prince Gianger from having as much good will for him, as she had aversion. But to strengthen herself still the more, as soon as her daughter had attained the age of thirteen years, she got Soliman to marry her to the traitor Rustan; who for all that hath not forborn often betraying herself, for he seeks his own greatness, and not hers. Behold, Madam, what the first wickednesses of Roxelana have been, for as for the rest, you know them but too well. And it may suffice, that I have only shown you her inclination. This woman never encountered person that opposed her violences, but the grand Visier Ibraehim, who ever since he hath been amongst us, hath had so much power with Soliman, as she could never, he being the most virtuous of men, make any of her wicked devices succeed, either against him, against Mustapha, or Gianger (for he loved them both dearly) until such time as for our ill fortune, he went away, some six months ago, upon a secret expedition, whereof all the world talks diversely; for seeing the mischiefs which have arrived by his absence, it is feared lest she hath caused him to be murdered by the way. It being very certain, that if he had been here, the rage which she had long shut up in her heart, had not broken out so deadly as it hath done. Alas! said Axiamira interrupting her, how much hath he whom you speak of been wished for in vain of the Prince Gianger! And how often hath he spoken to me of him with a world of praise! But mother, continued she, you have recounted so many things unto me, as Soliman me thinks should be above an hundred years of age, and yet he seemed not so old unto me on that unhappy day wherein I saw him. It is, answered Halima, because I having enchained two Histories in one, and begun to speak of Soliman at the age seaventeen years, your mind, by the length of my narration, and the number of things which I recounted, hath thought that which you say. But if you please, I will let you see the contrary: Soliman was seaventeen year's old, when Bajazet put the supposition of the Slave upon him; at the end of sixteen years, when Roxelana was presented unto him, he was thirty and three, she fifteen, and Mustapha seven: So that if you are ignorant of all these things, you will find, that Roxelana is not above seven and thirty years of age, Mustapha was nine and twenty, Gianger eighteen, and Soliman is fifty and four, though he seem not to be more than forty. And that which is strange in this Prince is, that he is at this present of a more amorous humour, than he was in his younger years. I shall not have much ado, answered Felixana, who had not spoken yet, to believe that which you say; and I know but too well by mine own experience, that there are men in whom age doth rather stir up passions, than appease them. With such like discources, Halima endeavoured to divert the Princess' melancholy; but remembering that she had not eaten any thing of all that day, she went to give order for the serving up of dinner. On the other side Ibrahim, who had not forgot the design which he had, and the request of Ulama, after he had spent part of the morning at the Divano, which was held that day, and the rest of it with the Grand Signior, without speaking of any other thing than the war of Persia, he returned to his Palace, there to take along with him the Slave which Ulama had sent to him, that he might carry him to the Castle of the seven Towers, whither he went with an intention to ease the miseries of others, since fortune would not let him find a remedy for his own.    
The end of the fifth Book.   

IBRAHIM: OR, THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The Third Part.  

The First Book.  
WHen as Ibrahim arrived at the Castle of the seven Towers, where Axiamira and Felixana were prisoners, he commanded the gate to be opened to him, as they used in times past to do, when he came to visit Prisoners of State. But whereas the Governor of that place had not understood of the grand Viziers return, there had been no order taken for his entrance; howbeit his people had no sooner advertised him of his being there, but he came to let him in himself, and to crave pardon for making him stay so. Ibrahim, having accepted his excuses, sent him to advertise Axiamira of his arrival, and to know of her, whether he might have the permission to see her. This man failed not to obey the commandment he had received, but this news so surprised Axiamira, and the imagination, that she was ready to see a man, whom Prince Gianger had loved so much, troubled her in such sort, as being but in a weak and languishing state of health, the violent motion of her thoughts h●d like to have made her fall into a swoon. Not finding herself then in case to entertain Ibrahim, she sent her dear Felixana to excuse her unto him, and to desire him to pardon her, if she were constrained to retard a thing, which she desired so passionately. Felixana acquitted herself of this commission with a great deal of address, and entertained Ibrahim at Italima's lodging. But after the illustrious Bassa had received Axiamira's civilities, and had told Felixana, that coming but to offer her his service, he should have been very sorry to incommodate her, he perceived the unquietness, which appeared in the face of Felixana. For whereas he had commanded Vlama's Slave to follow him, she had no sooner saluted Ibrahim, but casting her eyes on this Slave, she changed colour. And scarce harkening to the Bassa's compliment, she considered this man, whom she was persuaded she knew, without daring for all that so much as believe absolutely it was he whom she thought it was. Ibrahim seeing her in this incertainty, was willing to draw her out of it, and addressing his speech unto her, as he led her to the window; I perceive very well, amiable Felixana, said he to her, that this Slave is not unknown to you, but to take you out of the doubt wherein I see you are, I will let you know, that this Slave hath not changed his Master, and that his Master too hath not changed his Mistress. And to confirm unto you, continued he, that the valiant Vlama is still the Lover of Felixana, read this which he hath done me the honour to write me; to the end I m●y afterwards the more easily persuade you, that I came hither with a purpose to render you all the services you shall desire of me. Saying so, he presented her with Vlama's Letter. I know, my Lord, said she unto him, taking it, that I shall do you wrong in desiring to have mine eyes confirm that unto you which your words have assured me of; but, my Lord, I am so accustomed to see my miseries every day increase, and Fortune for a long time hath so obstinately persecuted me, that you are to pardon me the doubt I am in of my happiness; since it is in me rather an effect of my sense, then of my reason. Whereupon she opened the Letter, which straightway she knew to be Vlama's hand; and having read it over with a great deal of satisfaction, Ibrahim caused the Slave which he had brought with him to approach, who casting himself at Felixana's feet, would have kissed her robe, but she reached forth her hand unto him, and commanded him to rise. Halima seeing all these things would have gone out of the chamber, but Felixana perceiving it, called her back again. It is but just, said she unto her, that as you have been the only consolation which I have found in my misfortunes, so I should not conceal from you the succour which Heaven sends me after many miseries. Halima obeying Felixana's pleasures drew near again, and saw Vlama's Slave, after he was risen, give her a Letter, and then say unto her; You shall see, Madam, by that which my Master writes you, that I have order to recount unto you all that you desire to know of his life; to render you an account of his actions; and to assure you that this illustrious Bassa, said he, pointing to Ibrahim, is the only Protector that you can have. Of this protection she is so sure, replied the grand Visier, as she cannot doubt of it without doing me an injury. In the mean time Felixana unsealed Vlama's Letter, and having opened it, found this written.  
ULAMA'S Letter to FELIXANA.  
FOrtune not contented to make me suffer all your miseries in acquainting me with them, hath yet for my supremest mishap kept me from being able to succour you, or at leastwise to partake in the calamities wherewith you are overwhelmed. For though I have the Arms of the Empire still in my hands, and that I cannot quit the Army, without incensing him whom I am to obtain your liberty; yet feel I that it would have been impossible for me, not to have gone and laid my head at his feet, thereby to have obliged him to take compassion of our misfortunes; But the wounds which I received in the last fight I was in, utterly depriving me of the power to perform that, all I can do, is to wish that the blood which I have spilt in the service of Soliman, may at leastwise spare your tears. Nor do I despair yet of so great a happiness, if the illustrious and generous Ibrahim doth undertake to protect you, as I have besought him to do, and as I dare not doubt but he will. Confide then in him for all things; acquaint him with all our past felicities, that he may have the more pity of our present adversities. And to say all, follow his directions exactly, seeing his generosity is the only thing that can yet make me desire life, by the hope it gives me to see you at liberty again; this Slave, which I send you, can tell you what a one that hath been which I have led, ever since that fatal day, which separated me from the incomparable Felixana, and can also assure you that I will adore you eternally.  
ULAMA.  
Felixana had no sooner made an end of reading this Letter, but she desired the Bassa should see it, though out of civility he would not; telling her that he would rely more on her word, than she had done on his, and that he would believe that which she would please to let him know. But she answered him, how it would not be just that he should do so, and therefore besought him to read it. Whilst Ibrahim obeyed her, Felixana enquired of Vlama's Slave, whether his wounds were dangerous? And when he had answered her, that they had been so, but were past the worst, and that if it had not been for one in his leg he might have quitted his bed, she asked him other questions, until such time as the grand Visier, having done reading of Vlama's Letter, said to her with a great deal of civility: It is for you, Madam, to furnish me with means to serve you, and to acquaint me with all your misfortunes, to the end that knowing them, I may the more easily find necessary remedies for them. But I know, fair Felixana, that this is to constrain your inclination, and that you had rather talk with Vlama's Slave, then renew your sorrows by calling them to remembrance; but to comfort you, I will promise to leave this Slave with you, until we have some pleasing news to send Vlama. Felixana thanked him for this favour, and assured him, that she had no greater desire then to obey him, though the remembrance of her miseries would augment them; and that it may be they would afflict him too. For my Lord, said she unto him, my adventures are so intermingled with those of the Princess of Persia, and of two Princes whom you have dearly loved, as I am constrained to recount them; seeing it is certain that mine make but a part of theirs. Ibrahim was glad to see her in this resolution, for he hoped he should know that by her, which Soliman would not tell him; so that causing her to sit down, and Halima by her, he summoned her to the performance of her promise, which she accomplished in this manner.  

The History of the Princess AXIAMIRA, ULAMA, and FELIXANA.  
THat which you desire to know of me, generous Ibrahim, hath cost me so many tears and sighs, that if I did not strive to turn away my thought from the last adventures of this History, it were impossible for me to relate the beginning, where you will find nothing but the hopes of an extreme felicity for me. But to take things from their first source, and to render my discourse more intelligible, I am to tell you, that Scach Tachmas, whom we call the Sophi, otherways King of the Persians, remained a widower almost as soon as his wise (who, as I have heard say, was an excellent Princess) had brought him two sons, Ishmael, and Mahamed, whereof the last is blind; and two daughters, of which the one is the Princess Axiamira, or to say better, the wonder of her age; and the youngest, named Perca, is of an indifferent beauty, of a malicious humour, and of a mind uncapable of any kind of friendship. As for Ishmael, it might be said, that as he hath no great virtues, so he hath no great defects, and that he is in the rank of those persons, who do almost pass away their lives so, as they can hardly be known to live, if their quality did not make it appear that they are in the number of the living. Now for Mahamed, the same cannot be said of him, but contrarily it seems, that Nature hath deprived him of the light of the day, to make it shine the more in his mind: For whether it be that this privation of sight is the cause of its better recollecting itself, and operating with the more activity; or that his memory, which is so marvellous in him, as it may be thought he hath never forgotten any thing, doth furnish him with that which renders him agreeable; so it is that his conversation is so charming, as one can never be weary of it. But that which is most excellent in him is, that he is exceeding virtuous, and that his passions, though violent, have never surmounted his reason. Behold, my Lord, what the royal Family was, when I was brought to the Court, which was at that time in the City of Tauris. My Father had always been considerable enough in this Monarchy, and the Sophi, to testify the esteem he had of him, had made him Governor of Strabat and Mazanderon, two very fair Towns, which are situated on the bank of the Caspian Sea. But whereas my Father had married the sister of the Governor of Tauris, it was by his means that I was put to Axiamira, with a many other maids of a condition equal to mine, which were divided between those two Princesses; and were with them, as one might say, rather to help them to pass away the time, then to do them any service. Axiamira might be about fourteen years of age, and I fifteen; and whereas she was younger than the Princes her Brothers, Mahamed, as I think, was not far from sixteen. But to let you first know all the persons of whom I am to speak in this History, I shall tell you, that there was at the same time in the Court, one named Deliment, whose birth was not very noble; but who had, by means of his high spirit, and extreme riches, so wrought himself into the Court, and good grace of the Sophi, as there was none but was afraid to be in ill terms with him: I say afraid, because it is certain that no man desired his friendship, but for fear lest his hatred should be prejudicial unto him; and truly it is not to be marvelled if one could have no other opinion of him, for he was insolent, ambitious, undertaking, believing there was scarce any thing worthy of him, easily offended, never pardoning, and that which rendered all his bad inclinations more dangerous, was, that he had a great wit. Now if Deliment were of this humour, Vlama was opposite to him in all things, for his birth is noble, as being the chief man of Caramania; his courage is without brutishness; and whereas you have not seen him but since he was infortunate, I conceive I may be permitted to tell you what he was during his felicity. When I arrived at the Court nothing was spoken of but the valour of Vlama; for it was a little after the War of the Azemites, where having done wonders, and to say all, been the cause of the Sophy's carrying away the victory; to recompense him for this great action, he made him Satrap of Caramania at two and twenty years of age, and gave him his sister in marriage, whom Vlama espoused rather out of obedience, than out of inclination; it being certain that this Princess, as the incomparable Axiamira hath oftentimes told me, had nothing recommendable in her but her birth. And indeed, as if Heaven had found this marriage unjust, a month after it was accomplished she died of a burning Fever: And whereas it is the custom of the Kings of Persia to have all the royal Family lodged in one and the same Palace, Vlama, as brother-in-law to the Sophi, was lodged there too; so that though the women live very straight kept all over Persia, yet left we not for all that to have a great deal of liberty, and to lead a life happy and pleasant enough; having in the same Palace, the two Princes and Vlama, whom we saw as much as they pleased: for the Sophi had ordained that the Princess' lodgings should be open to them when they would, I and that all the Satraps young sons might see and speak to us when as they accompanied the Princes. Things being in these terms at such time as Vlama's wife died, the Princesses went by the commandment of the Sophi, a little after the Funeral, to give a visit to Vlama, whom I had scarcely ever seen, because I had not been above a month at the Court, and that during the same the Princess his wife had still been very sick. I have already told you, my Lord, that Vlama had not loved her, and I put you in mind of it, to the end you may not think it strange if in this occasion Love took his beginning in the time of a mourning, which had not drawn any tears. Axiamira and Perca made this visit with ceremony, the young Princes conducted them, or to say better, Ishmael held up Axiamira, and Perca led Mahamed, who, as I have told you, was blind from his birth, though he had the fairest eyes to see to in the world; but he let himself be guided with so much address, and went along with so confident a pace, as there was no body but would have been deceived in him. All the maids of honour followed after, as also six Ladies of quality, reasonably well stepped in years, which had been placed about the Princesses, to have a care of their behaviour, and ours. And truly it must be acknowledged, that Feasts of rejoicing do seldom show any thing more goodly to behold, than the mourning which is in this Court; for whereas black is not in use there but when one mourns, if any of it be seen about one's apparel, it sufficeth; nor is it exempted from magnificence. We were all then attired much after one; and to excuse Vlama so much the more, for letting himself be touched with those few charms which you see in my face, I will describe Axiamira's habit unto you, that you may know what mine was; for she had already taken so great a liking to me, as she would have no other difference between her apparel and that I wore, but great store of Diamonds which she caused to be added thereunto whensoever she pleased; and withal, since that fatal day did beget love in four such different hearts, it will not be amiss for me to recount unto you all the particularities of it. Axiamira then had on a petticoat and waistcoat of cloth of silver very glittering, and over that a gown of black Tiffany exceeding fine, whereof the body was plaited, so that it shown the shape very perfectly; and the bottom of the skirt, which was cut in peaks, made way for the cloth of silver to be seen athwart it. The sleeves were indifferent wide, but to give more liberty to the arm, they were fastened upon the shoulder with clasps of Diamonds, leaving almost to open view the cloth of silver sleeves that were under. Her Girdle was of great Pearls enchased amongst Diamonds: And behind at her back were moreover two hangging sleeves reaching to the ground, bordered with large borders of silver Embroidery, as well as the lower part of the Gown. Her neck was half hid with most delicate black cobweb-lawn, which was tied on her shoulder with a silver string. And whereas our dressing is very high, there hung from the top of her head behind a great vail, trailing to the very ground, of silver Tiffany, streaked with black, and carelessly plaited; which certainly gave a great deal of grace to the beauty of Axiamira, and also supplied that little which I had.  
We went in this sort then to Vlama's Lodging, which, according to the custom of Persia, that will have the houses, whereof the Masters or Mistresses be dead, to are for six weeks deprived of the light of the Sun, had no other Light but that of Lamps. For whereas Vlama was of a condition to observe all requisite Ceremonies; and that it was the sister of the Sophi, for whom he mourned, we found him in a chamber, hung with black Tinsel, streaked with gold, and enlightened with an hundred lamps of crystal. Deliment was at that time with Vlama, who was likewise attired all in black, except it were that which we call Caselbas', or red Turban, which is never permitted to be left off, but only to be covered with a black Cipres. I must confess that I never saw man of so goodly a presence in Persia, as Vlama was in that occasion. He received the Princes and Princesses with so much address and grace, that all my fellows were ravished with it. But when he had caused them to sit down, and that we had ranked ourselves on the other side of the chamber, where we remained standing, I soon perceived that if I had thought him handsome, he did not think me disagreeable, seeing that every time civility would permit him, he fastened his eyes so on my face, as I was constrained to turn away mine; which made me observe how Deliment took more than ordinary care to entertain Axiamira; for this man of blood and fire had not till then looked upon any woman, but to despise her. And as if this chamber had had some fatalness to enchant the minds of those that were in it, the Sophi himself came to visit Vlama, whilst we were there, and for my ill fortune, he beheld me so favourably, as I passed with him for the fairest thing that ever he had seen. But whereas the time was not proper for gallantry, all these springing passions were not otherwise made known then by looks, except in Deliment, who when the Princess happened to go away, and that Tachmas was retired, advanced to lead Axiamira, whilst Ishmael was yet talking with Vlama. She, that thought the Prince her B●other would tarry behind, received him with her ordinary civility, although she was extremely averse to him. On the other side, Ishmael having finished his compliment, gave his hand to Perca, who, without thinking how the blind Prince had not brought his ordinary guide along with him, suffered him to lead her; and whereas Mahamed perceived it, and was very dextrous, he made his discourse endure as long as he could out of hope that some one or other would lend him their hand to conduct him. I confess that having marked the pain he was in, and moved with pity to see so goodly a Prince, so handsome, so sprightly, and so amiable, in the unquietness wherein I saw him, I stepped to him, without demanding permission for it of the Governesses. My Lord, said I unto him, the Princesses are gone, will not you be pleased to follow them? He that knew me by my voice, Yes gladly, discreet Felixana, said he unto me, if you will have the goodness to lead one that is blind, who notwithstanding his blindness cannot but know your merit. I observed by Vlama's countenance, that he had a desire to have spoken a gallantry to me thereupon; as indeed he hath since assured me, that civility only kept him from it; but in fine I led Mahamed to the Princess' Lodging, for the which he was so obliged unto me, as that which the eyes of Axiamira had wrought in the heart of Deliment, and mine in that of the Sophi and Vlama, my courtesy effected in Mahameds'; who from thence forward began to have an inclination for me, which might well be termed blind, since if I had had any thing that was agreeable in my face, yet could he not have been touched with it, being not able to see it; and as for wit, I was in an age, which ordinarily is not capable of making great conquests. Indeed it is true, that my complying with him might render me pleasing to him; for whereas all my fellows were not of my humour, they, when Mahamed was with Axiamira, declined his conversation, or at leastwise applied not themselves to it, and this, out of the thought, that being incapable of seeing their beauty, they believed him to be also incapable of love, and for this reason, they would not lose that time with him, which they thought might be better employed in the entertaining of all those young persons of quality, which accompanied the Princes to Axiamira. As for me, who cared not as yet, either for loving, or for being loved, I gave myself only to things that pleased me; and whereas I was infinitely taken with the conversation of Prince Mahamed, and that generosity itself carried me thereunto, I set myself as often as I could to talk with him, but that which engaged me yet farther to this compliance, was, that the Princess Axiamira loved him dearly; for whereas Ishmael and Perca were unworthy of her affection, the first for the defects of his spirit, and the other for her malice, she had placed all her liking on Mahamed; so that when the Princess could not entertain him herself, she commanded me to stay with him, which I did with a great deal of joy, because there was nothing of more power at that time in my mind, than the desire to please the Princess, who in all her actions seemed to prefer me before all my fellows. On the other side the Sophi, who would fain know, whether I would be as agreeable to his eyes in the Princess' Lodging, as he had found me in Vlama's; or whether the shining of so much light, and that chamber hung with black, had not served to deceive him, used to come sometimes to the Princesses, without giving me notwithstanding any greater mark of his affection, then to behold and commend me more than the rest, when occasion was presented for it; for whereas I was very young at that time, he durst not, as I understood afterwards, speak plainly to me of his passion, fearing I should not be discreet enough to conceal it from others. But whilst he attended the improvement of my reason, the time, whereunto the ceremony of mourning had confined Vlama, being quite expired, he came to render his duty to the Princesses, and to thank them for the honour they had done him; and whereas I was almost never absent from Axiamira, he saw me in her chamber, and by a second view confirmed himself in the advantageous opinion he had conceived of me; and so strongly resolved to love me, as fearing he should be obliged to dislodg from the Palace, because the Princess his wife being dead without children, he was scarcely any longer of the royal Family; he purposed to endeavour all he could to discover his affection unto me, for fear he should be deprived of the commodity of doing it so easily, if he were constrained to be gone from thence. As for me, I confess to you blushing, that in this visit which he gave to the Princess, I felt a desire arise in my heart that I might be pleasing unto him; and without making any reflection on this thought, I remember well, that although it had been a great Court that day, I never thought of heeding my apparel; but as soon as Vlama was entered, I observed myself with care, and without knowing any reason for it, I would have been glad that I had been better dressed than I was. But in fine, my Lord, two or three hours after, Fortune was so  to Vlama's design, as having found me alone in the Princess' Chamber, who was shut up in her Cabinet, he spoke to me of his affection with so much passion, as I knew not what to answer him, having never met with such like encounters. And whereas his speech had ever since remained in my memory, and that it hath been the beginning and cause of all my pleasure, and of all my misery, I cannot forbear repeating it unto you. He no sooner entered into the chamber, but I advanced towards him, to let him know that I was very sorry for that he could not see the Princess as yet; and that having forbidden me interrupting her, I durst not advertise her of his being there. Do not afflict you self, fair Felixana, said he unto me, for a thing which is infinitely pleasing to me; and if you will render me perfectly happy, trouble not my good fortune in doubting of this truth. What, said I unto him exceedingly surprised, do you come to see the Princess, and yet are glad that you cannot meet with her? truly this seems so strange to me, as I cannot comprehend the reason of it. It is not for all that very difficult to find out, answered he me, for I come to see the Princess Axiamira out of duty, and the beautiful Felixana out of inclination: I am her subject, but I am your servant, and that in such sort, as you shall reign eternally in my soul, there being no kind of service which I will not render you with joy; and henceforth, continued he, receive, fair Felixana, all the duties which I shall tender to the Princess, as appertaining to you; and believe that I am ravished with finding you thus alone, whereby I have had the opportunity to make this Declaration unto you. This discourse surprised me in such manner, as I should have been much perplexed to have answered it, if Axiamira had not at the same instant called me, so that being pressed to obey the Princess, all that I could do, was to tell him, that knowing him and myself too, I should always be able to discern how to believe that which was fit for me to believe, both for his glory, and mine. But, my Lord, without particularising all these things unto you, it may suffice me to tell you, that in six months' space Vlama gave me so many marks of his love and discretion, as I should have been ingrateful and insensible, not to have rendered him some testimony of my goodwill; and whereas I was neither the one nor the other, Vlama received from me all the proofs of friendship, which virtue could permit me to give him; and I may say that this was the only time, wherein I lived with pleasure. And truly I must confess that the life which I led was happy enough; I saw myself favoured by the most amiable person that ever was; caressed by the Sophi; esteemed of Mahamed; and passionately beloved of Vlama, who without contradiction, surpassed all that were at the Court in that blessed time. Prince Mahamed resolved then to declare his passion overtly to me; so that one day, when the weather was very fair, and that according to Axiamira's custom we were gone down into the garden, she sent to desire Mahamed that he would come and walk there; and when he was come, the gentleman which led him, was commanded to withdraw, that they might talk with the more liberty. Axiamira having willed me to lend Mahamed my hand, he let himself be guided by me, and the Princess leaned on him. After we had walked a pretty while some ten or eleven paces distant from the rest of my fellows, who out of respect durst not follow nearer, having well observed, that the Princess was not willing they should. Mahamed first speaking, asked of her, whether it was to say nothing unto him that she had sent for him; it being certain, that all the while we had walked together she had not spoken a word; for, continued he, my dear sister, whereas I do not see but with the eyes of my mind, if you have a purpose to entertain me, it must be with your discourse, since walking c●n have no other charm for me then what I find in going along with you under the conduct of the discreet Felixana. My silence, answered the Princess, will trouble you less it may be, than my discourse; seeing I know you too generous, and Felixana too wise, and too affectionate to my service, to conceal my misfortunes from you. It is certain that I was very much surprised to hear the Princess speak in this sort; for though she had been a pretty while past somewhat sadder than she used to be, yet perceiving no apparent cause for it, I had attributed it to one of those melancholies without a cause, which seizes upon all the world at one time or other, and proceeds from one's temperature; but when as going on in her speech she acquainted us, that ever since the visit which she had given to Vlama after the loss of the Princess his wife, and that Deliment had presented her his hand to lead her to her lodging, as I remembered very well, he had been so audacious as to speak divers times to her of love, although she had at the very first very severely forbidden him; my amazement ceased, knowing well enough the extreme aversion which she had for Deliment, and how much her great heart ought to be incensed, that a man of a birth so unequal to hers should be so daring, as to lose the respect which he owed unto her. As for Mahamed, who knew but too well, by the report o● some of his servants, that Deliment slighted him, he was so nettled, as he could not forbear saying aloud: How, sister, hath this Insolent lost the respect which he owes to you? Yes, replied the Princess, and in such a manner, as even to day, when as the Sophi brought him along with him into my chamber, upon protext of talking with me about an affair, which I did not find was very necessary for me to know, he stayed there behind him, and had the insolence to let me understand by his obscure discourses, that the greatest happiness could arrive to me was to be his wife; because, said he unto me, so you may one day be the Sophies. For the truth is, Ishmael knows not how to reign; Mahamed is so far from guiding of an Empire, as he cannot guide himself; and Perca will not peradventure find an husband, able to dispute the Crown of Persia against Deliment, who does not tell you all these things without reason, nor without a good ground. Judge now after this, said Axiamira to us, what I should have answered him, if he had given me leisure for it, but he went away so speedily, and I was so confounded, as I could not open my mouth. Now though this insolent man hath filled me with choler and despite, yet is it not that which disquiets me; and had I nothing but his pride, his love, and his ambition to fight with, I should easily surmount such weak enemies; but that which amazes and afflicts me both together is, that an hour after Deliment hide left me, Ishmael and my sister came to me into my Cabinet, whither I had retired myself, and spoke so much to me of the affection which Deliment bore me, of his great courage, of his wit, and of the excellent qualities that were in him, as I remained quite confounded therewith; and had I not purposed to take your counsel in this affair, it is certain that I would have learned of them what obligation they had had to him whom they protected so: and then again I am fallen into some fear, that my sister hath a great share in Deliments fault, for reasons which I cannot comprehend; for I know that a good while now together she hath oftener accompanied Ishmael to his lodging, then to mine. Ah, my dear sister, cried the Prince, that I had my brother's eyes, or that he had Mahameds' heart I you should soon be revenged of this insolent fellow; and the loss of his life should in a few days restore yours to its former tranquillity. I know very well, replied the Princess, that you are as generous as Ishmael is weak, and my sister malicious: but in fine being able to do no other thing, you are to counsel me, and you and Felixana are to consider well that the Sophi loves Deliment passionately; that he brought him not without some occasion into my chamber; that although he be wicked, yet he hath wit; that consequently he must needs know that his insolence is upheld by some body; that Ishmael and Perca are of his party; that they hate Vlama because he is of ours; that the Sophi our Father is not sensible of love to his children; and that the passions, which predominate in him, prevail with him over all things. Just hereupon we saw Ishmael, Perca, and all her women appear afar off, so that to show there was no mystery in our talk she went to meet them, and going away prayed us, that we would fever ourselves far from all others, to think of that she had said to us, and that in the Evening I should tell her the resolution we had taken. I led Prince Mahamed then into another alley, where we were still for all that in the sight of the Princesses; and there, after we had well considered the matter, we resolved, that it was needful, before it should break forth, to discover, whether the Sophi authorised the love of Deliment; whether Ishmael and Perca had any intelligence with him, or any interest in this love; that for this effect Vlama was to be made use of for so much as regarded the Sophi; and that I on my part should endeavour to know the secrets of Perca, by the means of a maid whom she had loved very much, and who did not hate me; and that when we knew the truth of the business, it would be far more easy for us to remedy the same; for in fine, said I, if the Sophi doth not protect Deliment, he will be lost as soon as he understands of his insolence; and if Perca be not interested in this affair, the discourse which he hath used to the Princess will quickly make her change party, when she knows it: but if the Sophi, as it is very likely, hath given some secret hopes to Deliment; and that Perca on the other side hath any share in this adventure, it would be to no purpose to complain precipitously to them of the insolence of this man, seeing they are the cause of it; and other remedies are to be sought out. But Prince Mahamed said unto me, Is it possible that the Sophi (who heretofore, as I have understood, hath been so rigorous an observer of the Laws of this Empire, that he banished the Satrap Arsalon, for marrying a maid that was not noble) should so shamefully infringe them for him, in authorising the love of Deliment? This is a thing, my Lord, said I unto him, whereof we must be cleared by the way which I have showed. This discourse being finished, and our resolution taken, I perceived that we were a great way distant from the Princesses, so that turning the Prince about, he observed that I would reconduct him to a place, where he would not have the liberty to speak unto me; wherefore standing still, and wring me a little by the hand; go not so fast, said he unto me, amiable Felixana, and be pleased, that as Axiamira hath to day judged you worthy of communicating all her secrets unto you, so I may acquaint you with one of mine that concerns my life; to the end that our interests being so well joined together, our party may be the more stronger, and our enemy the weaker. And when I had answered him, that it was easy for him to judge by my past actions of the desire I had to serve him; you may well think, said he unto me, according to the discourse which my sister used to me, that I should lack reason, in making protestations of love unto you, were I not constrained thereunto by the force of truth and my passion. Protestations of love to me, my Lord, said I? Yes, dear maid, replied he; and though I know very well, how it is an hard thing to believe, and hard to persuade, that a blind man, who cannot truly figure unto himself what Beauty is, should be desperately in love with you; yet is it certain that none hath ever been so much as I am, I hear all those that come near you, talk to you of the attracts of your eyes, of the beauty of your complexion, of your stature, and of your neck; but I hear none tell you, that your soul is fair, that your spirit is great and generous, that your goodness is extreme, and that in conclusion you are the most virtuous person that is in the world; yet is it with these beauties that my soul is touched; and they are they which doubtless render my love more strong and more pure, than all those, which, as I have heard say, are destroyed by the loss of that beauty that is unknown to me. But that which I have for you shall certainly last as long as my life; for the beauty, discreet Felixana, which I adore in you, cannot be destroyed by time. If you be rigorous to me, continued he, I shall excuse your rigour by the knowledge I have of my defects; and if you be not so to me, I will set no bounds to your hopes, no more then to my affection. But in the mean time, said he unto me, do me the grace to let me know, in what manner you will have me live with you. It is not for me, my Lord, answered I, to rule your life; but it is for me to rule my mind so, as to believe no more than I ought, and not to lose the respect, which I have always rendered you. But, my Lord, added I, the first thing we are to think of is, to draw Axiamira out of the pain wherein I see her. That is my intent, replied the Prince, and I have desired to engage you the more straight in it, by letting you know, that Deliment cannot resolve to destroy me, without making you lose the man, which in all the world loves you the most ardently, to the end that understanding the interest you have therein, you may employ yourself with the more care. I received this discourse with moderation enough, and a great deal of respect; as well because the virtue of this Prince pleased me, as because I knew he loved, and very much esteemed Vlama and Axiamira; but in such sort howsoever, as I engaged myself to nothing. In the mean time we came to the Princesses, and with them we found Deliment, whom Ishmael had sent for by the persuasion of Perca. As soon as he saw me near to my fellows, he came to quarrel with me for having walked so long with the Prince, and separating me from him, without any incivility, because the Gentleman, that used to lead Mahamed, had lent him his hand again, I quickly discerned by his discourse, that there was a great intelligence between the Sophi and him: For as soon as he saw me alone, he began to tell me, that I was the happiest person of my sex, if I knew well how to manage the affection which the Sophi bore me; that he gave me this advice as my servant; and that if I pleased, he would serve me in it with all his power. I thanked him coldly enough for this offer, and told him, how I knew very well, that all my happiness came from the Sophi, seeing the beautiful Axiamira made up all my felicity; and saying so, I returned to my fellows, which already were going after the Princes, and Princesses, who retired with very different thoughts. For Axiamira had her mind filled with choler and hate; Mahamed added to all those things the love he bore to me; Perca thought to work so by her artifices, as we understood afterwards, that a man, who was of no great birth, should marry her sister, to the end she might make use of it when time should serve: Deliment imagined how he might deceive all the world for the satisfying of his love and his ambition; and Ishmael alone knew not very well what he was thinking on. As for me, I was so surprised with the insolency of Deliment towards the Princess, of the artifice of Perca, of the love of Mahamed, and of that of the Sophi, as I could scarcely speak. But in fine, my Lord, that I may not amuse myself too long about petty things, having such great ones to tell you, you shall understand that we learned a little after, by the address of Vlama, by the intelligence which I got from Perca's confident, and by the innocency & simplicity of Ishmael, all the several designs of these interessed persons. As for the Sophi, the greatest interest that he had in this affair, was only in my person; for though he durst not speak to me of his passion, for the reason I have alleged; yet was it so strong, as he was constrained to discover it to Deliment, who promised him to speak to me of it; and in case I should not be discreet enough to conceal this secret from others, he would be so confident as to disavow all that he had said to me. For Deliment, he had a long time before won an old Satrap, in whom the Sophi very much confided for the affairs of the Empire, and who had oftentimes persuaded him by deliments direction, that the Law, which had caused Arsalon to be banished, was very judiciously made for his subjects, but not for him; persuading him, that Kings, which did not marry their daughters to foreign Princes, were never to admit the noblest and the greatest of their subjects into their alliance; because that most commonly was to take Tutors, in taking sons in law of an high birth; and that for the good of the Prince, of the State, and of the Princesses, it would be better to do otherwise. For, said he unto him one day, coming to particulars, if by example, the Princess Axiamira had married Deliment, what a felicity would yours be, to have a son-in-law, that should owe all his glory to you, and absolutely depend on you? and what an happiness would it be for Axiamira to have an husband, without having a master? it being certain, that the inequality of their conditions would always keep Deliment in the terms of duty and obedience. With such like reasons as these it was, that this wicked man had caused the mind of the Sophi to be prepared before he would discover his love unto him. But whereas he had understood by his Agent, that he had not rejected those propositions, the morning that he had been to see the Princess, which was the same wherein the Sophi discovered to him the love which he bore to me, he wrought so dextrously with him, as he made him comprehend, that if he had a passion in some sort unworthy of his rank, he on the contrary had one, that was far above all he could pretend unto, and that would not permit him to hope for any thing. He spoke this to him with so much cunning, as he designed Axiamira unto him, yet without engaging himself so far, but that he might interpret his discourse after another manner, if he perceived the Sophi to be offended at it. But he had too much need of him for me, and his mind was too much possessed with maxims of State, which were advantageous to Deliment, for him to be so: and indeed far from being displeased with it, he embraced, and told him, that his hopes might go so high, as that he permitted him to lift up his eyes, even to the Princess Axiamira. For, said he unto him, since Nature hath not given me children, which can govern this Empire, I would be willing that love and fortune would give me such a one as Deliment, who may, if not be Sophi after me, at leastwise counsel him that shall be. Deliment, cunning and dextrous as he was, made as though he did not believe that which the Sophi said to him, and out of a feigned respect not seeming to acknowledge that to be his passion, the Sophi said unto him, to oblige him thereunto, that it being not so far from him to the Princess Axiamira, as from me to the Sophi of Persia, he was not to fear that he would thence forward oppo●e an unequal affection, seeing he had discovered his unto him. But when as Deliment continued saying, that respect was stronger in him then all other things, the Sophi, that he might know whether it were Axiamira indeed whom he was in love withal, carried him to her lodging; and it was then that this rash man was so audacious, as to speak with such insolency to the Princess. For whereas he had tried that love could not move her, he believed that ambition might; and that the hope of reigning over Persia would move her more, than the certainty wherein she was of reigning over his heart. As for the Princess Perca, they had a long time before treated together, and he had persuaded her, that the Crown of Persia was to be sh●red between her and her sister; and for that effect she was to be kept from marrying any man, whose generosity (for so it was that he spoke) should carry him to let stupid Ishmael, or blind Mahamed reign. And when he made a show of seeking out, who in the Court might be Axiamira's husband, he played his part so well, that he led her, as cunning as she was, to the point he desired. For after she had mused awhile, as well as he, what need have we, said she unto him, to seek so far off for that, which we may find in the person of Del●ment? He, seeming to have no other interest in this affair than the good of the Princesses, held off a good while, that he might be the more pressed unto it. But at length, being come to agreement about their conditions, they judged, that albeit Ishmael was not capable of rendering a party much stronger than if he were not of it, yet it would be advantageous for them to seize upon his spirit; and Perca took the care to do it. As indeed, she easily persuaded him, that it was requisite Axiamira should be married to a man that depended on him, and not on Mahamed, who after the death of the Sophi might trouble him, in demanding a great portion, as if he were not blind; so that to weaken his party, it would be good to marry Axiamira to Deliment, who would tie himself wholly to his interests. Behold, my Lord, the motives and the causes of deliments insolency to Axiamira; of the discourses which he made to me touching the love of the Sophi; of the persuasions of Perca and Ishmael; and of the unquietness, which this unpleasing entanglement gave us. For being advertised of part of these things, which we understood much better afterwards, Prince Mahamed, Axiamira, Vlama, and I, who was also of the counsel, resolved, that the Princess should always treat Deliment with a great deal of coldness and indifferency; without giving him for all that any notable cause of complaining: That the best would be carefully to avoid all occasions wherein the Sophi might speak of this man; it being more expedient, that the matter should not break forth but upon extremity, because it might arrive that it would not have a sequel so grievous as we foresaw it: That in the mean time we should labour to let Perca know, that Deliment did not intent to use her better, than Ishmael and Mahamed: That for me, I should receive the discourse, which he should make me concerning the Sophi's love, as a thing I did not believe, and that I would not have to be true; and that I should give him as little occasion as I could to speak to me of it. I offered the Princess to retire to my father under pretext of a supposed sickness, but if the goodwill which she bore me opposed it, Prince Mahameds' love hindered it absolutely: In regard whereof they represented unto me, that if I should do so, it would be the undoing of all, because if the Sophi did love me, he would be so incensed thereby, as he might peradventure be carried to a violence, which otherwise he would not be capable of. As for Vlama, he had secret apprehensions which incessantly tormented him; the power of his Rival made him afraid, neither was he so assured of my constancy, but that he feared ambition would move me more than his love. But whereas it was not long before I perceived his unquietness, I wrote unto him, for his better assurance, that nothing but death could keep me from performing the promise, which I had made him to be wholly his, when he had settled his affairs so, as he might marry me. For whereas he was a widow r by the d●ath of the Sophi's sister, civility would not permit him to think so soon of a second marriage, especially with a person, whose birth, though noble and illustrious enough, came not near for all that to the former. Things being in these terms, we were a good while without having any great occasion to increase our unquietness; because the Sophi and Deliment having consulted a second time together, and resolved to seek to gain me by gentleness, before they would come to force, there was nothing but sports and entertainments. And whereas, according to the order I had for it, so often as Deliment spoke to me of the Sophi's love, I made as though I did not believe there was any truth in his words; Tachmas being thereof advertised, and desiring to give me a proof of the esteem he made of that they called beauty in may face, he did a thing, which hath since been the cause of a great deal of mischief; for, generous Ibrahim, it happened for our ill fortune, that there arrived about that time at this Court a Painter of Europe, whom chance, or the desire of travelling had brought thither, and that drew pictures in little, so admirable resembling the life, as the like had never been hear of. And at the same time certain Merchants came thither also, who, amongst other rarities, which they had, made show of a number of the pictures of the fairest women of such several Nations, as they had passed through. These two things joined together, caused the Sophi, out of the design he had to oblige me, to give command that all the maidens of quality, which were at the Court, should present themselves at his Palace on a certain day, appointed for it, together with the Princesses and their maids, sumptuously apparelled. This ceremony, whereof we knew not the cause (for they made a secret of it) somewhat troubled us, but at length that day being arrived, and all this fair Assembly completed, the Sophi followed by Ishmael, Mahamed, Vlama, Deliment, and the Painter, of whom I have spoken to you, entered into the room, where we were all set in order, but without the Princesses holding the rank, which they ought to have had, for so had the Sophi ordained it; and that which also redoubled the impatience we were in, to know for what reason they had caused us to be attired so richly, was, to see the Sophi hold in his right hand two Crowns of gold set with Diamonds, and taking the Painter with his left hand, whom neither the Princess', nor any of their maidens knew as yet, to say unto him, that he established him the judge of the beauty of all those which composed this fair Assembly; as knowing better, than the rest of the world, the just proportion of the features of the face; that which made up the delicacy, freshness, and vivacity of the complexion; and what the difference was between an animated beauty, and another that hath no life nor grace in it. And that to make him give a more equitable sentence, he had so ordered it, as he could not discern the condition of the fair ones, of whom he was the judge; but howsoever that he nevertheless reserved to himself the right of crowning them, whom he should judge to be worthy of that honour. This said, he led him all over the room, and making an exact stand at each of them, that so none might be disobliged, he finished his first turn, none being able to judge that he had given advantage to any; nevertheless I perceived, when the Painter made a stand be●ore me, that the Sophi, seeing me cast down my eyes, as pretending to no part in this victory, had said softly, that I had not so much as need of their sparkling, to merit the Crown, having beauty enough otherwhere. It is certain that I blushed at this discourse, and that lifting up my eyes again, I encountered Vlamas, wherein I marked so much unquietness, as it pitied me exceedingly. Prince Mahamed was close by him, who not able to see but with others eyes, demanded softly of him, what they were doing: But at last, when the Painter, for ceremonies sake, had separated twelve from the rest, whereof the Princess Axiamira and I were two; and that the Sophi had willed him once again to be equal; whether it were that Tachmas had made me known to the Painter, without my perceiving it, as in all likelihood he had; or whether he was not very knowing in beauty, I was the first that was declared victorious, and on whose head the Sophi set one of the Crowns. But whereas I knew very well, that this victory was an effect rather of the Sophy's love, then of my beauty, it brought me more spite than joy; so that taking the Crown, which had been given me, I went to place it at the feet of Axiamira, just as the Sophi, by the sentence of the Painter, set the other on her head. But he, seeing this action of mine, took that which I was going to place on the ground, and giving it me again a second time; Is it, said he unto me, for that the Crown which I offer you is not beautiful enough? or that the hand which presents it to you is not illustrious enough? It is neither the one nor the other, my Lord, answered I, but it is because I am neither beautiful, nor illustrious enough, to wear a Crown, that parts from the hand of so great a Prince. And then coming nearer to me, Receive this same, said he to me softly, fair maid, and believe, if you will be reasonable, that this shall not be the last you shall receive from me. All the answer I made to this discourse was only blushing, and so I shuffled in myself amongst my fellows, with as much displeasure for my victory, as they had vexation for that they had not carried it. But in conclusion, my Lord, Axiamira and I were painted in the habit of Amazons, which, as he said who drew our pictures, was pleasing to all Nations: When they were done, the Sophi caused him to make six copies of each of us, which he put into Cases of Gold, enriched with Diamonds, and gave them to those Merchants, who had showed him so many foreign beauties; but with an oath, that they should never sell them to any but Princes, and that they should always reserve one of each of them in their own keeping, to publish Axiamira's beauty and mine over all the Countries through which they traveled. These Merchants promised all that he required, and for our ill fortune kept their word but too well, as you shall understand hereafter. From that same day Deliment persecuted me more than ordinary, it seeming unto him that I was no longer to doubt of the Sophi's love, after that which he had said unto me. And whereas I desired to decline his encounter, as much as I could, I stood oftentimes talking with Prince Mahamed; because though he contemned him, yet his quality made him that he durst not separate me from him, when we were in discourse together. And I remember that one day, as this poor Prince was entertaining me, and that Deliment was come to the Princesses with Ishmael, out of a design to say something to me from the Sophi, this insolent man did so far lose the respect which he owed to Mahamed, as I hated him for it more than I did before. I have already told you blushing, generous Ibrahim, that this Prince was in love with me; and though I had nothing but goodwill for him, and that Vlama absolutely possessed my heart, yet did I in some sort comply with Mahamed, for his discourse was so virtuous, and so obliging, though passionate, as if Vlama had heard it, I verily think he could not have hated this illustrious Rival. I was also willing to conserve the goodwill of the son, out of the intent I had to refuse the love of the father. It was then with his passion that Mahamed entertained me that day, when as Deliment had so great a desire to speak with me, and that finding himself hindered from it by the Prince's presence, he thought good to observe both ●is actions and mine. And whereas it is hard for the motions of the face not to give some marks of those of the heart, especially when love possesseth it; Deliment perceived something which was extraordinary in that of the Prince; for Mahamed, albeit he was blind, yet came up close to me, as if he could have seen me; and because his eyes could not advertise him when there was any one near us that could hear him, and that it would have but put me in remembrance of his defect if he should have said any thing to me of it, he always used to speak softly unto me; which that day, amongst others, gave no little unquietness to Deliment; for having marked that I had blushed twice or thrice, and it seeming to him to be without anger, he suspected somewhat of the truth. And whereas he was insolent, and accustomed to a bitter jeering, which made him to be yet more hated of every one, he said, speaking of me, to Perca's Confident, who was hard by him (for those two Princesses were retired into Axiamira's Cabinet, accompanied by Ishmael,) doth not this so long and so particular a conversation possess you with curiosity? for as for me, continued he, I profess unto you that I cannot comprehend it. If it be of indifferent ●●●●gs, I am certain, that he cannot talk to her of the rarities which he hath seen in his voyages; if it be of War, he cannot render her any other account but of the noise of the Canons; and if it be of Love, I am well assured that he doth not entertain her, either with the whiteness of her skin, or the sweetness of her look; so that I conclude he cannot talk to her but of his dreams, which should not be very pleasing, since the objects he hath seen conduce not much to the furnishing him with fair ideas. Deliment spoke so softly, as I could not hear him; but whereas the privation of sight seemed to have redoubled in Mahamed the delicacy of hearing, he lost not one word of that which I have delivered. I perceived very well, that upon a sudden he had held his peace, that he had blushed, and that without harkening to me he had lent an ear to Deliment; but I was much surprised, when as turning him towards the place where he heard him speak, he said unto him with a strong and confident voice: Thou thinkest it may be, insolent as thou art, that because I am blind, I should be deaf also; howbeit know, that I have but too well heard, for thy interest, the injurious words which thou hast spoken; for though I am deprived of sight, I have not lost my courage; and did not the respect of Axiamira retain me, I would strangle thee with mine own hands, or thy flight should shelter thee from my fury; but what say I, continued he, thou knowest well, base man, that I could not follow thee, and that is it which makes thee so audacious. Deliment during this discourse did nothing but smile, which so incensed me, as I could not forbear beholding him with rage; but meaning to carry insolency to the highest point, he told Mahamed, that he had said nothing of him, which he might not say again to the Sophi, without offending him. I do not think, replied Mahamed, that he would be as unjust to authorise thy insolency to me, as to Axiamira; but howsoever, get thee out of this lodging, and never come into the place where I am, I charge thee. I assure you, answered Deliment as he was going away, that you shall never see me more. This last jeer so mightily incensed Mahamed, as he would have gone to that part where he heard the voice of Deliment; but knowing that his misfortune would not permit his coming at him to punish his audaciousness, I retained him the best I could; and not thinking of Perca's Confident being there, Let this senseless fellow go, my Lord, said I unto him, and consider that your hand is too noble to punish his arrogance; and that in stead of doing him an affront, you will do him an honour, whereof he is not worthy. At this noise the Princesses opened the Cabinet, and Axiamira ask what the matter was, saw Prince Mahamed exceedingly moved; It is, answered he, an insolency of Deliments, which I may not tell you so suddenly; for, my dear sister, those of his party are yet too strong here. Perca seeming not to understand that this discourse was addressed to her, I assure myself, said this subtle Princess, that this was one of deliments merriments, which the Prince hath misunderstood; but lest this disorder, continued she, should oblige the Sophi to forbid the Princes from bringing any body to our lodging, I will go and endeavour to appease this tempest. Spare that pain, replied Mahamed; for certainly, on my part, it shall never be appeased but with the death of Deliment. But Perca, without answering this discourse, took Ishmael by the land, and all amazed as he was, carried him away whither she pleased. We were no sooner ●t liberty to talk, but Mahamed recounted to the Princess Axiamira all deliments insolency, and that with so much choler, and marks of resentment, as made me much to pity this poor Prince. Will you endure, dear sister, said he unto her, that the Enemy of Mahamed shall become the husband of Axiamira? That a man, which hath made use of your chamber, as of a sanctuary, to affront me with impunity, shall be yet so audacious as to pretend to the possession of your person? Ah! no, you are too generous to have such base thoughts: and I hope, though my eyes are not able to guide my hand so as it may give this Insolent an ●undred stabs, yet that yours will at the least take all the revenge of him you can, in showing him so many marks of your rigour and disdain, as the love and ambition, which reign in his heart, wanting satisfaction, he may howsoever have two domestical Enemies, which will persecute him incessantly, or to say better, until such time as I have found out a man generous enough to guide my arm, or to lend me his Vlama entered into the chamber just at that instant, and having heard those last words, without giving the Princess leisure to answer, he went to Mahamed, and assured him, that except it were against the person of the Sophi, he might dispose of him in any thing, and ●●ploy him in such revenge as he pleased. Mahamed having quickly known Vla●● 〈…〉 ●●ce: Ah! generous Vlama, said he unto him, that I am not in a condition to ackn●●●●●●●●y virtue, rather than to have need of thy courage against an infamous fellow, who cannot pretend to any other part of valour, but that which those cruel beasts may have, who are not valiant, but because they are strong, and of a bloody disposition. The Princess, who perceived that in stead of being appeased, Mahamed grew the more incensed with talking, made him enter into her Cabinet with Vlama, and me; where we no sooner were, but she beginning to speak, assured Mahamed, that she was no less sensible of deliments insolency than he; that she promised never to marry him, not, said she, because I would have you obliged to me for it, or that you should think I do it for the love of you, but contrarily, I desire you would believe, that when Deliment shown the most love and respect to me, I would still have made choice of death, rather than be his wife; for in fine, his birth, his humour, his wickedness, and his arrogance, have possessed me with so much hatred against him, as there is no extremity, whereunto I will not be carried, rather than consent to any thing that may please him. But that which I desire you should think, is, that if the greatest Prince of the Earth, and that did most touch mine inclination, should offer you any outrage, I would be his cruelest Enemy, and the first that would be revenged on him for it. Ah! generous sister (said Mahamed, interrupting her, and much comforted with hearing her speak so) I was persuaded, that my quarrel should be yours, and that you would not abandon me. When as I saw that their discourse resolved on nothing, I told them, that without amusing themselves about giving testimonies of their affection one to another, which was to no purpose, since it could not be doubted of, it would be better for them to employ the time in considering, whether Mahamed should complain to the Sophi, or whether he should stay, to see in what manner Deliment would live with him for the future, after he had forbidden him his pre●ence. This advice seeming just unto them, they began to examine the matter. As for Mahamed, he would neither complain, nor stay, but only revenge himself. Vlama, who foresaw that no good could come of this revenge, either for the Prince, or for the Princess, or for himself, stayed till Axiamira had delivered her opinion, pretending that he was not to speak his, in regard, said he, that it belonged only to him to execute that which the Princess and Mahamed should resolve upon. So that Axiamira being unwilling to speak alone by herself, commanded me to say what I thought was fit to be done in this affair. I confess to you, generous Ibrahim, that notwithstanding the hate which I bore to Deliment, I advised, that things should be gently carried; and that if he came to submit himself to Mahamed, he should be received, and show made of pardoning him; but upon condition nevertheless, that he should appear as seldom as he might in places where Mahamed should be. And that which carried me hereunto, was the thought, that if Vlama enterprised any thing against Deliment, the least that could arrive unto me by it would be, that Vlama would be constrained to absent himself, and leave me in the power of the Sophi. As for the Princess, she was of the opinion, that a gentleman should be sent from Mahamed to complain to the Sophi of Deliments insolency; and that withal great care should be taken to publish it, because, said she to Mahamed, it will be requisite to make him be contemned and hated of every one, as much as possibly we can, that we make use of that hatred and contempt when time shall serve; for, continued she, the world is not acquainted with his temerity and audaciousness; and whereas he is rich and liberal, he hath partisans and servants, who durst not declare themselves to be so, if they knew that you and I did hate him. Why, sister, replied Mahamed, would you have me publish, that I have received an affront with impunity? Yes, said she, I would have it published, that you may be revenged of Deliment, seeing you may do it without offence to your reputation. Consider, added she, that if the generosity of Vlama should carry him to fight with Deliment, your revenge would be doubtful, since you cannot be ignorant, that the success of Arms is always so, and if peradventure it should cost you the blood and fortune of so excellent a man, you would repent you of this violence. No, Madam, said Vlama interrupting her, never stand on these considerations; seeing my fortune, my blood, and my life, could not be employed more gloriously, then in revenging Prince Mahamed. But, replied she, the matter is not so easy as you imagine; your design may be discovered; the opportunity of executing it perchance will not be presented; and then to speak freely unto you, I cannot approve of that violence in Mahamed, which I should condemn in others. It will be better than to lay the blame on the Sophi and Deliment in a gentle way; and procure him secret Enemies, who when occasion shall require, and that we would openly oppose his violences, may serve us with courage, and give us the means to be revenged, without fear, and with honour. In brief, this sage Princess maintained her opinion with so many reasons, as it was followed: And to execute it, I went to give order for the fetching of an old Governor, who had brought up Mahamed, and that was one of the wisest and understandingest men of our age, to the end he might go to the Sophi, who whilst we were taking our resolution entertained Deliment. For as soon as he was gone out of Axiamira's chamber he went unto that of the Sophi, to whom for the colouring of his insolency he said, that finding me every day more rebellious to his will, he could think no other, but that my heart was engaged otherwhere; and that having observed all my actions, he had found that Prince Mahamed did not hate me; that to be the better cleared thereof, and carried by the zeal which he had to his service, he had spoken some jesting words, whilst the Prince entertained me, which he had taken so ill, as his anger thereupon did persuade him the more to that opinion of his. It is not, said he smiling, (as we understood afterwards) because it may be easily imagined, that the beauty of Felixana hath given you a rival; but howsoever I would not conceal my suspicion from you, and it is for you to make my peace with Prince Mahamed, if you will not have the beautiful Axiamira hate me. I will take the care of that upon me, replied the Sophi; and believe that I am not a little obliged unto you, in that you have not feared to anger Mahamed, for to serve me in a thing, whereon my felicity depends. Judge, my Lord, whether after this artifice, the complaints of this poor Prince were well received or no. The Sophi nevertheless desired to keep some decorum, being unable to believe that Mahamed was amorous, though he resolved to clear himself further therein. As soon then as that ancient Governor of Mahamed had made his complaint, he told him, that he was already advertised of the matter; and that to give satisfaction to Mahamed, he commanded him to pardon Deliment, whose heart he well knew, and was sure that he had no purpose to offend him, and that it had been nothing but a light temptation, to say some merriment. And when that Governor would have besought him, that at leastwise Deliment should not come, but as seldom as he could, to the places where Prince Mahamed should be; the Sophi bid him make no further reply, for he would be obeyed; and for that effect he would go and carry Deliment to Axiamira's chamber, to the end that in the same place, where the fault had been committed, it might also be pardoned; so that when we expected the Sophi's answer, we saw him himself enter, leaning on Deliment, and followed by Ishmael and Perca, who not having seen Deliment since her going forth, because he was with the Sophi, she had followed them to this chamber, as soon as she had been advertised that they came thither. I leave you to judge, whether this visit did not possess Mahamed with choler, and Axiamira and me with amazement. But we were yet in much more, when as the Sophi fell to amplify the obligations which he had to Deliment, his virtues, his merit, the affection he bore to the Princes and Princesses; and in fine, continued he, the greatest mark that can be given me of the passion one is in for my service, is, to render the same honours to Deliment, as if he were my son; and as for you, said he, leaning on Mahamed's shoulder, I command you to love Deliment, and to live well with him. It would be methinks more just, replied the Prince, that you would ordain him not to affront me, since he cannot do so without offending you. I do excuse, answered the Sophi, the ill opinion you have of Deliment, seeing it is not occasioned but by the little knowledge you have of his intentions. But howsoever I will be obeyed; and without examining whether my pleasure be unjust or equitable, I command you to receive his submissions and his friendship. Hereupon Deliment begins to speak, and disguising the malice of his soul, he said so many obliging things to Mahamed, as if he had not perfectly known his wickedness, he might have believed that he was capable of repenting. So it was, that Mahamed was constrained to make show of no longer resenting the offence he had received. This peace brought great joy to Perca; but Axiamira's coldness made it apparent enough that they were not both of one party. The Sophi continued yet some time in talking of indifferent things, during the which he still fixed his eyes on my face: And whereas out of a sense of compassion, and to avoid his looks, I turned my head all that while towards Mahamed, he began to think that there might be some verity in Deliments suspicion. He was no sooner returned to his lodging, but thinking of the means to be cleared therein, he conceived that the gentleman, who served to guide Mahamed, might peradventure be he from whom he might learn something. He had no sooner communicated this design to Deliment, but that having approved of it, he thought of nothing else then executing it. And to that purpose he waited, that he might give no suspicion to Mahamed, till he was retired in the Evening, for at that time the Prince not using to stir forth any more, always left his guide at liberty; Deliment, who had caused him to be watched, was no sooner advertised that he was come out of the Prince's chamber, but he made him be secretly told, that the Sophi would speak with him. This man, who had not been accustomed to receive such like favours, presently obeyed; and the Sophi, joining the hope of a great fortune, presents, and entreaties, to his commands, had quickly suborned his fidelity. After than that he was well assured of him, both by reason of the things I have spoken of, and of the fear of punishment if he f●iled in his promise, he commanded him exactly to observe all Prince Mahamed's actions, to take good notice of what he spoke of me; to endeavour to learn something thereof; and to give him an account of it every Evening at the same hour. And when he pressed him to tell him, whether he had not perceived that there was some intelligence between the Prince and me, he answered him, that he knew no more thereof, but that the Prince spoke oftener of me, then of any other of my fellows. But whilst they were betraying him in this sort, he was not without unquietness; The spite to be so ill entreated by the Sophi, and so unworthily affronted by Deliment, without having an assured mean to be revenged of it, put him into no little pain: And then again, when he came to think, that the next day he should encounter with Deliment again at Axiamira's lodging, his great heart could not so soon resolve upon so grievous a thing; he purposed then, for the declining of it, to make a show of being sick, and not to stir out of his chamber a good while. But when he came to consider, that in declining the encounter of Deliment, he should deprive himself of mine, love was stronger in him then spite; and the conversation of his Enemy was not so redoubtable, as the hope of mine was sweet unto him. Howbeit imagining, that the Princess would visit him during his feigned sickness, and that I, being her Confident, would not fail to accompany her thither, spite re-assumed its former place, and made him execute his resolution. The next day he feigned himself sick, and would let no body see him; but fearing lest Axiamira should be troubled at it, he sent her word, that she should not be disquieted for it, assuring her, that the greatest remedy he had need of was her conversation, or to be alone. The Princess understood well enough what the Prince desired of her, so that as soon as she had met with occasion fit for it, she went to see Mahamed, carrying none with her but an old Governess, one of my fellows, and me. But Perca, having understood that Axiamira was gone to see Prince Mahamed, who was not well, persuaded Ishmael and Deliment to go thither too; so that we were hardly arrived at Mahamed's chamber, but we were advertised, that this Enemy troop was coming to trouble our rest. The Prince was so enraged at it, as Axiamira, fearing he should be carried to some violence, made haste to be gone, so that meeting them in the antichamber, where she stayed them, she told them that the Prince being asleep, she would not suffer him to be awaked, and thereby obliged them to return. In the mean time Mahamed, who could not forbear giving me to understand, that he lived still for me, called to him his guide, named Amariel, who oftentimes served him also for a Secretary. He recommends secrecy and discretion to him, and after he had made him swear an hundred false oaths, he dictates a letter unto him for me, which he wrote very faithfully; And having caused him to read it over more than once unto him, he gives him order to go the next morning for to know how the Princess does, and then to deliver me that letter as secretly as he could. Amariel promises to acquit himself thereof as he ought; and very glad of his adventure, he retires from the Prince, and goes with all speed to do an act of fidelity to the Sophi, and of treachery to Mahamed. The Sophi caresses him extraordinarily, and taking the letter with very much impatience, he sees that it was extremely passionate, and that deliments suspicions were not ill grounded. He sent immediately for him, shown him the letter which he had, and exceedingly moved with choler, demanded what counsel he should take? Deliment, as more cunning, and less preoccupated, told him, how by this letter well considered one might easily see, that Mahamed was passionately in love with me, but that one could not judge, whether I answered his passion or no; so that to be cleared therein, Amariel was to deliver this letter to me, and crave an answer of it. That for his part, he believed that I did not hate him, because one of Perca's maids had heard me say somewhat, as she went out of Axiamira's chamber, that made him think so. This resolution being taken, Amariel according to his directions came unto me, rendered me Mahameds' letter, and gave me the commodity to answer it. For whereas he was come very early, the Princess was not yet awake, and I was still in my chamber, without any other company then a maid that waited on me. Until then, I had believed, that I was not obliged to let Vlama know any thing of Prince Mahamed's love; but when I foresaw that it was like to have some sequel, I resolved, when I could find a  occasion, to say something to him of it; and in the mean time so to live with Mahamed, as he should have no cause to be offended with me, nor yet hope to engage me to the affection which he desired of me. I answered him with a great deal of respect, and turning the sense of his words as dextrously as I could, I answered to a letter of love, as if it had been a letter of friendship. Amariel had no sooner gotten mine answer, but he went away very well satisfied to the Sophi, who was not sorry to see, that I had not so much affection for Mahamed, but that he might hope to be able to break it. He consulted then with his ordinary counsel, that is to say with Deliment, and they resolved together, that from thence forward they would change the Letters which the Prince should cause to be written to me, because for so much as they could judge by that which they had seen, they would be too well indicted, and too passionate; purposing also, if it fell out that I should answer him too obligingly, not to let it be read so to Prince Mahamed: who, as if fortune would be assistant to our Enemies, became so sick indeed, as he was fain to keep his chamber fifteen days together; In which time, there passed not a day, wherein he did not write unto me, and I did not answer him, without ever knowing for all that what we said one to another; because the Sophi retained all Mahamed's Letters, and caused others to be written to me; and likewise kept all my answers, in making me speak as he pleased. I confess, that many times I marvelled at the questions, wherewith those Letters, which I believed were Mahamed's, were filled: and confronting the first I received from him with the rest, I found so great a difference between them, were it for the gracefulness of the stile, o● for the things he said to me, as I knew not what to think of it. Nevertheless, seeing it was always the same hand, and receiving them the same way, all I could conclude upon it was, That the blindness of this poor Prince possessed him with such thoughts for love, as never any body had the like but he. For whereas the Sophi's and deliments design was, to render Mahamed contemptible to me, they made him write strange things by Amariel. Sometimes they made this blind Prince say, that he was grieved he did not see me; that the beauty of my eyes was always present before him; in another Letter, that for the more conformity he would willingly that I had been blind as he was, and the rather for that than I should not see the Sophi, whom he knew to be his Rival. In another, he conjured me to let him have my picture, and to send him word whether I were fair or brown. I leave you to think, since I could not despise Mahamed, because I esteemed him very much other-ways, whether these Letters did not move me to compassion; and though deliments cunning did always intermix something of the Sophi among, yet I had always so much discretion, or good hap, as not to make any answer to that particular. But if Deliment drew up such senseless Letters for Mahamed, those which he made for me, as I understood afterwards, were not much more reasonable. And the Prince hath told me, that when Amariel read them to him, he could not choose but make him read them over again and again. It was not because Deliment, who ordinarily dictated them, had made them very obliging, but because the Prince, finding them so badly penned, was persuaded that it was Amariel's fault, who read them ill; for he could not imagine, that a person, whose wit seemed worthy of his esteem, should express her thoughts with so bad a grace; and to that effect, he made him read them over many times, that he might be able to discern the faults of the Reader, from those which they made to pass for mine.  
But whilst the malice of Deliment triumphed over the Sophi's facility, and our innocency, Mahamed being well amended, caused himself to be led to the Princess' lodging, to render her his first visit, or to say better, to have a pretext to give me one. For he hath told me since, how he was not without impatience to hear me talk, to the end he might know, whether I had still the same wit, which he had so much prized in me. He did not marvel, that I had always answered him with rigour enough, because he might well think that mine own virtue, and the fear of committing myself to the discretion of him that was to read my Letters, would carry me thereunto; but to say things from the purpose to him, was that which he could not comprehend. As long as his sickness had lasted, the Princess Axiamira had been often enough to visit him, but Perca had most commonly been in her company, so that we spoke not together, until that coming, as I have said, one morning to visit Axiamira, with a purpose, if he found her alone, to declare to her the passion which he was in for me; not finding her yet awake, and making as though he would attend till she was, he caused himself to be led to my chamber; when he came thither, I had almost done reading a Letter from Vlama, who, provoked by the force of his passion, and the fear he was in lest the Sophi's love should prevail with me more than his, conjured me to remember the promises which I had made him; never to love any but him; and consequently, passed over again all the testimonies of affection which I had rendered him, that so he might oblige me not to deprive him of it.  
At first, when Mahamed entered into my chamber, I thought to have hid the Letter which I held, but suddenly calling to mind that he was blind, I laughed at my providence, and so much the more, for that he had commanded Amariel to stay in a gallery, through which one was to pass for to come into my chamber. When I saw myself alone with Mahamed, except it were a maid that served me, and in whom I confided in all things, I was taken with such impatience to make an end of reading Vlama's Letter, as presently after the first civilities, I began to unfold it as softly as possibly I could, and without answering precisely to Mahamed's discourses I read that which Vlama writ unto me. Mahamed, who certainly hath a great deal of understanding, and that according to the custom of the blind is always a little suspicious, though out of discretion he makes as little show of it as may be, hearing the noise which the Letter made in turning it from the one side to the other, (for it was indifferent long) imagined that there was some mystery in it which he did not comprehend; that peradventure the Sophi had during his sickness absolutely gained me, and that the paper, which I held, and whereof he heard the noise, was a Letter from him, or from Deliment; In so grievous a thought, this so wise and so moderate a Prince could not resist the temptation of clearing himself of a doubt, which gave him so much unquietness; so that at such time as I never dreamed of it, and that I was folding up Vlama's Letter again, and deeply musing on that which I had read, Mahamed directing his hand by the noise which I made in doing it up, chance led it so just where it should be, that he snatched it from me sooner than I was able to withstand him. I must needs know, said he, amiable Felixana, whether this blessed Paper, which hath kept you from answering me, merits the honour you do it to my prejudice. My Lord, said I unto him exceedingly troubled, if you could see what is in this Letter, I would not resist your pleasure; but since you cannot know what it is but by a third person, permit that I may conjure you to render it me. This extreme earnestness that I shown to draw that Paper out of his hands was that which provoked his curiosity the more; and though he did infinitely fear to displease me, yet did he fear much more to be overreached. And then again, believing Amariel to be very faithful, he thought he should hazard nothing, in resolving to let him read it. In this opinion the more I importuned him, the more did he defend himself from according that which I required; and I verily believe that in so great a trouble I should have told him the truth of the matter, and confided in his generosity, if Deliment, who had been advertised that Prince Mahamed was in my chamber, had not come thither with Ishmael, of whom he made use upon all occasions, to trouble our conversation. For he feared that so particular an interview would discover the trick they had played us; and that thinking to destroy our friendship, they should settle it better than before. But that which they feared was far from arriving, for Mahamed and I had other manner of thoughts then to entertain ourselves with Letters, which we had received from one another. When first I saw Ishmael and Deliment, I testified a great deal of unquietness; and addressing myself to Mahamed with an anger, which I had not much ado to counterfeit: You perceive my Lord, said I unto him, that bad examples are soon followed; and that the liberty which you have taken to enter into my chamber, hath drawn in a company, which I ought not to have admitted without the commandment of the Princess. The Princess, replied Deliment, doth she dispose of all your actions? Yes, said I unto him, and so absolutely, as I am incapable of ever disobeying her. So that, continued he, if one were in love with you, must he address himself to the Princess? That he must without doubt, answered I him roundly; for I believe her to be so just, as she will never force me in things, whereupon depend all the felicity, or all the infelicity of my life. We had, it may be, continued in further talk, had not one come and advertised them, that Axiamira was awake, and that they might see her. They left me then to go to her; howbeit Prince Mahamed stayed not long in the Princess' chamber; and that he might part from thence with civility, he made as though he found himself not well upon going forth so soon after his sickness, and retired to his lodging as speedily as he could.  
When he came there, he commanded Amariel to clear the room, and after he had assured him that they were alone, he gave him the Letter which he had taken from me, and willed him to read it. But he was strangely amazed, when as he knew by the reading of this Letter, that I had been a long time engaged in affection to some one. For, as I have told you, Vlama had run over wellnear all that had ever passed betwixt us. He very well perceived by the stile of this Letter, that it was from a man of quality, and who feared lest the Sophi's love should make me change; but whereas it had no name, and that the Prince's blindness did not Permit him to know Vlama's hand, he could not divine who it should be, and in this uncertainty he endured such pain as cannot be expressed; and said things which afterwards moved me to pity when he recounted them unto me; it being most certain, that the privation of his sight was never so sensible to him as in this occasion.  
In the mean time Amariel, who was cunning and dextrous, judging that it much imported the Sophi to see this Letter, and fearing the Prince would keep this paper, he folded up one, that was by chance on the Table, in the same form that the other was, to the end he might change it. And truly this forecast of his was not in vain, for indeed Mahamed, after he had caused this fatal Letter to be read over again, redemanded it of him, and getting to bed with that same paper, which Amariel had foisted in, by reason of a weakness wherewith he was taken by the excessive agitation of his spirits, he gave that Traitor the liberty to go forth. He presently made use of the opportunity; and causing the Sophi to be advertised that he had something to say to him, he had audience instantly. He acquainted Tachmas with Mahamed's visit at my lodging; his unquietness at his return; and at last shown him Vlama's Letter, which he knew as soon as he had opened it; for he had seen many of his writing, at such time as he was in War with the Azemites, and rendered him an account of his victories. He sent immediately then for Deliment, that was newly come from the Princess Axiamira, whom he had found yet more rebellious than she used to be. As soon as he appeared, I will no longer seek, said he unto him, for that which is the cause of Felixana's rigour, and that which makes her despise my presents, my love, and even the hope of my Crown; for it was true, that Deliment entertained me daily with such like matters. I think, my Lord, answered Deliment, how that which renders Felixana inflexible is, That the knowledge of your greatness permits her not to believe, that you will forget it for her advantage; and the refusals which she makes, are nothing doubtless but that she may be the more strongly assured of that which she desires it may be more than you. No such matter, replied the Sophi, and this which I have here will certainly make you change your opinion; in saying so, he shown him Vlama's Letter, whereby they knew but too well the goodwill that was betwixt us, and how much he was informed of that which the Sophi bore me. At first, a●l Tachmas thoughts ran into violence; he would commit me to prison; he would destroy Vlama; and his gentlest resolutions were at least to banish him.  
But Deliment, who always joined cunning to wickedness, told him, that the first thing he should do, was, to banish Felixana from the heart of Vlama, and Vlama from the heart of Felixana; that to begin by the easiest, Vlama was to be dextrously acquainted, that I had a particular commerce with Mahamed; and that to persuade him the better thereunto, he was to be showed some of the letters which I had written to the Prince, and which they had retained; letting him know, in giving them to him, that they were the first he had received from me; that to disquiet him further, his own Letter was to be showed him, with an assurance that I had put it into his hands, for to give him an undoubted mark of my affection; and that at the very same time, when as this trick had excited trouble in his soul, he was to be commanded to get instantly out of the Palace, and the next day from the Court, with order to retire to the Province, whereof he was Governor; to the end he might not have leisure to clear himself to me; and that believing he was betrayed, he might have the less care to let me hear from him. That things being in these terms, it would be the easier to vanquish me because not knowing the occasion which Vlama had to be incensed against me, I would take it ill that he did neither write to me, nor see me before his departure. That the most important point of this affair was, to be so well assured of all those which came near me, as I might receive no Letters from Vlama; and that in fine, the absence of a Lover was a great advantage for a Rival.  
The Sophi found this advice to be very good, and thinking on nothing but how to execute it, they turned their eyes upon one of Mahamed's Officers, that had before times served Vlama, who had rid himself of him by reason of his bad inclinations. They caused him to be sought out, and having immediately found and suborned him, he without further delay (after he had been instructed by Deliment what to say, and had Vlama's Letter, and three of those which I had written to Mahamed, put into his hands) went directly to Vlama, whom I could not yet advertise of that which had passed betwixt the Prince and me, because the Sophi's love disquieted him so much, as he could not resolve to see me, for fear of giving too much notice of his thoughts; and therefore to keep him from it, he made as though he were exceedingly busied about the affairs of Caramania, where the Sophi intended to make some Levies: Yet heard I for all that from him every day by that faithful Slave, which he sent to you, and you have brought to me.  
This Agent of the Sophi's found him then in such an estate as they desired for the surprising of him; he came to him, and finding him alone, makes him a long discourse of the inclination which he had always had to his service; protesting unto him that he would never relinquish it; that he acknowledged him still for his Master, and that to render him a proof of his affection, he came, without considering Prince Mahamed's interests, to advertise him of a Treason which I committed against him. Vlama upon this occasion had a secret suspicion of this man's malice; and imagined that he was sent unto him to discover whether there were any intelligence betwixt us; so that nothing moved with this discourse, I thank thee, said he unto him, for thy zeal and affection; but know, my friend, that Felixana may well disoblige me, but cannot betray me, having had no commerce with her, nor having ever trusted any thing to her discretion. I perceive very well, my Lord, answered this man, that you do not trust in mine; but it may be this Letter, which I present you with, will better persuade my fidelity unto you. In saying so, he gave him that which he had written to me. You may judge now whether Vlama were astonished when he came to know it; Howbeit this first motion being over, he imagined further, that I peradventure might have lost it, and some one have found it. But the cunning of this man left him not long in this opinion; for seeing Vlama moved, and capable of being persuaded, he told him, That Prince Mahamed had loved me a great while, and that I also loved him; That so long as he believed, that there could no other harm arrive to him, then to be deceived by me, he durst not betray Mahamed; but having seen by the Letter, which he had written to me, and which, he said, I had put into the Prince's hands, that he spoke in such sort, as if it came to the Sophi's knowledge, his fortune would be utterly ruined; he was resolved to make use of the Prince's blindness to draw it with address from out of his hands; and, my Lord, continued he, to show you that I speak truth, I have taken also three of the Letters which Felixana hath written to the Prince in the beginning of their affection; for as for the rest, I durst not meddle with them, because as they are more obliging, so the Prince makes them to be read unto him almost daily by Amariel, who is the Confident of this love.  
Vlama hearkened to this discourse, looked on her Letters and his, knew the hands, and no longer doubting of my infidelity, he thanked this wicked man, and asked him an hundred questions about the love that was between the Prince and me. But the other fearing that he would demand so many things of him, as in the end he might contradict himself in some one or other, he besought him he would be pleased to let him departed, for fear lest if any of Prince Mahamed's Officers should see him go out of his lodging so long after he was entered in●o it, they might suspect the truth. Vlama deceived by this artifice, dismissed him, promised to recompense him, and prays him to continue advertising what should pass betwixt Prince Mahamed and me.  
He was hardly out of Vlama's chamber, when, according to deliments advice, that old Satrap, whom as I have told you he had corrupted, came and commanded him from the Sophi to go instantly out of the Palace, and the next day to departed to his Government, until he received further order. And whereas Vlama importuned him to tell him, why he was entreated after that manner? The Satrap answered him, That the Sophi only knew it; and that he had charged him not to leave him till he was out of the Palace. Seeing there is nothing more resting for me, answered Vlama, but to give marks of my obedience, having given enough already of my fidelity and courage in other occasions, let us obey without murmuring. He had no sooner said so, but he prepared to be gone; howbeit suddenly remembering, that he left all the Letters which I had written him in his Cabinet, he went boldly thither to take them away; and without knowing whether it were out of a sense of choler or love, either to teer or preserve them, he took a little China coffer, wherein they were, the old Satrap, who walked fairly and softly before, never perceiving it.  
But whilst these things passed in such sort, Prince Mahamed, who had laid himself on his bed by reason of a weakness wherewith he had been taken, re-assumed new forces, and calling for Amariel, he was told that he was gone forth, but for all that he arose, and caused himself to be led by another to Axiamira's lodging, whom he found alone, Ishmael and Deliment being gone from thence a good while before, and I was not yet come unto her: For the adventure of Vlama's Letter, which the Prince had snatched from me, kept me in so great an unquietness, as I knew not what resolution to take. I feared to discover myself to the Princess, doubting lest she should take it ill, that I had concealed from her the affection of the Prince, and that of Vlama. Neither durst I acquaint Vlama with that which was arrived unto me, for fear he should imagine, that without this cross adventure, I would have told him nothing of Mahamed's love; and I judged also that it would not be very easy for me to oblige the Prince to render me Vlama's Letter, whensoever I should be able to speak with him, which I saw well was at that time absolutely impossible. In this irresolution I gave the Prince leisure to visit the Princess Axiamira, who, as I have told you, was alone, when as he came into her chamber. At his first arrival there, he commanded him that led him to get him forth, and after he had demanded of the Princess, whether he might speak without being heard of any but herself? and that she had answered him how he might speak safely; he requested her to pardon him two things, and to accord him one.  
And when as the Princess had promised him that which he desired; All the grace that I demand of you, continued he, is, That you will not think amiss of me, when I shall have told you that I have a long time loved Felixana; and the second, That you will pardon me, if the respect which I have born you hath kept me from acquainting you with it sooner. But when as you have granted me the pardon of these two things, you must also, to keep your word with me, promise not to entreat Felixana the worse for it. For though I am at this present not very well satisfied of her, and that it is rather choler than love, which carries me to the entertaining of you upon this subject, yet I cannot resolve for all that to hurt her. You acquaint me with so many strange things at once, said the Princess unto him, as I doubt whether I should believe them; for to tell me that you are in love with the beauty of Felixana, and that Felixana, in whom I confide in all things, should make your affection a secret unto me, is that which I cannot comprehend, and that which I shall not believe, unless you give me stronger proofs of it. I did not say to you, replied the Prince, That I am in love with the beauty of Felixana, but indeed that I love Felixana; And believe, dear sister, that the beauty wherewith I am taken, though it wounds not the heart through the eyes, yet leaves not touching it very powerfully; but in conclusion I am not come hither to tell you what hath made me in love, but only that I am so. As for Felixana, that which hath kept her, as I conceive, from speaking to you of that affection which I had for her, is, that she hath none for me. And would to heaven! cried he, That she had not concealed a thing from you, which without doubt touches her more sensibly at the heart. Whereupon he recounted unto her the discourses which he had used to me; the answers which I had made thereunto; the letters which he had written to me, the returns I had made him; and at last acquainted her how he had snatched away a letter from me, whereat I had showed a great deal of unquietness; and that having caused Amariel to read it to him, he had found it to be a Love-letter, and had thereby understood that I had been a long time engaged in affection to him that wrote it unto me, and who questionless (as might be judged by that which he said) ought to be a man of great quality; That his misfortune not permitting him to know the hand, he requested her to read it, that he might at leastwise be assured of the name of his Rival. Saying so, he presented her with that foisted paper, which Amariel had given him in stead of Vlama's letter, and the Princess having taken and opened it, without finding any thing written therein, could not choose but sigh, and lament the misfortune of this poor Prince.  
Surely, said she unto him, you have deceived yourself in taking one paper for another, for I see nothing in this same. O Sister! said the Prince, who little suspected the wickedness that had been done him, speak the truth; you know the hand of this letter, but out of discretion you will not tell it me, and by this address you would draw it out of my hands. No such matter replied the Princess, and I assure you that I have spoken seriously: Why did you sigh then, continued he, in unfolding this letter? It was, answered the Princess, because I saw it was none; and that this adventure which would have made one that had not loved you laugh, hath made me pity your misfortune; but it may be you have this paper still. No, no, said he, for it was made up in such an extraordinary fashion, as made me know it, and quite different from Felixana's letters which I have also brought you, and from which I never parted since I received them. The Princess, impatient to see what I had written to the Prince, took one of the letters which he presented to her, and having read it, was as much surprised as before.  
I think you well remember, generous Ibrahim, that all the letters which I had written to Mahamed were in the Sophi's hands, and that those which Amariel had given to the Prince had been all dictated by Deliment, and written with an unknown hand. So that whereas the Princess knew perfectly my hand, I cannot tell, said she to Mahamed, whether you will believe that which I am going to say to you; but I am assured that Felixana never wrote the letters which you have showed me. Certainly, answered the Prince, if I could doubt of your love, I should not believe that which you tell me; but, my dear sister, if I durst I would entreat you to read them aloud, that I may know whither by any enchantment the sense hath been altered as well as the hand, which Amariel hath always assured me was Felixana's. The Princess, to satisfy him, read two of those letters, which the Prince acknowledged to be the same he had heard before. I should believe, said the Princess then to him, that Felixana knowing you could not see but with the eyes of another, hath counterfeited her hand, or it may be hath caused these letters to be written with an unknown one, for fear l●st some of them should be seen, or lost; but that which persuades me there is something in the matter which we cannot comprehend, is, That they are nothing like to Felixana's stile, which I know very well; for I saw almost every letter that she sent to Mazanderon when as she wrote to her Father. I cannot for all that comprehend, replied the Prince, what trick there should be in this; for surely Amariel is faithful to me, and yet the letters which I have showed you are not so obliging as Felixana's discourse used to be, when I entertained her. At length after they had reasoned well together about it, without being able to comprehend aught therein, and had sent a faithful person to the Prince's chamber to search for Vlama's letter, they resolved to send for me, at that very time when as having striven to banish shame and fear from my mind, I had resolved to go and cast myself at the Princess' feet, and to rely more upon her affection then on mine own innocence. I arrived then at her chamber just as she commanded one to go for me; which I had no sooner heard, as I was coming in, but seeing the Prince with her, and a many of Letters on the Table, with a paper made up in the same manner as Vlama's was, which the Prince had taken from me, I no longer doubted but that the Princess knew the truth of every thing, for I could not be ignorant that she was well acquainted with Vlama's hand; So that falling on my knees before her, I perceive very well, Madam, said I unto her, that all my faults are known to you, and that coming with a purpose to accuse myself, there is nothing more left for me to do, then to beg your pardon for them, after I had tried nevertheless to render them more excusable than the incensed spirit of Prince Mahamed would make them appear to you. Complain not of the Prince, answered Axiamira, since if he be culpable of any thing, it is of being too little sensible of your fault; which yet I ought not to condemn in him, since notwithstanding the injury you have done me, I have indulgence enough still to hear your reasons, or rather your excuses. After I had thanked the Princess for this grace, I began to recount unto her all that had passed betwixt Vlama and me; for whereas I believed that I saw his Letter lie by the Princess, and that I was sure she knew his character, I disguised nothing unto her: But for so much as regarded the Prince, I could not tell very well how to speak of it; for not knowing what he had said to Axiamira, I feared to displease him, if I should deliver things as they had past. Howbeit the Princess, having marked my unquietness; Fear not, said she, to speak of the affection which my brother bears you, seeing I am not ignorant of any one circumstance of it: Nevertheless, to justify the relation which he hath, and which you have also made to me of it, I will know it from your mouth too.  
Whereupon I recounted all that I have said to you concerning it; his discourses, his letters, and that of Vlama, but with so much sincerity, as it served not a little to persuade the Princess that I had done the like for so much as regarded Vlama, as indeed I did not disguise the truth unto her. But why, said she to me, when as Ulama testified his love to you, and that you disliked not the marks he gave to you thereof, did not you advertise me of it? And why, being engaged in affection to Ulama, did you in an sort suffer that of the Prince? And why did you not at leastwise let me understand it? Madam, said I unto her, if you please to hear me, it may be you will find, that though I be not innocent, yet I am not very faulty. When as Vlama began to be in love with you, I took no great heed of it; and when as I perceived it, I regarded it not much; but as soon as I began to take pleasure in his discretion, to consider his virtue, and his generosity, coming to reflect on the thoughts which I had ●o● h●m, I found that he had too much engaged my heart; and I was in such a confusion at it, as I could never resolve to discover my weakness unto you. But, Madam, shall I dare to make you a complice in it? and tell you, that nothing ever rendered Vlama more amiable unto me, than the esteem that you made of him, and the passion he was in for your service. Yes, Madam, I am daring enough for it, as also to tell you further, that finding myself every day more and more faulty, by the increase of the goodwill I bore to Vlama, and by making a secret of it to you, I could never obtain so much resolution of myself as to speak to you of it; especially in a time, when as the bad designs of the Sophi, and the insolence of Deliment troubled your mind so much. For, Madam, think not, I beseech you, that my silence hath been a mark of my crime, seeing whatsoever obligation I had to Vlama, the respect which I own to you hath been always preserved; and I never promised Vlama to be his wife, but upon condition that it should be agreeable to you. This is a thing which I will make apparent to you by his Letters, and which he can show you by mine. For what concerns the Prince, I will acknowledge to you, that honouring him as I do, after those testimonies of affection which he hath done me the honour to render me, and which I have not received but with respect, I thought I should have committed a fault against you, and been ingrateful to him, if I should have acquainted you, that this Prince, whom you esteem of with so much reason, had had a passion unworthy of him. I was unwilling then that you should be able to accuse the Prince for the same thing, which you condemned in the Sophi, nor would I have had him lose your love for his favour to me. And to testify to you how I have thought of his Interests, I would not even let Vlama know the Prince's goodwill to me, for fear lest jealousy, which always chaseth reason from them whom she seizeth upon, should carry Vlama to be the less affectionate to the Prince, whose affection I have not received with so much correspondence, as that he might expect the like from me. And if you please, Madam, to exaamine the Letters well, which I have written to him, you shall find that I received the marks of his passion, as testimonies of his friendship, and not as protestations of his love.  
The Princess then taking one of the Letters that was on the Table, opened, and began to read it; but hearing things which I never wrote: Oh, Madam, said I unto her, I have not written that which you read. You have not written it, said the Prince! No, my Lord, continued I, and I am well assured that my memory doth not deceive me. It may be, said the Princess to me, that your Secretary hath not followed your intentions right. I had no Secretary, said I to h●r mightily surprised; and whereas the Letters, which I wrote to the Prince, had nothing in them that I might be afraid they should be seen, I always wrote them with mine own hand. The Princess knowing by my face that I spoke sincercly, gave me the Letter that she held, which I presently saw to be none of mine, whereat the Princess was not a little disquieted. Without all doubt, said she to the Prince, Amariel hath betrayed you, ●nd Ulama's Letter is in our enemy's hands. Ulama's Letter, said I unto her! and do I not see it amongst those that lie there by you? No truly do you not, answered Axiamira; and then sh● told me, how it had been exceedingly sought for, but could not be found.  
Hereupon I fell a crying and lamenting: Ah! Madam, said I unto her, if the Sophi knows that Ulama loves me, what usage, do you think, will he receive for it? consider, Madam, that he is the only man that can oppose deliments violences; and it may be that he is the only one that hath kept him hitherto from coming with open force, both against you, and against me. The Prince, perceiving the affliction wherein I was, and remembering how he had understood by my relation, that I was engaged in affection to Vlama before he had discovered his to me, suffered his mind to be touched with that which he bore to Vlama, with the complaints I made, or to say better, with his own generosity. Be assured, said he unto me, amiable Felixana, reaching out his hand to that side where he heard me speak, that if I have troubled the peace of your affection, by that which I have born to you, I will henceforward be the protector of it; and provided that you will here in the presence of the Princess promise me your friendship, and will conserve me that also of Ulama, I do engage myself to follow your fortune, and to employ all that an unhappy Prince can do, to restore you to that content which I have taken from you. As we were at this point, one came and told the Princess, that a Slave of Vlama's earnestly desired to speak with her; I changed colour at this discourse, but presently after I was too certain of my unhappiness. For the Slave, whom Vlama hath sent to you, presented a Note to the Princess, wherein, a little after, she read that which you are going to hear: For whereas it was not long, and that we have read it over often enough, it hath always continued in my memory.  
ULAMA'S Note to the Princess AXIAMIRA.  
IF I did not know that in banishing me from the Court, you are deprived of the most faithful and most zealous of your servants, I should obey without murmuring, and I should absent myself with joy from a place, where virtue is not found but in the Princess Axiamira, who, whithersoever fortune doth carry me, may always dispose absolutely of me.  
There is no longer doubt to be made of it, said the Princess, after she had read this Note, but that Vlama's Letter is in the Sophi's hands; and this banishment is an effect of his jealousy. To tell you, my Lord, in what a case I was in, hearing by the Note to the Princess, that Vlama made no exception but of her alone, would be an impossible thing, as well as to recount unto you that which I said in this occasion; the lamentation that Prince Mahamed made; the pardons that he begged of me; and the sorrow Axiamira was in, to see herself deprived of the only man, in whom she confided; and withal, it would be too long, and too wearisome a discourse; but in fine, the Princess, having caused that Slave to relate unto her in what manner Vlama went out of the Palace, told him, That if he had any thing to say to me from his Master, he might do it without fear; and I having confirmed that which the Princess said to him, he gave me a Note, which I shall never forget, and whose very words were these.  
ULAMA'S Note to FELIXANA.  
IF you had not betrayed me, I should have died with grief, rather than have absented myself from you; but after your infidelity, my banishment is a grace; since I quitted not Felixana, till Felixana abandoned me. I cannot for all that resolve to part, without telling her once for all, that I part the most infortunate of all men living; and that if the end of my life may assure her felicity, she shall soon be in the estate that I desire her to be in.  
The end of the reading hereof was to me the beginning of the sharpest grief that ever I felt: And the alone thought of being believed unfaithful by a man, for whom I refused the Crown of Persia, was so strange a torment to me, as my reason is not strong enough to retain the resentment which I had of it. What! Madam, said I to the Princess, can you live in a place where such wickednesses are committed? and against persons that appertain to you? Was it not enough to banish Vlama, without persuading him by some imposture, which is unknown to me, that I had betrayed him? and it may be it is I which causes him to be banished. This artifice doubtless hides some greater design, than the separating of us; and I greatly fear that this violence will quickly be followed by another; and that after they have taken from you the only defender which you had here, you will know by your experience, that you have as much interest, as Felixana, in the conservation of Vlama. For surely Deliment thinks not so much of contenting the Sophi's passion, as of satisfying that which he hath for you: And this Insolent regards you without doubt, as a reward that was destined to him for the conquest which he pretends to make of me; but I am right certain that death shall deny me her succour, or he shall never triumph in this sort. The Princess seeing a great deal of probability in that which I said, could not choose but accompany my tears with hers; and Mahamed was so afflicted, as athwart my sorrow I saw his resentment.  
But at last, for the better clearing of the matter, it was demanded of that Slave, what Vlama had done all the day, and what he had seen? Then he related, how one of Prince Mahamed's Officers came unto him; had talked with him in secret, and given him some letters, which very much afflicted him; and that immediately after he had received the commandment to be gone. But in what place is Ulama at this present, said the Princess? Madam, answered the Slave, as soon as he had written, at one of his friend's house, the two Notes, which I have brought, he presently took horse, and departed, after he had commanded me to meet him this night at a place where he is to lie. This man, said the Prince, must not be retained any longer, for fear lest Ulama's melancholy should make him change his resolution. This advice seeming good, the Princess commanded me to go and write to him in her Cabinet, as she also would do; and whereas I looked upon her, scarce daring to tell her my thought; I understand you well enough, said she unto me, you would have me justify you to Ulama: and I, said Mahamed interrupting her, would have Felixana excuse me to him.  
In conclusion, generous Ibrahim, the Princess wrote to Vlama, and so did I, but with so many protestations of mine innocency, as if for that once his mind was not fully satisfied, yet was it at the least more quiet, and his despair was turned into a more moderate affliction. Mahamed also would gladly have been able himself to have sent some marks of his friendship to Vlama, but he was fain to assure him by the hand of the Princess, that he would always be his friend, without ever being his Rival again. These Letters being written, the fear lest they should be intercepted came into my mind; so that to prevent it, the Princess sent for an old Slave, whom she had proved to be very faithful, and having given them to him, she commanded him to attend that of Vlama at that gate of the City where he was to pass, and there to deliver them to him in such sort, as no body might perceive it. This providence was not in vain, for this Slave of Vlama's was no sooner come forth of the Princess' lodging, but he was arrested by deliments order, and asked for the Letters which he carried to Vlama; but knowing very well that he had none, he answered without daunting, how he was ready to make it appear that they were mistaken; and said further, that his Master having had no time to take his leave of the Princesses, and none of his servants being with him but he, he had sent him with a compliment to th●m; and whereas he was hard by Perca's lodging, he would have gone in there, to give the more colour to this officious lie; howbeit they would not permit him till they had throughly searched him all over, to see if he had spoken the truth: And when they found that he had not that which they thought he had had, they let him go, and so he finished his voyage, after he had taken our Letters from him to whom we had committed them.  
As for us, seeing the matter in these terms, we resolved that the Princess should assure herself of them, whom she believed were faithful unto her, by new protestations of the affection they had promised her. That I should write secretly to my Father, to the end that if we were enforced to have recourse to extreme remedies, and that slight was the only one that rested for us, Mazanderon might be in an estate to receive us. That in the mean time, to prevent the Sophi, before he had taken his last resolutions, we should publish the business, complain to all the world of deliments insolency; and that the next morning she should go and request the Sophi to forbid him from ever seeing her again; because it might be, that he dared not so easily then propound a thing to her, whereunto she shown herself so averse, as when disguising her thoughts in the manner she had always done, he might seem to be ignorant that she had so much repugnancy unto it. That to perplex him so much the more, she should send to entreat five or six persons, that were well affected to her, to be present at the Sophi's rising the next day; and that afterwards we should frame our designs according to the answer he should make. That Mahamed should by his Governor's means do what he could to cause Amariel to be taken; that for so much as regarded me I should by no means be absent from the Princess, and that for fear of some violence I should lie in her chamber in the place of ●●r that always waited upon her there. This resolution was executed, as we had conceiv●d it; the Princess' friends were advertised, and repaired to the Sophi at the hour assigned them.  
When the Princess came thither, Deliment was not present, for by good fortune our design had not been discovered: The Princess was followed by all her maidens, and whereas it was indifferent early, and that she seemed to be extreme sad, the Sophi believed that she was come to beg Vlama's grace of him; so that to prevent her; I perceive very w●ll, said he unto her looking on me, that the tears of some one oblige you to visit me so early, and that Ul●ma's absence is that which brings you hither; but that I may not be constrained to refuse you, I command you not to speak to me of it. The Princess without daunting told him, That though the banishment of Ulama had both surprised and afflicted her, because she believed him to be the most affected of all his subjects to the good of his Empire, yet the respect which she bore him would never permit her to murmur at it: And to tell you what hath brought me hither, continued she, with both a modest and an hardy countenance, it is not to obtain a grace, but to complain of an outrage which I have received, and for which I come to demand justice of you, in the presence of those that hear me; for since I hold the publishing of a crime to be the beginning of punishing it, I would that all your subjects were witnesses of the accusation I am going to make. The Sophi was so surprised with this discourse, that in the confusion he was he never dreamed of Deliment; so that after he had assured her, that he would protect her against all that would wrong her, she proceeded with more assurance than before. I have ever believed, my Lord, said she unto him, that having the honour to be your daughter, you would take my interests for your own; and therefore I do not fear to tell you that a man whose birth is base, whose mind is full of artifice, whose bad inclinations are disguised to your Majesty, and that hath nothing recommendable but the happiness to please you, because he conceals all his defects from you; hath had the temerity to pretend to marry me, and to speak openly to me of love: And though I have forbidden him with all the severity whereof I am capable, yet when he saw that my respect to you kept me from complaining to you of a man whom you love, he hath continued with so much insolency, that I was not able to suffer it any longer; for, my Lord, having the honour to be your daughter, I should be unworthy to bear that glorious name, if I could endure, that a man, who without your bounty might without shame be my slave, should be so audacious as to tell me that he will be my husband. Pardon me, my Lord, if I am carried this way in this occasion, since this rash man by his insolency affronts you no less than me; and your interest is no less considerable to me then mine own. Howbeit I do not desire that you should deprive yourself of his presence, if it be agreeable unto you, but only that you will forbid Deliment from ever seeing or speaking to me more. Behold well-nigh after what manner the Princess spoke; who, to keep the Sophi from interrupting her, had so much address, as not to name Deliment, but at the end of her discourse, which strangely surprised the Sophi.  
Now though he was very much in choler, and that he had resolved to make this marriage, yet durst he not before so much company tell her openly what his mind was: But to disguise the matter; I see well enough, Axiamira, said he unto her, that deliments greatest crime is your believing him to be an enemy to Ulama; howsoever since you have recourse to my justice, I will neither condemn nor absolve him, till I have heard his reasons, which peradventure will not be so weak as you think: In the mean time be assured, that Deliment shall not say any thing to you henceforward, but by order from me. The Princess would fain have replied, but the Sophi made her a sign to withdraw, which she did with a great deal of respect; leaving the Sophi very much displeased, and all them that had heard her ravished with her generosity, and extremely wondering at deliments insolency, and the little resentment which the Sophi had showed. At our going from thence we met with Ishmael, followed by Deliment, who, knowing nothing of what the Princess had done, would have obliged the Prince to conduct her to her lodging: But Axiamira beholding him with contempt, said unto him with an incensed voice; I forbidden thee from the Sophi to follow or to speak to me; and if thou wilt know the cause of it, repair to him, and thou shalt learn that at last my patience hath given place to my generosity; and that I am declared thy most mortal enemy. Deliment, surprised with a discourse which he expected not, could scarce tell what to answer; and we left him so blank, as he remained a good while in the place without knowing what to do.  
But at length, having left Ishmael, he went unto the Sophi, who gave him an account of Axiamira's visit, after he had commanded all those forth whom he suspected. Deliment saw then that it was time for him to employ all his address; and to that effect, he cast himself at the Sophi's feet, beseeches him to remember, how it was by his command that he had declared to the Princess the love which he bore her; that had it not been for him, he would rather have died, then ever have made any show of it; but after he had been the author of his hopes, had augmented his love, and had promised to render it happy, he should rather take away his life, then take from him the only thing that could make it agreeable to him, and without which he would not conserve it. The Sophi, who loved Deliment, seeing him in this estate, raises him up, assures him that he will vanquish the pride of Axiamira, and how in this occasion he shall see, that after he hath dealt as a Father, he will command as a King, and as a King that will be obeyed. But, added he (as we understood afterwards by one of those that always waited at the Cabinet door, and who from that time forward gave himself absolutely to the Princess) the possession of Felixana, my dear D●liment, must give thee that of Axiamira; Haste thee away then to make profit of Ulama's absence, that it may be  to me; for if it were possible I would have her yield herself to me, and not be constrained to have recourse unto violence. My Lord, answered this wicked man, there are certain violences, which have but the name and appearances thereof; and when I reflect on that which regards Felixana, it seems to me that the force one should offer her would be of that number. It is true that she hath loved Ulama, yet I cannot think but that the hope of a crown hath diminished that affection. We have indeed seen the letter which he wrote to her, but we know not the answer to it. Besides, Felixana stands upon her generosity, and because she hath promised Ulama to be absolutely his, she is capable of resisting your Majesty still, though it may be she would be glad in her heart that she might be constrained to fail of her word, to the end she might have a lawful excuse. For so much as concerns your subjects, they could not accuse you of tyranny, since he is no Tyrant that uses no violence, but to render one happy; that forces not the will, but for another's good; that employs not his power, but for the felicity of him which proves it; and that in conclusion seeks his own contentment, without the oppression of his people, and without doing wrong or shame to any body. For, my Lord, to say that Felixana is of a birth too unequal to yours, for her to wear the Crown, is to give too strict bounds unto the Royal Authority. Felixana is noble to satisfy that unjust Law, which will have it so, but if she were not, that is not to be stood upon, seeing the power of Kings never shows more, than when it abases the highest, and raises up the most abased. And it is indeed in these encounters, that they may be named the arbitrators of the unhappiness, or of the felicity of their subjects. After such like discourses, the Sophi seemed to resolve to follow deliments advice; but nevertheless before he would execute it, he concluded to speak openly to the Princess Axiamira touching her marriage; Whereupon if she resolved not to obey him, they would then have recourse unto force, and constrain her whether she would or no, to that she was so unwilling.  
I have already told you, illustrious Bassa, how he who waited that day at the Sophi's Cabinet door, overheard all that I have recounted unto you; for the passion, wherewith Deliment was carried away, permitted him not to have so much prudence as to speak low; neither did the Sophi's love and choler leave him the like providence. This man having heard a●l these things, felt himself so touched with the mischiefs they were preparing for us, as he resolved to advertise us of it. It is true indeed, that his generosity was in this occasion excited by a particular hatred which he bore Deliment, who had many times opposed the advancement of his fortune. At length this man came in the Evening to advertise us of all these things; after which we also learned that which had passed in the trick that Amariel had put upon us. For Prince Mahamed had caused his ancient Governor so to deal, as he had laid hold on the Traitor Amariel, who out of the same weakness wherewith he had betrayed his Master, recounted unto us how Deliment had corrupted him; and how he had carried all my letters to the Sophi, who had always caused others to be written for to be sent to Mahamed; from whom likewise they had retained all those which he had made to be written to me, to give me counterfeit ones in stead of them. That afterwards he had carried Vlama's Letter, which he had snatched from me, to the Sophi; who by deliments counsel had caused it to fall into Vlama's hands, with three others of those which I had effectively written to the Prince. We knew then that Evening all the hurt that they had done us, and all that which they would do us; whereupon we promised to pardon the Traitor, and to recompense him that was faithful unto us, dismissing them both, with direction to either of them to be vigilant for the good of the Princess. After these sad news our tears redoubled far more than before. The Princess would die, I was fully resoved to follow her, Mahamed was mad because he could not assist us; and in so great a trouble we lamented our misfortunes, without knowing how to avoid them. But in the end the Prince's ancient Governor, whom we had acquainted with the deplorable estate of our affairs, told the Princess, that in the terms wherein he saw things were, he did not think it fit for us directly to oppose the Sophi's pleasure; That love, ambition, and choler, were passions too violent, for one to hope to vanquish them only by greatness of courage; that the greatest wisdom counselled, when one cannot decline a mischief, to endeavour at leastwise to put it off from us for some time, because in the greatest matters, one day deferred, may cause revolutions which could not be expected; that death was not a remedy but for evils, which had no other than that; that there were certain dangerous moments, which if by prudence avoided, our enemies can no longer execute their bad designs; that they were to give the Sophi leisure to reflect on that which he was going to undertake; and to that end, when as he should come to speak to the Princess, she should have recourse to tears and to prayers, rather than to reason, which he would not understand: That if they should not be strong enough to divert him from his designs, as it was very likely they would not, she should then request him to afford her some time to resolve to obey him. And to the end she might not by her sadness give him new occasions of displeasure, she should demand permission of him to absent herself from the Court for certain months, with a promise no longer to resist his pleasure when she returned thither again; that in the mean time it might happen, that the Sophi might repent him; that the love which he bore me might be altered, or allayed by absence; but, continued he, the principal is, That Felixana do not remain here. I know full well, answered I, that I will never abandon the Princess but to die. And for my part, said the Princess, I know full well that Felixana shall not die without me, and that I will never abandon her to the violences of my father.  
In conclusion, generous Ibrahim, without rehearsing this sad conversation to you, it was resolved, that if the King should accord Axiamira that which she was to demand of him, and yet would retain me, I should then desire him, with all the show of sorrow and tenderness I could possibly express, to permit me to follow the Princess; it being credible that the Sophi would not refuse me the first thing I should crave of him; especially not mentioning at all my opposing of his pleasure. It was not because the Princess' great heart did not resist the following this counsel, but because she being unable to find out any other, was forced to consent unto it. The next day the Sophi came to the Princess, where after he had amplified the merit, the virtue, and the courage of Deliment, he told her that she was not to take it ill, if he had had the boldness to speak to her of love, seeing he had not done it but by his order; because, having resolved to marry her to him, he would have been glad that he should have got her goodwill. My Lord, answered the Princess, with a feigned amazement, if I had known that the boldness, which Deliment hath used in speaking to me, had been an effect of his obedience to you, I had received him in another manner, I had not termed him audacious, I had been contented with complaining, and not accusing of him, and had cast myself at your feet to cause you to change a design, whereunto I have such an aversion, as I cannot think of it without grief. The Sophi seeing some change, as it seemed to him, of the Princess' mind, was extreme glad of it; and though he saw she did not render herself, he believed nevertheless, since she came to entreaties, that with some patience he might vanquish her. This hope was that which induced him the more easily to grant her the request she made him, to give her time to resolve upon it. And truly he had been the cruelest of all men, if he had not let himself be moved with the reasons, complaints, supplications, and tears of the most amiable Princess that ever was. But when he had permitted her to go to Mazanderon, which she had propounded unto him for the passing away of the time of her exile, as in a place where she had been before times for her pleasure, he told her that she was to leave me behind with the Princess Perca, to the end the Court might not be desolated, and for fear also lest my father having me in his power, should not restore me unto her when she returned. I was in a corner of the chamber, where I understood all that they said; but when I heard this proposition, without thinking of the respect which I owed the Sophi, I interrupting him, cast myself at his feet, and I said so many things, I shed so many tears, and answered him so favourably to certain questions that he asked of me, and which concerned the design he had upon me, as at length I found, that the tears of a beloved person are very powerful arms; seeing the Sophi granted me that which I demanded of him, though it were absolutely against his mind. But that Deliment might not have leisure to get the permission which had been given us to be revoked, we parted away the next morning; yet was it not without dispatching an express to Vlama, who advertised him of all the slights that had been used against us; of the resolution we had taken; of the place whither we were going; and of all our affairs. We left Prince Mahamed so afflicted, as I never beheld the like grief. As for Perca, she seemed to be so too, but indeed she was not sorry to see us go; for though she was willing that Deliment should marry Axiamira, yet did she not much desire that I should be the Sophi's wife. As for Deliment, it is certain that the permission which the Sophi had given us no whit pleased him; but to be secured in some sort, as he is the cunningest man in the world, he did that which you shall hear, and which extremely surprised us: for when we arrived at Mazanderon, we found that my father was gone from thence to the Court by the commandment of the Sophi, from whom he had received express order to repair thither with all speed; and that by the counsel of Deliment, who as soon as he knew that we were gone to Mazanderon, persuaded the Sophi to send for my father, before we should be arrived there; and to ordain him to come another way, for fear of meeting us; to the end, said he to the Sophi, that Felixana, knowing her father in your hands, may not carry the Princess to disobey you, nor herself to resist you, as hitherto she hath done. I leave you to judge whether this adventure did not give us unquietness enough, especially to me. What I said I, must I betray Vlama, or abandon my father to the Sophi's violence? Ah, no! I had rather die; and not able to satisfy both my duty, and my love to Vlama, I will die that I may not be wanting either to the one or the other. But at length we understood by a Letter, which Prince Mahamed caused his sage Governor to write unto us, and by one that my Father sent me, how the Sophi entreated him very well, and made him hope for great things.  
The first sense of grief then being over, we began to breathe, and take some rest; But alas! how soon was this rest thwarted? and what a strange remedy did Fortune make use of, to deliver us both from the Sophi's tyranny, and deliments violence! The Princess, to be free from the importunity which she received by the visits of three or four women of quality, which came too often unto her, had for a good while together accustomed to go a fishing; for, as I have told you, Mazanderon is on the Seashore: At the same time there arrived in that Port a Vessel laden with the rarest things that come to us from Europe; but alas! we knew not that he, who seemed not to come but to traffic, should be our ravisher, and the cause of our greatest misfortunes. Felixana making a little pause for to sigh, Ibrahim, who was as well acquainted with Rustans' artifice as she; I can, said he unto her, fair Felixana, spare you the pains of recounting unto me, how that Merchant going to the Castle to show the Princess some Pictures, and Mirrors, saw you, and knew that it was not you he was to carry away by force; and having conferred the picture, which had been given him, believing it to be yours, because he that had sold it, had assured so much; having, I say, conferred it with the Princess Axiamira, he found that she was the original of it; and how a● length having made a show of being gone, he one day, as you were taking the air on the sea, boarded the Princess' Vessel, carried you into his, and laboured to win her, by persuading her that she would be happy to be in the power of Soliman: in fine, beautiful Felixana, I know all that hath arrived unto you until your shipwreck; but I confess unto you that I an altogether ignorant by what prodigy you escaped out of it. Felixana was going to proceed on in her discourse, but Ibrahim, seeing it was very late, and conceiving that this history would be long, told her, that how impatient soever he was to hear it, yet good manners was stronger in him then curiosity; and that it being unjust to deprive the Princess Axiamira of a person, that was so agreeable and so necessary to her, he thought it fit she should repair unto her. How in the mean time, that he might not be kept too long from understanding the rest of her adventures, he would stay and lodge all night there in the Castle of the seven Towers, to the end he might the next day also learn of her what was requisite for him to know for the Princess' service. Felixana answered him, that she would do whatsoever he pleased; and since he had the goodness to permit her to go and see how the Princess did, she prayed him that it might be immediately. Ibrahim requested her to assure her of the desire and resolution he had to serve her. And as she was going away, he told her further, that she might take Vlama's Slave along with her, because he had something to say to the Princess, who it might be would be glad to hear from his mouth the marvellous Exploits of his Master. Felixana thanked him also for this favour, and went away to Axiamira's lodging. As for Ibrahim, he dispatched the Governor of the Castle of the seven Towers to the Bassa of the S●a, about an affair that concerned the State; and after he had instructed him, he told him smiling, how for that night he would be responsable to him for the place. This man went presently away, and Ibrahim was conducted to the fairest lodging of the Castle, where he passed away the Evening, and all the night, in thinking of his own misfortunes: And though, to comfort himself, he compared them with those of others, yet found he that his own were far the greater. In the mean time Felixana was no sooner come to Axiamira, but she told her so many things to the advantage of our illustrious Bassa, as she was not a little impatient to see him. But after she had given her an account of their conversation, she caused Vlama's Slave to be called in, who casting himself at the Princess' feet, delivered her a Letter from his Master. Ah! Felixana, said Axiamira, wherefore have you surprised me? and wherefore have you any whit deferred the pleasure I should receive in knowing that Vlama thinks yet of me? Saying so, she opened Vlama's Letter, which she found to be thus.  
ULAMA'S Letter to the Princess of PERSIA.  
IF I did not well know, that to be an enemy to Deliment, were to be the servant to the Princess Axiamira, I should not be so bold as to write unto her, after I have dared to bear arms against the Sophi her father. But knowing that I did not take them up, but to deliver, or revenge her, methinks I may hope, that she will not take it ill, if I endeavour to serve her, and employ the blood, which I have shed in the service of a foreign Prince, to procure her liberty. If I obtain this grace, I shall still arrive at the end, which I propound unto myself; being no other than to hazard my life for a testimony, that I am unto her the most affectionate of all the Sophi's subjects, and the most obedient of her servants.  
ULAMA.  
I make no doubt of it, said the Princess, after she had read this Letter; but, continued she, speaking to the Slave, who had delivered it unto her, Wilt thou not tell me what Vlamas adventures have been? I have order, Madam, replied he, to obey you in all things, and so much the rather in this same, because I have an express command to give an account thereof to Felixana. Halima seeing the Slave preparing himself to content the curiosity of Axiamira, desired her to defer this relation till she had eaten something, which she consented unto at the entreaty of this woman, who redoubled the care she had of this wise Princess after she knew that the grand Visier was interessed therein. Axiamira's repast was not long, and Felixana's impatience exciting hers, the Slave began his discourse in this sort, but it was after the Princess had caused Halima and Felixana to sit down on cushions by her bed's side.   

The History of ULAMA.  
I Will not stand, Madam, to rehearse unto you the transports of joy which I observed in Vlama, when as by your and Felixana's Letters he understood, that she was not faulty; since not doubting of his affection, you cannot doubt of his resentment of it. But indeed I will tell you, how after that first motion of joy was over, it was no little unquietness to him to abandon you in a time, when he foresaw you would have need of his assistance. Howbeit he believed that it was best in this occasion to obey the Sophi's pleasure, seeing it would have been utterly to take away the means from him of serving you, if he should have rendered himself culpable, by not submitting to his commands; resolving howsoever to kill Deliment, if the matter should grow desperate, rather than suffer any outrage to be done to you. In this design he went to his Government, where, as you know, you a little while after fully acquainted him with all the tricks that had been put upon you; and of the resolution you had taken to go to Mazanderon. This mark of your generosity, and Felixana's constancy, gave him both at once a great deal of grief, and a great deal of satisfaction. He was afflicted to understand the persecution which you endured, yet he could not choose but be exceeding glad to know by this noble example, that the Crown of Persia was not so considerable with Felixana as his affection. Now he had not had leisure enough to think of what he was to do, when as he received an express command to repair to the Sophi with all possible speed, upon pain of being declared guilty of high Treason. This extraordinary proceeding surprised him; for he knew not then, as afterwads he did by one of deliments Confidents, whom he took prisoner hard by Tauris, that as soon as you were gone to Mazanderon, and that Felixana's Father was come to the Sophi, he would withal not only secure the person of Vlama, but utterly ruin him; for fear, lest coming to know that you were at Mazanderoa, he should go thither to you, and be carried to some extreme resolution. And for that effect, he had disposed the Sophi's mind to commit Vlama to prison if he came to the Court; and consequently to arraign him, upon pretext of some disorder done by certain Troops (which before times had served under Vlama) at such time as they understood that he was commanded from the Court; representing to the Sophi, that as long as Vlama lived he should never be at quiet. Deliment was not for all that so assured of the Sophi's mind, but that he doubted Vlama's return might change the face of things: For he was not ignorant how the Sophi had loved him very much, and was obliged to him for more than one victory. He knew likewise that my Master's party was not so weak at Court, but that if it came so extreme violence, it might peradventure cause a general revolution of the State, which would not be advantageous to him: So that to provide for all the misfortunes, which might arrive unto him, he had recourse to artifice. And to that purpose, just at the time when as the Sophi commanded Vlama to repair unto him, Deliment made him be several ways advertised of the bad designs, which were upon his life, and carried the matter so dextrously, as the faithfullest of my Master's friends served to the wickedness of this man; who in stead of keeping the design of ruining Vlama very secret, caused it to be bruited with address abroad, too days before he, who was to carry the commandment to Vlama, set forth towards him: So that when he came to Vlama, he had already received advice from many not to come to the Court. Even Mahamed himself had caused him to be written unto about it, but with so many circumstances, as made him see his undoubted ruin, if he obeyed; in so much as it was impossible for him to suspect, that there was any artifice in all these things. Some counselled him to seek out a place of retreat amongst strangers; promising to labour the justifying of his flight whilst he was absent. Others would have had him fortify himself in his Government. But none advised him to trust to his innocency. I leave you to think, Madam, whether deliments wickedness could have had a more  success? and whether all these things were not capable of bringing to pass the design which he had, so to order the matter, that Vlama should not only not repair to the Sophi, but should also render himself effectively culpable in the eyes of all the world, who after this would not be so forward in ●ndertaking his interests.  
Vlama in this cross conjuncture knew not what resolution to take: for if, on the one side, he considered the peril whereunto he should be exposed, by going to put himself into his ●n●mies hands; if he thought, I say, that you not being at Court, his party would thereby be the weaker, and deliments the stronger; on the other side he saw, that in not obeying he l●ft his Enemy Master of the Field; that he furnished him with Arms to destroy him; that he should behave himself as if he were guilty; and to say all, that he should abandon you, and quit Felixana. This last thought made him resolve to go courageously to the Court; howbeit he was kept from parting so soon, by a sickness wherewith he was taken: but at length finding himself better, he set forth on his way, with a purpose to oppose deliments malice as much as he could, and to forget nothing that might conduce thereunto. But scarcely had we made two days journey (for as you know, Madam, I have never abandoned him) when as we encountered one of his dearest friends, who came in all haste to acquaint him, that all the Court was filled with the news of your loss, and Felixana's. That in the Royal House it was said, how going a fishing you were cast away; but that such, as looked farther into matters, believed that your loss was a mere supposition; and that without doubt you were ●●pt shut up in some part. That it was an effect of the Sophi's passion, and of deliments viol●nc●; that in the fashion as the matter was carried, there was no remedy to be sought for it; that going to the Court, he should sacrifice himself unprofitably for you, and much to the advantage of D●liment; and that in conclusion, the best he could do was to seek a sanctuary with some Prince, mighty enough to defend him, and just enough to acknowledge his merit. Ju●g, Madam, in what manner my dear Master received this deadly news, and how much he resented ●n adventure, whereby he for ever lost the hope of seeing you again; and whereby he saw Felixana in the possession of another. His grief was so great, that if I could describe it unto you, I am sure the recital of it would make you shed tears. At first he appeared more insensible, then afflicted; his silence, his paleness, the little motion that he had, after he had understood this sad news, and his immovable look, would not permit me to be able to judge, what new misfortune it was that had arrived unto him, for this man had spoken very softly. But I no longer doubted of it, when as suddenly breaking his silence, and speaking with much precipitation; Let Fortune, said he, do with me as she will, I am very certain that she cannot make me more unhappy than I am. Then turning himself to him, who had acquainted him with your loss, wholly transported with grief, and quite changed in his countenance, Let us go, said he, dear friend; let us go and die in some remote place, since I am separated for ever from Felixana. At this word he fell down dead in my arms, and I believed, seeing him in this pitiful estate, that grief had done that which his despair would have executed. By good hap we were not very far from a Country house, whither having carried him with the help of his friend, we brought him out of his swoon; but it might be said that it was some cruelty in us to bring him to his senses again, because withal we restored him to his sorrow and despair. Oh, said he, Felixana is in a condition, that the best she can be for me, is not to be at all! Oh, Felixana is in the arms of death, or in the power of the Sophi! Ah! no, no, let us not be so base, as to support this grief. If Felixana be dead, let us follow her generously; and if she be another's, let us not survive our ill fortune. Then on a sudden beginning again, after he had held his peace a little; What, shall the Princess Axiamira, the glory of her sex, and of our age, be the wife of a man, unworthy to be her Slave? and shall we live after we have so often sworn to her to die for her service, and to defend her from the insolency of Deliment! Ah! that may in no sort be; and since I cannot succour her, I know at leastwise how to testify to her by my death, that the fear of losing my life hath not kept me from opposing her Enemies. Saying so, he walked up and down a great pace, and seemed to have some strange design upon himself: But perceiving that his scimitar was gone, which by chance was fallen from him, we not being ware of it, as we were carrying him in a swoon to that house; Think ye, said he unto us, to keep me from dying by taking my arms from me? Ah! no, no, continued he, I shall easily find wherewithal to end my life and my miseries. Generous Vlama, answered his friend unto him, we had no intent to take your scimitar from you; since contrarily, in the estate wherein I see things, it would methinks be fit to seek for arms to revenge you, rather than to destroy you: For if Felixana be dead, you cannot lose yourself more nobly, then in revenging her of them, which have been her Enemies during her life: and if she be not, what do you think she will say, when as she shall know, that the generous Vlama, in stead of stirring up the people, of demanding succour of some foreign Prince, of marching in the head of an Army to assail her persecutors, weakly abandons her, in abandoning himself to his despair? and entreats her yet more cruelly than Fortune doth, since he will deprive her of the only man that can deliver her, and the only person whom she loves. And how will you have me deliver her, if I know not in what place of the Earth she is? That, my Lord, answered I, must be carefully enquired after: but if you should not discover any thing, yet must you take up Arms: For if you are ignorant where Felixana is, you are not ignorant at leastwise who are the Enemies of the Princess Axiamira and Felixana. I should never have done, Madam, if I should rehearse all Vlama's discourses unto you. Sometimes he would kill Deliment, though we made it apparent to him, that it would be almost an impossible thing; again he would present himself to the Sophi; then he would go unknown to Mazanderon, to inquire himself of your loss: But for a conclusion of all, he still returned to the resolution of dying. At length without opposing ourselves directly to his grief, we knew so well how to inspire his mind with choler, as the sole design of revenging you preserved his life. He resolved then to return to his Government for to think of the means he was to use for the same. As for his friend, he sent him back again, and prayed him still to advertise him of whatsoever should pass at the Court; and to endeavour to discover in what place you were retained; for he made no question at all, but that you were in the Sophi's hands.  
When we were returned, he understood that Deliment had bethought him, to say no longer that you had suffered shipwreck; but contrarily he caused Prince Mahamed, and Felixana's Father to be arrested, upon suspicion that they were intelligent with your carrying away; causing it to be bruited withal, that Vlama had some part in their crime; and that also preparation was a making to go and apprehend him in his Government, as rebellious and disobedient to the Sophi's commands. My Master acquainted with this news, was yet further confirmed in the opinion, that your loss was an effect of deliments artifice. This thought made him absolutely conclude to think of his safety, to the end he might be revenged. And to that effect, he retired to a good strong place, which appertained to one of his friends, where he lay certain days concealed, to advise of what he was to do; and after he had well considered every thing, he judged it would be best for him, to put himself under the protection of generous Ibrahim, whose reputation filled all the Orient. For knowing that Soliman had always pretensions enough upon Persia, to have a specious pretext for the recommencing of their ancient Wars, he hoped that by assuring him of his friends and intelligences, he might peradventure carry him thereunto; and the rather for that he knew the Georgiens' had for a good while together made many incursions into Comagena and Mesapotamia. This resolution taken, he dispatched me away to Ibrahim at Constantinople, with one of the most obliging and generous Letters in the world; wherein he signified to him, that for the confirmation of what he had written, and confiding in his generosity, he would put himself into Bitilisa, which is within Soliman's dominion, and not above four days journey from Vlama's Government. As indeed, I was no sooner departed, but my Master, after he had written to the faithfullest of his friends, to entertain some intelligence with them, in case he should have need of it, set forth towards Bitilisa; and committed himself into the hands of one, named Serefbeg, unto whom this Town appertained, as Vassal of the Ottoman Empire. But though Vlama told him, that he came to seek the protection of Soliman, and that he had to that effect dispatched one to Ibrahim; yet this man, being of a cruel disposition, and provoked by an indiscreet and brutish zeal, in stead of barely assuring himself of his person, by putting a guard upon him, until he heard from Soliman, he caused him to be seized upon, to be bound, and in that deplorable estate sent him to Constantinople.  
In the mean time I had made my voyage very happily; and having delivered my Letter to Ibrahim, I well perceived that he was very joyful of it; that the reputation of my Master was come even unto him; and that he was not ignorant of his high birth; As truly a little after, he obtained for Vlama all that he had demanded; And as he was preparing to send to receive him with honour, and was talking with him in the Hipodrome, before his Palace gate, about my return, I saw my Master arrive bound upon a horse, his hands manacled, and his face so changed, as I hardly knew him: but being sure it was he, without thinking of the respect I owed to the grand Visier, I left him, and approaching to Vlama; My Lord, said I to Ibrahim, suffer not him whom you mean to protect to be so unworthily entreated; nor let the valiant Vlama be chained like a Slave. Vlama! cried the grand Visier: Yes, generous Ibrahim, continued I, you behold that Vlama, whose valour is incomparable; whose birth is as noble as any in all Persia; and who hath demanded protection of none but you. I had no sooner said thus, but Ibrahim ran himself to unloose my Master; and beholding them which accompanied him with fury, he willed me to help him, which I did with a great deal of joy. As for Vlama, he was in such a confusion to see himself in that estate, as h● could almost have wished that I had not named him: but the thing being done, and having understood that the grand Visier spoke the Persian Tongue; These chains, said he unto h●m, generous Ibrahim (for he had observed that I had named him so) are glorious unto me, seeing they are taken from me by so illustrious an hand as yours: And owing my liberty to you at our very first encounter, judge whether all the rest of my life I shall not absolutely depend on you? It is true, replied Ibrahim embracing him, that these chains are not shameful, but for those that have made you wear them; and by a fate clean contrary to that of all deliverers, I must, after the freeing you of them, crave pardon of you for the ill usage you have received; yet so far happy at leastwise herein, as you cannot suspect Soliman for it, who, if I be not deceived, will make them feel the weight of your chains which have laid them on you. Vlama answered thereunto with a great deal of civility, and at length the grand Visier caused him to enter into his Palace, which was hard by, charging some of his servants to seize upon them that accompanied Vlama, for fear lest any of them should steal away, to go and advertise Serefbeg how his indiscreet zeal was not well received. When these two illustrious persons were come in, Ibrahim shown Vlama the Letter he had written him, the order he had taken for his reception; and after he had told him, that he might command in his house, he went to give an account of his arrival to Soliman, who was so incensed against Serefbeg, that his anger broke out terribly upon him, as you shall understand hereafter.  
In the mean time the Bassa came back to fetch my Master to the Seraglio: and as there is a sympathy between great men, which makes them from the very first time of their acquaintance to love one another far sooner than others do, so Vlama and that illustrious Bassa grew suddenly to be such friends, as I was mightily surprised with it. But not to prolong this discourse, Soliman caressed Vlama extraordinarily; swore he would punish him that had put him in chains, though my Master employed all his power to obtain his grace; lodged him magnificently; furnished him with a train answerable to his condition; and gave him all the occasions that might be to praise him. And, as if Fortune would second Vlama's designs, the very same day that he arrived at Constantinople, the War of Persia was concluded; whether it were in regard of that which the Georgiens' had done; or of the Levies which Tachmas had made; or of some reasons which I could not well learn: So that Ibrahim acquainting Vlama there with, and ask of him, whether he would willingly serve in it, he was more joyful at it then I am able to express. The Bassa understanding his intentions, advertised Soliman thereof, who thought fit, whilst the War was a preparing, to have Vlama return unto the frontier, the more easily to entertain his intelligences. But to make him return thither with glory, and execute that which had been resolved, Ibrahim caused Serefbeg to be declared guilty of high Treason; and Bitilisa, which the other possessed, together with all the rest of his estate, to be conferred on Vlama; as also a yearly Pension of an hundred thousand Sultanins, and the Government of Carahemida, the frontier Town of Diorbech, or Mesapotamia. My Master's generosity carried him to refuse the spoils of his Enemy, as much as possibly he could; but the Sultan's pleasure was to be obeyed.  
This Declaration being made, Serefbeg was advertised of it by some friends that he had at Constantinople; so that, provoked with anger, he stole away; and passing into the Sophi's Territories, he went and offered him his service. In so much as it seemed, that these two Princes had made an exchange, and given hostages to each other: Though it is true, that the matter was not equal for the persons, Serefbeg having nothing recommendable in him, but a brutish valour, which carried him into perils without knowing them. But at last Vlama repaired to Bitilisa, whereat his first coming he found fit matter to exercise his generosity upon; for Serefbeg's Wife and Children came and cast themselves at his feet, and wholly dissolved into tears, humbly besought him to grant them the grace of her Husband and their Father. Vlama answered them, that had he been in an estate to receive it, he would have used his uttermost endeavour to have obtained it of the Sultan: but as things were, it was a proposition which he durst not make. Then they requested him, at leastwise not to entreat them ill. Vlama, who had no such intent, assured them, that Bitilisa excepted, which he was bound to conserve for the grand Signior, he would not keep any part of their estate from them, though they had very great riches; and told them moreover, that if they would continue in Bitilisa, they should be respected there as himself; or if they would go from thence, he would obtain permission of Soliman to have them conducted whithersoever they pleased. This afflicted and generous woman, seeing Vlama's courtesy, besought him so to deal as she might be suffered to follow the fortune of her Husband; which Vlama promised her, and performed a little after. For having obtained of the Sultan that which he had desired of him for her and her children, he caused all their wealth to be loaden in Wagons; and having assured them of the restitution of Bitilisa, if peace were concluded, or if Serefbeg reentered into favour with the Grand Signior, he sent them with a convoy of four hundred Janissaries into the Sophi's Territories; for some Troops were already come unto him for his safeguard, Soliman having given command to all the Sangia's thereabouts to march whithersoever Vlama would lead them.  
In the mean time, whereas you and Felixana were the cause of all that he did, his only care was to discover if any news could be had of you. He wrote also to Prince Mahamed's ancient Governor, desiring him to entreat his Master, that he would, for his excuse of what he was going to do, but remember how it was only to revenge the Princess Axiamira and Felixana. But hearing nothing of you, it put him into such fury, and into so great a despair, that his ordinary valour redoubled much more than before, as well appeared in the occasions which were presented a little after. For Ibrahim leading the vanguard of the Imperial Army, where Soliman was in person, met with Vlama at the rendezvouz, and gave him the conduct of thirty thousand men, to march on before for discovery, as knowing the Country better than any other. I will not tell you, Madam, the success of this War, since it is impossible, that in any part of the world wheresoever you have lived, you should not he●r of the conquests which Ibrahim, seconded by the valour of Vlama, made; the taking of the City of Tauris, from whence the Sophi retreated a little before to Sultania, which as you know is but six days journey from it; the crowning of Soliman at Bagdet; and so many other remarkable things, as arrived in this War. But I will only tell you, that in an occasion, where Vlama went to discover the enemy with two thousand horse, a party of Cavalry almost of the like number advanced from the adverse Army, and charged him so fiercely, as Vlama stood in need of all his address and courage to sustain them. He that commanded the Enemy, having singled himself out from the rest, asked of him in the Persian Tongue, whether he were not Vlama; and my Master having told him how he carried that name; thou must, continued he, to render the possession of Bitilisa lawfully thine, either take away Serefbeg's life, or to punish thee for thy perfidiousness I must triumph over thine. And then, without attending Vlama's answer, he assailed him with all the fury of a brutish resolution, notwithstanding the generosity which my Master had showed to his Wife and Children. Indeed the event of the combat justified that which I say, for after they had fought above two hours, without being ever sundered, though they were in the midst of four thousand men, who were fight as well as they, in the end Serefbeg lost his life by the valour of Vlama. But after this particular victory, he would also have a general one over those who bade assailed him; He so animated his Soldiers then by his example, as scarce one of the Enemies rested alive. And to testify his generosity in all things, he caused the body of Serefbeg to be carried away, for that he would not suffer, said he, that so valiant a man should be interred in any Country, but his own: and to that effect, though Serefbeg had so highly offended, yet he obtained of Soliman that he should be laid in the sepulchre of his fath●rs at Bitilisa, which was accordingly performed with all the ceremony accustomed in such like occasions. As long as this War lasted, Vlama did what he could to encounter Deliment; but notwithstanding all his endeavour for it, fortune would not let him fight with him.  
In fine, Madam, Winter approaching, Soliman put part of his Troops into Garrison, and retired to Constantinople with Ibrahim; leaving Vlama on the frontier, where he desired to remain, not being able, as he oftentimes told me, to eloign himself from a Land, where he believed you were still abiding. Not long after Vlama being advertised that the Sophi was gone from Sultania, whither he had retred, and seemed to have some great design in hand, he drew most of the forces out of the Garrisons, and making up a body of an Army, he went with it to oppose the Enemy. But the Sophi, who did not desire to fight with Vlama, saw him no sooner in the field, but he began to recoil, contenting himself only with seizing on the passages, and cutting off his victuals, carefully forbearing from descending into the plains, for fear he should be forced to come to a battle. This artifice, which proceeded from Deliment, would for all that have availed him little, and my Master's valour would have surmounted this stratagem, if the anger of Heaven had not been joined to the anger of men, and fought for the Persians. For it happened that Vlama, having had bad intelligence, went and encamped in that great plain, which is near to Sultania, and as you know is environed with four mountains, whose tops are always covered with snow, chief those of Caspia and Niphates. Vlama believing then that the Sophi was retired behind those mountains, at the foot whereof are the goodliest plains in the world, and the most proper to fight a battle in, was there encamped, as I have already declared; but the Sophi had taken another way, and was retired into the Country of the Coraxens. As Vlama then was in this place, there arose on the top of those mountains so terrible a tempest, as the wind carrying away those huge heaps of snow, wherewith they were covered, drove them in such abundance, and with such raging force upon Vlama's Camp, as all the Tents were overthrown by them; most of the Camels stifled; all the sick Soldiers overwhelmed; some of the others buried alive with them; and all the rest in confusion.  
And whereas the Snow had extinguished all the fires in the Army, the darkness joined to the roaring of the winds, to the noise which the Snow made in overturning the Tents, to the cries of the Soldiers in answer to the Commands of their Leaders, and to the lamentations of dying men, rendered this night so dreadful, as I do not think one can meet with an occasionable to give more terror then that did: the constancy of Vlama was not for all that shaken; and though his Tent was overthrown as well as the rest, yet lost he not his Judgement: and causing himself from the first beginning of the storm to be heard as well as he could, he commanded every one to get out of their Tents, and afterwards to keep in their places, for fear lest thinking to avoid death, they might the sooner find it in approaching to the Mountains. But at last upon the return of the day, the tempest ended, and the Sun made us see one of the pitifullest objects that ever was beheld. This deadly sight, able to allay the courage of any but Vlama, augmented his; and he resolved to be revenged of his Enemies for the loss he had sustained by the Tempest. Wherefore he made a speedy review of his Army, and finding that he had lost but two thousand men that night, he concluded to set upon his Enemies. He sent forth some then to discover, whilst they were labouring in some sort to repair the disorder of the Tents; and having gotten an advantageous place, he stayed there till he understood that the Sophi came on furiously towards him; for whereas reports increase at a distance, he had been told that Vlama had lost above fifteen thousand men. My Master, glad of this occasion, albeit his Army was overtoyled and weary, courageously exhorted th●m to fight. But, Madam, without particularising a Battle unto you, whereof the event was not prosperous to my dear Master, I will only tell you, that after he had almost vanquished his Enemies, suffering himself to be carried away by his extreme valour, he was hemmed in by above an hundred m●n, who knowing him to be the General of their Enemy's Army, assailed him with such fury, as he was dangerously hurt by them in four several places; so as all that he could do was to rid himself from his Enemies, still fight till he got to his own men, where he was no sooner arrived but he fell down dead amongst them. This accident made the victory change party, and range herself wholly on the Persians side, who remained Masters of the field: In the mean time Vlama's wounds proved great and dangerous; he was carried to the nearest town, and from thence to Bitilisa, where he hath always continued, whilst the Sophi making profit of his misfortune and absence, regained all that Ibrahim and he had conquered. Howbeit Vlama was a long time without knowing any of those things: for his wounds reduced him to so bad an estate, as no affair was communicated to him. And whereas I was always about him, so often as the violence of his sickness would permit him to speak, it was always of grieving to die, before he had revenged you; but when an Arabian Physician, which looked unto him, had assured us that he was out of danger, the first thing he was acquainted with, was the defeat of his Army, the loss of Tauris, your imprisonment, and Felixana's. But he understood this last by such confused reports, as he could not comprehend by what adventure you were here. His first thought in this occasion leaned to joy, and he was very glad to hear that you were living, that you were not in the power of the Sophi, and that at length he might hope to see you again. But this first motion being over, he entered into another quite contrary. What, said he, do I fight against my lawful Prince, to endeavour the delivery of the Princess Axiamira and Felixana, or to revenge them? and whilst I hazard my life with this intention, it falls out that I shed my blood for the service of a Prince, who keeps them prisoners; and Fortune, that is become ingenuous to persecute me, makes me fight against those which oppose him who oppresseth and ill-intreateth them! Pardon me, continued he, great Princess, the crime which I have done; pardon me, dear Felixana, the error which I have committed; and know, that though I am covered all over with wounds which I have received in serving thy Enemy, yet have I heart enough still left me to undertake the deliverance of thee. I should never have done, Madam, if I would recount unto you all that he said upon this occasion.  
But at last, after he had used his uttermost endeavour to be carried into a Chariot, against the advice of his Physician, he was constrained to stay two days journey from Bitilisa; so that knowing it was impossible for him to proceed further on his way as yet, he sent me to the grand Visior, with direction, if he were not returned from a secret expedition, upon which it was said he was gone, to attend for him, and to endeavour by his means to see you, and to give you the L●tter which I have delivered unto you; assuring me, that as soon as he was able to endure to travel, he would come himself to crave your liberty of the Grand Signior.  
This Slave, who had no more but the name of it with his Master, having given over speaking, left Axiamira very much contented, and Felixana with a great deal of satisfaction to know that Vlama had still conserved his love to her. And though his wounds were the cause of some unquietness to her, yet joy was of most power in her heart. But in regard it was indifferent late the Princess dismissed this Slave, and resolved, in what estate soever her health should be the next morning, not to forbear seeing of him who was to be her Deliverer.    

The Second Book.  
THe hope of a more quiet life having restored the Princess Axiamira to some strength, it was no sooner day, but having caused herself to be made ready, she sent to desire the grand Visier he would do her the favour that she might see him. Ibrahim having received this Order, went to the Princess' lodging; but when first he saw her, he remained as much surprised, as he had been at such time as he beheld her picture; for certainly she very much resembled Isabel. Howbeit, respect drawing the Illustrious Bassa out of this pleasing surprise, he saluted the Princess with a great deal of submission, and assured her that she might absolutely dispose of him; that he came not but to offer her all that lay in his power, and to testify unto her the grief he had to visit her in a place unworthy of her, and from whence he would labour to free her in a short time. The Princess answered to all these things both with very much spirit, civility, and greatness of courage. But when as Ibrahim would dextrously have engaged her to the recital of her adventures, she desired him he would be pleased, that Felixana, who had already acquainted him with part thereof, might continue the relating of the rest unto him. The grand Vister turning him then to Felixana, requested her, punctually to recount unto him all that had arrived to the Princess Axiamira and her after their Shipwreck, because it was important for their interest that he should not be ignorant of it. Felixana, who ever since the Discourse which Vlama's Slave had made unto her, was more a●fected to our Illustrious Bassa then before, would by no means refuse him that he desired of her, although she certainly knew that this relation would renew all her sorrows. Wherefore, altar she had received the Princess' Command for it, and that Ibrahim was set down by Axiamira at her entreaty, she began to speak in this sort.  

The History of GIANGER and MUSTAPHA.  
My imagination, representing to me all at once whatsoever I am to recount unto you, falls my mind with so much confusion and grief, as I doubt whether I shall be able to deliver things precisely unto you, as they arrived unto us, and whether I shall not stand in need of the Princess' goodness, to put me in mind thereof, if I should fail in acquainting you with some circumstance of that which you desire to know. But to come to my discourse, I will not stand then to tell you in what manner we suffered Shipwreck; only I will say to you, that when we judged by the cries of the Mariners we were in danger of perishing, I approached to the Princess, whose great heart was not shaken in this occasion, but contrarily feared the Port more than Shipwreck, and casting myself at her feet, I demanded of her with tears the grace that I might die by her. This generous Princess embraced me, and taking me by the hand she never quitted it, till the Vessel, driven by the wind and the waves with an incredible impetuosity against the point of a Rock, broke all to pieces, and separated us, but in what manner it was done I am not able to tell you; for I was so troubled, and the horrors of death seized on me in such sort at that dreadful instant, as I knew not what became of me. Yet was not the Sea altogether unpitiful unto us, for by an extreme good fortune in the midst of our ill fortune, it carried us to the shore, which was not far off; and not only preserved our lives, but made me be found within thirty paces of the place, where the waves had cast up the divine Axiamira in a swoon as well as I.  
But admire, my Lord, that which I am going to tell you! and how weak beginnings have sometimes long and dangerous consequences! You may well remember how I told you yesterday, that the Sophi gave the Princess Axiamira's and my picture to a foreign Merchant, with order never to sell them to any but Princes: And you have told me, if I be not deceived, that you knew how that Merchant, being mistaken in selling one of those pictures to Soliman, gave him that of the Princess Axiamira for mine. Now, my Lord, the same error produced another; for that Merchant, passing afterwards to the place where Prince Gianger lived, sold him my picture for that of Axiamira; But if the first fault had been the cause of carrying away the Princess by force, the second occasioned that which you are going to hear.  
The same day wherein we suffered Shipwreck, Prince Gianger (who as you know remained by Soliman's Order very near to the place where we were cast on shore) walking that way, came by chance where I lay extended on the sands as a dead person. This accident surprised him; my sex, my age, my habit, which was rich and extraordinary; and more than all that, the pity whereof this virtuous Prince was capable, caused him to approach unto me, and not judge me unworthy of his assistance. And then again, though the estate wherein I was had infinitely changed me, he conceived that I was not altogether unknown to him, and that he had seen something that resembled me. But he had no sooner made the sand, which cleaved to my face, to be taken away, but his memory brought back into his imagination my picture, which he had bought of that Merchant, and which he believed to be Axiamira's. And whereas by chance he had it about him that same day, he opened the case wherein it was, and observing there all the features of my face, though the air of it was somewhat changed, he no longer doubted but that I was the Princess of Persia, confirming himself further in this opinion by my apparel, which he saw to be altogether like to that which I wore in my picture. For the Sophi having found, that the habit of an Amazon, which the Painter had given us, was more advantageous than ours, would needs have the Princess and I wear it ever after. In this belief, Prince Gianger redoubled his care; and seeing me fetch a sigh, which made him know that I was still alive, he caused me to be carried to the next house to the place where I was; and commanded some of his people to go along by the Sea shore, to see if they could find any other person that had need of succour, imagining rightly, that I had not suffered Shipwreck alone. But scarcely had he given this Order, when one of his servants came and told him, that some thirty paces from thence there lay a woman attired in the same manner, and in the same estate that I was, who without doubt was not dead, because he had discerned some motion of breathing in her.  
The Prince, having left me to the care of his people, went to see that which this man told him of; but he did no sooner cast his eyes on the Princess Axiamira (for it was she whom this man had found) but he felt himself pressed with an extraordinary desire to be able to save her; and the compassion which he had on her added so many charms to her beauty, as he swore unto me afterwards he had never seen her more beautiful than she was in that deplorable estate. He himself helped to carry her to the place where they had already laid me; and though he was persuaded that I was the Princess of Persia, and that Axiamira was one of my maids of honour, he took at the least as much care of her as of me, and it might be said that he did not serve me but out of respect and interest, and that he assisted her already out of inclination. At length, my Lord, meeting with some women in the house whither we had been carried, they took such a course with us, as they brought us out of our swoon. I was the first that opened my eyes, and to whom reason began to give a sense of our misfortunes, by the astonishment wherewith I was seized, in seeing myself in the hands of so many unknown persons. But if their faces, their habits, and their language surprised me, their officious endeavours gave me some hope. This astonishment being over, my first thought was for Axiamira. Alas! poor Princess, said I aloud, what is thy destiny! Prince Gianger hearing me speak thus (for he alone understood the Persian tongue) believed that by those few words I deplored my own misfortune; so that quitting Axiamira, to render me that which he thought he owed to my condition, he came to comfort me, and assured me that I was in a place where the same services and honours should be done me, as if I were in the Court of the Sophi my father. I was equally surprised, both with hearing Gianger speak to me in the Persian tongue, and with his taking me for Axiamira. Howbeit finding myself in the hands of people that were unknown to me, I resolved not to disabuse them; hoping that this opinion would make me be with the more safety amongst them, and would possess them with the more respect: But I would not avouch so much precisely, so that I contented myself with telling him, that in the estate wherein I was, the best that could arrive unto me was to die; nevertheless that I would not refuse his assistance and protection, seeing he had the generosity to offer it me. These few words had like to have made me fall again into a swoon, just as the Princess began to come out of hers, and that opening her eyes, as I understood afterwards, she left them no longer in doubt but that she also might be succoured. But whether it were that she was of a weaker temper than I, or whether the Sea had tossed her more, she was above four hours before she could speak; and that was it which kept me from perceiving that we were bo●h in one chamber, though a Cotten cloth, which made a division in the room, was the only thing that separated us.  
In the mean time the Prince sent for a Chariot to carry us to the place of his ordinary residence, to the end we m●ght be the better assisted there by a jewish Physician, who by reason of his age could not come where we were, and whom we tried afterwards to be one of the knowingst men of the world in that profession. It was then, my Lord, that I was greatly amazed; for these people having set me in the Chariot, the Prince came and asked of me, whether I would be pleased, that a maid, whom he believed did belong unto me, because she had been found on the Sea shore in the same case he had taken me up, should come into the Chariot to me? I desired him with much impatience to let her be brought, imagining that it might be Axiamira. As indeed, he had no sooner commanded it, but I saw two men bring her to me in a Chair. And truly in this encounter it fell out well for the design we had afterwards, that Gianger was a pretty way from us, and that there was no body near us which understood my language; for as soon as I saw her, I could not forbear crying out; Ah! excellent Princess, live you still? and hath fortune been so pitiful, as not to separate your destiny from mine? My voice revived Axiamira more than all the remedies they had used to her till then; and as soon as she was in the Chariot where I was, she embraced me with so much joy, as she thereby recovered the use of her speech, to testify unto me the comfort she received in seeing herself with me. But, continued she, my dear Felixana, in what Country are we? who are these that assist us? and what interest have they in our conservation? do they not pretend to force us to live, to constrain us afterwards to have recourse unto death, by returning us into the hands of Rustan? For, said she, I see them have Turbans, whose colour makes me know them to be Soliman's Subjects. Madam, said I, I cannot answer to so many things, though I have for above two hours observed with a judgement sound enough all that hath been done here. But this I can tell you, that he, who seems to be the Master of all them I have seen, is exceeding civil, and should be a man of great quality, so far as I can guests by the high respect which the rest do give him. But that which troubles me is, his taking me for you, and his assuring me in our language, that I shall have the same honour done me here, as in the Court of the Sophi my father. It may be, said the Princess, I can remember some words of the Turkish tongue, which I learned of an old Slave when I was a child; and then making a sign to one of those which accompanied us, that she would say something to him, when as he came near her, and that she had studied a while, she demanded of him with much ado, and in a language that was not very intelligible, the name of him that commanded them. This man apprehended not at first what she would say to him, but at length joining signs to her speech, she made herself be understood. He answered her then in his language, that it was the Prince Gianger. This name of Gianger touched the Princess sensibly, and making a sign to this man, that she had no more to say to him; I knew full well, said she to me, that Fortune did not save me, but to undo me; and that she kept me not from perishing, but to expose me to new miseries; for, said she, he in whose power we are is the son of Soliman. It is not because Fame doth not speak advantageously of him; but still, he is the son of a man, which hath caused me to be forcibly carried away.  
Axiamira's discourse seemed so full of reason to me, as I could not make any Reply to it; but in the end carried by the passion which I had to serve her, I told her, that to avoid the mischief she feared, Prince Gianger was not to be disabused of the opinion he was in, that I was the Princess of Persia; that in the mean time we should labour to know, wherefore he took me for that which I was not; and that in trying to discover his designs, we should frame ours according to that we should learn of him. The Princess was so afflicted, as without examining whether that which I told her was reasonable or no, she consented unto it at the same instant, when as the Prince, who out of respect had always marched before, came close to the Chariot. This while we arrived at Giangers' Palace, who led me to a stately lodging, and who would also have given another to Axiamira; because, said he, she was not in case to serve me: But having requested him to leave her with me, he quitted us, and went out of the chamber, as soon as that old Jewish Physician came in; who, after he had ministered unto us that which he thought was necessary for our recovery, left us at liberty to talk of the estate of our fortune.  
I will not declare unto you, my Lord, the cares, the civilities, and the duties, which Gianger rendered me from that very first evening in the quality of Axiamira, since it would be to spend time unprofitably. But you shall understand, that coming to see me the next day, I demanded two things of him; the one was, to tell me how he knew that I was the Princess of Persia? and the other, not to publish that I was in his hands, till I had time and strength to entertain him with my misfortunes. To the first he answered me, in letting me see the Case wherein my picture was, which as soon as I had beheld I knew it strait. But, my Lord, said I unto him, who told you that this was Axiamira's picture? The M●rchant, said he, that sold it to me; and who long before had also sold another to the Emperor my father, which he said was a maids, named Felixana, whom the Sophi very much esteemed; whom you exceedingly loved; and who without doubt ought to have very much merit and beauty, since, as this Merchant told me, she was crowned as well as you, as the fairest of all Persia. This Felixana, answered I coldly, had questionless a beauty extraordinary enough to oblige Soliman to buy her picture. Now, my Lord, it is certain that this discourse surprised me; for than I knew, that the Merchant, to whom our pictures had been given, was deceived, and had not understood the Sophi well; the likeness of clothes having no doubt contributed much to the making of this error. So it was, that I plainly perceived how Soliman had effectively loved Axiamira by means of her picture, but under the name of Felixana, which had occasioned her forcible carrying away; and how the saw error, and the same change of pictures, was the cause that Prince Gianger took me for her, as the Emperor had before taken her for me.  
Touching the second thing, which I had demanded of the Prince, he easily granted it me; for whereas he was become desperately in love with the Princess Axiamira, his desire was not to be obliged to carry us so soon to Soliman, as maxims of State required: It being unlikely, that the daughter of a great King should be in his hands, and he not remit her into the Emperor his fathers, as soon as it was known. So to content me, and to satisfy himself, he forbidden those, which had had any notice of the quality he gave me, to be known of it: And still, to gain time, I made my indisposition last as long as possibly I could. In the mean space the Prince, who at first sight had been mightily taken with the beauty of Axiamira, could not forbear giving her some marks of it, but with so much respect, as if she had appeared to be that which truly she was, she could not have been offended at it. This generous Prince told us since, that he tried to withstand this springing passion as much as he was able; and that against the custom of his Nation, which considers not the nobility of blood, he was so troubled to think that she whom he loved was not of Royal birth, as he could not be quiet in his mind. He had yet some intervals, wherein his imagination shown him the truth, and wherein it persuaded him that Axiamira, whom I called Ismaida as long as our plot lasted, was something more than she seemed to be; and in this thought he engaged himself so deeply in loving her, as he could not forbear giving her testimonies thereof in my presence, though he rendered me nevertheless all the respect, which was due to a Princess, of whom I borrowed the name.  
We lived some time in this sort, with content enough, that is to say, as long as the Princes visits kept us from thinking seriously of our misfortunes. For when we were alone, the remembrance of what was past, and the fear of that which was to come, gave us but little rest. The presence of the Prince was oftentimes also somewhat grievous to me, especially at such time as he pressed me by his entreaties to tell him by what adventure I had suffered shipwreck upon that Coast; having much ado to find excuses to dispense me from it, being not yet well resolved on that which we were to tell him. This Princes love likewise began to possess Axiamira with unquietness, out of the fear she had, lest the ignorance of her condition should carry him to some design, which might be disadvantageous to her. But for me, who saw so much virtue and wisdom in this Prince, I feared nothing from him; and I made it appear to my Lady, that this love, which gave her so much apprehension, should rather give her some assurance; since being retained by the respect, which he thought he owed to me, and by the love which he bore her, he would never enterprise any thing, which might anger her, or displease me. In the mean time, my health being recovered, sooner than I would have had it, and Axiamira's in too good an estate to be dispensed withal from travelling, Prince Gianger fearing lest notwithstanding his providence the Emperor should come to know that the Princess of Persia was in his hands, propounded unto me, with the most address and civility that possibly he could, the conducting of me to Constantinople; to the end, said he unto me, that the Emperor rendering unto you the honours, which are due to a person of your birth, may send you back to the Sophi, with an equipage proportionable to his greatness, and your condition. My Lord, said I unto him exceedingly surprised, and without consulting Axiamira, so do, as owing you our lives, we may also owe our liberty to you; and without conducting us to Constantinople, permit us to return unknown into Persia.  
Gianger had no mind to grant me this request; for besides that reason of State, and his own conservation, would not suffer him to do so; his love would not consent that he should for ever lose the presence of one, who was so dear to him as Axiamira was. And the thought which he had had, to conduct me to Constantinople, seemed so much the juster unto him, because he should thereby retain in his Country the person whom he loved. I observed how he looked upon the Princess Axiamira when I made this motion unto him, and that changing colour he sighed twice or thrice. But at length after he had endeavoured to answer me, he gave me such pressing reasons to let me know the injustice of my request, as not able to destroy them, I at leastwise desired some time of him to resolve myself for it, which he granted me very kindly. We were no sooner at liberty, but the Princess beholding me with tears in her eyes, What say you now, Felixana, said she unto me, do you know any other way but death to avoid the miseries that are prepared for us? and whose rigour is so great, that I have not so much as the satisfaction to find any whom I can accuse for it, seeing Gianger doth nothing but what he ought to do. Madam, said I unto her, we must make use in this occasion of the Prince's error; and with the precious stones that are on your clothes suborn some one of the Guards that are about us, to let you escape and conduct you away, either here, or during the voyage we are going to make, where you will not be so observed as I shall be. Ah, my dear Girl, said she unto me! in what place of the Earth shall I find a refuge? If I go into Persia, I shall meet with a cruel and incensed father; an infamous fellow for an husband; and shall see myself there without any other protection, then that of a blind brother, since Vlama is no longer at Court: If I go to Constantinople, I shall there find a Prince, who caused me to be forcibly carried away, that I might be shut up in a Seraglio like a slave: And if I escape out of the hands of Gianger (which I do not think is very easy) to wander like a vagabond, without knowing where to seek out a retreat, unto what strange adventures do I expose myself? And then, do you believe that Axiamira, could she find safety by her flight, would abandon you, and leave you in the power of a Prince, who, transported by the affection that he bears me, would ill entreat you afterwards. A●, no, Felixana! death hath something sweeter, than all the remedies you present unto me; as also it is that alone whereunto I will have recourse. Madam, said I unto her, for so much as regards me, it would be too much glory for me to die for your service: And if I saw that flying might be advantageous to you, I would press you further unto it; but since by your reasons I come to know the greatness of your misfortune, were it not better for us to confide absolutely in Prince Gianger? and to tell him not only that it is you who are indeed the Princess of Persia, but also that Soliman his father is in love with you under my name; that Rustan carried you forcibly away for him; and that in the end you suffered shipwreck as they were transporting you to Constantinople. This Prince loves you passionately, and if I be not deceived, reason of State will give place to his love, which doubtless will be yet more augmented by the knowledge he will have of your condition, by the confidence you will put in him; and by the jealousy he will have of his father. In conclusion, Madam, I can never believe, that Gianger will conduct you to Soliman, when he shall know the truth of things; and I hope that regarding him as his Rival, and not as his King, and as his Father, he will suffer himself to be moved with your tears, and his own interest. And then, Madam, if the virtue of this Prince, and his love, shall refuse us our liberty, I will be the first to show you the way to death by my example, finding as well as you, that it is sweeter than a life thwarted with so many miseries.  
But how do you think, said the Princess unto me, to persuade Gianger, that you are not Axiamira; that I am verily the daughter of the Sophi; and that it was Soliman's design to have me forcibly carried away? Truth, answered I, hath lights which makes her to be easily known; and the freeness and ingenuity, wherewith I mean to speak to Gianger, will persuade him, if I deceive not myself, that I am no other than Felixana, and that you are Axiamira. For the next, it is not possible but that this Prince should know Rustan; and when we shall mark him out the time that he came to Mazanderon, he will remember whether he were at the Port then or no; or if he be ignorant thereof, he may dextrously inquire in what place he was at that same time: Moreover, if he perished when we suffered shipwreck, his death will justify my discourse; and if he escaped, it is impossible but that the bruit of this accident should be spread abroad amongst some; and that at least it should be heard spoken, how he thought he should have been drowned, though it be not known upon what occasion, or in what voyage. But, Madam, without searching for so many proofs, to confirm that which I purpose to say, I am confident, how I shall no sooner tell Gianger that you are the Princess of Persia, but he will find in your eyes the justification of my discourse; he will wonder that he did not know you; and repenting him of his error, he will crave pardon of you for it. For, Madam, there is something so majestical in your face, as I doubt not but you have had more ado to conceal yourself, than you will have to make yourself be known. And then again, the greatest misfortune that can arrive to us by it, is not to be believed, and that being so, we are in the same estate, as now we are: and in the same liberty to have recourse unto death.  
The Princess, perceiving some reason in that which I said, permitted me to speak to Gianger, provided that she might be in her Cabinet during our conversation. I sent then presently to desire the Prince that I might speak with him, whereupon he came forthwith to my chamber; and when as he would have used the same respects to me, as he had accustomed; It is no longer time, said I unto him, my Lord, to abuse your goodness; It was requisite at first, when as yet we knew you not, that we should be unknown to you, for reasons that you shall hear; but now that we know your wisdom, your virtue, and your generosity, it is just that you also should know us; and that the freedom which we use in acquainting you with out misfortunes, and in confiding absolutely in you, should obtain us that pardon which we crave for having deceived you. The Prince remained very much surprised with my discourse, and whereas I perceived it; I see, my Lord, said I unto him, the impatience you are in, to understand that which I am to say to you, doth disquiet you; and therefore, to satisfy you in few words, know, that I am not Axiamira. You are not Axiamira, said the Prince unto me exceedingly amazed! O, Madam, labour not to persuade me the contrary, since it would be in vain. No, my Lord, continued I, I am not the Princess of Persia, and you see before your eyes only that Felixana, of whom you have heard speak too advantageously: yet think not that I will take the Princess Axiamira out of your power; she is in it, my Lord, and she is in it in an estate, that hath need of your protection: It is you alone on whom her good or bad fortune doth depend; or to say better, it is you on whom her life or death doth depend. And to draw you quite out of the pain wherein I see you, know, my Lord, that the same incomparable person, whom you have so esteemed of under the name of Ismaida, is truly Axiamira, and the most excellent Princess that is in the world. This last amazement of the Prince was as great as the other; but with this difference, that amidst the trouble of his soul I saw some joy in his look. He believed me not for all that at first, but I perceived that it was a matter, whereof he would have gladly been persuaded. Is it possible, said he unto me, that you should speak the truth? and will you not take it ill if I should not believe you? or if not being able to rely on your words, I request you to tell me some circumstances, that may clear me in a thing that is so doubtful.  
It is just, said I unto him, that you should not believe me upon the bare report of my words, but that your reason should persuade you. And then I recounted unto him, not only Rustans' arrival at Mazanderon; the sleights which he had used to get a sight of me; the forcible carrying of us away; the discourse that he had made to Axiamira; how he had given her to understand that Soliman was fallen in love with her picture, which he had in his keeping; and how for that cause he had brought her away by force; but also to testify the more confidence unto him, I told him in part, upon what occasion we were at Mazanderon, the Sophi's rigour, and the Princess' avertion to Deliment. I made this relation with so much sincerity, as Gianger found himself capable of discerning it; and that which yet helped me to persuade him that I did not lie, was that he remembered, how he had heard that Rustan, who was his enemy, as well as his brother Mustapha's, was gone from the Port upon a secret expedition; and had embarked himself at Pera in a vessel laden with merchandise. This consideration having removed all scruples from his mind, I saw a great d●al of joy in his countenance, and the questions which he asked of me afterwards were no more than testimonies that he was persuaded.  
But why (said he unto me after some silence) do not I see this Princess, of whom I am to crave pardon for my error? Is it to punish me for the fault, which I have ignorantly committed, that she will deprive me of her sight? My Lord, said I unto him, this great Princess, to leave you the liberty to doubt of my words, is retired into her Cabinet, whither if you please we will go unto her. Saying so, she opened the Cabinet door, and Axiamira advancing towards them in some confusion, the Prince went and cast himself at her feet. Ah! Madam, said he unto her, how faulty soever I appear in your eyes, my heart is innocent; it being most certain, that it hath advertised me more than once what you were: I have had respects and thoughts of veneration for you, which I durst not make show of, in the error wherein I was, both by that of the Merchant, and your discourse. My Lord, said the Princess lifting him up, your error is so much the more pardonable, because in taking F●lixana for me, you were not much deceived, seeing it is certain, that she is another myself. But, my Lord, continued she, let not the confidence which we have in your virtue be in vain. Nor let not, Madam, replied he, the remembrance of that which is passed be disadvantageous to me; and for my part, believe absolutely, that there is nothing which I will not perform to do you service. For, Madam, since my good fortune would have you unknown to me, that I might take upon me the boldness to testify some part of the passion I am in for you, which peradventure I durst not have done otherwise, although it be most pure, and most innocent; be assured, that now, when as I know how this passion is worthy of the son of Soliman, nothing can separate me from your interests. Command then absolutely, and be most confident that you shall be obeyed. I had not much ado to be persuaded, continued he, that a person, whom I judged worthy to be Queen of all the world, should be the daughter of the Sophi of Persia; but I marvel much at my blindness, that I could not discern you were that indeed, which I have so often wished you were.  
Since your generosity permits me to speak, said the Princess interrupting him, Let not the wicked designs of Rustan, my Lord, be executed by Prince Gianger; let me not be conducted by your hand to the Seraglio; nor let the Princess of Persia have the destiny of Slaves. For, my Lord, not to conceal my thoughts from you, I will die a thousand times over, rather than do any thing unworthy of that which I am. You know, my Lord, that Soliman having married Roxelana, cannot according to his Law have any other lawful wife; so that if you put me into his hands, and that I am not generous enough to have recourse unto death, this Princess, who all her life-time hath had no other passion but that of glory and honour, would be the most infamous of her condition. Judge now, my Lord, whether my prayers be not just, and if I have not reason to employ my tears, to obtain that which I desire of you?  
The Prince heard Axiamira with great agitations of spirit: He was ravished to see that his passion had so noble and so great an object; but the Sultan's love gave him no little unquietness; and not knowing what to do, he continued a while without speaking; but at length he said thus; Do not think, Madam, that my silence is an effect of my irresolution, I have not been considering whether I ought to serve you, but of the means I am to use for it. Fear not then that I will carry you to Constantinople, and believe that therein I shall serve myself no less than I shall serve you. But, Madam, when I shall be resolved exactly to follow your pleasure, will it be just, that for saving you from peril, I should remain the most unhappy of men? That for delivering you from the violence of Soliman, you should abandon me to the violence of my despair, by ordaining me to let you return into Persia? For, Madam, henceforward my destiny is inseparable from yours; and I see no mean betwixt dying and abandoning you.  
The Prince made this discourse with so many testimonies of affection, as the Princess was in some sort moved therewith. My Lord, said she unto him, I should esteem myself very infortunate, if my encounter should prove fatal to you, and that by a destiny wholly particular to me, my misfortune should be so great, as to be communicated to the persons that assist me. But I will believe, that the matter shall not go in that manner, and I wish with all my heart, that you may have as much prosperity, as I have misery. And that you may know I desire your felicity, consider to what rigours of Fortune I am exposed. I request you that you will not conduct me to Constantinople, to avoid the violence of Soliman; and I request you also that you will not conduct me into Persia, to avoid the violence of a father, and the insolence of a brutish man, who will both usurp the Empire, and force me to be his wife. But, my Lord, as I request these two things of you, so I request yet one more, and that out of a sense of glory and honour, which are the two most powerful inclinations of my Soul; and it is, my Lord, that I may remain no longer in your hands: For albeit I fear nothing from so virtuous a Prince, yet shall I be very glad, that Envy may not find any thing to charge my reputation with. So do then, my Lord, that I may not go to Constantinople; that I may not return into Persia; that I may not continue in your hands; that I may find a sanctuary where Civility permits me to abide; or that I may die at your feet. Gianger was so ravished with the virtue and wisdom of Axiamira, as turning himself to me, It must be acknowledged, said he to me, that the Princess is incomparable; that I have been blind indeed not to know her, and to resist the secret motions which advertised me of my duty. After this he stood a pretty while without speaking, then suddenly beginning again. If I had not, Madam, said he unto her, found out the means to place you in safety, and to content myself also, I should die with grief; but if I be able to offer you the company of a Princess, whose virtue is without stain, whom you may absolutely command, and who is wife to Prince Mustapha my Brother, I think you will have cause to be satisfied. Axiamira was exceeding glad of this proposition, having oftentimes before heard speak of the virtue of Mustapha's wife, who she had been told was descended of the ancient Kings of Cappadocia. So that addressing herself to the Prince with a great deal of satisfaction, may I hope, my Lord, said she unto him, that Prince Mustapha, and his excellent wife, will permit me to live unknown in their Palace, until that Fortune, weary of persecuting me, shall no longer keep me from returning into my Country? Your virtue alone will oblige theirs to succour you, but if that were not, the strict friendship which is betwixt us will oblige them sufficiently unto it. All Mustapha's interests are mine, even as my Fortune is his. And truly we are far from those apprehensions of State, which for so long a time have made the children of the Ottoman family to tear one another in pieces like enraged Tigers; and I am well assured that if Mustapha, my eldest Brother, comes once to the Empire, he will let me enjoy the felicity of his Reign, and will not send me either mutes or slaves to strangle me. I tell you all these things, Madam, to the end you may not doubt but that the sanctuary which I have propounded unto you, will be inviolable. Moreover, whereas Mustapha is Governor of Amasia, and that City is the Capital of Cappadocia, which we call Amasia, you may well conceive that you will be far enough from Constantinople, and not so far from Persia, but that you may easily hear from those which are affected to you there.  
All these particulars having seemed very reasonable unto me, I the more confirmed the Princess in the design she had to accept of them, both for her interest and mine own; it being most certain, that I no less feared the Sophi's love, than she did Deliments. This resolution taken, nothing was thought on but executing it: Gianger dispatched a man, who was faithful to him, to let Mustapha understand that which he desired of him; but with such pressing terms, as it had been impossible for his brother to have refused him. And giving order for the departure of the Princess, whom before folks he entreated as he was wont to do, we set forth two days after for Amasia, with as little company as might be, and in Turkish habits, to be the less noted. I will not tell you, my Lord, with what generosity Prince Mustapha, and Saraida his wife, received Axiamira; let it suffice me to say, that Gianger, having left us some two miles short of Amasia, under the charge of an old Governor of his, in whom he very much confided, and having acquainted his brother and sister in law with our Fortunes, they rendered in particular to Axiamira all the honours which she could have received in her own Country. A little while after all that we had delivered was plainly justified. For Mustapha understood the return of Rustan, and his disgrace; and presently thereupon he was told, that the Princess and I were not at the Sophi's Court; that the report went we were drowned; and that others believed how Tachmas and Deliment had caused us to be forcibly carried away. After this we lived happily enough; Mustapha's care, Saraides compliance, and Gianger's respectful affection, rendered our Exile supportable enough.  
Axiamira could not for all that be at rest; she wrote many times to divers persons, which were affected to her in Persia, without ever receiving any answer. And whereas she saw no end of her miseries, she could not be without unquietness; which at length brought her to a sickness, which it was thought would prove mortal to her. Her Fever was not very violent, but it was without intermission; and though she felt no great pain, yet was she so weak, and so low brought, as we durst not hope she could surmount the disease wherewith she was taken: during the which Saraida and I never abandoned her; and the two Princes saw her as often, as the necessity of their affairs, and civility would permit them. Now though Mustapha had nothing but friendship for Axiamira, yet seemed he to be as much afflicted as Gianger; such a sympathy was there in all things between these two excellent Princes. We continued three Months in this sort, without knowing what we were to expect concerning the Princess' life: for albeit at length the Fever left her sometimes, yet was it for so little while, as it did not permit us to hope the recovery of her health. But whilst I was sh●dding tears for her, the Princes and Saraida took great care to conceal from the Princess, and me too, that Soliman had made War in Persia; which was the cause I knew not that Vlama had betaken himself to his party. And that which kept Mustapha from saying any thing to us of ●t, was not only the fear of afflicting Axiamira, but the doubt Gianger was in, that i● she came once to know it, she would be averted from a Prince, whose father went about to desolate her Country. We lived then above two Months in this ignorance after the Princess was out of danger: for whereas we saw no body but Mustapha, Saraida, and Gianger that understood our language, it was easy for them to keep us from knowing any thing but what they pleased. But one day as the Princess and I were alone, speaking of the affection that Gianger hore her, and amplifying his virtues, which I opposed to the vices of Deliment, I in some sort pressed her to acquaint me with the thoughts which she had for him. Why I will tell you now, Felixana, said she unto me, I esteem of Gianger as much as his virtue doth merit; I do acknowledge his good Offices as much as one can; and I bear as much goodwill to him in my heart, as I do to Prince Mahamed my brother: but for that passion, which disorders the mind, which destroys Reason, and which troubles the rest of them whom it possesseth, I am not capable of it; and I could wish that Gianger carried a more quiet affection to me. That weakness is a blemish, which I do not desire should be in great Souls: nor is it any thing but the subtlety of men which hath persuaded us, that this passion is not vicious, since all others are, and that every one believes them to be so, though they do not produce such deadly effects. And to know how much more dangerous it is then the rest, we are but to consider how it commonly stirs up all of them; Hatred, Anger, Envy, and Ambition itself, are many times the followers of it; yet do not think, that I will be ingrateful to Prince Gianger; for know, how averse soever I am from marriage, I would notwithstanding resolve to be his wife, rather than render him unhappy, if the Sophi and Soliman could consent thereunto. For, continued she, I may indeed oppose the Sophi's pleasure, but I can never be drawn to dispose of myself without his order. As I was going to take Gianger's part, he entered into the Princess' chamber, and approaching to her with all the observance which he was accustomed to yield her, he began to talk to her of his affection; and he represented unto her the respect wherewith he had served her, the greatness of his love, the little testimony she had given him of accepting it, the deplorable estate of his Fortune, the small likelihood there was, that after so many Letters vainly written into Persia, that the friends which she had left, were still generous enough to serve her. That he knew how the Sophi was more affected to Deliment then ever, and that he alone governed the Empire: So that she could never hope, either to alter Deliment, or to make the Sophi change his resolution, but by the necessity of resolving on that which they could no longer avoid.  
I perceive well, my Lord, answered she sighing, that my misfortune is so strange, as the most ingenuous spirit could not foresee any other end of it, than such as must be fatal to me; for if I have Enemies in Persia, I have others also at Constantinople. But to answer the complaints which you make against me, I will open my heart unto you, and if after that you be not satisfied, I profess that Fortune hath not yet made me feel her cruelest rigours. Ah, Madam, said the Prince interrupting her, suffer me first to tell you, that if you deprive me of the hope which my extreme love hath made me conceive, nothing will be able to preserve my life. My Lord, replied Axiamira, have patience, and do not condemn me without hearing me. And to begin with the Obligations wherein I am engaged to you; I know that I own you my life; that the respect which you have showed to me, in a time when you knew me not for that which I was, hath sensibly obliged me; and that the generosity which you have demonstrated in providing me a sanctuary, and preferring my interests before Soliman's and the Empires, merits an eternal acknowledgement. I have also observed against my custom, that you bear an affection to me, and I am so powerfully persuaded of it, as you cannot desire I should be more: but, my Lord, if I may be permitted to speak freely, I must tell you, that the esteem I make of so many rare qualities, as are in you, joined to the obligations wherein I am engaged to you, could never for all that beget an affection in my heart like unto yours. Yet do not think I am ingrateful, or insensible; but contrarily, I love you so much the more perfectly, as I can speak it without blushing; I, my Lord, I love you with a friendship, so solidly established, as neither sense nor fortune hath any part in it. I can publish it without shame, and conserve it without blame, and loving you as if you were my brother, I do not see that you have reason to complain. I know well nevertheless that you are not satisfied; but what would you have me do, if love be a passion, whereof I am not capable? and if marriage hath always past with me for a captivity, which is to be avoided as much as possibly may be? I protest unto you by the holy Prophet, whom we worship, that if I could be touched with this passion, it should be doubtless for you; never having had that inclination for any one as I have for you. But let not this impossibility, I pray you, of my being in love, disquiet you, since the friendship, which I promise you, is incomparably more excellent, and more perfect. And to testify unto you, that I do all that I can, if you have not power enough to contain yourself from desiring to marry me, I do permit you to use the best means you can to get the Sophi and Soliman to consent unto it; which being obtained, I do here engage my word to you no longer to oppose your desires. Behold, my Lord, all that I had to say to you; and never hope for any more from me; for Axiamira's virtue can have no further indulgence for your passion.  
Most virtuous Princess, replied Gianger casting himself at her feet, What occasions do you give me all at once, both of grief, and of satisfaction! with one hand you draw me out of danger, and with the other you put me to death. You cannot answer my passion, and yet you love me more than all the world beside; who ever saw an adventure equal to mine? my Mistress refuses me her love, but in such a manner, as I am not permitted to have the comfort to term her cruel and unpitiful; but contrarily, I must give her thanks for the wrong she does me, and must admire in her the virtue which opposes my love. Gianger, in saying thus, looked on Axiamira with so much grief, as made me pity him. And whereas the Princess' goodness hath always allowed me a great deal of freedom with her, I took so much upon me as to intermeddle in their discourse; so that addressing myself to the Prince, The permission, my Lord, said I unto him, which hath been given you, should inspire you, methinks, with other thoughts, than those which I perceive you have. Ah! my Princess, said he unto me, (for he had always called me so, ever after we had put that trick upon him,) that which the goodness of Axiamira grants, Fortune refuses me; interposing such obstacles as are not easy to be vanquished: And in the state wherein things are, there needs a supernatural power to change my evil destiny, unless you will help me to persuade Axiamira, that she will permit me to marry her; for being then no longer in a condition to be deliments wife, or Soliman's Mistress, the knowledge thereof would peradventure make their weapons fall out of their hands. How! said Axiamira mightily surprised, have the Sophi and Soliman any interests to be decided between them? Is it known that I am in your hands? and may I be so unhappy as to be the cause of the desolation of my Country? Gianger was very sorry that he had said so much before he was ware; but seeing the matter past remedy, and that likewise this War could not be always concealed from Axiamira, he recounted unto her, that a little after her shipwreck the War began between the Sophi and Soliman, without any other apparent cause thereof known, then that he had been told how you alone had made him undertake it; though the Sophi's subjects had contributed some pretext thereunto by the acts of hostility which they had committed in Comagena; and then he acquainted her with the victories which you had obtained against the Sophi, and the conquests which you had made: He vowed unto her, that neither he, nor his brother had contributed any thing to this War; that it had been concluded, before they were advertised of it; that not having a more powerful Confident about the Grand Signior than you, they could not oppose this design, whereof you had been the principal cause; and that all they could do, had been to find out Pretexts not to be present in it. In fine, Gianger told her all things, except what regarded Vlama, of whom he spoke not at all: and by that which I could judge of it, he carried himself in that sort, because being ignorant of the affection which Vlama bore me, and believing that he would be glad to return into his Country, if he met with an occasion for it; he imagined that the Princess, who had often spoken to him of Vlama's zeal and fidelity, would quickly give him intelligence of her being there, and then that Vlama to see his Native Soil again, and to be well received there, would persuade the Princess to return thither. And it may be also, as all Lovers are suspicious, that he had surmised by Axiamira's discourse, which he had interpreted amiss, how Vlama was in love with her; at leastwise I could not conceive a better reason for it; howsoever he never acquainted her with any thing concerning him.  
I will not tell you, my Lord, in what astonishment the Princess was to hear of the desolation of her Country, by a Prince, whose Son had so much obliged her, and whom she could not with reason hate. Howbeit she was so just, as to accuse none but Soliman, and Fortune for her miseries. It is not enough then, said she weeping, that Soliman caused me to be carried away by force, but that he must also waste our Empire. And it was not enough, that the War should have an unjust beginning, but that I must too be found on the enemy's Party, and in such a manner, as I am not so much as to desire to get from it. And my misfortune is such, as I cannot m●ke vows for the Sophi, but I must make them likewise for Delim●ns, who fights for him, though I have such cause to hate him; nor make vows against Soliman, without offending Mustapha and Gianger. In fine, my Lord, said she, turning herself to the Prince, since I am in such a condition, as I am not able to make wishes without injustice, I must resolve to put myself into such a condition, as I may no longer be able to desire any thing, if it be true, that death is powerful enough to deliver me from so many miseries. Such were in this encounter Axiamira's expressions; and as for me, I confess too with confusion, that the Prince's discourse gave me an unquietness, which was particular to me.  
For having had no news of Vlama, since the time that he departed from the Court, I could not judge what he had done during so great a disorder; this thought troubled me so much, as I could not forbear demanding of Gianger, whether he knew not what was become of Vlama? and whereas I was afraid, lest the Princess should condemn me for thinking of Vlama, rather than comforting her, I looked on her at the very same instant, which, as I think, confirmed Gianger the more in the opinion, that I have told you, I believed he had. For after he had considered me, and then the Princess, he told me, that this War having much afflicted him, he knew not very well what had passed in it. But to abridge my discourse, Mustapha and Sarraida were called in, as well to comfort the Princess, as to advise on that which they were to do. And whenas Gianger had requested the Princess, she would permit him to tell Mustapha what she had granted him, she answered him, that never doing or saying any thing, which she would have to be concealed, he might acquaint him with all that he pleased. As soon as Mustapha appeared, she advanced towards him, And will you, my Lord, said she unto him, be so generous, as not to hate a person, who weeps for the victories of Soliman? and who sheds tears when she sees the bounds of an Empire, which is destined to you enlarged? Madam, answered courteous Mustapha, it is not for me to ask of you, whether you will be so just, as not to confound the innocent with the guilty, and also to endure the sight of a man, who is the Son of a Prince, that is an enemy to the Sophi your Father? but know, that if with my blood I could s●ve that of your Subjects, both to dry up your tears, and those of Gianger, whom I love more than my life, I would shed it most willingly, for your and his sake. But seeing this remedy can no way avail your griefs, receive the word which now I give you, to omit nothing that lies in my power, which may conduce to the happy terminating of this War: And in the estate wherein things are, I hold it more ●asie to make a peace, then if Soliman's arms had been less prosperous, and the Sophi's losses fewer; because ordinarily the victorious Party pretends to no other glory, then that of making an advantageous peace; and the weaker out of the fear of losing all, consents easily to yield to some thing, for the conservation of the rest. Mustapha's discourse being finished, they advised all together, after they had well examined things, how they might best effect their design; and the two Princes resolved to confide absolutely in you. To which end they chose out an old Officer of Giangers, whom they sent to Constantinople, with order to tell you the truth of all things. But by ill fortune, you were gone away before, upon a secret expedition, wherein Soliman had employed you, although it was but four or five days after the Triumph, which was celebrated for him at your return from Persia. In the mean time, to facilitate things on all sides, they believed it would not be amiss for Axiamira to write once more to some one of her ancient friends, and that by this Letter, he, to whom she should address herself, should be obliged to acquaint the Sophi that she was living; and that he should also dextrously inform himself, whether by a marriage of her with a Son of Soliman's, a peace might not be propounded. The Princess said hereupon, that she would never make this proposition; but Mustapha answered her, how it would suffice, if she did only write a letter, that did make known she was living; and that did likewise assure, how the letter, which he would write, was of a person considerable and powerful enough, to treat of an Affair of this importance.  
The Princess, after she had a little thought on it, wrote to the Governor of Sultania, who had been always very much affected to her; and by this letter she conjured him to work the Sophi to a peace all that ever he could. But before the publishing of her being alive, and making the Proposition, which he should find in the letter, he should send her his Opinion, and acquaint her in what terms Deliment stood with the Sophi, whom she denoted unto him, without naming him: she moreover assured him, that the Letter then written unto him, came from a person, who was able to perform all that he would undertake; and he that carried it, had order to name him, even Mustapha. The Princes chose a man for this voyage, who had lived a long time in Persia, and that understanding the Language and Customs of it, could easily get to Sultania, when once he had put on the habit of the Country. This Governor, having with extreme joy learned that the Princess was living, and transported more by zeal then discretion, went; without doing aught that the Princess had enjoined him, to Prince Mahamed, who had been set at liberty, as well as my Father, when as nothing could be proved against them. For I forgot to tell you, how they had been made prisoners, out of an opinion conceived, that they had caused us to be carried away. This man, I say, transported with an inconsiderate zeal, went to Prince Mahamed, and reading the Princess Letter to him, together with that from Mustapha, they concluded together, that this Proposition would but exasperate things, knowing very well that Deliment would never consent to a peace, which put Axiamira into the power of another, and therefore that it would but inflame the War the more, instead of extinguishing it.  
On the other side, Prince Mahamed, who was not ignorant how much averse the Princess had ever been from Marriage, could not believe, but that the consent which she seemed to give to Mustapha's Proposition, was wholly against her inclination: so that thinking to serve her, and considering withal, that if she became the Wife of one of Soliman's Sons, he should lose her for ever, and me too, because he knew well that I would never abandon her, and that Vlama having changed his party, there was nothing left in the Court of Persia, which could induce me to return thither; he believed, I say, that he was to labour the Princess' bringing back again, by deceiving her: And for that purpose, having gained one of the Sophi's Secretaries, they made him write a letter to Mustapha in Tachmas name, with the Seal of the Empire annexed to it, whereby he testified his agreement to that Marriage, and past his word to give him his Daughter, provided he might be assured she was living, by the report of some person, that knew her, and whom he could trust; and to that effect he should cause her to be brought to some little frontier Town, where after he had been cleared of this truth, he would perform his word with him.  
This Letter being consigned into the hands of him that had been sent, and he newly departed, a scruple came into the Prince's mind, and a fear that Axiamira would be displeased with him for this deceiving of her; so that instantly he dispatched away a Gentleman, that was faithful to him, to the Princess at Amasia, for to advertise her of the truth of things; and to tell her, that if she would return to Persia, his design was to lay an ambush by the means of the Governor of Sultania for the taking her out of Mustapha's hands, if he conducted her to that frontier Town, whereof the Letter, which he had caused to be written to him in the Sophi's name, spoke. But whilst he who had been sent to Constantinople was returning to tell us that you were not there; and that they which came from Sultania with such different Messages, were upon their way towards us, there were strange things a contriving in the Seraglio; and the cruel Roxelana, making profit of your absence, meditated deadly adventures. But it may be, my Lord, you know them better than I am able to deliver them; it being impossible but that you should be acquainted with then since your return.  
Ibrahim seeing that Felixana attended his answer, requested her once again, after he had craved permission of the Princess for it, to continue recounting unto him all that she knew concerning the two Prince's adventures; and not to fear speaking freely of matters, wherein Soliman had any part; because it was necessary he should know all the particularities of this History, which no man yet durst tell him. Since you are pleased to enjoin me to ●his, said Felixana, and that the Princess' silence assures me she consents to it, I will tell you, that you were no sooner departed, but Roxelana reassuming her former Empire over Soliman, obtained of him that Rustan might in some sort re-enter into grace; and that she might at leastwise have the liberty to talk with him; for, as you know, she hath never been subjected to the rigours of the Seraglio: No more are you ignorant without doubt of the hatred, which she hath always born to Mustapha, since you have been so long his protector. But hear, my Lord, the most extraordinary artifice that ever was made use of to undo one. Roxelana following the ancient designs, which she had had for the ruining of Prince Mustapha, saw you no sooner gone, but complotting with Rustan, she began to lay the foundations of her wicked intentions. She spoke no longer to Soliman of any thing but the merit, valour, and spirit of Mustapha. And to arrive unto the mark which she had propounded to herself, she c●used Rustan through his wiles to oblige all the Sangiacks of the Province of Amasia, whereof Mustapha was Governor-General, all those which commanded men of war under him, and some of them of the places adjoining, to write greatly in the praise of Mustapha to this wicked man; principally of his liberality, of his courtesy, and of the affection which every one bore him: because, said he unto them, the Grand Signior would be glad of it, and would take it well at their hands. These people were not hardly drawn to be persuaded to a thing, which seconded their inclinations; and which also they believed would be advantageous to Prince Mustapha, whom they loved so ardently. They wrote then according to Rustan's designs, without swerving from the truth; it being very certain, that never Prince surmounted Mustapha, in shape, in wit, in bounty, in greatness of courage, in magnificence, in courtesy, and in generosity. Neither was there ever Prince so generally beloved, unless Prince Gianger h●s brother might be compared unto him, who though he were the younger, yet left he not to be graced with the same qualities, which were so eminently seen in the other.  
But I am carried away, my Lord, in commending these two infortunate Princes, without thinking, how you knew them, not better, but longer then I. Wherefore I will return unto my discourse, to let you understand, that all these letters being come to Rustan's hands, he g●ve them to Roxelana; who with a feigned sincerity, and apparent joy in her face, shown them all to Soliman, as it were rejoicing to see him have so worthy a successor. The Sultan took delight, not only in reading the praises which were given to his son, but also in observing the affection which Roxelana seemed to bear him. So that this wicked woman, judging how all that she could say would no longer be suspected, one day, when as she shown one of these Letters to Soliman which commended the Prince; My Lord, said she unto him, (as good Achmat recounted it unto us, who understood all these particularities from Soliman's own mouth) may I dare give thee one mark of my love, in giving thee one of my fear? All that proceeds from so noble a cause, answered the Sultan, cannot be but very agreeable unto me. I must then, continued she, tell thee a thought which is come into my mind, in hearing the continual praises, which thou daily receivest, to the glory of Mustapha. It is not, my Lord, because I bear him any envy; for Heaven is my witness, if I do not love him better than mine own children, whom I scarcely love, but because they are thine. But, my Lord, if the glory of Mustapha be dear unto me, thine is yet dearer. And I remember upon this occasion, how the Emperor Selim thy Father used the same sleight towards thy Grandfather Bajazet; acquiring with time such a credit amongst the Soldiers and people, as in the end he found himself powerful enough to dispossess him of his Empire. It is not because I do not see well enough that the same thing is not like to arrive, for our holy Prophet keeps thee so charily, as I need not fear aught that way. But yet methinks, thy Highness may, without offence to Mastapha, appoint some to observe his actions; since if they be good and sincere, his spies shall be so many testimonies, that w●ll speak of him to his glory; and if they be not so, thy Highness may then provide for thy safety. For, my Lord, as often as I call to mind the things which thou hast told me of the youth of Selim, methinks I see them all in Mustapha; with this difference notwithstanding, that Mustapha hath a better aspect, is handsomer, is more liberal, and more civil; in a word, said she unto him smiling, more dangerous than Selim, if he have the same will, as I shall not lightly believe; nor have I spoken to thy Highness of it, but that nothing might be neglected, which regards the felicity of thy Kingdom, and the quiet of thy life.  
This artificial discourse made no great impression in Soliman's mind; but yet it left a suspicion there, which increased with time; and it was a disposition to make him g●ve credit the more easily afterwards to all the ill that was told him of his son. He thanked Roxelana for the care she had of the good of his State; and assured her that he should never take any thing ill which she should say to him. That for Mustapha, he believed him to be too well born to pluck away the Sceptre from him, and to despoil him of an Empire, that was destined to him after his death. Roxelana, seeing that this artifice wrought not all the effect she expected from it, consults anew with the Traitor Rustan, who told her, that at any rate whatsoever Mustapha was to be made away before you were returned to the Port, and that the easiest way for it would be to seek to poison him; for which purpose they were to send a daring and faithful man, with good store of money, to corrupt some one of the Prince's Officers, that waited on him at his Table. But seeing a great deal of hazard in this enterprise, she could hardly resolve on it, yet had she consented unto it, had not an accident fallen out, which made her change her resolution. But, my Lord, admire here the strange proceeding of things of this world! whilst Roxelana and Rustan sought for means to destroy Mustapha, and that all their malice could find out none, that could fully satisfy their cruel hatred, the zeal and fidelity of one of the ancient Officers of this deplorable Prince, furnished them with an occasion for it. This man had been his first Governor, when as he went out of the Seraglio; and was he to whom Soliman, during the youth of his son, had given in charge to render him an account of his actions: But whereas the Prince had never done any, but such as were worthy, he could not advertise aught, that was not to the advantage of his Master.  
Now after that Mustapha's age had dispensed him from the obedience, which he had yielded to this man, he had still retained him at Amasia; conversing a little less familiarly with him, then with his other domestics, by reason he was of somewhat an austere humour, and that his former authority did as yet conserve some awe and respect in Mustapha towards him. This man for all that loved the Prince extremely, who on the other side heaped wealth and felicity on him. Howbeit he had a scrupulous virtue, which persuaded him, that though he held nothing of that which he enjoyed but from Mustapha, yet that he owed all to Soliman, who had placed him about him; so that without considering the Prince's interests, as soon as Soliman's came to be in competition with them, he betook him to the Sultan's party. This man then, being of the humour I have represented unto you, was at Amasia, whilst the Princess and I were there; And though he knew that there were two women in his Master's Palace, who were not known, or seen, yet had he not made an affair of State of it, but had believed that which had been told him, as well as other of the Prince's Officers, how we were two of Sarraida's kinswomen, who for certain reasons would not be seen of any body. But it chanced for our ill hap, that this man walking out of the Town encountered that which caused all our misfortune. For to clear this History unto you, please you to understand, that he whom the Princess had sent to Sultania, having been overtaken by him whom Prince Mahamed had dispatched away presently after him, they had traveled together, without knowing that they were come from one and the same place, and were going to the same persons. So that falling in talk of indifferent things (for the Persian understood the Turkish Tongue well) and the War, which was then betwixt the Sophi and the Sultan, being the subject of the conversation of all those which knew not one another, they grew so hot in discoursing about it the very day wherein they were to arrive at Amasia, as the Persian, not able to disguise his thoughts, as he had done his language and his habit, burst out into saying, that Soliman was an Usurper; which the other unable to endure, and being become more audacious, because he was nigh to a place where he knew he should be protected, he drew out his scimitar, and very fiercely set upon the Persian, who, being more dextrous, and better mounted than he, quickly decided the combat with three blows that he gave him, which made him fall dead at his feet. This being done without witnesses, the Persian continued his way, and almost a minute after he was out of sight, Mustapha's said ancient Governor arrived at the place where the combat was fought, and presently knowing that man, because he had belonged to the Prince, he approached to him, marks whether he gives any sign of life, and laying his hand upon the region of his heart, he meets there with the packet that was directed to Mustapha, which that man had put into a little bag that he had hung about his neck. The sight hereof possessed the Governor with some curiosity, so that seeing no mark of life in that wretched man, but contrarily observing all the signs of death in him, which are wont to be seen in them whose end hath been violent, he speedily withdrew from that same place, carrying the little bag along with him; and being got far enough out of the way, he opened it, and was much abashed, when he perceived the Sophi's seal.  
I leave you to judge, my Lord, whether that exact fidelity, which he had always observed to Soliman, did permit him to deliberate long upon that subject: he never stuck at it then; and to testify his respect to the Grand Signior, as well as his fidelity, he resolves to send him those Letters without opening them. And seeing by the superscription of that which was directed to Axiamira, that she must needs be in Amasia, he reflected on the being of two women concealed in Mustapha's Palace; and calling to mind an hundred petty circumstances, which when they arrived had made no impression in his mind, he certainly believed, that the Princess of Persia was in Mustapha's hands: So that persuaded of this truth, he reentered into the Town through another gate than that which he went out at; and without making show of what had befallen him, he the next day dispatches a man away to Constantinople, enjoins him to address himself to some of the Bassa's for to present him to the Grand Signior, and commands him above all things to use great speed.  
In the mean time the Persian being arrived at Amasia, and not fearing to be accused for the death of him whom he had killed, since their combat had been without witnesses, he comes boldly to the Palace, demands to speak with Mustapha, and after he had made himself known to him to be a Persian, and had given him assured marks that he came from Prince Mahamed, he desires to be admitted to the Princess; which was granted him. And when he had acquitted him of his Commission, Axiamira remained very much surprised; for she knew by his discourse, that he whom they had sent to Sultania was too long in returning, since this man, who set forth a day after him, was already come. She hoped nevertheless, as well as the Princes, that this unquietness would soon cease; and believed that some inconvenience having kept this man from coming so fast as the other, he would arrive at last, and so give an end to their fear. But the day following, the body of him, whom the Persian had slain, having been found by some that passed by, he was brought into the Town, and known to be one belonging to the Prince, who was presently advertised thereof. And whereas it was a matter of importance, he went in person to cause the Letters to be searched for, which we believed he had hidden somewhere in his clothes; but having found none about him, the Princess was very much afflicted at it, fearing with a great deal of reason, lest these Letters should come into the hands of such, as might give Soliman to understand that she was in his Dominions. Yet Gianger in some sort comforted her, by persuading her tha● this man, who, as he said, was cunning and dextrous, seeing himself engaged in a combats, had without doubt thrown them away, for fear they should be found about him, if he should happen to have the worst in this occasion. At length, not able to do otherwise, she suffered herself to be somewhat persuaded of it: and after she had considered what she was to do, she sent back the Persian without other answer, then that she assured Prince Mahamed of her affection, and that he should within a few days hear from her, not daring to venture more Letters so soon after this cross adventure; and deferring also the taking of her last resolutions, till they should know what could be expected from you.  
But when we learned a little after, by the return of him who had been sent to Constantinople, that you were not there, the unquietness of the Princess, and of myself, strangely redoubled. Yet we did not know all the occasions that we had for it: for the Sophi's false Letter to Mustapha, and those which were directed to Axiamira, having been delivered to Rustan, through the simplicity of him, which should have given them to none but to the Grand Signior himself, it might be said, how his inconsiderate zeal did that in this occasion, which all the cunning of Rustan, and the wickedness of Roxelana, could never have done without him. Rustan went presently to her, and opening these Letters with a great deal of care to preserve the Seals of them whole and entire, they found therein wherewithal to satisfy their desires, and execute their mischievous designs. Roxelana took these Letters with joy into her charge, and as soon as they had sealed them up again, she sent word to Soliman, that she had something of importance to communicate unto him; whereupon he instantly repaired unto her, and was received by her with the accustomed respect, but with an extraordinary sadness in her countenance, though in her heart she was infinite glad. The Sultan, who always loved her dearly, demanded of her with some unquietness, what it was that afflicted her? She answered him, that being enforced for the good of his Empire, and the preservation of his person, to discover a matter unto him, which would much amaze and grieve him, she could not be without affliction. This obscure discourse having redoubled the Sultan's curiosity, and already even excited some trouble in his soul, she went on, beseeching him to remember the suspicions which she had of Mustapha, though he had neglected them, and at length intermixing the praises of the Prince, with her accusations against him, she presents the false Letter, that was directed to Mustapha, unto Soliman, tells him (as indeed it was true) that his ancient Governor sent it unto him; and after she had made him consider the importance of it, she represents unto him, that if Mustapha came once to be joined to Tachmas, it would be easy for him to seize upon his Throne: That he was not to expect the succour of the Janissaries against the Prince, because his liberality had gained them all; that the people loved him; that the Bassa's feared and esteemed him; and that in fine this affair was so important, as it concerned both his Empire, and his life.  
Soliman hearing all these things, knowing the fidelity of him that sent him this Letter, seeing Tachmas seal to it; and coming to consider, that Mustapha had with address declined the War of Persia, he no longer doubted but that he was guilty; albeit Axiamira's shipwreck perplexed him, and kept him from comprehending this pretended marriage. His tenderness of this Prince made him nevertheless seek in his heart, how he might favourably interpret the accusations, which were brought against his innocence. But the conjectures were so strong, and Roxelana's persuasions so powerful, as fatherly affection gave place to reason of State. He would fain have put this affair into the deliberation of his privy Council, but in regard you were not at the Port, he knew not whom to rely on. He propounded Achmat to Roxelana, but she, being in fear of this man's virtue, represented unto him, that he was too much affected to the Prince to hope for any faithful counsel from him in this encounter. In the end she knew how to sway the Sultan's mind with so much address and malice, as he himself commanded Rustan to be sent for, who was the only man that Roxelana did not except against. He was no sooner arrived, but the Grand Signior asked his advice concerning the matter in question. He answered at first, with a feigned submission, that it was only for him to execute his Highness resolutions, and not to give him counsel. But after he had caused himself to be commanded more than once to deliver his opinion, he aggravated the matter with so much art, and made show of such dangerous consequences in this affair if it were neglected, as Soliman, being absolutely resolved to look to his conservation, commanded him to make himself ready to set forth with six thousand men, which should march away under pretext of being sent to Vlama as a recruit. That in the mean time, in passing by Amasia, he should assure himself of Mustapha's person with as little stir as possibly he could, for fear of causing some revolt in that Province.  
Rustan having received this Order, thought of nothing but executing it. And whereas the Troops, which he was to conduct, were ready to march, he departed away within a few days, after he had received from Roxelana all the instructions, that were necessary to make the design, which she had to ruin Mustapha, succeed. As indeed, Rustan was no sooner upon the frontiers of Amasia, but he wrote unto Soliman, that Mustapha had gained all the Soldiers; that they would receive no command but from him; that all was full of conspiracies; that the people were every where ready to revolt; that he was not in a condition to oppose so many Enemies; and in conclusion, that his presence was absolutely necessary for the calming of this storm. Now that which made Rustan advertise Soliman of all these things, was because he certainly knew, that the virtue of Mustapha was so generally beloved in all that Province, as if he undertook to go with open force against him, he would be in danger of being lost, and of utterly ruining Roxelana's designs. He considered withal, that if he conducted the Prince to Constantinople, all the Bassa's, all the Janissaries, and all the people joining together, might peradventure cause a general revolution, if they enterprised the taking away of Mustapha's life.  
This consideration of his succeeded but too well; for Soliman no sooner understood so much from him, but he resolved for his voyage. Howbeit that which powerfully carried h●m to do what Rustan desired, was the intelligence he gave him, how by a second Letter from Mustapha's Governor he was informed, that the Princess of Persia was in his hands. So that Soliman, filled with choler and jealousy, and thinking that as Rustan had escaped shipwreck, so Axiamira not being dead might be in the hands of his son, who was fallen in love with her, parted instantly away, with all the Troops and Janissaries which he had about him; leaving no more behind then such as were necessary for the ordinary guard of his Seraglio. But before he went from Roxelana, she made him promise her, that he would forget all things to think of his own security. Virtuous Achmat told us since, that Soliman had a strange combat within himself, and that Nature and Reason a long time opposed the wickedness of this woman. But at length she made him see the peril so great, and so near unto him, as in parting from her, she got him to promise her two things; the one, that he should not see Mustapha, and the other, that he should sacrifice him to his own proper safety. With this deadly resolution he went and joined with Rustan: these things nevertheless were not so closely carried, but the Bassa Achmat was advertised, how this tempest was going to fall upon the head of Mustapha; so that at the very same time, when as Soliman, being encamped near to Aleppo, had sent the Prince a Command to come unto him, to render him an account of the Princess of Persia, Achmat dispatched away a Post, to advertise him that some great design was plotting against him, and that he was accused of something, wherein the Princess of Persia was mentioned: but not able to tell him precisely what it was, all that he could do in this occasion, considering the state wherein he saw things, was to counsel him not to come.  
I leave you to judge, generous Ibrahim, whether, receiving at one and the same instant Soliman's command, and Achmat's advertisement, the Princes and the Princess were not strangely surprised; And so much the more, because that Persian was on the very same day brought back to Mustapha, whom Axiamira had returned to Prince Mahamed, and had been taken upon the frontier for a spy, though he believed, that it was for that it had been discovered, how he had slain that Officer of Mustapha's, which came out of Persia with him; so that he no sooner saw the Prince, but he cast himself at his feet, confessed his crime, begged his pardon for it, and recounted unto him the combat between that Turk and him, as I have related it unto you. But whatsoever was demanded of him, he still maintained, that he whom he had killed had not thrown away any Letters during the combat, as we had believed; which made us fear more than before, lest some one had gotten them after his death, and sent them to Soliman. Prince Gianger was even in despair to see his brother in trouble for the love of him: Axiamira was in an affliction, which I cannot represent unto you; the fear of falling into Soliman's hands made her resolve for death; and the thought of being the cause of the ruin of two Princes, to whom she was so much obliged, augmented her grief far more. Sarraida, who loved her husband more than herself, was wholly dissolved into tears, out of her fear of the danger whereunto she saw him exposed; Mustapha, though more constant, yet was sensibly touched with the tears of the rest; and as for me, if I may be permitted to name myself after so many illustrious persons, I was so afflicted, as my own misfortunes were never so sensible to me.  
In the mean time, we knew not what resolution to take, Gianger would go and present himself to the Grand Signior to justify his brother, and confess that he alone was culpable: but as soon as he came to think, that he should abandon Axiamira; that he should either let her return into Persia, or put her into the hands of Soliman, who was both his Father and his Rival, he could by no means resolve on it, but fell again into his despair. Axiamira on her part found no way to escape this peril; she would fain have saved these two Princes, and saved herself too: but not able to go into Persia, neither to see Soliman, nor rest safe in a place, where she was no longer unknown, she found that death alone could draw her out of so many miseries. As for Mustapha, his greatest sorrow was to see the affliction of his brother, and the fear he was in, that his Palace would not be an inviolable sanctuary to the Princess Axiamira: for touching the rest, said he unto her, I am not much troubled. If Soliman deals rigorously with me, it will always be with injustice, knowing as I do, that I have never had a thought against the service which I own to him, and after this satisfaction, I fear not death. But that which afflicts me, continued he, is the doubt, that if I go and present myself to Soliman, they will come and do you some wrong in my absence, and that is it for which I do not see how we can find a remedy.  
Sarraida, hearing her husband speak in this sort, cast herself at his feet to dissuade him from this design, and to pray him to remember (said she, after she had craved pardon of Gianger) how exceedingly Roxelana had sought for a pretext to undo him; that having met with one, he might be assured she would make use of it to his ruin: and that it was better for him to stay in Amasia, and there to defend himself, or fly away, then to expose himself to so evident a danger. But Mustapha's generosity not permitting him to resolve either for the one or the other; it becomes your affection, answered he, to counsel me in this manner, but it becomes not the courage of Mustapha to be persuaded by you: and since I am innocent, I will never fly like a guilty man. For in fine, though I seem to have failed, according to rigorous and exact policy, in not advertising Soliman that the daughter of his Enemy was in my power, yet I think that I swerve not much from sovereign Reason in serving so excellent a Princess and my brother; and in contributing nothing to the Sultan's unjust love, so that after this Interior satisfaction, I will remit my innocence to the conduct of Heaven, which is always the protector of it. Gianger seeing his resolution, desired Axiamira, not to take it ill if he went to die with his brother; but Mustapha, without giving the Princess leisure to answer, told him, that he would not suffer it, but he would leave him to guard the Princess Axiamira, and his dear Sarraida.  
I should never have done, if I would report unto you all that, which love, fear, generosity, and despair, made these illustrious persons say in this sad conversation. As for me, I heard all their discourse without speaking: when as on a sudden, the desire which I had to serve them inspired me with a mean, whereby I believed I could save Mustapha, secure Axiamira, dry up Sarraida's tears, render Gianger more excusable, signalise the affection which I bore the Princess, and destroy all the wicked designs of Mustapha's Enemies. Verily this thought possessed me with so extraordinary a joy, as it quickly appeared in my eyes amidst the tears which I shed: but whereas I feared that the Princess' generosity would be an obstacle to my design, I fell at her feet, and besought her to give me her word, that she would not refuse a mean, which I thought I had found to draw them all out of the pain and danger wherein I saw them. Ah, my dear maid, said she unto me, dost thou think that a person which would receive death with joy, if it were presented unto her, can refuse thy assistance? but I greatly fear, continued she, that thy affection does but abuse thee, and that the extreme desire thou hast to serve me makes thee believe that to be easy, which I hold impossible. No, no, Madam, answered I; and provided you will promise me not to oppose this design, I assure you that you yourself will find a great deal of probability in it.  
Sarraida, seeing that Axiamira made not much haste to answer me, pressed her so far, as she gave me her word to do all that I would have her. She had no sooner said so, but rendering her thanks for the permission she gave me to serve her, I imparted unto her in what manner I hoped to secure her. And to make her comprehend it the better, I caused her to remember, how the same Merchant who sold her picture to Soliman, as being mine, had also sold mine to Prince Gianger, as being hers: So that to draw them out of the trouble wherein they were, and to put her in safety, Mustapha was to conduct me to Soliman, seeming to believe that I was the Princess of Persia; which he was likewise to confirm by the picture that Prince Gianger had of me, and by the testimony of the Merchant who had sold it unto him. And withal Soliman, by his own experience, would not have much ado to believe, that the Prince might have been deceived, as well as himself. That in this sort Mustapha might deny the having of the right Princess of Persia in his hands, and consequently that she would be in safety. That for me, I was to say, how having been found on the Seashore after our shipwreck, they had presented me to Sarraida, who out of her goodness had received me into her Palace, where I had almost ever since been sick: And that not above eight days before, Gianger had seen me at his brothers, and taken me for the Princess of Persia, by means of my picture that he had. That instantly thereupon he purposed to have carried me to Constantinople; being ready to set forth on that voyage, just as he received Soliman's command. I told them further, that if by ill fortune the Letters from Persia, which had been lost, were in the Sultan's hands, he was boldly to deny any knowledge thereof, since no body could convince him of it. And that he was to say, how without doubt it was an artifice of his Enemies, who having understood by some way, unknown to him, that the Princess of Persia was in his power, had counterfeited those Letters, for to bring him into hatred with Soliman. And as for me, said I to the Princess, never trouble yourself, Heaven, which hath inspired me with this design, knows how to preserve me, if I be worthy of protection; if not, I shall still die with joy, if I die for the saving of so many excellent persons. Ah, Felixana! said the Princess unto me, I will not be saved with the loss of you; and if your zeal carries you to this resolution, reason will not let me consent unto it. You have promised it me, Madam; said I interrupting her; and I cannot think that a great Princess will ever break her word. And then again I do not see that my loss is undoubted; for howsoever, continued I, Soliman cannot accuse me but for a little while receiving the honours, which were rendered to me as to the Princess of Persia, though I were not she; but thereunto I am to say, that to be in the more safety out of the respect which was believed to be due to my condition, I had not disabused the Prince, staying to make myself known for that which I was, till I was at his Highness' feet, to beg his pardon, and to beseech him to grant me my liberty.  
Sarraida, seeing a great deal of likelihood in that which I said, earnestly entreated Axiamira no longer to resist this design. Gianger called me his Deliverer, and said such obliging things unto me, as I shall never forget the remembrance of them. For Mustapha, though he saw some probability of that which I propounded, yet his great heart could not resolve to disguise the truth; and had he not certainly known, that it was the only way which could permit him to hope, that he might put the Princess Axiamira in safety, he had never consented unto it. But that consideration, joined to the extreme affection which he carried to his brother, made him resolve at length for all that was desired of him. We prepared ourselves then to departed the next day; I will not relate unto you what the separation was between the Princess and me, between Gianger and Mustapha, between Mustapha and Sarraida, since it would but renew our sorrows for a matter that is not absolutely necessary you should know. But I will only tell you, that the separation of the Soul and body is never made with such violent grief as ours was, at the sad moment of that deadly and last farewell. I was put into a Chariot, with two women which Sarraida gave me to wait upon me, and Mustapha accompanied with a small train, to show the more confidence, marched on horseback some fifty paces before us. We arrived at the Emperor's Camp a day later than we thought we should, because the Chariot, wherein I was, being broken, took up so much time to re-accommodate it. And you will know, my Lord, by the sequel of my discourse, how it is not without cause that I have noted this unto you. We were no sooner lighted at a Tent, which had been prepared for us, but Prince Mustapha, who thought he should have conducted me to Soliman, received an Order to attend his Commandments there, and to remit me into the hands of a Bassa, who was to present me to his Highness. I confess that this proceeding amazed me, and that I began to be in fear for the Prince. At the very same instant he received sundry advices, that his ruin was resolved and certain, if he did not repel force with force: the Chieftains of the Army, and the Aga of the Janissaries gave him to understand, that if he would they would rebel, and not only save his life, but set the Crown upon his head. To all this he answered nothing, save that he might well be unhappy, but he could never be guilty; that he had rather die with injustice, then reign unjustly; and in sine that their zeal going too far for the love of him, he could not recompense them better for it, then in keeping them from offending. As for me, when I went out of his Tent with tears in my eyes, he requested me, that at my coming before Soliman I should obtain of him, that he might in person justify himself of the accusations that were brought against his innocency; and that he would be so good as not to condemn him without hearing him. I promised him all that he desired of me, without scarcely knowing what I did, so much was my mind troubled, through the fear I was in, that my design would not succeed. Howbeit I strove to settle my countenance before I should appear before Soliman; the Bassa that conducted me had the goodness not to hasten me too much, so that I had the leisure to recollect myself a little. I was made to pass through three Tents, before I arrived at the Sultan's, but every one that I saw seemed so sad unto me, and I heard Mustapha so often named softly, as from that very time I perceived but too well that he was utterly lost.  
At my first appearance Soliman seemed to be very much surprised; and beholding me with an angry look, he demanded of the Bassa that brought me, where the Princess of Persia was? My Lord, said he unto him, Prince Mustapha delivered no other than this person unto me, whom I saw him treat as if she were the Princess of Persia. I no sooner heard this answer (for I had already learned a little of your language) but I cast myself at the Sultan's feet, and humbly besought him to hear me. I will hear no lying, answered he. My Lord, replied I, it is not to keep thy Highness from punishing it, that I beg the favour of thee to be heard, but to keep thee from confounding the innocent with the guilty; for in fine, my Lord, I am faulty, and Mustapha is absolutely innocent. I would I had given thee, answered the grand Signior thereupon, the half of my Empire, that Mustapha were not guilty. My Lord, replied I with more confidence than before, I do crave but two things of thee to give thee that satisfaction; the one is, that thou wilt hear me without interrupting me; and the other, that thou wilt permit the Prince to justify himself in person. This last, answered he, is impossible, but for the other I do grant it thee; and promise thee moreover, that if thou dost justify Mustapha (which I do not believe thou canst do) there is nothing which thou shalt not obtain of me. I did not yield at the very first; I besought him that he would see the Prince; I laboured to vanquish him with my reasons; but at last seeing I nothing prevailed, I declared the matter unto him, as we had resolved it; and that with so much ingenuity, as I well perceived he believed me. I repeated this History from Rustans' arrival at Mazanderon, and coming to speak of our shipwreck, I lamented the loss of the Princess, I spoke of her as believing her to be dead; and recounted also, how Sarraida had received me from those, who had found me on the Seashore; and consequently, how a little before Prince Gianger, having seen me with Sarraida, where I had been for the most part sick, had believed that I was the Princess of Persia, by reason of a picture which he had of me, and which a Merchant, who had deceived him, had sold him for Axiamira's: I told him moreover, that as soon as Mustapha was persuaded, that I was the Princess of Persia, he had prepared himself for the conducting of me to his Highness. That for me, I had not disabused him, as well to be the more secured, as for that I hoped I should the more easily obtain my liberty, when as I should request it of him by the memory of the infortunate Axiamira.  
Soliman, moved with my words, fetched a great sigh, and testified both by his carriage and his discourse, that he was afflicted for the loss of the Princess; and yet that he had some joy, in regard he could hope that Mustapha was not so faulty as he had believed him to be, and that in the end he might justify himself. In this thought, the Sultan spoke very gently unto me; and truly I must acknowledge, that I never saw a more charming Majesty, then that of this Prince. But, generous Ibrahim, of how short a continuance was that happy instant! for you must know, that Rustan, the wickedest of men, set forth with Soliman's consent at that very time, when as Mustapha was sent for to come to the Camp: but he went to Amasia through a by-way, followed by a thousand archers on horseback; having sent two spies into that Town, to advertise him when Mustapha was gone from thence, to the end he might take Sarraida, and from her draw out the truth, in case the Prince should deny it: this cunning brain imagining, that a jealous woman would be capable of telling all. But the principal subject of that voyage, was to seize upon the Princess of Persia, if the Prince did not bring her along with him; and to search in Mustapha's Cabinet for some other Letters from the Sophi, which might also convince him of intelligence with the Enemies of the State. So that one day after we were parted from Amasia Rustan arrived there, with an absolute Order, to him that commanded in that place in the absence of Mustapha, to obey Rustan as if it were his Highness himself. You know, my Lord, that these kind of commands do seldom find any rebellious in this Empire: and since there have been many time's Bassa's seen, who have sent their Heads, although they have been Generals of Armies, and that they have been required of them but by one man, accompanied only with four Mutes; I think you will not think it less strange, that the Governor of Amasia, albeit much affected to Mustapha, should notwithstanding open him the gates, as soon as he had seen Rustan's power, and that too without consulting with Prince Gianger thereupon.  
I leave you to imagine in what a case this Prince was when he beheld Rustan at Mustapha's Palace gate, followed by so great a number of armed men. The first thing he did, was to go with speed to Axiamira's lodging, either to endeavour the saving of her, or to die in her defence. But this thought of affection was that, which caused her to be taken the more easily; for Rustan had no sooner marked the way which Gianger took, but leaving one part of his forces at the gate, he followed the Prince in haste with the other, even to Axiamira's chamber, whereinto he entered by force with him. Judge, illustrious Bassa, what beca●● of the Princess when she saw Rustan, whom she presently knew. Ah base v llain! cry●● she, comest thou now to carry me away forcibly a second time? He must first, said Gia●ge● with a great deal of fury, take away my life thus unarmed as I am. I will do neither the one nor the other, answered wicked Rustan, who would not be constrained to come to violence against the son of Roxelana; but I will only execute the Grand Signior's Order, who hath commanded me to bring him all the papers which shall be found in Mustapha's Cabinet. Sarraida, who was with Axiamira, and knew well enough that there could be nothing found which might be prejudicial to her husband, went herself and shown him the door of it. In the mean time, to separate Gianger from the Princess, Rustan told him that he had a matter of importance to communicate unto him; but the Prince answered him, that having no interest severed from Axiamira, he might speak before her.  
Rustan surprised with the liberty of this discourse, began to deal in another manner; and letting Gianger see the absolute power which he had, he put the Princess into despair, and Gianger into fury, who, without considering that his resistance would render him culpable, left not, quite unarmed as he was, to do strange things in opposition of Axiamira's carrying away by force. He would have snatched Rustan's scimitar from him, to have used it against him, and doubtless he had done it, if those with whom he was accompanied had not hindered him. He sought all about the chamber for something wherewith he might have defended himself; but at length seeing all his endeavours vain, he passed from one extremity to another, and after he had exceedingly reviled him, he on a sudden conjured him with tears in his eyes, that he would have some pity on him in the person of the Princess Axiamira; that he would remember he was the son of Roxelana, whose daughter he had married, being assured if the Sultana his Mother knew his designs, she would approve of them; that he would consider how Mustapha coming one day to reign, he could not meet with a better occasion to secure his fortune, then to oblige him in this encounter; that besides, knowing how considerable the interests of the Sultana Queen were to him, he found that he should not do her any very good service in conducting a Princess to Soliman, with whom he was desperately in love.  
To all these things, Rustan answered with an insolent coldness, how he remembered very well, that he was the son of Roxelana, and for that only reason Soliman should not know of the resistance he made to the execution of his commandments; that he feared not the disobliging of Roxelana by conducting Axiamira to his Highness, since she could be but his Slave, and that Roxelana would always be the Sultana Queen. His Slave I answered Gianger and Axiamira both together, surprised with so insolent a speech, that shall never be. I should abuse your patience, if I should repeat unto you all that love, fury, and despair, made Prince Gianger say upon this occasion; and all that sorrow and generosity put into the Princess' mouth in so grievous an encounter: but in conclusion they must give way to force, and obey Sarraida also had a command to enter into a chariot with Axiamira, which she did without any resistance, as soon as she had obtained, that an only son, which she had, should not abandon her; but contrarily, she seemed to have some consolation, out of the thought that she was going to meet with her dear Mustapha again. As for Gianger, Rustan told him, that he might do what he pleased, but this Prince was not in an estate to reason upon that he had to do. It is easy for you to comprehend the deplorable condition wherein he found himself, and what the separation was between that Prince and the Princess. He earnestly desired her to think of her conservation; and to comfort her in some sort, he told her, how he hoped that Soliman could not resist her tears; that he had a great and generous soul; and that, provided love did not prove stronger in him then reason, he was most assured that she would remain very well satisfied of him; that in the mean time he promised to do all things possible for her service; and that if by ill fortune he saw things desperate, he would despair himself, and at leastwise for the love of her, since he had not been able to live for her. A discourse so tender drew tears from the fair eyes of the Princess, as she assured me afterwards. She reached out her hand to him in turning away her head to conceal her weeping from him, and assured him that whatsoever Fortune could do, she should never destroy the friendship and esteem which she had for him: That she promised him, for a testimony that she would not be ingrateful, to think as much of the conservation of Mustapha, as of her own, and not to attempt any thing on her life, if nothing were attempted on her honour. This discourse had lasted longer, if cruel Rustan, who had been busy in ordering of his men, had not separated them, and caused the Princesses, and the little Prince to part away, whom he placed in the midst of the thousand Archers, which had accompanied him thither. Gianger seeing he could enterprise nothing for the saving of the inconsolable Ax●amira, set himself at least to follow her; and getting instantly to horse, he never lost the sight of her chariot.  
Now, my Lord, I have, already told you, I think, that Rustan arrived at Amasia the next day after Mustapha and I were gone from thence; so that our voyage having lasted a day longer than it should have done, by reason of that breaking of the chariot, whereof, if I be not mistaken, I have spoken to you before; and Rustan having caused the Princesses to set forth two hours after his arrival; chance, or to say better, our ill fortune, brought the matter about with so strange a justness of time, that at the very same instant, when as I was beseeching Soliman by the memory of the Princess Axiamira; when as I was lamenting her untimely death, and was all in tears with the grief that I said I was in for her loss, I saw her come in followed by Sarraida, and conducted by Rustan, who at the very first named her to the Grand Signior. To tell you, generous Ibrahim, what a case I was in, and that which this sight effected both in Soliman's mind and mine, is absolutely impossible for me: the Sultan beheld me with an eye of indignation and fury, and turning himself towards me, he said unto me with a strong and impetuous voice; Is it in this sort then, that thou justifiest Mustapha! but know, continued ●e, that justice shall be done to thee as well as to him. Sarraid●, hearing her husband named, cast herself at Soliman's feet, to protest unto him that he was innocent: but he, without hearing or heeding her, turned about to the Princess with a little more civility, and said unto her with a countenance that yet resented the trouble of his soul; It was then out for Soliman that the Princess of Persia suffered shipwreck! It was but for Soliman that she was dead! or to say better, it is but for the happy Mustapha that she hath escaped the Sea, and is living. I know very well that the violence of the love, which I was in for her beauty, hath made me commit one against her, which seems to make me unworthy of her affection; but the tears which I have shed for her loss, have throughly defaced that crime. In the mean time, O pitiless Enemy! whilst I sigh for her death, whilst I shed tears, and consume myself with grief, the happy Mustapha laughs at my tears and sighs, becomes my Rival, or to say better, mine Enemy, and the Enemy of mine Empire, in retaining a person whom I loved, or to regard the matter with another face, in retaining the daughter of mine Enemy; in making secret Treaties with him, and in desiring without doubt to pull me out of my Throne, for to place you and himself there. For to think, that Mustapha hath not understood from you by what adventure you suffered shipwreck, is that which I will never be persuaded to. To believe, that he hath treated this marriage without intending to deprive me of my Crown, is very improbable. I have such proofs of it, as cannot be destroyed, and nothing can make me believe the contrary.  
Yet I, my Lord, must undertake to do it, said the generous Axiamira, to whom he had still spoken in her own Tongue, and with a discourse, wherein the very truth shall appear, make thee know, that Mustapha is not culpable, that Sarraida is innocent, and that this maid, whom thy Highness beholds with so much choler (said she, in speaking of me) merits extreme praise, for exposing herself to the peril, wherein I find her, only to save me. In fine, my Lord, I purpose to show thee, that if this tempest, which I see is risen in thy soul, cannot be appeased without falling on the head of some one, it must be upon mine, for that I am the only cause of the troubles of thy mind. But do not believe, that in hearing me acknowledge this innocent crime, I have forgotten thine, or that I am base enough to flatter thee: no, no, I still remember that I am the Sophi's daughter, and that with a usage unworthy of my condition one of thy Slaves carried me away by force. But whereas the preservation of them that I love is dearer to me then mine own, I will not speak to thee in this occasion but of those, in favour of whom Nature speaks to thee as well as I.  
Rustan, fearing then lest Soliman should be moved with the tears and discourse of Axiamira, was so audacious as to interrupt her, and demand of the Sultan, what greater proof he would have against Mustapha, than the supposition he had made him, in bringing him Felixa●a for Axiamira? but he would be sure, out of the design he had to undo that deplorable Prince, not to speak a word, how he knew, at the taking of Axiamira, that Gianger alone was in love with her. This discourse of his repossessed Soliman's mind with anger, so that notwithstanding Sarraida's tears, notwithstanding any reasons Axiamira could allege, or any supplications she could make, we no longer saw but marks of fury and jealousy in the eyes of Soliman. He commanded guards to be set upon us, without permitting Axiamira to undertake the justification of Mustapha: and expressly forbade that any body should speak with us. Rustan came himself to see this Order observed: but when we went out of the Grand Signior's Tent, to go to that whither they were conducting us, we encountered Gianger, whom the Capigis had not suffered to enter at such time as we were carried in. This Prince, seeing us all in tears, approached to Axiamira; Well then, Madam, said he unto her, what, am I to resolve of my life, have you been ill-intreated, and Mustapha is he convicted of my crimes? Is it to the Seraglio, or to prison, that they are leading you? In fine, acquaint me with your destiny, and that of my dear brother, to the end I may regulate mine by yours, and that thereupon I may form my designs, and take my resolutions. Rustan, who would not suffer this conversation, neither would incense the spirit of this young Prince, before his intentions were accomplished, for fear he should be carried to some violence, answered him, that Soliman's anger would be appeased, that patience would overcome him; and lest he should be offended if he came to know it, that it was fit he should forbear speaking to Axiamira, because he had expressly forbidden it, and that without exception. I am undone, replied Gianger, love or choler hath been the cause of this Command, and howsoever it be, I am equally unhappy. Comfort yourself, said the Princess to him, and be sure that Axiamira will never do any thing unworthy of her birth, of her courage, and of the esteem which you have of her: But in the mean time if it be possible endeavour to assist Prince Mustapha.  
Rustan, seeing this conversation continue still, committed the Princesses and me to the custody of them that accompanied him; but Sarraida entreated him, that her son might at least be restored to her; for he would not let Soliman see him for fear he should have been moved with it: this cruel man granted her this grace, out of the doubt he was in, lest her cries and lamentations should have caused some tumult amongst the Soldiers if they had heard them. As for him, he stayed with Gianger, to whom he said so many things, to pacify him, and to make him believe, that the more patiented he was, the more submission he shown, and the more confidence he put in the goodness of Soliman, the more would he make it appear in this occasion, as any other then Gianger would have been deceived therewith. But he, who knew the canning of this Traitor, had not followed his counsels, if the virtuous and prudent Achmat, who c●me to them at that very time, had not counselled him the same thing, though it was with a very different intention. He promised him to go to Soliman, for to endeavour the appeasing of his fury; and entreated him that in the mean time he would repair to his Tent, without permitting any body to see him; as well because he was come to the Camp without the Emperor's order, as for fear lest some violent spirit should make him alter his resolution, assuring him that after he had been with the Sultan, he would come and give him an account of what he had done. Gianger would fain have spoken with his virtuous friend in private, to have discovered unto him his love, and his brother's innocence, but it was impossible for him. Not being able to do otherwise then, he went to Achmat's Tent, there to attend his return, with a great deal of grief and impatience. He saw his brother accused and in danger for the love of him, his sister in law in prison, and his Mistress in the hands of his father and his Rival, and of a Prince that was both the Lover and the Enemy of Axiamira. He equally feared the hatred and the love of Soliman, and there was not any of all the passions, of whose effects he was not afraid in this grievous encounter. As indeed they reigned one after another in the soul of Soliman; and never was the heart of a man tormented with such strange incertainty, as good Achmat told us afterwards. Fatherly love inspired him sometimes with clemency and pity, then suddenly the love of Axiamira, accompanied with jealousy, brought fury, hatred, anger, and cruelty into his heart. When he regarded Mustapha as his son, he sought to excuse him; but as soon as he considered him as his Rival, he resolved he should perish: Reason of State furnished him with means for that, he saw him black all over with crimes; he had a secret commerce with the Enemies of the Empire; he had treated with Tachmas about his marriage; he had retained his daughter in his hands; and for a last fault, he had been so daring as to put a counterfeit upon him. All these things nevertheless, though very strong against Mustapha, since he believed them to be all true, could not have lost him for all that, without Rustan's wicked counsel.  
The generous Achmat did his uttermost endeavour to oppose it; he represented to Soliman the affection which he had always born to that Prince; the brave things he had done; the ●are qualities that were in him; the little likelihood there was, that he would blemish so fair a life with so detestable a Treason; that assuredly there was something concealed in this affair which could not be comprehended; that at the least it was to be well examined, and not condemn the lawful Successor of the Empire without hearing his Excuses or Reasons; that he should be obliged to condemn himself by the acknowledgement of his crime; and that far from judging him, without hearing his Justifications, he held that it stood with the greatness and goodness of his Highness, suppose he were guilty, to pardon him his fault, so as he confessed it with repentance; and in fine, that in remembering he was a King, he should not forget he was a father. It was with such like Reasons, that Achmat sought to move the heart of Soliman: but the Traitor Rustan, without giving the Grand Signior leisure to answer, drew venom out of all these fair flowers, and undid the infortunate Mustapha with the same Reasons wherewith Achmat had defended him. He answered him, that the more Soliman had loved him, the more ingrateful he was in betraying him; that the brave things he had done, were not so much for the good of the Empire, as for the ruin of it, since he did not make use of the reputation he had gotten, and of the rare qualities which were in him, but to subborn the Commanders and Soldiers, and prepare them for a Revolt, when need should require, as Soliman had been well advertised of it a good while before; that moreover, Mustapha did not believe he should slain his reputation, in going about to set the Crown on his own head, without staying till the death of the Emperor should give it him lawfully, seeing there were domestical Examples of such like things in the Ottoman Family, which seemed to authorise it; that the lives of Kings and Fathers had not always been sacred and inviolable to their ambitious children: whereby this wicked man denoted, without naming him, cruel Selim, the father of Soliman, who had made away his; to the end, that an example so fresh and sensible might make the more impression in his Soul, and might give him a stronger and juster fear of his son; that this affair was no way intricate to them who had nothing else in recommendation but the Sultan's interest; that the knowledge of the matter being so certain, Soliman was not to expose himself to the hazard of being vanquished by the motions of Nature in seeing his son, for fear of being vanquished a second time by him in a more dangerous manner; that it was not necessary Mustapha should condemn himself by his own confession, since the Laws condemned him; that clemency indeed was a great virtue, but less needful than justice; that it was never to be made use of but towards the weak, and the other to be always exercised against the mighty; that in the estate wherein things were, Mustapha could not be saved without putting th● Empire in danger; that he would forget the grace which had been done him, and would ever remember the wrongs which he would think he had received; that having acted before out of love and ambition, he would act thenceforward out of love, ambition, hatred, and revenge; that in fine, there was no other choice, but either to save Mustapha and lose Soliman, or lose Mustapha and save Soliman, which according to his sense was the juster; that the Sultan had other sons to fill up the place of Mustapha, but that there was none that could well fill up the place of Soliman if he were lost. Achmat rendered not himself to so pressing a discourse; and though the maintaining of Mustapha's cause, after that which Rustan had said, was almost to declare himself culpable, yet he did it with earnestness, albeit to no purpose: For jealousy troubling the Judgement of Soliman, and stifling all the motions which Nature and Virtue inspired him with, believing withal that his son was absolutely guilty, fury transported him in such sort, as approaching to Rustan, and speaking softly to him, he pronounced the deadly and bloody sentence against the deplorable Prince, and gave him order to go and see it executed.  
I leave you to judge, my Lord, whether this wicked man gave Soliman any leisure to repent him of so cruel and unjust a Commandment? or whether contrarily, he posted not with an extreme precipitation to obey him? Achmat perceived w●ll by his countenance, that the order which he had received was not displeasing to him, but he did not suspect, that the matter would have gone so hastily on: so that albeit he was in some unquietness at this proceeding, yet desired he to make profit of his absence, and stay by Soliman. He no sooner saw himself alone with him, but he undertook the defence of Mustapha again, when as Soliman in choler charged him to speak no more to him of him. Whereupon Achmat would have retired, but the Sultan commanded him to stay, and fell a walking, sometimes very fast, sometimes more leisurely; one while he stood looking on Achmat, without saying any thing unto him; by and by he lifted up his eyes to Heaven, then suddenly turned them down to the ground; at last, after so violent an agitation both of body and mind, he leaned on Achmat, and beholding him with more marks of grief then of anger, Must I, said he unto him, after I have lived until now, exempted from all the crimes of my Predecessors, be constrained by Mustapha to lay a stain upon my life? and must it be said of me, that I have dipped my hands in the blood of my son? Achmat, surprised with this discourse, and willing to make use of so good a motion, cast himself at his feet, and said so much unto him, that (neither his Reasons, nor the good nature of this Prince, being any longer combated by the malice of Rustan) he told him with tears in his eyes, that he feared he had been but two well obeyed, and that his repentance came but too late. And then after he had confessed unto him the Order he had given Rustan, he commanded him to go with all speed to revoke it. But, my Lord, there was no more time for it, because as soon as Rustan had gotten permission to exercise his cruelty, the wicked man had taken four Mutes along with him, having each of them a Bowstring in his hand, for in that manner it is, as you know, that the children of the Royal Family are here put to deat●, and carried them to the Tent of Mustapha, from whom at the first they had required his Scymitar, which he had given them without resistance. This Tiger staying without the Tent with them that had accompanied him, as well to keep any body from entering, as to hear what this miserable Prince would say in breathing out his last, his Executioners began to attempt the accomplishing of their charge.  
When Mustapha first saw these four Mutes enter, he made no doubt but he was lost; yet being strong and courageous, he could not resolve to suffer himself to be strangled without some defence. The first that would have put the string about his neck, he laid at his feet, the like he did to the second; and having put himself in a posture that he could not be seized upon behind, he not a little troubled his Executioners. He had already taken three of their strings from them, and it may be he might have defended himself so long, till Achmat might have arrived soon enough, had not the Traitor Rustan put his head into the Tent, and by signs threatened the Mutes to do their duty. Mustapha, hearing this voice, and knowing it, left his Executioners to go to Rustan; which was the cause that those four men falling all upon him, overthrew him the more easily to the ground, and put the string about his neck. This deplorable Prince had the leisure yet to say in struggling with them (as some of them who accompanied Rustan have reported) Do so much at least wise, thou cruel man, that I may be the only sacrifice to appease the rage of Roxelana; and that my death may obtain the lives of Gianger, Sarraida and Axiamira of Soliman. With these last words, which interceded for another's life, Mustapha lost his own; and in his person died one of the greatest and most excellent Princes of the World. The people have bruited abroad, how by a communication that was there, from Soliman's Tent to Mustapha's, that Prince had the cruelty to excite the Mutes to strangle his son; but very far from that, Achmat arrived within a moment after Mustapha expired, who, as I have told you, came to change the fatal Order, which Rustan had but two well executed. This Prince was no sooner dead, but Rustan, as if some glory would have redounded to him by so barbarous an act, went to render Soliman an account of it, without knowing aught of the alteration of his mind; for Achmat had been so surprised and afflicted to find this Prince, to whom he was bringing life, already dead, as he had not said any thing to him of a matter, which could then serve to no purpose.  
This first motion of sorrow being over, the virtuous Achmat believed that he owed the conservation of Gianger to the memory of Mustapha; he w●nt then with speed to him, for fear lest being acquainted with this lamentable news by another, he should take some strange resolution. In the mean time the report of this death being spread over the Camp, all the Janissaries came flocking to Mustapha's Tent, where finding him d●ad, they rendered him all the testimonies of grief, which affectionate Soldiers could render to their General. All the Commanders did the like; there were nothing but cries and lamentations; some threw themselves upon his body, and embracing him wet him with their tears; others said aloud, that they must revenge his death, teer out Rustan's heart, remove Soliman from his Throne, go and burn Roxelana in her Seraglio, and declare Mustapha's son Emperor, though he was but a child. Some again, less violent and seditious, threw down their arms, made a vow never to bear any, and having thereof framed as it were a Trophy, which they erected to the virtue of this Prince, they laid his body upon it, and abode round about it weeping the loss they had sustained. Never was there a more general consternation seen; all the Soldiers continued four and twenty hours without eating: and if the prudence of Achmat had not showed itself in this occasion, Soliman's Throne had been overturned, and his person in danger. As for us, we heard indeed a great noise, but it was impossible for us to comprehend what it might be; and they whom Rustan had left to guard us were so faithful unto him, as they would not clear it unto us. We imagined with ourselves, that peradventure Prince Gianger, having made one part of the Soldiers to rise, endeavoured to deliver Mustapha, to the end he might come afterwards and deliver us also; and in this estate we were between fear and hope. In the mean while Rustan was gone back to Soliman, who seeing him enter alone, demanded of him what Mustapha said of his clemency. My Lord, answered he mightily surprised, Mustapha is no longer in a condition ever to say any thing to thy Highness that may displease thee. Ah! infortunate that I am, and most base as thou art, continued Soliman, how readily hast thou obeyed me in a wicked action? He asked him then whether he had not seen Achmat; and having understood that he arrived not till after the death of the Prince, he shown such excessive grief, as the like was never seen. Rustan amazed at so sudden a change, would have represented unto him, how much this death assured the quiet of his Empire; but the Sultan, exceedingly moved with choler, chased him from his presence, and forbade him for ever appearing before him again.  
In the mean time Soliman not knowing whom to make his moan to about his crime and his misfortune, commanded Achmat to be sent for again to him. He was sought for, and found with Prince Gianger, much busied in moderating the violence of his grief, for he had acquainted him with the death of his brother. These two Princes had always loved so dearly together, as never was there a more perfect and disinterested amity than theirs; so that it is easy to imagine the despair Gianger was in, when he knew not only that his brother was dead of a violent death; but that which touched his heart more nearly, that he died for his sake, without being culpable of any thing, but of too much loving him. Ah! my Lord, that I could repeat unto you all that this afflicted Prince said in so lamentable an adventure● but you will see but two well the resentment he had of it, by one only action of his, without my insisting on the relation of his discourse unto you.  
Felixana, observing that Axiamira and Ibrahim had their cheeks all bedewed with tears, as well as she, told them, that it was not time yet to shed them all; for, Madam, said she to the Princess, you know that I have that still resting to deliver, which is not unworthy of your sorrow, and which without doubt will possess this illustrious Bassa with pity and grief. Whereupon she held her peace to wipe her eyes, and to give them leisure also to do as much; and when her sighs and theirs had had all the liberty could be required for them, and that a sad and heavy silence had renewed their attention, she proceeded in this sort. Achmat having received the Sultan's command for his repair to him, thought it was fit for him to obey: He left Prince Gianger then in the guard of five or six of his followers, with order carefully to observe him, and not to leave him out of their sight. In going from his Tent to the Grand Signior's he discerned the beginning of a Tumult amongst the Soldiers, he heard not only their lamentations and their cries, but also the propositions which they made, against Rustan, and even against the Emperor himself: So that being come to him, and perceiving by his tears and discourse his true repentance for his violences, he represented unto him, how it was requisite for his safety, and for the good of the Empire, that he should show unto all his Soldiers the sorrow he was in for the death of Mustapha; That he could not do it better, then in taking care to preserve that which had been dear to him in his life-time; to which effect he was to give a place of retrent to Sarraida, have a good regard of Axiamina, and labour to appease the grief of Gianger, who was come with them to the Camp, and whose affliction was so great, as it was capable of putting him into despair.  
Soliman not knowing what to do in this occasion, retained Achmaet with him, and sent to offer Gianger, by the Aga of the Janissaries, all Mustapha's Governments. But this excellent Prince, abhorring the enriching of himself with the spoils of a brother, who was dead for the love of him, generously refused them: demanding no other portion of Soliman, said he, than the same string, wherewith his brother was strangled. At the same instant the Sultan was advertised, how the Soldiers, who knew not that Sarraida was in Rustan's Te●t, thrust on by the fury that mastered them, were going to set it on fire. So that to hinder this mischief, Soliman sent Achmat to let the Soldiers understand, how Sarraida was in that Tent, and that in seeking to revenge Mustapha, they were upon the point of burning his wife and his son. But to take from them an object, which might exasperate their grief, Achmat held it convenient, not to leave Axiamira, Sarraida, or Mustapha's son any longer in the Camp; so that having drawn Soliman to like of it, and kept the Soldiers from offering any violence to the place where we were, he came to Axiamira to assure her from Soliman, that she should be entreated by him with the respect which was due to her condition; and that in attending till they might advise what was fit to be done therein, he desired her she would be pleased to suffer herself to be conducted to Constantinople. As for Sarraida, he told her with tears in his eyes, that the Grand Signior permitted her to choose a retreat, in what place of his Empire she would; assuring her, that he would have as much care of protecting her, as he had had violence in the person of Mustapha. Sarraida no longer doubting of the death of her dear husband after this discourse, and Axiamira being but too well assured of it as well as she, they both of them said things, that were stronger than the constancy of Achmat. He wept with these two great Princesses, and recounting to them the matter as it had past, excusing Soliman as much as he could, he made them comprehend that Rustan wa● the cause of all this mischief.  
In the mean time Axiamira, in the midst of her affliction, demanded news of Gianger; and after she had been assured that he lived, and that the Grand Signior had none but good thoughts for him, she craved pardon of the infortunate Sarraida for having been the cause of her miseries; and made this discourse with so much tenderness and grief, as Sarraida herself was moved with her resentment. Mustapha's son yet further augmented the Princess' displeasure; for albeit this child had not attained to the tenth year of his age, he seemed to be so afflicted for the loss of his father, and said such generous and reasonable things, as it might be said, that he would have as much resembled him in the qualities of the mind, as in the features of the face, if Fortune had permitted him to live. He assured Sarraida, that he would one day revenge the death of his father; he grieved that he had not so much strength as courage, and that he could give her nothing but tears in this occasion.  
I should never have done, my Lord, if I should repeat all this conversation unto you: but in the end Achmat having assured Axiamira, that it was not to the Seraglio they would conduct her, and having made her apprehend, that she would be better at Constantinople, then in the Camp; he also caused Sarraida to promise, that she would conserve herself for her son. So that being resolved for that which they could not avoid, the Princesses consented to their voyage, and Sarraida chose the Town of Prusa for her retreat, not enduring to return unto Amasia. Achmat commanded charets to be brought, appointed men for the●r convoy, and offering his assistance to the two Princesses, Axiamira earnestly requested him to have a care of Prince Gianger, and to assure him, that she esteemed herself infinitely unhappy in being the cause of his misfortunes. After this, Sarraida and she bid one another ad●e●, or to say better, they only mingled their tears together, and with that dumb and sad language took their eternal farewell. Sarraida was put into her chariot almost in a swoon, and Axiamira entered into that which was prepared for her, so besides herself, as I believed she would have died in my arms.  
In the mean space the preparation for our departure had not been made so secretly, but that the bruit thereof was spread over the Camp: and whereas news do change the further they go from him that first delivers them, it was noised amongst the most part of the Soldiers, That they were conducting Axiamira to the Seraglio; that Soliman purposed to repudiate Roxelana, and declare the Princess Sultana Queen. In this belief they testified so much joy, by reason of the hatred they bore to Roxelana, as being an Enemy to Mustapha, that though she was the mother of Gianger, yet knowing how dearly he had loved his brother, some amongst them went inconsiderately to declare this false and deadly news unto him. He no sooner heard it, but he believed it, and losing the little reason he had resting, he got out like a mad man, spite of them whom Achmat had left with him: and without knowing whither he went, he found what he sought for, that is to say, the body of Mustapha, which could not yet be drawn out of the Soldiers hands, who had laid it, as I have already told you, upon a great heap of their arms. As soon as Gianger approached to it, they made way for him to pass through them; and redoubling their cries and lamentations, some of them offered him to revenge this death, and all of them together protested that they would have the same affection for him they had had for his brother. But he, without harkening to their complaints, their offers, or their prayers, throws himself upon his brother's body, wets him with his tears, then looking round about him, as it were to seek for something, he espied a dagger amidst that great number of arms, which he laid hold on; and then lifting up his voice, with a more quiet countenance then before, Let some of you, O Soldiers (said he) if the memory of Mustapha be dear unto you, declare unto Soliman, that in giving my brother his death, he hath put this steel into my hand; and let the Princess of Persia know also, that I did not die till I had lost the hope of possessing her: saying this, he stabbed the dagger into his heart, no body being able to prevent him, and fell down dead upon the body of his brother. Alas! my Lord, I know this truth but too well; for by ill fortune, the chariot wherein we were passed so near to that place, as I saw Gianger when as he stabbed himself. This sight, and this action than made me give a great skriek. Is there (said the Princess unto me, who did not look that way) some more new misfortune befallen us? Ah! Madam, said I unto her, the greatest that can happen to you in the estate wherein you are. We heard a redoubling then of the wail, lamentations, and cries of the Soldiers, who making the name of Gianger to resound all about, said so much of his death, as they had acquainted her but too well what this misfortune was, without putting me to the trouble of telling it her. She commanded the chariot, wherein we were, to stand still; but the confusion was so great, and the noise so dreadful, as her Order could not be heard; besides, they that conducted us, took such care to get us speedily out of the Camp, as I believe if they had heard what she said, they would not have obeyed her; so that we went away in this manner, without more particularly knowing the death of this miserable Prince: having not learned all that I have recounted unto you, and all that I shall tell you hereafter, till we came hither, where the generous Achmat imparted it unto us.  
It is easy, my Lord, to comprehend, what the grief of Axiamira was; That great and generous Soul, which never fainted under her own misfortunes, found itself then too weak, to support those of another. For though love had no place in her heart, amity, compassion, and the obligations wherein she stood engaged to Prince Gianger, produced the same effects in her upon this occasion. What said she not to testify her affliction! or to say better, what did she not that she might not survive this last mishap! she absolutely declined the care of her preservation, she refused to eat, and I dare say, she would never have resolved to live, if with my tears and prayers I had not conjured her not to leave me in the hands of a Prince, which might entreat me as one culpable. It was not because I was possessed with that fear; but seeing this Princess no way sensible of her own conservation, I believed, that the same generosity, which made her despise her life, to lament another's misfortune, would induce her to preserve it for the easing of mine. As indeed, after that she suffered me to take a care of her, and without abandoning her grief, she resolved to attend death, and not to seek it.  
We in this sort arrived at this place where we are; and where afterwards we understood, that Gianger had no sooner stabbed himself to the heart with a dagger, but the Soldiers affliction, anger, and fury redoubled far more. They which had thrown down their Arms took them up again, maugre the vow which they had made, and testified by their threats, that they had strange designs. It seemed to them that they had a second time lost Mustapha in the person of Gianger, for the love of these two Princes was so generally known, as they regarded him as another himself. This tragic news was instantly carried to the Sultan, who received it with so much grief, as the abundance of tears which he shed in that occasion hath almost defaced his crime; and if Achmat had not provided for his conservation, he would peradventure have let the Soldiers gone on in their fury, without applying any remedy unto it. But whereas he was faithful unto him, and had no less prudence than affection, he counselled him not to conceal his tears, to show himself to the Janissaries, and with his presence to calm a storm, which certainly had caused some strange disorder, if this wise servant had not dissipated it. For the matter went so far, notwithstanding Achmat's providence, that the Soldiers who would revenge the death of Mustapha and Gianger, seeing one part of their companions content themselves with weeping, and not take up Arms against their Sovereign as they did, assaulted them with such violence, as the others being constrained to defend themselves, there was so terrible a confusion in this fight, that the two parties could not be distinguished; and with an enraged fury they killed one another, not knowing wherefore. Already some of them were preparing to go to the Grand Signior's Tent, when as he caused it to be published over all the Camp, that he deprived Rustan of all his Commands, and gave them to the generous Achmat. This Declaration suspended the fury of the Soldiers, who notwithstanding their despair and rage, soon quitted their Arms, to go and gather up the money which was thrown amongst them; Achmat having caused this largess to be given them from the Grand Signior, as it were for a recompense of the zeal they had showed to the Princes. This present liberality made them forget that of Mustapha; and the very same Soldiers, who would have carried fire even to the Emperor's Tent, cried, Long live the Sultan, a quarter of an hour after, when as in person he made a turn about the Camp. He commanded the bodies of the two Princes to be put into one Coffin, and the same being placed in a Chariot covered with black velvet, he ordained them to be carried to Constantinople, and laid in the same tomb, which he had prepared for himself near to the Mosque he had built. He willed also that the said Chariot should be attended upon by half of his Army, and that this funeral pomp should be celebrated with the same magnificence, as if it had been of an Emperor that had died in the Wars. As for himself, he had a purpose to have gone to Mecqua to expiate his fault, and to pray unto God and the holy Prophet for the Souls of the Princes: but the affairs of Persia pressing him, he contented himself with going to jerusalem, where he gave so many testimonies of his repentance and grief, as it was easy to know, that this Prince had not acted by his own inclinations.  
But, my Lord, whilst Soliman gives marks of the sorrow he is in for his violence, Roxelana reputes her not of her wickedness, and far from having so good a motion, she thinks of new cruelties. I have told you, if my memory fail not, how Rustan was chased from Soliman's Tent, but I have not told you what became of him afterwards: You must understand then how having executed that which Roxelana had so ardently desired, he thought it was not fit for him to expose himself inconsiderately, and that having nothing more to do there for the service of the Sultana, he might go and render her an account of his do. He parted immediately then as secretly as possibly he could; but he stayed nevertheless at the first Town he came to, where one of his servants, whom he had given in charge about it, came and acquainted him with all that had been done in the Camp; I mean, the revolt of the Soldiers, the death of Gianger, Soliman's extreme repentance, the retreat which Sarraida had chosen, and briefly all that had passed there. This cruel man, fully informed of all things, went with all speed to Roxelana, and as he related it himself, as Achmat hath told us, although she was acquainted both at one time with the death of Gianger, and that of Mustapha, yet the loss of this last comforted her for that other, albeit he was her own son. There remained an unquietness yet in her mind, the blood of Mustapha had not fully satisfied her rage; she would also have the life of his son, to the end the race of him might be utterly abolished. So that to content this horrible desire, she told Rustan, that knowing the power she had over the spirit of Soliman, he might believe that she would appease his anger, and that it would be easy for her to re-establish him in his commands; but he must first deal in such sort, as the race of Mustapha might be quite extinguished in the person of his son. Rustan, who never found any thing difficult, when it concerned the committing of crimes, not only promised it to her, but executed it.  
Scarcely had Sarraid● been two months at Prusa, scarcely had she had leisure to dry up her first tears, when as the Traitor Rustan gave her a new cause of weeping. He went disguised to the parts about Prusa, and from thence sent to Sarraida one of the ministers of his fury, who was his Slave, and who made show that he was come to this excellent Princess from the Grand Signior, to assure her of the continuance of his goodwill and protection. He also brought presents to her son, as being gauges of the Sultan's affection. He told her further, that his Highness would make Mustapha revive in the person of this young Prince; and that he commanded her to have a great care of his health and education. This infortunate mother, who knew by the public voice how much Soliman seemed to repent him of his violence, suffered herself to be persuaded that all which this wicked man said was true. In the mean time he thinks of executing his design any way whatsoever; and seeing it was hard for him to remove this young Prince from Sarraida, either to find means to poison him, or to do any violence in a Town, where the memory of Mustapha was in so much veneration, he bethought him to persuade Sarraida that she would accustom herself to take the air, for fear lest keeping always in that sort within doors, her melancholy should pass unto her son, and so prove prejudicial to his health. After he had gotten this Princess to yield unto that which he desired, he propounded to her a thing, which, very much agreeing with her sad and heavy humour, seemed to be a very fit and pleasing entertainment for her; which was to go and see the Grand Signior's Tombs, that were four or five miles distant from this Town, and whose stately Mosques are to this day very carefully maintained. Now, my Lord, that which induced this Traitor to give Sarraida this counsel, was, that having suborned him, who was to drive her Chariot, he had broken the axletree of it, not quite through, but in such a manner, as he foresaw how upon their arrival at a very difficult passage, which was just in the midst of the way, that which he expected would assuredly come to pass, as indeed the matter succeeded accordingly. In helping the Princess into her Chariot, he persuaded the young Prince to go with him on horseback, who, according to the custom of children, was ravished with this proposition. Sarraida, out of a thought of tenderness, or it may be out of an instinct that advertised her of her misfortune, opposed it as much as she could; but seeing her son afflicted at it, and that this man promised her to hold him in his arms, and to have a great care of him, she consented to it. She was no sooner out of the Town, but this Traitor who carried the young Prince, began to get before, and by little and little going farther from the Chariot, as if he had not done it of purpose, Sarraida lost the sight of him.  
This infortunate Princess seeing her son no longer, began to fear without knowing wherefore, whereupon she commanded her Charet-man to drive as fast as he could, but whereas he was suborned, he obeyed not at first, howbeit she threatened him in such anger, as he was constrained to do what she would have him; but this speed was that which retarded her design the more; for the axletree (as I have told you) being half broken, and the Chariot going violently on, it broke sooner than otherwise it would have done. Sarraida, beholding it overturned, and no longer seeing her son, never consulted on that which she was to do; so that abandoning her Chariot, and walking on foot, followed by two women that accompanied her, she continued in the way which she had taken, with a trembling of her heart, and an extreme grief. And whereas she was carried by affection, she went so fast, as but one of her women could follow her. She arrived then near to the Grand Signior's Tombs, but alas! what was the object which she encountered there? she beheld her son strangled, still warm, panting, and almost in the last pangs of death. This deadly spectacle touched her in so strange a manner, as she fell down as it were dead upon the body of her son.  
In the mean time he that had driven Sarraida's Chariot, being returned to the Town, and the remorse of his crime making him to answer those from the purpose which demanded of him where the Princess was, a great part of the Town, men and women, went themselves to learn some news of her, so much was this virtuous Princess beloved in that place. They found her still in a swoon, neither the woman that served her, nor another that was come thither by chance, and had seen the death of Mustapha's son, having been able to bring her to herself again. The care which they altogether took about her, got her to open her eyes, and so far to recover the use of reason, as to understand from the woman, which she found there, with what constancy that young Prince had resolved to die. She recounted unto her, how going to Prusa, and feeling herself weary, she had rested herself in one of the Niches of the Mosque, and that being fallen asleep there, she was wakened with a noise that an horse made; that she had seen a man holding this young child in his arms, who as soon as he was alighted had showed him a Bowstring, and had told him that he had a Command from the Grand Signior to put him to death; that upon this discourse the child was no whit daunted, and said, that it was not Soliman, but Heaven that would have it so, and that therefore there was nothing more resting for him but to obey, and yield his neck to him, as he had done with a marvellous constancy; that for her part, she had done what she could to hinder so horrible a fact, but it was impossible for her; that as soon as the child was dead, his Executioner got to horse, and fled away withal speed; that afterwards she could not find in her heart to abandon this poor infortunate child, for fear lest some wild beast should devour him. Sarraida, having heard this woman, first lift up her eyes to Heaven, then casting them down on the body of her son, she suddenly closed them up, without shedding so much as a tear, grief suffocated her in such sort, as all that she could say was, Mustapha is dead, and his son is no longer living, let as follow them then willingly, since there is nothing left for us to lose. After this she never spoke more, but died in the same place where her son had yielded up the ghost: so that they were both carried back to Prusa, where this accident caused so general a mourning, and touched every one so sensibly, as there was not any testimony of affection, or mark of honour, which they of this Town did not render to the Corpse of Sarraida and her son, which of their own authority they laid in the Sepulchers of the ancient Emperors, a thing without example. The chiefest amongst them went in all haste to pursue the Murderer of this young Prince, but he was already gotten far enough off with Rustan, who no sooner understood that his Commandment was executed, but away he posted to carry Roxelana the news of it, who received it with unspeakable joy.  
Now whereas the Sultan was to arrive within two days, she counselled him to conceal himself, until she had appeased his displeasure. In the mean time she willed him so to order the matter, as it might be believed, that the death of Mustapha's son came by the Commandment of Soliman, for fear lest he being suspected for it, should draw the people's hatred upon him, who would easily be persuaded of that which they were willing should be. As indeed, the most part were of that opinion, though it were otherwise; for that Slave of Rustan's not ●ong since confessed it on his death bed. Soliman at his return understanding the death of Mustapha's son, testified a great deal of sorrow and anger for it; but Roxelana accustomed to prevail over the spirit of this Prince, with her wiles and tears, told him, that this action it may be was not too much disadvantageous to the quiet of his Empire, for she had been informed, that Sarraida, since her being at Prusa, had continually inspired her son with thoughts of revenge; that all they of that Town, whensoever he passed through the streets, did nothing but wish him a longer life than his father, to the end he might revenge his death, and mount up to a Throne which appertained unto him; that without doubt some man zealous for his Highness had undertaken this bold action; and therefore according to her sense the Author of it was not to be much looked after. This discourse, which should have begot a suspicion in the mind of Soliman, persuaded him, and was so prevalent with him, as there was no further enquiry made of this crime, which confirmed the people in the opinion, that it had been committed by his Order. After this, Roxelana did her uttermost endeavour to obtain Rustan's grace, but she could not possibly do it. In the mean time the virtuous Achmat, having understood more particularly the extreme affection, which Prince Mustapha and Prince Gianger had born to Axiamira, to show how dear their memory was unto him, had obtained the permission to see her, which he hath done as often as his occasions would suffer him. And it is by him also that we have understood, how Soliman would not since his return let any body speak to him of business, being in so deep a melancholy, as Roxelana herself with all her artifices could not divert him from it.  
Behold, my Lord, what hath been the fortune of Mustapha and Gianger, what is the Princesses, and that which she hath commanded me to tell you. It is for you after this, continued Axiami●a, O generous Ibr●him! not only to protect me, as you seem to be willing to do, but to counsel me also: For in the estate wherein things are, I find my misfortune so great, as I know not what to desire. To continue a prisoner as I am, keeps my mind in a continual unquietness, not simply for the privation of my liberty, but out of the fear I am in, lest Soliman's melancholy coming to cease, he should remember that he hath heretofore found something that was agreeable to him in my picture. To wish I may return into Persia, Delimen● will not suffer me, so that not knowing so much as what grace to demand of you, I fear that all your address, your generosity, and your power, cannot find a remedy to such desperate miseries. It is certain, Madam, answered Ibrahim, that it is hard to cure them throughly, but not impossible to ease them. And then he assured her, that if he had not lost his credit with Soliman, he would obtain one thing of that great Prince, which according to his judgement would cause her to lead a more pleasing life, till Fortune, weary of persecuting her, would permit her to return into Persia. The Princess, not able to believe a thing wherein she saw so little likelihood, requested him to tell her by what means he hoped to do that which he said: but our illustrious Bassa being loath to acquaint her with his design till he was able to execute it, besought her to dispense with him for it, and to give him only two days to make good his word unto her. That in the mean time she would live assured, that whatsoever he had hitherto done at the only entreaty of Vlama, he would do it from thence forward, out of the sole consideration of her birth, her virtue, and her merit.  
After this discourse they parted, Ibrahim leaving Axiamira and Felixana with some consolation, and himself charged with extreme grief, to see that this Prince, whom he so dearly loved, had been so weak, as to suffer himself to be carried to the greatest cruelty that can be exercised, he who out of his own inclination was one of the best Princes of the world. This thought begetting another, the image of others misfortunes so lively represented unto him his own, that he returned to his Palace with so much heaviness, as if some new occasion of afflicting himself had arrived unto him, though, to speak rightly of things, he was capable of no sorrow after that, which he had endured in absenting himself from Isabel.    

The Third Book.  
THe next day Ibrahim went to the Grand Signior, and with a dextrous discourse he gave him to understand, that he had learned what he durst not tell him. But in imparting this to him, he let him see also, that he lamented him without accusing him; and carrying him insensibly to speak of Axiamira, he besought him to grant him one grace which he would demand of him in favour of her and Felixana. Soliman gave not the Bassa leisure to explain his desire, but assured him that he might do what he pleased for Axiamira; the repentance of his fault, and the remembrance of his misfortune, having so absolutely extinguished the love which he had born her, that if he would even send her back into Persia, although she was the daughter of his Enemy, and that she might serve for the good of his affairs, yet would he not refuse to consent unto it. My Lord, answered Ibrahim, I pretend to no other grace for Axiamira, then to make her change her prison, in obtaining of thy Highness, that she may be sent to Bitilisa, and that she may be entreated as a person of her birth. And then to oblige him the more to that which he requested of him, Ibrahim acquainted him with the interest which Vlama had in Felixana: He made it appear unto him also, that his in this occasion was annexed to that of Axiamira; that it was requisite he should by his good usage of her justify himself to her, for the violence which Rustan had offered her, in carrying her forcibly away against his Highness will: that she would be in his power as well at Bitilisa, as at Constantinople; but that being nearer to her Country, she would receive the more comfort by it, and might be even the means of an advantageous peace for his Highness.  
After all these reasons, Soliman answered him, that they were needless, since his entreaty alone sufficed to make him consent to all that he could desire; there being but one only thing which he could never obtain of him. The Grand Visier, not daring to be curious in this encounter, for fear of receiving some distaste by it, contented himself with giving Soliman thanks, and omitting no time, he went and gave order to have a stately equipage provided for Axiamira. And whereas he was exact in all things, he used such diligence, as the day after all was in the state which he desired it to be. He went the next morning to the Castle of the seven Towers, where in few words he propounded to the Princess her going to Bitilisa, whereof Vlama was Governor, and where she should have no straiter a prison then the walls of the Town, nor other guard then his and Vlama's faith. He told her moreover, how in that place she should find every one disposed to serve her, and to render her all kind of obedience, by the order which he would give for it; that means should be settled on her to maintain her like a person of her quality; that there she would be far enough from Constantinople, for ever being in fear of Soliman, and near enough to her Country, to keep correspondence with Prince Mahamed her brother, and to procure it may be a general peace between those two great Empires. That for his part, he promised her, to be always most careful of her interests, and not to suffer any propositions to be accepted, which the Sophi might happen to make for the drawing her out of Soliman's hands, unless they were such, as she needed not be longer afraid of the violences of Deliment.  
Axiamira, ravished with the generosity and prudence of Ibrahim, rendered him a thousand thanks, and requested him to furnish her with some means, that she might not be altogether ingrateful. You may, Madam, answered he, not only pay me for the services which I intent to do you, but also make me beholding to you all the days of my life, provided you will suffer yourself to be persuaded, that his Highness had never any intention to have the Princess of Persia be carried away by force; that he hath not been violent towards Mustapha his son, but at the instigation of others; that the only defect of this Prince is only a facility, whereof love and his gentle nature are the causes: and that in fine, he hath so many rare qualities, as he is not unworthy the esteem of the incomparable Axiamira. The affection wh●ch you bear to this Prince, replied she, justifies, if not all that he hath done, at leastwise all his intentions. And though he be in some sort the cause of the greatest part of my miseries, yet I promise you, O generous Ibrahim, to give credit rather to your words, then to mine own experience; and never to speak of this Prince, but as you speak of him yourself. I will complain of Fortune, without murmuring against Soliman; and albeit I am resolved to weep all my life-time for the loss of those two illustrious children of his, yet will I not accuse any for it but the cruel Roxelana, and the perfidious Rustan. This conversation lasted yet a good while longer, and was spent in civility on either part. Felixana in her particular gave Ibrahim a world of thanks, and assured him she would render Vlama an exact account of that which he had done for her, to the end he might help to acknowledge it in publishing it, since they could never acquit themselves of it other-ways. Presently thereupon, the Grand Visier took his leave of the Princess, and told her, that she might departed the next morning, if her health would permit her: As indeed all her equipage was ready accordingly, but with such magnificence, as if she had been in Persia. This excellent Princess had made herself to be so beloved of them that guarded her, as they could not see her part without abundance of tears, though they very much rejoiced for all that to know, that her prison should not be thence forward so straight. But amongst the rest, Halima was so afflicted at it, as she was not to be comforted; she gave her two Slaves, who had always waited upon her during her imprisonment; and Axiamira, in recompense thereof, gave her a chain of Diamonds, which she had still kept in all her misfortunes.  
In the mean time Ibrahim had sent away Vlama's Slave, whom he had brought away from the Castle of the seven Towers the day before, to advertise his Master to repair to Bitilisa, if his strength would permit him, there to receive the Princess. But in case he should not be able so to do, he dispatched away another man, with a command from the Grand Signior to all the Governors of those Towns, which were upon the road, whereby she was to pass, to render her as much honour, as if she had been the Sultana Queen. And the Grand Visier, to omit nothing that might be for the Princess of Persia's safety, had also commanded five thousand Janissaries to be her convoy, whom she found ready attending for her a days march from Constantinople. This Princess' journey had as prosperous a success, as Ibrahim had wished it should. She was received with a great deal of magnificence at all the places where she passed, and without having any other commodity then that, which the weariness of so long a way might occasion, she arrived at Bitilisa, whither Vlama, though very weak of his hurts and sickness, was to come to receive her, and to enjoy the sight of his de●r Felixana. When as he was advertised of their approach to the Town, he went forth to meet the Princess with half the Garrison; the principal inhabitants of Bitilisa received her at the gate, and conducted her to Vlama's Palace, who out of respect had left it to her: so as it seemed that Axiamira was the Governess of Bitilisa, rather than that Bitilisa was the prison of Axiamira. It is easy to imagine what the joy of these three illustrious persons was at this interview; but very hard to express it well especially that which Vlama felt in finding Felixana again living and faithful, after he had believed her to be dead, or inconstant.  
But whilst Ibrahim assuages other folk's sorrows, his love renders him every day more unhappy. The more he sees Soliman, the less appearance he sees of obtaining his liberty, which he had resolved to demand of him at his departure from Monaco. This Prince ceased not daily telling him, that he had been dead if he had not returned; that he was the soul of his Empire; that he could not subsist without him; that six months' absence of his had been the cause of more misfortune to him, than he had had in all his life besides; and that in fine not being able to live without him, he must resolve to die with him. To all these particulars the illustrious Bassa made no other answer then with low submissions, but by his sighs and silence he testified sufficiently to the Sultan, that he expressed not all his thought; and that the sight of his Mistress had rather augmented his love, then diminished his unquietness. Nevertheless, whereas the Grand Signior was desirous to avoid all occasions that might constrain him to refuse Ibrahim, he made as though he did not perceive his sadness, but endeavoured to gain him absolutely, and divert him from his melancholy, by all the honours, by all the liberalities, and all the caresses, that a great Prince can confer on a great Minister. But the more the Bassa saw himself obliged, the more affliction he had: He received the Sultan's presents, as so many new chains, which tied him unto him; his favours were torments unto him; and though in his heart he loved this Prince dearly, yet would he not have been loved of him, so certain it is that love is stronger than amity.  
In this deplorable estate lived Ibrahim with an extreme constraint; he dealt no longer in affairs as he was wont; he declined the world as much as he could; yea the very sight of Soliman became insupportable to him; and not daring to desire of him the power to return into Italy, out of the opinion he had that he should be denied, he sought no longer for any thing but only solitude. It was not because his grief was the less sensible to him by it, but it was because he knew, that the liberty to bewail one's self is some kind of consolation to an afflicted person. At length, after he had well consulted with himself, he resolved to speak plainly to the Grand Signior, with an intent if he were refused (as he almost made no doubt but he should) to abandon himself in such sort to grief, as death would be constrained to succour him; but he knew not, when he took this resolution, that he could not execute it: for as often as he went to the Seraglio for that purpose, Soliman with so much address avoided all manner of discourse that might carry the Bassa to speak to him of Isabel, and always took such care to let him know the necessity he had of his presence, as the Grand Visier, no longer doubting, but that Soliman would deny him if he demanded his liberty of him, undertook not to augment his displeasure yet further, by the certainty of an evil, whereof he was already but too well assured. He remained then without speaking, and shutting up his thoughts in his heart, he grew to be the melancholickest man in the world. He abandoned the care of affairs, and making to himself a prison of his Palace, he went no more abroad, but now and then to go to the Seraglio, and that too very seldom. His presence, which was wont to charm all Soliman's unquietnesses, now begot nothing but grief in him; for he saw him so altered, his eyes so sunk into his head, his face so pale, his humour so s●d, and his spirit so troubled, as he could not behold him without extreme displeasure, but a displeasure which he held to be so much the more just, as he knew it to be the cause of that of our illustrious Bassa. He sought nevertheless to deceive himself, by labouring to be persuaded, that peradventure the alteration which he saw in his dear Ibrahim, was a malady of the body, as well as of the mind; wherefore he consulted with a Jewish Physician, and an Arabian, about him, who, having some time observed the Bassa without his being ware of it, judged the alteration, which was seen in him, to proceed from some strange cause, discerning no marks or signs of a known disease in him. His frequent sighs, the indifferency which he seemed to have for li●e, and some interrupted words which he had spoken, when as by Soliman's order they went to visit him, persuaded them, that the melancholy, which appeared in him, was not an effect of his temper, but of some affliction that troubled his mind, and which questionless was derived from some violent passion. After so right and so well-grounded a debate, they told the Grand Signior freely, that they could not warrant Ibrahim's life; that they were Physicians for the diseases of the body, and not for that of the mind; that in the estate wherein the Bassa was, he was to be his own Physician himself; though, according to their opinion, he was in terms, rather of being the cause of his death, then of his health; that for their parts, all they could do with their remedies was to fortify Nature as much as they could; but at length so long and so violent a melancholy would make an end of him, and so much the rather for that the Bassa, to be rid of them, said, that he was not sick, and consequently had no need of remedies.  
Soliman hearing this discourse was extraordinarily grieved at it; but he could easily apprehended the occasion of Ibrahim's melancholy. For not seeing any reason that he had to be afflicted, but for the absence of the person whom he loved, he was assured that love was the cause of his heaviness. In this opinion he dismissed his Physicians; howbeit he was no sooner alone, but accusing himself for the loss of Ibrahim, he was almost resolved to go and ask of him what he would have, (without considering how in this occasion, he deprived himself of the only consolation he had, and of the only person he could love) when as the Sultana Queen entered into his chamber, according to the privilege which she had for it. As soon as she looked on him, she knew that he was somewhat troubled in his mind; but whereas she was not able to discern, whether it were an effect of choler, or of affliction, she employed all her address to be cleared therein. Soliman had no longer that violent love for her, which had so often blinded him, yet had she still that Empire over him, as he could never refuse her any thing, but the grace of Rustan; so that in this occasion he almost suffered himself to be vanquished by her. He confessed not the whole truth unto her, but he told her, that Ibrahim's melancholy was the cause of all his sadness; and without imparting to her, that he was a Christian under the habit of a Turk, or of what Country he was, he told her further, that being fallen passionately in love with a Christian Princess, whom he had seen, during the voyage which he had made by his order; the grief of being deprived of her presence, and of the hope of possessing her, had brought him even to death's door. Afterwards, he declared unto her the sorrow he was in for it, and how he would give half his Empire to save Ibrahim. My Lord, said the Sultana unto him, if thou wilt accord me one gr●ce, which I will demand of thee, I will oblige myself to restore thy favourite to his wont joy. I swear by Alla, replied Soliman, to accord any thing, so as Ibrahim may be saved. My Lord, said she unto him, I will ask of thee but till to morrow to engage myself absolutely for the performance of that which I have propounded to thy Highness. Although Soliman s●v● n● great likelihood in that which the Sultana said, yet he found some content in not resolving so soon to be deprived of Ibrahim.  
In the mean season Roxelana, without losing a minute's time, sent Rustan word, who lay still concealed in Constantinople, to come at the beginning of the night to one of the gates of the Seraglio, where he should find two of her black slaves attending for him, and not to fear repairing thither, because the Capigibassi, that kept the gate, was absolutely hers. Rustan failed not to be present at this assignation, no more than the Slaves to receive him, and to bring hi●● in. When he was in her chamber, she told him, that whatsoever she could do, it was impossible for her to obtain his grace; and that she thought he would never obtain it, but by some very extraordinary way; that there was one did then present itself, which she would propose unto him, to the end that if he saw any likelihood in it, she would finish that which she had begun; and then she recounted unto him what Soliman had said to her, and what she had answered. But it appeared that Rustan was better informed of Ibrahim's fortune, them she imagined; for this man, who thought of nothing but his re-establishment, had suborned one of the Grand Viziers servants, to endeavour to find out, whether this illustrious Bassa were the cause that he was not restored. This servant, suborned by Rustan, went often to him to give him account of that which he learned: and the very same day that Roxelana had sent for him, he had acquainted him, that Ibrahim was in love with a Princess of Italy, to whom appertained a Town called Monaco; that the grief for being absent from her had made him sick, and would cause his death, if the Grand Signior gave him not liberty to return thither to see her; that he had heard all this through Ibrahim's chamber door, who talked thereof in private to an Italian Slave, whom he very much loved, and whom he had comm●●ded, if he died for sorrow, as he seemed not to doubt, to obtain permission of the Grand Signior to go and execute his last Will, in carrying a Letter to the Princess whom he loved. Rustan having acquainted Roxelana with what he knew concerning Ibrahim, told her afterwards, that if Soliman would be pleased to let him speak with him, he did not doubt but to find a remedy for the grief of his favourite. It is not, said Roxelana interrupting him, because his death would not be more pleasing to me then his life; but for our interest we must do all things; disoblige our friends if occasion require; and oblige our enemies when the service we render them may serve for our designs. We must then, continued she, save Ibrahim's life at this time to obtain your re-establishment; and then we will proceed in another manner afterwards, if it be offensive to us. Roxelana then propounded unto him the demanding of an Army of Soliman to bring away this Princess by force, whose absence caused Ibrahim's suffering: but Rustan replied, that as long as one could work by address, no recourse was to be had to force; that for him, he knew better how to beguile, then to fight; and in the end, without explaining his design unto her, he promised her to perish, or to bring this Princess to Constantinople, provided he might be furnished with a man of war, throughly provided; and might be permitted to say, in the places where he should aboard, that he was going to the King of France, in the quality of a Chaoux, from the Grand Signior. Roxelana, seeing Rustan so resolute for this enterprise, sent him away, and told him that the next day he should hear from her: as indeed, she dealt in such sort with the Grand Signior, as he promised her the grace of Rustan, if he could perform that which she propounded to him; and this Prince resolved even to endure the sight of him, that he might try to render his dear Ibrahim happy, without absenting him from him. At first Rustan craved pardon of him, but when as Soliman pressed him to tell him, which way he hoped to make his design succeed, wherewith Roxelana had already acquainted him. My Lord, answered he, I do not think it a harder matter to carry away a Princess of Italy by force, than a Princess of Persia; wherefore let thy Highness be assured, that if that be given me, which the Sultana without doubt hath demanded of thee for me, and that thou wilt make me hope I may re-enter into thy favour, Ibrahim shall quickly be the happiest man on the Earth; for wanting nothing to make him so, but the possession of this Princess, I will bring her to him ere it be long, nothing save death alone being able to keep me from performing it. Soliman had at the beginning some aversion to this violence, but coming to consider, that it was the only way to retain Ibrahim with him, he forgot all other considerations. So that before he dismissed Rustan, he was absolutely resolved to attempt the matter, and therefore he assured him that he should departed within two days: but in the mean time he charged him to entreat the Princess of Monaco, who was she that he was to bring away, with the same respect as he was obliged to have for the Sultana Queen.  
Things being in these terms, the Grand Signior caused all Rustan's equipage to be made ready, with all the diligence that possibly could be; he furnished him likewise with great store of money and jewels, in case he should have need of it; he had also his dispatch, as if indeed he had been sent to the King of France, in the quality of a Chaoux: and lacking nothing else for his voyage, he set sail in as  a season as might be. This happy beginning of Navigation gave no false hopes to the Pilot, who made such use of the advantage of the wind and fair weather, as, his vessel being an excellent sailer, he made this cut with a speed, the like whereof hath not been heard speak of in all the seas of the Levant. Rustan approaching to Monaco, sent his skiff with one of his servants, and an interpreter, to demand permission of the Princess for his entrance into the Port, there to mend his vessel, which he said was bruised with the fury of the Sea, and he had caused one mast and some of the tackle thereof to be really broken, to the end, if what he desired were not granted, he might have a pretext to stay in that place, and so might be able to seek out some means for the executing of his design. But it happened that the Princess, having been constrained to go to Genova for some important reasons, which had obliged her thereunto, was not then at Monaco: so that he, who commanded in her absence, answered Rustan's messenger, that the Princess at her departure had given him order, to let no man of war enter into the Port, as long as she was not there.  
Rustan understanding by the return of his skiff that this Princess was not at Monaco, seemed at first to be much afflicted at it; but suddenly being of another mind, he thought on the contrary that it would be advantageous to him, since she being questionless to return from Genova to Monaco, it would be easier for him to carry her away at sea, than out of a Town. He resolved then to go to Genova, and show the State his dispatch, to the end he might be the better received by them, and might make his abode there till the Princess should departed from thence to Monaco, under colour that he waited for one of his ships, which he would say was severed from him by a Tempest. The matter being thus resolved, he executed it accordingly; and taking into the main Sea again, to the end he might be seen to come from the Levant, he sailed to Genova, where he was received, not only as the Grand Signior's Chaoux, as soon as he had showed his dispatch, but as one sent from a Prince, to whom the Republic had a great obligation. In the mean time he dextrously enquired after the place where the Princess of Monaco's Palace was; and having learned it out, he made one of his Slaves watch always in the same street to discover, whether any preparations were a making thereabout for a Voyage. He caused some to observe at the Port, whether any Galley were ready to set forth, and all to be informed when she went; In conclusion, he omitted nothing that might serve for his design. He was certain days in this expectation with a great deal of impatience; but Fortune, that would not yet abandon him, furnished him with a far more  occasion to carry away the Princess, then that which he attended.  
One night, when as he was in his Vessel, which notwithstanding the entreaties of the Senate he would never abandon, after he had heard a dreadful noise of armed men, both at the Port, and in the City, he was advertised by those whom he had sent thither, that all was in confusion there; that the gates were all open; that the Port was no longer closed; and that in this disorder, it could not be comprehended who were the enemies. Rustan making profit of this occasion, and others misfortunes, leaves one part of his Soldiers in his V●ssel, and followed by the other goes directly to the Princess of Monaco's Palace, sets a Petard to the gate, blows it up, enters in with his Forces, and conducted to Isabella's lodging by the voices of her women, who called all the servants of the house to their succour, he forces it, and finds the Princess, who first presented herself, believing she should meet with people that could understand her language, and be moved with her prayers: But she was much amazed, when she saw they were Turks; whereupon she gave a great skreek, and stepping three or four paces back, she would have fled into a Cabinet, but Rustan, who perceived it, retained her, ●nd put her into the hands of his Soldiers, no way doubting but it was the Princess, as well by reason of her good aspect, as of the eagerness which all her women and all her servants showed in opposing her carrying away. Nevertheless fearing he might be mistaken, he caused Emilia, whom he saw to be more richly apparelled then the rest, to be likewise carried away; for although it was night, yet had all the women of Genova their clothes on, being risen out of their beds upon the fearful noise they had heard in the City. And then again it was easy for them to carry away Emilia, who seeing the Princess born away, did only cry out in the streets as they went along to oblige some to succour them: As indeed there were those, who knowing her voice would have withstood this rape, but it was in vain; for Rustan making use both of the valour of his men, of the disorder of the City, and of the darkness of the night, caused these two fair afflicted ones to enter into his Vessel, which had been made ready whilst he was gone to this Execution; and from thence into Doria's Galley, whereof the Turkish Slaves had rendered themselves Masters: so that he was no sooner aboard it, but causing them presently to weigh Anchor, he made out of the Port, and shaped his course for Constantinople.  
In the mean time Ibrahim still languished, and his grief made him lead so sad and wearisome a life, as the thought of death was the most pleasing to him of any other. Soliman, for his p●rt, was in so extreme a melancholy, to see his dear Ibrahim suffer so many miseries for the love of him, and the respect which he shown to him, in not demanding his liberty of him, redoubled his gri●f far more: nevertheless, how violent soever it was, the desire he had to retain this illustrious Bassa still with him, was yet more powerful. The hope of Rustan's return did many times diminish his displeasure, but the incertainty thereof permitted him not to be long without unquietness; which augmented much more, when as the Term, which he had imagined in his mind for the execution of this enterprise, was arrived. He believed that Rustan h●d suffered Shipwreck; or that his design had been discovered; or that he had been killed; or at leastwise retained a Prisoner. He saw that the grand Viziers grief abated not; and that the remedy would arrive too late, if the succoring of him was never so little retarded. He had oftentimes a desire to discover Rustan's Voyage unto him; but the fear of aggravating his d spleasure, in stead of moderating it, straightway restrained him from it. He knew very w●ll, that Ibrahim could not choose but rejoice at the sight of Isabel; but he with reason feared, that he would be infinitely afflicted to know that violence should be offered to the person he so loved; and that she should be exposed to all the dangers of the Sea. So as all that Soliman could do was to bewail him, and to go and see him sometimes against the custom of the Grand Signiors, who seldom visit their subjects. These visits gave no great satisfaction, either to him that received them, or to him that rendered them. Ibrahim's melancholy redoubled by seeing that which Soliman shown in his countenance; and Soliman's grew the greater by observing in his Ibrahim's face all the signs of an extreme grief: Yet would he for all that constrain himself sometimes; he thanked Soliman for his goodness to him; and assures him, that if he could lose his life in serving him, he should die with some consolation. Soliman, feeling himself pierced with grief by so kind a discourse, could not endure the continuance of it, but was constrained to quit him, after he had conjured him to live for his sake.  
The unquietness and fear which Soliman was in of losing the Grand Visier, took him up in such sort, as though the affairs of Persia were extreme pressing, yet could he not resolve to frame any design, contenting him only with giving Vlama order to oppose the Enemy as much as he could, if he attempted any thing; but not to enterprise aught against him, until he had a new order from him. This commandment no whit displeased Vlama; for albeit he was one of the valiantest men of his age, yet was he very glad that the War did not keep him from abiding some time with Axiamira and Felixana. The Enemy himself contributed also to his design; for though he had gotten the advantage in the last occasions, yet was he a long time without undertaking any thing. That which caused this suspension of Arms was the news, which was brought to the Sophi's Court, how Axiamira and Felixana were in the hands of Soliman, who retained them prisoners. This last circumstance exceedingly troubled the Sophi and Deliment: they did not wonder, to know certainly that they were not dead, as all the world had believed them to be; not to understand that they were in Turquis, because they aforetime suspected that Vlama had carried them away; but to see him General of the Grand Signior's Army in Ibrahim's absence, and to hear at the same instant that his Mistress was a Prisoner, was a matter which they could not comprehend. They resolved nevertheless to endeavour to be cleared therein, by the means of those secret intelligences, which all great Princes have in their neighbour's Courts; and in the mean time to make great preparations for war, that they might serve their turns of them according to occasion. Mahamed, who was acquainted with this news better than they, testified a great deal of joy for it; It was not because he was not sorry to know that Axiamira and Felixana were in prison, but having believed them to be dead, or in the power of Tachmas and Deliment, he was ravished to understand that they were living, and out of their tyranny; not being able to imagine that two persons of that importance could be ill entreated in a place, where Vlama was so powerful. Mahamed was not he alone, who was glad to know that Axiamira was not dead, for this Princess was so generally beloved throughout that Empire, as this news being spread amongst the people, every one gave such marks of an unspeakable rejoicing, as if a memorable victory had been obtained over the Enemy. All the women of quality of the City of Sultania, where Tachmas was resident, when as he received this advice, sent humbly to beseech him, if there needed a ransom for the redemption of the Princess, that he would be pleased to let all their jewels serve for a part of it; esteeming themselves more then happy, if with the loss of their liberty they could buy out the Princesses. This generous mark of affection, which they bore to Axiamira, was not received as it deserved: for the subtle Perca, who was mad to see that her sister left not to reign in Persia, though she was a prisoner at Constantinople, persuaded Tachmas, that this extreme affection, which the people carried to the Princess, might cause great mischiefs in the continuance of the war; that the imprisonment of Axiamira was without doubt an artifice to deceive him; that it was without all likelihood that Vlama should be in good terms with Soliman, and Felixana be ill entreated; that there was somewhat in it, which was not apprehended; that it was to be feared, lest whilst Axiamira seemed to be in prison, she had not some intelligences in the Country; that if it were so, and that some one should be so daring as to rise, the name of Axiamira might quickly draw the people to her party; and that finally it was fit to let them know in good time, that this rejoicing was criminal; yea and that Axiamira was to be declared guilty of high treason, for withdrawing herself out of his dominions. She added further to this, that to extinguish the ardent love which the people bore the Princess, she was to be taken by her own interest, in publishing every where, that she was the cause of the war, and consequently the cause of the ruin of the whole Empire; that she alone had made Vlama revolt; and that she alone had drawn Soliman to take up Arms: so that there needed no ransom to redeem her, but a puissant Army to pluck her out of the Sultan's hands, and make an example of her to posterity. Tachmas, having heard Perca's discourse, told her, that he saw a great deal of probability in that which she said; ●nd that he was resolved to deal after that manner; but that should not keep him from doing what he could to draw home Axiamira and Felixana, by the means of an Ambassador; that it was for the dignity of the Empire to proceed in that sort; and for a wise Politician always to lay the blame on the Enemy. Deliment being arrived at the end of this conversation, confirmed Tachmas yet more in his design; having been advertised by a Governor of one of the frontier Towns, that Axiamira was no ●onger a prisoner at Constantinople; that she had been conducted to Bitilisa with a most magnificent Train; and that she had been received there by Vlama, with all the marks of honour that could have been rendered her in Persia. This last news touched the Sophi sensibly; when he had understood that Felixana was a prisoner, he had at least had the consolation to hope that Vlama should not see her no more than he; but hearing that she was in a Town, whereof he was Governor, jealousy transported him in such sort, as he scarcely knew what he said. For Deliment, whereas he could not be jealous, the despite to see himself contemned, and the rage he was in for that he could not possess Axiamira, excited as much trouble in his soul, as jealousy did in the Sophi's.  
As for the ambitious Perca, the only desire that she had to reign made her to move; and that she might rise to that supreme greatness, she thought there was but two things wanting ●o her; the death of Deliment, and the people's hatred to Axiamira. For touching Ishmael and Mahamed, she did not believe that the stupidity of the one, and the blindness of the other, would permit them to oppose her. So that to execute her intention, she persuaded Deliment, that he was at this time to hazard all things; that it was not for his honour, to know Axiamira was so near the frontier, and not do his uttermost to draw her out of Vlama's hands: And for Tachmas, she made him do that which by her counsel he had resolved upon. He said before all his Court, that he took it very ill, such joy should be testified upon notice had that his daughter was in the power of his Enemy; that the belief of her death had touched him less, than the news he had received that she lived in that manner; and then he publicly declared her guilty of high Treason, aggravating all that Perca had said to him. But though this Manifest had some appearance of truth, yet found it no credit, either with the Grandees, or the people. The violences of Deliment, the wickedness of Perca, and the virtue of Axiamira, were too well known to have the matter succeed, as Tachmas hoped it would. And the people, on the contrary, seeing so great marks of animosity in a father against his daughter, in a sister against her sister, were ready to rebel, and be carried to some strange resolution.  
In the mean time Deliment thinks of levying of Troops, and making up so mighty an Army, as, vanquisher or vanquished, it should absolutely decide the fortune of this war; being resolved to die, or to return with Axiamira. Tachmas on his side, following his resolution, dispatches an Ambassador to the Grand Signior, to demand his daughter, and Felixana of him; offering two millions for their ransom, though by law he believed not himself obliged to give any thing for two persons, that were not prisoners of war. He sent away divers spies at the same instant to Bitilisa, to learn what passed there; but all of them reported, that the Princess and Felixana seemed to be absolutely at liberty; that Vlama rendered them all imaginable civilities; and what care soever they took therein, they could not discover for what reason the Princess had been conducted to Bitilisa; the people saying no other thing, but that it was believed she was come near unto Persia to make propositions of Peace. A few days after, a Messenger sent by Axiamira came and brought him a Letter from this Princess, who not doubting but that the Sophi had heard where she was, thought it was fit for her to write unto him, to the end she might not be wanting in that duty which she owed him, as being her father. When he received this Letter, Perca and Deliment were there present, who would have obliged him not to have read it, for fear lest he should have been moved therewith, but they could not prevail with him; for this Prince, provoked more by curiosity, or the thought that he should find something in it which regarded Felixana, then by any kindness, opened it, and reading it aloud, he saw that was thus.  
AXIAMIRA's Letter to the SOPHI her Father.  
My Lord,  
IF I had gone out of your Dominions of mine own accord, I should think myself obliged to ask you pardon for it; but since my flight is a crime of Fortune, and that I have no other part in it then the suffering of the evils which she hath made me endure; I believe that without charging myself with a fault, which I have not committed, it will suffice that I most humbly beseech you not to take it ill, if I dare say to you, that I have some consolation in my misfortunes, to see that my Prison is a Refuge for me against the violences of Deliment, and that not able to be free with you, I am at leastwise absent from you, without being culpable of it. But, my Lord, I am but too much, in having contrary thoughts to yours; I know it certainly, and yet whatsoever I do, it is impossible for me to cease from being faulty in this sort; for methinks Reason makes it appear to me, that I have no aversion for Deliment, but because he stains your glory, abuses your goodness, thinks of nothing but contenting his ambition, is an enemy to virtue, and in conclusion I wish him not ill but for the love of you. But, my Lord, I am almost confident, that every word I writ is a crime; that in thinking to excuse myself, I become the more culpable; and that in seeking to justify my cause, I sign my condemnation. Permit then that my death or banishment may be the punishment of this fault, and that I may beseech you to believe, that the former would be sweet unto me, if I could hope to be lamented of you; and that the other would be insupportable to me, if there were not some hope remaining for me, that you will one day consent, that Axiamira may live with you, and not be constrained to be the wife of Deliment. It is that which is hoped for, and implored of you,  
My Lord, By your most humble, most obedient, and most faithful Subject, Daughter, and Servant, AXIAMIRA.  
The reading of this Letter touched the Sophi in a divers manner; he felt tenderness, confusion, and anger; and it may be if he had been alone, Nature and Reason had prevailed so powerfully for Axiamira, as she had carried away the victory from her enemies; but the counsels of Perca, and the speeches of Deliment, wrought a clean contrary effect in him. Perca told him, that it was too daring a part in her to be so bold, as to write such things to him of a man whom he loved; that without doubt Axiamira spoke not thus, but because she was well assured, that whatsoever ransom was offered, she should never be remitted into his power; that he was to testify a great deal of resentment for this insolent proceeding, and to entreat him ill whom the Princess had sent, who questionless was come to Prince Mahamed, or as a Spy, rather than to bring him this Letter, which could not serve Axiamira for aught, whether she remained in the Grand Signior's Dominions, or whether she returned into his Empire. Deliment seeing the Sophi sufficiently incensed, took a different way from that which Perca had held, which yet produced the same effect. He besought the Sophi, with a false generosity, to permit him to withdraw himself from affairs, and from about him, for the contenting of Axiamira. But the Sophi, as Deliment had rightly forecast it, forbade him the further prosecuting of this discourse, his anger redoubling so much the more by this artifice. And for a conclusion, he called the party before him, who had brought him the Letter from Axiamira, charged him never to come within his Dominions again, and told him, that if he had not pu●●sed to have him carry back his Commands, he would have had him severely punished. Then he willed him to say unto her that had sent him (for he would not call her the Princess, his Daughter● or Axiamira) that he had no other answer to make her, but that if the ransom, which ●e had sent to offer for her, did not bring her back into Persia, he would go and fetch her in the head of an hundred thousand men; and that in the view of so mighty an Army, he would deal with her as Soliman had done with Mustapha.  
After this cruel answer, the Sophi commanded this man to be searched, to see whether he had any Letters about him for Mahamed, or his Governor: this search was not vain; they found one for the Prince, wherein what care soever Axiamira had taken that it should not prejudice him if it were met withal, yet had she not sufficiently concealed the extreme affection which was between them, and the intelligence they had held together, when she was at Amasia. So that as soon as it was read, it was resolved, for fear Mahamed should receive others by some more secret way, to have two things done. The first, to change all his House, to the end that having none that he could trust about him, he might not receive any news from Axiamira. And the second, to secure his person, lest some abroad should attempt that which was doubted from them. This design being resolved, was quickly executed. Deliment, according to his wont insolency, went himself to command the blind Prince from the Sophi not to stir out of his lodging, and to charge both his Governor and all his servants to be gone from him: That done, he placed a Guard about him, and left this Prince in an affliction, the like whereof he had never felt before. All that came near him were his Enemy's Agents, and whether he would or no he was enforced to let them wait upon him. This detention made a great noise in the Sophi's Court, even the people themselves were divers times about to rise; but amongst the rest the Prince's domestic servants could not endure this violence. And indeed, Mahamed's Governor, having assembled the chiefest of them together, propounded unto them the enterprising of carrying away the Prince their Master to Bitilisa. He told them, that it was better to put him into the hands of a courteous enemy, as Soliman was to Axiamira, then to leave him in the power of a cruel and incensed father; that as for them, if they continued at Sultania, they would not be in safety, but upon the least suspicion that one should have of them they would be severely punished; so that as well for the conservation of the Prince, as for their own, they were to undertake the delivery of him. They all answered him with a great deal of zeal and affection, that they were ready to expose their lives for the Prince their Master; but that they did not think they could commodiously do it for him. Whereupon this wise Governor told them, how he knew certainly that those which guarded him, relying on his blindness, were not very exact in keeping him; that it being so, the matter would not be very difficult, because the Prince lay in a low chamber, that jetted upon the Palace garden, whereof the walls were not very high; that the only difficulty was to advertise him not to make any noise, at such time as he should hear his chamber window opened; which indeed would not be very easy to do, by reason the Prince could neither read that which should be written to him, nor see the signs that might be made him, so that he concluded something was to be left to chance; that for so much as concerned their getting out of the City, the Governor thereof was resolved to follow the fortune of Axiamira, and to abandon a Government, which he knew well would be taken from him in a short time, by reason of the great affection he had testified to this Princess, and that so it would be easy for them to escape. This Proposition being approved of by all, they thought of nothing else but of executing it. And whereas the nights were very dark, in regard the Moon did not shine, they deferred it no further.  
The Governor of Sultania, whom Mahamed had formerly gained, chose amongst his Soldiers those whom he believed were most faithful to him, and without any notice taken of it, he placed them at one of the gates of the City, through which he meant to pass. Night being come, all Mahameds' deliverers met together at a Randezvouz appointed by them; they brought l●dders to enter into the garden, whereof the walls were but low, as I have already observed. For whereas Sultania was not the residence of the Sophi, they had not since the loss of Tauris, is yet erected any magnificent buildings there. This generous Troop, passing between two Sentinels, got into the garden without any obstacle, went directly to Mahamed's lodging, opened one of the windows of it, without awakening him; or any of his guard who lay in his antichamber; and then he whose voice they thought he best knew, entered into his chamber with his drawn Scymitar in his hand, approached to his bed after he had sought for it a while, and though he wakened him very softly, yet could he not so speak to him; but that he gave a a great skreek, and demanded with much resolution, whether Deliment ha● sent to kill him. Mahamed spoke so loud, that some of his guard awaked, and made a noise amongst themselves; but the Prince coming to know his voice that spoke to him, and whom he was assured was very faithful to him, held his peace, and by his silence made them of the guard who were awake, hearing nothing any longer, to get them again to sleep, believing that Mahamed had had some troublesome dream, which had caused him to speak so loud; being not much careful besides in guarding him, because they had order only to keep any from speaking with him, and bringing him Letters.  
In the mean time Mahamed having understood in few words, in what manner they would deliver him, suffered himself to be conducted by him that spoke to him. All this Troop received him with exceeding joy; but fearing lest they should be troubled with some cross encounter, as soon as they had put clothes upon him, which they had brought purposely along with them, they went out of the garden, and presently after forth of the City. About an hundred paces from the gate they found horses, which the Governor of Sultania had caused to be there ready provided, and getting upon them, they road away with all the speed that possibly they could make. But whereas the Prince could not guide his horse, but was constrained to let him be lead by another, they could not go so fast, but that the second day of their journey they espied a Troop of Horse posting after them, which, being far more in number than they, made them believe, not only that they were pursued, but that they were all lost; nevertheless they resolved to sell their lives dearly. The Prince too, as blind as he was, caused a Scymitar to be given him, and to the end, that if they fought, he might not strike his friends in stead of his foes, he commanded his followers not to come near him without calling him by his name; and whereas his eyes did not serve him to assault any, he resolved to abide in one place, with an intention not to suffer himself to be taken alive. But whatsoever he could do, his people placed him in the midst of them, much against his will, being resolved to die or to save him. In the mean time the Troop, which they believed to be their enemies, came still on, and every one was already preparing for defence, when as the son of the Satrap of Mesapotamiaes, an enemy to Deliment, advancing foremost, and throwing his Scymitar to the ground, to let them know that he would not fight with them, made them change their resolution of defending themselves, into embracing them. Prince Mahamed understanding who he was, and knowing him by his voice, caressed him exceedingly, and learned of him, that it was long before his flight was known; because his guard, not having been accustomed to enter into his chamber but when he called them, had waited till noon without going in; that the matter being discovered, Tachmas at the first shown a great deal of fury; that Perca had done nothing but laugh at it, and in a bitter jeering manner had wished, that Soliman would make him General of his Army, to the end that a man who saw so clear, might choose out the most advantageous places for the encamping of his Troops; that for Deliment, whereas he hated his father, he accused him for having been privy to his escape; and that having been ill-intreated by the Sophi he was retired from the Court, and had commanded him to come and offer him whatsoever lay in his power, not doubting but he had taken the resolution to repair to the place where Axiamira had already found a sanctuary; that in the mean time it was requisite for them to make away with all speed, in regard it might be that Tachmas had altered his determination, and would resolve to have them pursued. Prince Mahamed desired further to know of him who they were that accompanied him, which proved to be the worthiest men of the Court. The Prince made very much of them; and that he might not hazard persons to whom he was so much obliged, he sent one of his servants before to Bitilisa, to know of Axiamira, whether the place of her retreat would not be a safe one for them. This while they road on as fast as possibly they could: but when they were come to the uttermost part of the frontier, they stayed to hear some news from him whom they had sent to Bitilisa. Vlama came and brought it them himself; and this excellent man received Prince Mahamed with so many testimonies of joy on either side, as they were a long time before they could separate themselves, or resolve to march forward. All the rest came afterwards to salute Vlama, who assured them all of his service and protection. Mahamed as they road along enquired after Axiamira's health, but he durst not ask him any thing of Felixana, for fear left he should take that care for an effect of his ancient love. And when as Vlama perceived so much, I thought, my Lord, said he unto him, that after I had assured you how Axiamira was in the estate you desired her to be, you would have demanded of me how Felixana did, since having heretofore judged her worthy of your affection, I might well think you would render her that proof of your good will. My dear friend, replied Mahamed smiling, I durst not put my Protector in mind that I had been his Rival; and though the memory of Felixana be infinitely dear to me, that which I own to your friendship kept me from rendering her publicly, what I will ever render her in my heart: Let not this discourse disquiet you, continued Mahamed, for in acknowledging that I shall always be in love with the virtue of this discreet maid, I protest to you withal, that this love shall never beget any other desire in my Soul, then to see her contented, that is to wish she may be Vlama's wife. My Lord, answered he, Felixana is far more dangerous, and more to be feared then she was, when as she surmounted your heart; she hath charms and beauties, which you know not, and which peradventure will make you change your resolution. You are but too well assured, replied Mahamed, that I am a bad Judge of beauty, and that love enters not into my heart by the eye. Neither do I mean, continued Vlama, that visible beauty which renders Felixana the object of the admiration, as well of stupid, as of witty, of vicious, as of virtuous persons; but I mean that beauty, which is wholly celestial; which never makes any but noble Conquests; which touches none but great and generous Souls; and which, not destroyed by time, begets another love, that lasts eternally. In fine, my Lord, that which I mean is the beauty of the mind and soul of Felixana: When she captived you, she had wherewithal to make one believe that her thoughts were generous; ambition did not move her, and the desire to be a Queen made her not forget what ●●e had promised. But, my Lord, Felixana hath done much more, for she hath despised death for Axiamira, she hath exposed herself for her, and this rare maid hath testified so much constancy and generosity in divers encounters, as it will be hard for you not to love her, when you shall understand it. I shall love her without doubt, replied Mahamed, but the more worth and virtue I shall know in her, the more shall I be obliged thereunto; and the more shall I be confirmed in the resolution, wherein I have a long time been, not to esteem myself happy, but when Vlama shall be so; nor to pretend to any thing from Felixana, but that which she cannot deny me without a crime, that is to say, her friendship. Believe, my Lord, answered Vlama, if there needs nothing but that to content you, you have cause to be satisfied; for I certainly know, that it would be a hard thing to judge rightly, who carries more affection to you, either Axiamira, Felixana, or myself. And be assured if you please, my Lord, that all which I have said to you hath been but to have the pleasure to speak of Felixana; it being most certain, that I honour her at this present so highly, and that she hath rendered the love which I bear her so perfect, as jealousy can never have any place in my Soul.  
With such like discourses Mahamed and Vlama, without being heard of any but him that guided the Prince, beguiled the time; whilst the rest entertained themselves with the weakness of Tachmas in suffering himself to be governed in that manner, with the malice of Perca, the stupidity of Ishmael, and the universal hatred that Deliment had drawn upon him. But at length after they had traveled a day and an half, this Troop arrived at and Bitilisa. Axiamira and Felixana were exceeding joyful to see Prince Mahamed, who not able to enjoy the same felicity, was nevertheless charmed to hear them speak. Felixana, who loved the Prince as much as if he had been her brother, durst not testify so much unto him; but Vlama, being as dextrously to discover her thoughts, as he had been in discerning those of the Prince, approached to her, and told her laughing, that he had made certain conditions with Mahamed, which he conjured her she should observe. Two such sage persons, answered she, could not resolve on any thing which is not just, wherefore I think that I shall not engage myself inconsiderately, when as I shall promise you not to break them. Vlama then told her in few words what had passed between the Prince and him, and Felixana promised to do that he desired; whereupon he left her to go and give order for the commodious lodging of all this Troop. The Princess would needs see all them that came along with the Prince; and with her sweet carriage and address so absolutely gained them, as they would have enterprised any thing for her service. Whilst she was complementing, and Vlama giving direction in the Town, Felixana came to Mahamed, and such was their conservation together, as it knit their friendship fast for all their lives after. He requested her she would permit him to be Vlama's confident, and would forget the misfortunes which his love had been the cause of to her; he thanked her for the services she had rendered to the Princess Axiamira; promised always to honour her more than any person in the world; and without speaking to her of love, he gave her to understand, that if reason had not prevailed over his inclination, he had still been Vlama's Rival; but it was of that power in his Soul, as he never spoke a word to Felixana, contrary to the promise he had made her, to love her not otherwise then as his sister.  
In the mean time Vlama, after he had lodged the Prince in the Castle, the rest in the most commodious houses of the Town, and given order for the entreating of them honourably, dispatched away a man to advertise the Grand Signior of that which had passed, and to beseech him he would permit that Bitilisa might be a prison for Mahamed, as well as it was for Axiamira; undertaking to bring him his head, if this Prince, or any of them that followed him, enterprised aught against his service. But Soliman was not in an estate of thinking on the affairs of his Empire; and the Grand Viziers melancholy was the only thing that took up his mind. The Persian Ambassador was come to Constantinople, and had oftentimes demanded audience, but could not obtain it. The Sultan spent the most of his time at Ibrahim's Palace; and though this illustrious Bassa was extreme weak, yet walked he sometimes with the Grand Signior in his garden. It happened then that one morning Soliman came to visit him earlier than he had used to do, and having made him pass insensibly into his great chamber, leaning on a Cane garnished with gold, which he most commonly went with when he was in health, he would needs have him walk down, to the end, said he unto him, he might fortify himself the better by taking the air. Ibrahim, who sought not the preservation of his health, did not obey the Sultan, for the reason alleged by him, to persuade him to walk down; but contrarily he did it, out of the belief he was in, that his weakness being exceeding great, the more he should put himself into agitation, the more would his forces diminish, and the nearer he should be to his grave. With such different designs did the Sultan and the Bassa descend into the Court; and the Grand Signior, seeming as though he would not have the Bassa make too long a walk at a time, caused him to lean on the balustrade, that divided the Court-yard of his Palace, there to rest himself with him. Scarcely had they been there a quarter of an hour, when as they saw an hundred Janissaries enter, attired all in cloth of gold, who ranked themselves in order on both sides. The Grand Visier surprised with this pomp, demanded of Soliman what it might be? but he told him smiling, that he must behold the end of this ceremony, before he could be cleared therein. The Bassa then saw the Aga of the Janissaries enter, who marched alone gorgeously apparelled; He was followed by the high Treasurer, whom the Turks call Testardar, accompanied with an hundred Slaves, carrying two and two great mands of silver, all full of the richest ornaments that the women of the Levant do use. In some of them were little hats, set all over with precious stones; chopines garnished with Turkeyses and Rubies; smocks embroidered with gold and pearl; most sumptuous gowns, which being laid confusedly together, made a pleasing mixture, of curled cloth of gold, of cloth of silver, and of velvet, whose ground was gold. The last maund was not open on the sides like the rest, and appeared to be full of all sorts of jewels, of so excessive a value, as there were three or four hundred thousand crowns worth of pearls amongst them. They which carried these precious presents ranked themselves all along the balustrade, where the Sultan and Ibrahim were leaning. After this entered twelve charets full of young virgin Slaves, richly clothed, each of them drawn by six white horses, and driven by two Eunuches. Then followed thirty other virgins, apparelled in cloth of gold, accompanied with so many black Slaves, having all of them chains and collars of massive gold: These Slaves being placed on their knees where the Aga of the Janissaries appointed them, there entered next two hundred Mules laden with hang of cloth of gold, of satin, of velvet, the ground silver; with cushions embroidered all over, which are the seats of that Country; and with a great deal of the most sumptuous furniture for a house. All this being set in a most marvellous order, four and twenty men advanced, bearing two and two twelve coffers of China, garnished with gold and precious stones, who being placed as the rest, made way for twelve Slaves to be seen carrying Torches in their hands, which were covered half way with plates of gold, and shined more with the precious stones that were on them, then with the flame which consumed them. Until than the Grand Visier had beheld this ceremony with a great deal of admiration and astonishment; but when as after these Torches he saw twelve other Slaves carry a great Canopy of crimson velvet, covered with another Canopy, higher than that, and all enriched with plates of gold, the curtains thereof close drawn, reaching to the very ground, he passed from astonishment to grief; especially when he saw that this Canopy was followed by a Chariot, covered with cloth of gold, drawn by six white horses, and accompanied with thirty of the fairest Slaves that ever had been seen, being all on horseback, with their hair hanging lose upon their shoulders, and attired with as much magnificence as gallantry. For calling to mind, that this pomp was like unto that, which the Turkish Emperors use for their own daughters, when as they cause them to be conducted to the Palaces of them, whom they give them for husbands, he believed that Soliman would at length constrain him to marry Asteria, to bind him wholly to his service; and in this thought he had already resolved to lose his life, both out of a sense of love, and out of a sense of Religion, before he would consent unto it. But he was strangely surprised, when as the Grand Signior had made a sign to the Aga of the Janissaries to draw the curtains of the Canopy, to see upon a white steed, held by two black Slaves, his incomparable Isabel. Ah my Lord! cried he out in Italian, Is not this an illusion? may I believe that I see? and do not my eyes beguile me? And then losing all respect in this encounter, he went maugre his weakness, and without attending Soliman's answer, to help the Princess off from her horse, and to clear himself throughly of the doubt whereinto this surprise had put him; but he could not execute his design, for the Aga of the Janissaries had rendered him that service already, and had conducted her to the half pace of the balustrade, where the Bassa received her. This Princess had not seen him yet, because at such time as the curtains, which concealed her, were drawn, the sight of so great an assembly had not permitted her to mark him, though she had carefully sought about with her eyes to find him out. But when as Ibrahim advancing towards her, did by the sound of his voice force her to look that way, she had no less joy than he, though not so much amazement; for she knew well enough that he was at Constantinople, and she believed too that she had been forcibly brought away by his order, for Rustan would never tell her any thing. And though this violent design was not pleasing to her, yet felt she nothing but joy for all that at this first view; nor did the paleness and change, which Ibrahim's melancholy had painted in his face, any whit afflict her; being very glad to see the marks of his love, in those of his grief. Is it possible, Madam, said Ibrahim unto her, that I should once more see the incomparable Isabel? Is it from Love or Fortune that I hold this grace? Neither from the one nor the other, replied Soliman in Italian, who was come to the top of the half pace, but from the goodwill which I bear thee, and from the desire I have to preserve thy life. This voice brought respect again unto Ibrahim, who told the Princess that she saw the greatest Monarch of the world, for fear she should not render unto Soliman the honour that was due to him. Isabel would instantly have cast herself at his feet, when as this Prince raising her up, against the custom of the Grand Signiors, and beholding her with a great deal of admiration, I do not marvel, said he unto Ibrahim, that love hath been stronger in thee then friendship; and that the sight of so rare a creature hath been dearer to thee then all my favours: But it is not requisite that so many persons should be spectators of thy felicity; and it will be enough, if thou suffer me to be partaker of it with thee. Saying so, he commanded the Aga of the Janissaries to cause all that had been brought thither to be carried into Ibrahim's Palace, and to send every one away but only those which were to serve the Princess.  
In the mean time Emilia, who came in the Chariot, that followed the Canopy under the which Isabel had been placed, lighted out of it, and repaired to her; the Slaves that were destined to wait on her in her chamber followed her also, and in that order, the Grand Signior marching foremost, and leaving Ibrahim to lead Isabel, they went up the stairs, entered into his chamber, and passed into his Cabinet; where they were no sooner arrived, but the Sultan beginning to speak acquainted the Bassa, how having seen that his melancholy was invincible, and knowing that the absence of Isabel was the cause thereof, he had desired to make it cease without parting with him. That besides, to the end there might be nothing wanting to his felicity, he had not caused her to be thus brought away, without considering the sequel of it, and that the Princess might live contentedly in his Empire, where she should always have as much power as he. That for so much as regarded her Religion she might not only be a Christian in her heart as he was, but even in the sight of all the people. That there were examples of the same in the Ottoman family; that Mahomet the second was the son of the Despot of Servia's daughter, whom Amurath had married both out of love and interest. That the same Mahomet had married the sister of the Emperor of Constantinople to Zogan Beglierbey of the lower Macedonia, with permission for her to have the exercise of her Religion as freely, as if she had been amongst the Christians. That these examples sufficed to ke●p the people from accusing him of introducing a Novelty; but in case they should dare to murmur at it, he knew well enough how to make himself be obeyed. To all these particulars Ibrahim had nothing to say but to thank Soliman; for although upon a second thought, the joy to see Isabel again was crossed with some unquietness, yet he found no occasion to complain. The Princess on her side, coming thus to learn, that it was not Ibrahim which had caused her to be brought away, was much comforted therewith; being very glad to see that his own interest had not carried him to expose her to such a violence.  
In the mean time Soliman continued beholding Isabel with a world of admiration; for albeit the grief she had been in had a little altered her, yet the joy to see Ibrahim, and the agitation of her spirits, had brought a carnation into her cheeks, which covered all the marks of her melancholy; and which rendered her as fair, as ever she had been. The Grand Signior being surprised with too much attention in considering this Princess, desired at leastwise that the Bassa might not interpret it amiss; so that to conceal it in some sort, it must be acknowledged, said he unto him, that thou hadst reason to assure me, that the pictures, which thou hast placed in thy chamber, resembled this Princess but very imperfectly; for the more I seek for the air and features of those pictures in her face, the less comparison do I find in them.  
Hitherto the Princess had not answered to Soliman's discourses, save with obeisances and submissions, but hearing herself so highly praised, she fell a speaking, and humbly besought the Grand Signior he would be pleased to justify the love, which Ibrahim bore her, by some other way, then by that of her beauty. She told him, that if he had not stronger chains than that, he would be blame-worthy for preferring her before his Highness; but without considering, either her merit, or her beauty, he was to think, that the affection which he carried to her, was one of the inevitable effects of sympathy or sat. That she requested him to believe, how Ibrahim had done nothing, but what he could not choose but do; that he knew without doubt as well as she, that the glory to serve so great a Prince, was to be preferred before all things; but his knowledge being the least of that which governed his will, he had abandoned Reason's party, to follow that of love. Soliman ravished with the wit of this Princess, desired her to pardon him for her forcible bringing away, and to remember that he had not undertaken it, but to save Ibrahim's life. So fair a cause, answered the Princess, could not produce a bad effect, and whatsoever can save Ibrahim, can never wrong Isabel. With such like discourses, the Sultan and these two illustrious Lovers entertained themselves very pleasingly; but dinner time approaching, the Grand Signior told the Bassa, that having purposed to bestow the Sultania Asteria upon him for a wife, and his love not permitting that he should be so happy, as to have the most excellent man upon the Earth in his alliance, he would at leastwise bring him Isabel with the same pomp, and with the same ceremony, as if she had been his daughter indeed. After so obliging a discourse, he retired, leaving Isabel extremely satisfied, both of his wit, his courtesy, and generosity.   

The Fourth Book.  
AFter the Grand Visier had waited upon the Sultan forth, he returned to Isabel with so much transport and joy, as he had never felt the like before; the liberty to be able to speak to her, without other witnesses than Emilia, was so sweet unto him, that neither the remembrance of what was past, the care of the present, the fear of the future, nor even the weakness which his melancholy had brought upon him, was sensible either to his body or his mind. I would undertake more exactly to describe the apprehensions of these two illustrious persons, were I not persuaded that one had need to have made trial of the like misadventures, and the like pleasures, before one could worthily acquit himself thereof. After the first transports, which unexpected joys do cause in a soul, and which for the most part do somewhat disorder Reason, Ibrahim and Isabel, coming to consider the estate wherein they were, found that Fortune had but gilded over their Irons; yet was it some consolation to them, that they might wear them together. I would not follow you to Constantinople, said Isabel to Ibrahim, without being your wife; nor would I likewise that love should have carried you to make me be forcibly brought away: but since without your or my being guilty thereof, Fortune hath conducted me hither, I have courage enough to endure this noble captivity with you, until we may meet with some means to get out of it with honour.  
After many other discourses Ibrahim caused dinner to be served up to the Princess in private, during the which he went to give order for preparing him a lodging at Achmat's Palace, which was not far from his, intending out of respect to leave this wholly to the Princess; but she being instantly advertised thereof by Emilia, who had heard him give order for it to the Italian Slave that served him, she sent for him, and conjured him not to do so; I am well assured, said she unto him, that in the Country where we are, I shall not clash with civility to remain here with you; and I know you to be so wise and discreet that I cannot fear any unjust designs from you; withal you understand me too well for me to doubt, that you will make any ill construction of the liberty I give you: It will be enough then for you to quit your lodging, without quitting your Palace unto me, which how fair soever it is, cannot be agreeable to me without you. This illustrious Bassa would not yield at first, but at length he obeyed the Princess.  
In the mean time they who saw Ibrahim, could not doubt but that Soliman had found out the right remedy, which could throughly chase away his melancholy. His eye was quicker, his countenance more lively, his speech stronger, his gate more steady, and this change was so great and sudden, that every one spoke of it as of a prodigy. In fine, the presence of Isabel did that in a few days, which the art of the Physicians could not do in a very long time; and the Grand Visier found himself in so perfect an health, as he had never been in a better. But whilst he was happy, Soliman did not enjoy so great a tranquillity: The sight of Isabel through an inevitable fate had excited trouble in his soul. For whereas he had eminently met in the person of this Princess with all the beauties of Roxelana and Axiamira, and a great deal of resemblance of both of them, especially of the last, he could not choose but be in all the passion for her alone, which he had been in for the other two. This great Prince rendered not himself for all that without fight; and it may be he had not been vanquished, if at the beginning he had known the forces of his Enemy. But what trouble soever the first sight of Isabel brought to his heart, he thought notwithstanding that Reason, and his friendship to Ibrahim, would be stronger than his inclination. It was not because he had not tried the weakness of the former; but for the second, he believed that nothing could overcome it. In this confidence, the first days of Isabella's being at Constantinople, and that Ibrahim was not as yet in an estate to go to the Seraglio, he continued visiting him as he was wont to do: But the more he saw Isabel, the more charming he found her; he always observed some new grace in her; and her wit making her still to be more known, his passion still augmented the more: Howbeit he perceived not the violence and power of it, till such time as civility would no longer permit him to see her. For the Grand Visier having recovered strength enough to go to the Seraglio, Soliman having no more pretext to visit him, saw himself deprived of the sight of Isabel, and by this privation he felt in his heart that this person alone could make up all his felicity, or all his misery. This Prince no sooner knew the force of this Enemy, by which he had suffered his soul to be surprised, but ●e would have opposed it. What! said he to himself, unjust and cruel that I am, cannot I, after the obtaining of so many Victories abroad, vanquish myself this once? must I be mine own cruelest Enemy? and must this predominant passion, that reigns in my heart, be always stronger than Reason? cannot I love, continued he, but I must be criminal? and is my destiny so unlucky, that I cannot be happy, without violating all that is most sacred in the world? All the Earth yields me Slaves; the fairest women of all Greece are in my power, and in my Seraglio, and in the mean time I will ravish from the only man that I love, the only person that he can love, the only person that can preserve his life; he that, being the noblest of men, hath ventured it an hundred times for the safety of this Empire, and he that rather than he would break his word with me, had resolved for death in abandoning Isabel. Ah, no, no; let us rather die, than consent to this unjust passion; l●t us deprive ourselves for ever of that which only can make us happy, since we cannot be so without ingratitude and baseness.  
After so just a reasoning, Soliman seemed sometimes to be eased, and to have taken an immovable resolution to think no more of Isabella's charms. But her image no sooner presented itself to his mind, but changing his resolution, he also changed his discourse. I know very well, said he, regarding things as I do, that I own much to Ibrahim, but I know withal, that I own very much to myself. It is not always reasonable for one to give himself death to save the life of his friend; I am not ignorant that friendship ought to be firm, but yet I know, that love hath not used to respect it. And then again, who knows whether Ibrahim will yield Isabel to me? he that could resolve to leave her at Monaco to return to Constantinople, may peradventure yield her to me for the saving of my life. For what can a man do less for me, whom I have drawn out of Irons, and from the grave, and have made the mightiest man in my Empire? Let us love then, said he, since we may do it without a crime. But alas! continued he, when as Ibrahim hath consented to my love, I have not vanquished Isabel; and then he called to mind the constancy which she had showed ever since the first day that she had begun to love Ibrahim. This difficulty for all that seemed not so great unto him, but that he hoped to overcome it, if he could absent the Grand Visier, as the affairs of Persia seemed to require. Whereupon he framed the design of it, after he had a long time combated in himself, and prepared to give audience to the Ambassador the Sophi had sent to demand Axiamira and Felixana of him; seeming to have no other thought then that of the affairs of Persia, nor other object, but the good of his Empire. He also let Vlama know, that what he had demanded for Mahamed was granted him; and the care of his State seemed to take him up in such sort, as albeit he became very melancholic, and that his countenance was altered, Ibrahim suspected no other thing, but that the incertainty wherein he was, whether he should make use of the persons of Axiamira, Mahamed, and Felixana, whom he had in his hands, for the making of some propositions of peace, because he was pressed by the affairs of Hungary, or that he should continue the War of Persia.  
In the mean time Ibrahim and Isabel, considering their fortune, could not well imagine by what way they might obtain their liberty; it being incredible that Soliman should be carried to the design of forcibly bringing away the Princess, for to let her return again into her Country, and to deprive himself for ever of a man, from whom he seemed to be inseparable. So as not knowing what to do, or what to resolve on, the Grand Visier propounded unto her, considering the estate wherein things were, that she would permit him to make one warlike voyage more against the Persians; to the end, that having repaired the disorders which his absence had caused in that Kingdom, he might at his return come and cast himself at the Sultan's feet, and demand for a reward of his victories only the liberty of returning into his Country; with the resolution, that if he did not grant that which he desired of him, not to be more generous than he, and to obtain that by slight which he had refused him, since, as it seemed to him, he might do it without injustice. At first this proposition surprised Isabel; and her heart persuaded her, that Ibrahim had not Reason on his side. What, said she, will you always abandon me? and will you find no place in all the world where we may live together? when you were come to Monaco, you quitted me to return unto Constantinople; and now that Fortune hath brought me thither, you will abandon me to go into Persia; but with this grievous difference, that when as you quitted me at Monaco, you left me in my Country; your person was the only thing that I lost; your absence made up all my grief; and fear found no place in my soul but for the love of you: But in this encounter I have cause to be afraid of all things. You will abandon me in a Country, whose language, manners, customs, and Religion, are different from ours, and where virtue is not found but in the person of Soliman. I will not make use, continued she, of the Reasons, which you made use of, when you would not let me come to Constantinople, in making me consider what would become of me if it happened that you should die: But that is not my fear, seeing it is certain, that in what place soever of the Earth this misfortune should arrive unto me, I should always be equally sensible of it; that nothing can increase or diminish my grief; that I shall every where find the remedy to finish it; and that my death would without doubt keep me from regretting yours. I do not fear you should die without me, but I am afraid to live without you. Do not think then of abandoning me, and if you will go into Persia, suffer me to go along with you.  
The Bassa hearing the Princess speak in this sort, knew not what to answer her; and though he found no other way of hoping to obtain from Soliman the liberty which he desired, yet durst he not oppose Isabella's pleasure. Do, Madam, what shall seem good unto you, said he unto her; dispose of my fortune, and my life; and believe, if you please, that the same reason, which carried me to abandon you at Monaco, hath now induced me to make this proposition unto you. But do not think of following me to the war; it is the only thing wherein I may contradict you in this encounter, and I am resolved never to consent unto it. I will not go into Persia, if you enjoin me to it: I will go and make Soliman deny me our liberty in demanding it of him; I will even endeavour to think of our slight if you will; and by all these ways expose you, it may be, to strange misadventures: I will notwithstanding consent to all these things, if you command me; but I will never endure that you shall undertake a warlike voyage. For, Madam, there is a great deal of d●fference between living at Constantinople under the protection of one of the excellentest Princes of the world, and following an Army of an hundred thousand men, who delight in nothing but fire and sword; and ●gainst whom you would have but one to protect you, if your beauty should happen to give me Rivals, or the misfortune of war should make me be vanquished by mine Enemies.  
I know well enough, answered the Princess, that I am of a sex which ought not to see war save in picture; but what will you have me do? I see too well, continued she, that we are in a deplorable estate, and that we cannot seek for a remedy, whereof the event is not very doubtful. After the obligations wherein you stand engaged to Soliman, there is no talk of slight; yea and I feel in my heart something that resists it. On the other side, I know full well that in the estate wherein the affairs of his Empire now stand, and his friendship to you considered, it will not be easy for my tears to obtain our liberty; and from thence I judge, that nothing but generosity alone can constrain him not to refuse us. Upon the victory over the Persians our freedom depends, if it be so that we may ever obtain it; but I fear too, that this remedy is not very well assured. For if you prove not fortunate in this war, how dare you demand your liberty? and if you be victorious, it is to be feared that in fight for Soliman, you fight not against yourself; that the conquests you shall make for him, do not keep him also from resolving to part with you; and in this sort, I cannot make use of the power which you do give me to dispose of you in this occasion, my reason not being strong enough alone of itself to take any resolution.  
Ibrahim saw that all the Princess' Objections were so powerful, as he could think of nothing able to destroy them. But at length, after well examining the matter, they found how it was true, that it might happen the voyage of Persia would serve them to no purpose: but they found withal, that it was the only thing that could be beneficial to them; knowing well enough, that if Soliman could be vanquished, it would be only by generosity. Ibrahim assured the Princess as much as possibly he could, that no misfortune should arrive to her in his absence, relying in such sort on Soliman's friendship to him, as he could not doubt but that he would be very careful in protecting her. And though he knew that the Sultan was very susceptible of love, and that he had feared before at Monaco, lest he would have been too sensibly touched with Isabella's beauty, if she obstinately persisted in her determination to follow him to Constantinople, yet had he no fear of it in this encounter. That which gave him this tranquillity of spirit, was because he knew, that this Prince had never been taken, but with the first sight of the persons whom he had loved; that love never entered into his heart but by surprising him; and that whomsoever he had once seen without passion, was not able afterwards to touch him with any. And whereas Soliman, contrary to his custom, had taken great care to conceal his thoughts, he had not perceived his love to Isabel; but contrarily, thinking that he had seen her without loving her, he believed that he was safe on that side. In this Opinion he the more easily resolved for the War of Persia; and whereas he knew that affairs were pressing, and that the Sophi's Ambassador having had audience, the Divano would be held the next day, wherein peace or war for the interest of the Empire would be concluded, he conjured the Princess to take her last resolution. Emilia, who was present at this Council, was on Ibrahim's side, and persuaded the Princess to consent to the voyage he would undertake. And to carry her the sooner thereunto, the Bassa told her further, that diverting Soliman's Arms from Hungary would render a great service to Christendom; and that this action might peradventure obtain from Heaven the liberty which they so much wished for. He added moreover, that without doubt this war would not be long, because the manner of the Persians was, not to fortify their Towns, so that having no important sieges to make, the business according to their custom would be decided by the gain or loss of a battle.  
Upon these and many other reasons the Princess resolved for this grievous separation, and Ibrahim having left her, after they had made new protestations of fidelity the one to the other, he went unto Soliman to begin the preparing of his mind to the war of Persia. This Prince, who never swerved from the way of virtue but by constraint, had fought so mightily with the passion wherein he was for Isabel, as he might perchance have defeated it, or at leastwise have never made show of it, had not the Grand Visier himself contributed to his own misfortune, in propounding unto him his sending him again into Persia. For whereas it is very difficult to reject that which may satisfy us, it was impossible for the Sultan to refuse that which Ibrahim offered. He had had strength enough, after a long combat, and after he had an hundred times changed his opinion, to resolve not to propound this voyage unto him, since he could not undertake it without quitting Isabel; but he had not enough not to accept of that which could content his passion. He determined for all that, because the matter regarded the good of his Empire, to have it proposed in the Divano, to the end the people should not murmur, and might know that he had not preferred war before peace, until he had well examined the importance of it.  
The day following at seven of the clock in the morning, twelve thousand Janissaries appeared in Arms in the great Court of the Seraglio; for in regard it was a Council of War, where the Grand Signior assisted in person, there was more ceremony used then in the Divano, which was accustomed to be held for affairs of peace; the Halls of extraordinary audiences were opened, and hung with the richest hang that the Grand Signior had. There was seen at one end, under a cloth of State of curled cloth of gold, a Throne, raised four degrees high, covered with gold Tinsel, and in the midst of it four cushions of the same stuff, for his Highness to sit upon. All along the Hall were little low seats, adorned with cloth of silver, for the placing of all the Officers of the Empire, who came thither very early, in the richest and bravest apparel that they had. The Beglierbeys of Natalia and Lavandali, with those of Amasia, of Cairo, Syria, Europe, and Romelia, were present there; so were also the Capitan Bassa Governor of Constantinople, and all the chiefest Sangiacs, namely of Morea, of Nicopoli, Philopali, Tricala, Negrepont, and others; the Aga of the Janissaries was likewise there, together with the Tesqueregibassi, to execute his charge of principal Secretary of State if need required: In conclusion, there was not any of all the Officers of the Turkish Monarchy lacking there, but only Rustan, who was not yet so well reestablished, as to be present at Ceremonies. After they were placed according to their degrees, and that to manifest the more greatness and respect they had attended a long time with an extraordinary silence, the two Capigibassi, or Captains of the Port, entered into the Hall richly clad, having each of them in his hand, for a mark of their charge, an Indian Cane garnished with gold and stones, and went and stood on either side of Soliman's Throne: After them entered the Grand Visier, Ibrahim, as being chief Bassa, marching alone two paces before the Sultan, whom two Bassa's supported under the Arms, and behind him three of the children of honour, who waited on him in his chamber, and carried a great cushion of cloth of gold, all set with precious stones of an inestimable value: Next after followed a many of other Officers of the Empire, and a great part of the principal Eunuches of the Seraglio. When as the Grand Signior appeared, all they that were in the Hall, both on the right and the left hand, rose up; and as he passed by them, they saluted him after their mann●r, with their hands across on their breasts, and bowing their heads down even to the ground. Ibrahim, who marched foremost, mounted up to the Throne, whither the two Bassa's conducted Soliman, who being set, caused our illustrious Bassa to be placed at his feet upon the highest step; upon the second on the left hand the two Bassa's that had led him, with the Cadilescher of Greece; and on the right the Bassa of the Sea, and the Cadilescher of Natalia; the three children of honour, after they had set down the cushion which they had brought behind him, retired to the Eunuches; and the Capigibassi seated themselves on the lowest step, at the feet of the Bassa's. As soon as the Grand Signior had made a sign with his hand for every one to sit down, each one re-assumed his place, after they had again made a low obeisance to the Sultan, and keeping a most extraordinary silence for so great an assembly, they continued a while in this sort, as it were attending the Grand Signior's Commands; who after he had thought a little of what he was to say, began to speak unto them. He told them, that although he could resolve all things by his absolute power, yet in regard it concerned the glory of his Arms, the greatness of his Empire, and the good of his subjects, he would not frame any design, without communicating unto them the matter he had in hand; to the end that having acquainted them with the importance of it, they might give him faithful and disinteressed counsel. After that, he represented unto them the victories which he had obtained over the Persians through the valour of Ibrahim; and then, the misadventures, which his absence and Vlama's ●urt had caused in that Country. He told them that nothing rested of all his conquests, but the remembrance that they had been made: and whereas he had an intention to carry them to a war, he aggravated with a great deal of vehemency, how shameful it would be to the Empire to make peace after they had been last beaten. He told them withal notwithstanding, that having the Princess Axiamira the daughter of the Sophi, and Prince Mahamed his son, in his hands, he was in an estate, if they thought fit, to tender propositions of peace unto Tachmas; but that they should well examine beforehand, whether that would not be dishonourable; and that they should remember, how in public interests particular interests were not always to be considered, and that the glory of the Empire was to be preferred above all things.  
After he had spoken thus unto them, he commanded them to deliver their Opinions, which proved not to be alike, for they were all carried by different thoughts. Some, won by Roxelana and Rustan, opposed the voyage of Persia; others, for the sole interest of the people, were of the same opinion; some again, to please the Sultan, counselled the war; and others, for their particular interest likewise, opposed peace. Yet did they not for all that deliver their Opinions tumultuously, nor without giving reasons for them; but contrarily keeping a marvellous decorum in this Council, they spoke all severally, and without precipitation. But whereas, according to the order which is observed amongst the Turks, Ibrahim was to deliver his Opinion first, as being the chief in dignity, he was already preparing to speak, when as Machmut, Cadilescher of Anatolia, who had been suborned by Roxelana, besought his Highness, that for this time only that custom might not be followed, to the end th●t the Opinions, which should be given in this occasion, might be the more sincere. For, my Lord, said he unto him, I am assured if the noble Ibrahim propounds his Opinion first, that it will be impossible for me to deliver mine, if it happen to be contrary to his; not because I cannot take the liberty to contradict him if I could, for I know his generosity too well for that; but because his Reason renders itself so absolute a Mistress of another's, as it is not possible for one to conserve his own sense. A man cannot defend himself from him; he persuades whatsoever he pleaseth; and one cannot choose but gainsay in his mind his own Opinions. In fine, my Lord, whether it be for the love that is born him, or for the reasons that I have alleged, I am very certain, if the generous Ibrahim speaks first, that his vote will carry all the rest; that there will be but one Opinion found in the whole Assembly; and that in this sort, thy Highness will not know our true sense, but will't only understand Ibrahim's, which doubtless we shall but say over again. It is not because I do not believe his counsel to be better than any other that can be given thee; but I conceive, that for divers causes, which regard Ibrahim himself, it is requisite thou shouldst leave us to be guided by our own Reason.  
In this sort it was that the subtle Machmut, instructed by the cunning Roxelana, got the order of the Divano to be changed; for though this proposition displeased the Grand Signior, yet durst he not for all that reject it; and so much the less, because Ibrahim himself besought his Highness that it might be so, after he had notwithstanding told Machmus, that he was not so eloquent, as he would make him believe; and that he was persuaded also, how all those which he saw there, whom the Sultan honoured with his presence, did not regard any thing, no more than he, but the interests of the Empire, and the glory of his Highness.  
After this, the Bassa Piali spoke first, and was of the opinion, that no propositions of peace should be tendered, in regard they had been last beaten; but withal he was of the mind, that without making such great preparations for war, they should only stand upon the defensive, and retain Prince Mahamed and the Princess Axiamira, whereby without doubt the Sophi would soon be brought to speak first of this peace, which then might be accepted of, if it were propounded with reasonable conditions. Scander Capitan Bassa, speaking in his turn, said, that a great Prince and a great Polician should never be contented with being in an estate of defending himself; that he should always either carry the war to his Enemies, or not make it at all; that it was better to make peace, than not to make conquests; that not to assail one's Enemy, when one was in Arms, was in a manner to be vanquished, or at leastwise to testify fear, or weakness; that in this occasion he did not see there was any choice to be made; that it would be without example to make propositions of peace to a Prince, who was contented to offer two millions for the ransom of his daughter and Felixana; and that it would show much imprudence, not to prepare for war, after the refusal of them to him: so that in regard they were not to be rendered because they were not prisoners of war, nor to be kept without being in a condition to defend them, his advice was, that to obtain peace, and oblige Tachmas to demand it, an Army of five hundred thousand men was to be levied, to the end that fear might carry him to propound it advantageously for the Turkish Empire.  
Machmut, Cadilescher of Anatolia, said, that whereas it was never counted a design either base or shameful in a Prince to procure the peace of his subjects, he conceived that if it were possible to make use of the persons of Prince Mahamed and the Princess Axiamira for the obtaining thereof, it was to be done: and so much the rather, because in continuing this war, the treasures of the State would be unprofitably exhausted; the power of the Sultan would be impaired by the loss of the Janissaries which would perish in it; yea and the honour of the Arms of the Empire would be once again hazarded: and all this without attending any recompense from it, it being absolutely impossible to maintain the conquests that were made in Persia, whereof History gave sufficient proof; and therefore if war were to be made, that it was better to fall upon the Christians with an Army of five hundred thousand men, which would strike fear into all Europe, amplify the limits of the Empire, and eternize the name of Soliman, rather than to lose them to no purpose: How it would be a shame to see one day in History, that Soliman had warred a long time against the Sophi; that at several times he had led millions of men into Persia, and after all, that there should not be remaining under the dominion of his successors, so much as one foot of ground of the conquests he had made there. Finally he concluded, that not this war, but the other, was to be thought on.  
Isuf, Cadilescher of Greece, maintained this Opinion, though out of a different meaning; for the former was carried by the persuasions of Roxelana, and he by the sole consideration of the public good. But he added to the others Reasons, that if the war of Persia continued longer, whole Provinces might revolt, by reason of the poverty whereunto the interruption of commerce would reduce them; in so much that this foreign war might cause a civil, more dangerous and more deadly than the other; that if this mischief should arrive, as the murmuring of the people seemed to threaten, they should then be constrained to propound a shameful peace to Tachmas, who it may be, to make use of this advantage, would not accept of it; that so they should have Enemies both without and within, whilst the Christians, which were but Tributaries of the Empire, might possibly undertake to shake off the yoke which had been laid upon them; and that all Christendom besides might peradventure unite their forces together, seeing Soliman busied elsewhere, so reconquer that which had been taken from them.  
Hali, the Bassa of the Sea, was of the opinion, that not only there should no Articles of peace be propounded, that not only there should be preparations for war, but even that no propositions from the Sophi should be accepted of, if he happened to make any. How it was just that Soliman should surpass his predecessors in something; that they had conquered from the Christians, as well as he; but that none had conserved that which they had won from the Persians; that it was for him to change this order; that it was a weak reason to say, that since they had conserved themselves till then maugre all the Ottoman power, and that the victorious Selim, his Highness' Father, had vanquished them with loss, therefore one could do no more; that contrarily it was a mark their ruin was near; that Empires had their ages as well as men, and being subject to the revolutions of fortune, it was credible that this extraordinary constancy, which she had showed in protecting of the Persians, would quickly change; that it being so, it was not to be doubted but that this illustrious victory was reserved for the greatest Prince, that hath been since Alexander, the most renowned Hero's of antiquity, and the most in veneration amongst the Turks; that the Empire of the Persians was not so flourishing as it was at such time as it was overthrown, nor Soliman less valiant, than he who had conquered it; that in fine it was reasonable, after the Sultan had traveled so much for the felicity of his Subjects, that his Subjects also should do something for his glory: so as he was of the opinion, that without considering whether the people murmured or no, an expedition should be made into Persia with all the Forces of the Empire.  
Achmat Bassa, speaking in his course, consented indeed to the voyage of Persia, but not to the design of impairing the Empire on all parts, to make new conquests on that side; since without hazarding any loss of the one side to gain on the other, there needed no more than to oblige Ibrahim to make one journey more thither; that it was without doubt from his hand Soliman was to attend this victory; that it was easy to judge of the future by things past; and that the Sultan without venturing any thing, and to retain both his Subjects and his Tributaries in their duties, should abide at Constantinople, as in the centre of his Empire, to give order for all things, and to prepare Crowns and Triumphs for the illustrious Bassa, who would without question return Conqueror of Persia.  
Next was the Beglierbey of Romelia of the same opinion; He of Carro concurred with him; and all the rest being divided amongst the seven that had already spoken, it was for Ibrahim to deliver his advice; but he was constrained to attend a little, because Machmut said a second time to maintain his first opinion, that it would be a shame to be exposed to the loss of the advantage which they had over the Christians. Achmat answered, that it would be a greater to demand peace after they were beaten. The Bassa Piali added, that extreme resolutions were dangerous to Monarchies; and that in the end Princes, which loved their Subjects, and whose Empire was great enough, ought not to make War, but for the procuring of peace. Isuf, to fortify this opinion, said further, that the people were not to be so little considerable with the Emperor, since from them came his riches, his force, his power, and his greatness; that the people had in some parts of the world been happy without Kings, but no Kings could be so without Subjects: He said likewise, that prudence never did any thing precipitously, and still would have the Prince spare the blood of his people. But the Bassa of the Sea replied, that it was oftentimes just and necessary to lose one part of his Subjects for the preservation of the other; and that an Empire was a great Body, for the maintenance whereof all things might be done, without considering particular interests. Scander added, that a great Prince was never to make peace but with the sword in his hand, and that the way to keep the people from murmuring, was to make it advantageously; that for the effecting thereof five hundred thousand men were to be raised, to the end they might obtain that by force which could not be obtained by any other mean.  
This Bassa having given over speaking, Ibrahim repeated in order all the opinions that had been given; he confuted that of the Bassa Piali; approved that of Scander Capitan Bassa; mightily opposed Machmut's advice, as also that of Isuf; commended the generous resolutions of Ali the Bassa of the Sea, and the prudent considerations of Achmat, with exception nevertheless of the praises he had given him. But at length for a conclusion he said, that great Princes were always to give peace, and not to demand it; that if Soliman's children had happened to have been the Sophi's prisoners, all that could then have been done was but to propound it; and that even Tachmas was so generous as not to do it, though Prince Mahamed and the Princess Axiamira were in his Highness' hands; that it was a gallant thing in the Victorious to speak of Peace, because they thereby demonstrated, that the sole desire of glory had made them fight; but that it was always shameful, how specious a pretext soever might be taken up for it, to speak of peace, when as one had been beaten. That this were to yield up the Victory, and to render one's arms to his Enemy, to implore the pity of the Conqueror, to augment the courage of his adversaries, to weaken that of his Soldiers, and even to expose himself to the hazard of having done an unworthy act unprofitably; that besides, the only mean to keep Christendom from uniting their Forces for the destruction of the Turkish Empire, was to let it breathe a little after so much War, because if it were further provoked, it might peradventure do that which it would not do, were it left in rest; that it was many times dangerous to prosecute one's enemies too much; that tempting Fortune so often, she might be weary of favouring, and at last abandon those whom she had protected; that to keep her from changing, we were to change our design, and suffer ourselves to be conducted by her, and not force her to follow us; that after all, he did not find, that any deliberation was to be had upon the matter in question; that Tachmas being in arms, and offering no Proposition of Peace, albeit his Children were under the power of his Highness, it would be an unheard of and shameful thing to think of it, especially if it might be remembered, that it was not yet a year since Soliman had been crowned King of Persia at Bagdet; that it would not be a shame for the Sultan to make no more Conquests upon the Christians, but that it would be a great one for him to let himself be vanquished by the Persians, or at leastwise to demand Peace of them; that for so much as regarded Prince Mahamed and the Princess Axiamira, in the estate wherein things were, they could not be rendered upon any conditions; yea, and that it would be most unworthily done to remit them into the hands of the Sophi for the making of Peace, because they were not prisoners of War, but contrarily were persons fled for refuge; that Soliman was therefore to protect them, to make War both for their sakes, and also that he might not be ingrateful to Vlama, whose Fortune was conjoined to Felixan's; that the War had never had more juster grounds, then since the time that the Princess Axiamira, Prince Mahamed, and Felixana, were in the power of the Sultan; that one of the prime duties of a King, was to protect the oppressed; and that in this encounter there was too fair an occasion presented, to be lost; that as for him, he offered, if his Highness pleased, to return unto this War, and not to spare, either his care, his blood, or his life, for restoring the honour of his arms to the point, wherein it had been.  
Ibrahim had no sooner made an end of speaking, but they, who had been of a contrary opinion to his, seeing the Grand Signior favour his party, began to change theirs in appearance; professing that his reason had cleared theirs. And Machmut was he alone, who seeming to yield as the rest, opposed himself still notwithstanding to this resolution: But Soliman having made a sign to him to hold his peace, he kept silence as well as the rest of the assembly; and the Grand Signior, having commanded the bringing in of the Persian Ambassador, spoke softly to Ibrahim, but yet finished his discourse aloud in giving him order to answer this Ambassador according to his sense, so that as soon as he appeared, the grand Visier risen up, and after he had made a low obeisance to the Sultan, he told him how he was to assure the Sophi his Master from his Highness, that his State should always be an inviolable sanctuary to all oppressed Princes; that the Princess Axiamira and Felixana being no prisoners of War, the Grand Signior, far from accepting the ransom which was offered for them, declared by him, that he would become their Protector, as well as Prince Mahameds'; and that he would shortly go with a very mighty Army to execute his Highness Commands, and to see Justice rendered to these exiled Princes. The Persian Ambassador thereupon laboured to make it appear, that Axiamira not having been entreated as a person fled for refuge, since she had been in prison, was to be taken for a prisoner of War; and for a conclusion he added, that if she were not delivered up, the Sophi would come with an Army of two hundred thousand men to make her be rendered unto him. But the grand Visier having answered him, that he would save him the labour of coming so far, and that he would go and meet him even in his own Country, he was constrained to withdraw, as he did with satisfaction little enough. He was no sooner gone forth, but the Grand Signior arose, after he had commanded the Officers of the Empire, in all things to obey Ibrahim, as if it were himself, and in particular the Bassa of the Sea to prepare for his departure with the Naval Army, to go and fall upon Mingrelia, of purpose to make a diversion, and divide the Enemy's Forces.  
After this Commandment, the Sultan returned in the same order as he came, only one of the Capigibassi remained in the Hall, to the end that according to the custom he might cause all those, which had assisted in this extraordinary Council, to be presented with a rich Gown, which is given to all the Officers of the Turkish Monarchy, from the Grand Signior, so often as he honoureth the Divano with his presence, which happens but seldom. The two Bassa's which conducted the Emperor having left him alone with Ibrahim, he told him that there rested nothing for him now but to take his leave of Isabel, because all the Troops, which had been levied for the making up of his Army, being already far advanced, all that he could do was to overtake them upon the frontier; that he was sorry he was constrained to separate him from a person that was so dear unto him; but he was to remember that glory was the fairest Mistress in the world, and how it was not but for her that he abandoned the Princess. Ibrahim answered thereunto, that the sole glory of his Arms carried him on, for he assured his Highness, that in the voyage he was going to undertake, he considered not himself at all; and in the mean time, that he might part with some satisfaction, he besought him he would promise to protect Isabel in all things during his absence; and if he happened to die in this War, that he would send her back in safety to any place which she should please to make choice of. This discourse touched Soliman; he was ashamed of his own thoughts and weakness; and little lacked but that craving pardon of Ibrahim, he had opened his heart to him, and acknowledged his crime with repentance: Howbeit love was the stronger, and that virtue, which this Prince followed in all other encounters, was too weak in this for the resisting of so powerful an Enemy.  
He abandoned himself then unto it, and with an equivocating answer promised the Grand Visier, that he would protect Isabel against all the world; that there was not any subject of his whom he would not severely punish if he should displease her; that for what he had demanded of him in case he should die, was a thing whereunto he could not answer, that thought being too grievous for him to settle his mind upon it; that for her more safety during his absence, he held it fit that Isabel should not abide in his Palace, but should pass away that time in the old Seraglio, in the company of his mother, of his sisters, and his daughters; that the Sultana Asteria, to whom he was somewhat obliged, should take care to entertain her; and that for the exercise of her Religion, she should go forth as often as she would; that his making of this proposition proceeded from the remembrance of the seditious tumult, which was raised at such time as he was in Anatolia; for whereas the people and the Janissaries were persuaded that this War was undertaken by his counsel, if by mischance news should come, either true or false, that he had been beaten, he feared lest the fury of the one or the other, or of both of them together, should fall foul on his Palace, and Isabel be involved in that disorder. Ibrahim, seeing a great deal of reason in that which the Grand Signior said, humbly thanked him for his providence, and told him that he would go and propound the matter to Isabel: But he knew not that this proposition was made, rather to undo then preserve her; and that this Prince, whom he believed to be so generous (as indeed he was when as love did not trouble his Reason) thought not so much of the Conquest of Persia, as of the Conquest of Isabel.  
In this dangerous ignorance he went to the Princess, and made that proposition to her which the Sultan had made to him, but not till he had rendered her an account of all that had passed in the Divano. At first that name of the Seraglio affrighted her, and her modesty could not suffer him to continue speaking without interrupting him; But after she had told him I know not how often that she could not resolve to go thither, she was constrained to alter her mind, Ibrahim having made it appear to her, that the old Seraglio was the only place of all the Orient, where the most virtues, and the fewest vices were. As indeed, it is not inhabited by any but the Mother, Aunts, Daughters, and Sisters of the Emperor, who never have any commerce with the Sultana's of the other Seraglio, unless it be with the Sultana Queen, which lives in the Grand Signiors lodging. For touching the people abroad, they never see any of them; having no other entertainment then to learn Needle works and Music, which certain Jewish women teach them; to walk in their gardens, which are very fair; to receive the visits which the Sultan sometimes gives them, especially when his Mother is still living; to look out at the windows, which open upon the Port and the City; and to see the public ●easts when they are celebrated at Constantinople: living otherways with a great deal of reservedness, until the Sultan marries them to some of his Bassa's, for a recompense of some great Conquests achieved by them. Isabel, having then understood all these particulars, surmounted the aversion which she had against the entering into that place, and was at length persuaded that she should be much better amongst women, then to live alone with Emilia and Slaves in the Palace where she was.  
This resolution being taken, the grand Visier gave order to his servants to prepare all things for his voyage, that he might part the next day, and expressly forbade them after that from co●ing ●o speak to him of any affair, if it were not directly from the Grand Signior; intending to employ the small time he had resting, in talking with Isabel. Never was conversation so sad as theirs; and seeing that which they had resolved upon even ready to be executed, they almost repent them of the design they had undertaken. Ibrahim would not willingly have parted, and yet prepared to part. And the Princess in testifying to him that she could wish he would not abandon her, spoke to him of their farewell and separation. Remember, said she unto him, that in the War, whither you are going, you must have a care, not only of your own life, but of mine. Think not so much of the victory, as not to think of preserving yourself: And to oblige you thereunto, remember every time you go to fight, that in defending your life, you defend Isabella's; that upon your return depends her felicity; and that if you love her, you will not think so much of vanquishing, as to keep yourself from being vanquished. That can I never be, Madam, answered he, after so many glorious marks, which I receive of your affection: And since in preserving mine own life, I shall preserve yours, there is no Enemy which can be redoubted of me, and which I shall not easily surmount. Remember yet, Madam, that on Victory our happiness depends; that to obtain it I must expose myself to peril; that in all other things Fortune gives the good that she does, but in War Crowns must be violently plucked out of the hands of Victory, if one may be permitted to speak so. One must fight to remain Master of the field; one must give an example for the Soldiers to follow, and put ones self in jeopardy of being vanquished for to be victorious. I tell you all these things, Madam, to the end you may not take it ill, if I dare assure you, that I will not remember you, but to fight with the more courage. You are a captive for the love of me, it is for me then to deliver you, and therefore do not enjoin me to manage my life with so much care. But, Madam, without anticipating our miseries through fear; and without increasing those, which we feel through the apprehension of those which peradventure will never arrive unto us, tell me, I beseech you, whether you can forgive me all the evils which I have been the cause of to you, if you do not represent unto yourself how you have  received the affection of a man, who was once reckoned amongst your enemies, and who by a strange fate in ceasing to be so, hath been the occasion of more misery to you in adoring you, than all your cruelest adversaries, purposing to hurt you, could have done. Do not charge yourself with the crimes of Fortune, said she unto him, and believe that I am generous enough to distinguish the guilty from the innocent, and never to remember the evils which I have suffered, without remembering those withal, which you have endured for me. I am as faulty towards Justiniano, as Justiniano is towards Isabel; or to say better, we are equally innocent; and our innocency it may be causes our persecution, since it is ordinary with Fortune to fall foul upon none but virtuous persons. I hope nevertheless, added she, that Heaven will ere long give an end to our captivity, or to our lives. If we were, continued Isabella, in the hands of a Prince, that used us ill, and laded us with irons, I should methinks have the more consolation, for in murmuring against the Tyrant that persecutes us there is some to be found: But this Prince, who keeps us captives, does it not but because he loves you; and the rigour of my destiny is so great, as I must commend that in him, which is the cause of all my misery. It was in this manner that these two illustrious infortunate persons entertained one another until night, when as they parted, more out of civility, then for any desire they had to sleep.  
The next morning the grand Visier went to take his leave of his Highness, intending to defer his bidding adieu to Isabel, and giving his last thoughts to one, to whom he had given all his heart, as long as possibly he could. Soliman received him with an unquietness, which he took for a mark of his grief to see him departed, but to speak truly of things it was the last combat which he had in his Soul. The remorse of his crime, and the shame of his weakness, had like to have carried him once more to repent him; nevertheless love was still victorious over this illustrious Conqueror. This Prince than embraced Ibrahim, after he had talked with him about the War, and had given him an absolute power to treat of all things without advertising him thereof; and preventing what the Bassa was going to say to him, he assured him that Isabel should be served during his absence in all respects, as the Sultana Queen; and that he had given order for Charets to bring her and all her Slaves to the old Seraglio, where the Sultana Asteria should have a particular care to entertain her. After this, he dismissed Ibrahim, who went to the Bassa of the Seas Palace, to will him to set sail as soon as he could, in regard the Squadrons of Metelin, of Rhodes, of Cyprus, and Alexandria, were already joined together; and that with all this Fleet he should steer his course for Mingrelia. This order given, he returned to his Palace, where he found the Charets, which the Grand Signior had sent, to carry Isabel to the old Seraglio. And whereas the hour of parting pressed him, he went to the Princess' chamber to advertise her of it, and to desire her that he might conduct her to the place, which was to serve for a sanctuary to her, during his absence. She granted him his desire, without knowing almost what she did, so extreme was her grief. And after a conversation as sad, as their Souls were afflicted, she reached him her hand, which Ibrahim kissed, with as great a transport of grief, as of love. And conducting her with Emilia to the Chariot, which was prepared for her, he went and accompanied her to the gate of the old Seraglio, where they took their last farewell.  
It was at this instant that they felt that which cannot be expressed; You had reason indeed, said the Princes to him, to steal away from me when you left me at Monaco, and to save me the grief of bidding you farewell; but I do not know, said she unto him, whether you have any now to make me prove it. Is it your pleasure then, Madam, answered he, that I shall not part? No, replied she, do not you stick at what I say; it is only grief that makes me speak: Go and break our chains, carry a stronger heart than I, and that you may not augment my weakness, do not oblige me to bid you farewell. As she was saying so, the gates of the Seraglio opened, and Ibrahim, seeing himself constrained to quit her in a place where men never come, assured her at this last instant, that be would quickly return a Conqueror. The Chariot was no sooner entered, but he mounted on horseback, and without speaking a word more to any body, he went out of Constantinople with his Train, to overtake the Troops, which were marching towards Persia, carrying in his heart the most sensible affliction, that ever he had tried. He had this advantage nevertheless over the Princess, that he could entertain his thoughts without interruption, but it was not so with her. For as soon as she had been conducted to a stately lodging, which was prepared for her, the Grand Signiors Mother, although she hated Ibrahim, came to visit her followed by all the Sultanaes', thereby to please Soliman, who had entreated her unto it. The Sultana Asteria, as the favourite of the Emperor her father, had been permitted to learn the Italian Tongue, after the goodwill she had born to Ibrahim had made her to desire it; so as it was she that held up the conversation in this visit, and that expressed the compliments of the other Sultanaes' to Isabel, who received them with a great deal of civility, although the extreme grief she was in might have dispensed her from it. But whereas Asteria had address and wit, and knew that Isabel was afflicted, she so ordered the matter as this visit was not long. The Sultanaes' went away then charmed with the beauty of the Princess; and Asteria found herself as much inclined to serve her, as she had been before time to save the life of Ibrahim. It is true, that though they were all gone but this last, yet was not Is●bella at liberty to think of her misfortunes; for the Sultan sent the Bostangibassi, who is as it were the Superintendant of the Gardens, and one of the chiefest of the Port, to present her with three mands of Gold engraven, full of flowers and fruits manured with his Highness own hand; the Religion of the Grand Signiors obliging them, as well as their Subjects, to labour in some work, that may gain their living; it being unjust, as they believe, for them to be nourished at the people's charge. And whereas agriculture hath something delightful in it, and that the gardens of the Seraglio are the fairest in the world, Soliman, to satisfy both the custom, and his Religion, which requires it, had many times watered with his own hand the flowers which he sent to Isabel. He gave her to understand, that had it not been for fear of incommoding her, he would have come and comforted her for the departure of Ibrahim.  
The Princess received these presents and civilities with a great deal of respect, and desired the Bostangibassi by the mouth of the Sultana Asteria, to tell the Grand Signior, that if there had not been too much presumption in letting herself be persuaded, that he would do her the honour to visit her, she would have testified unto him how dear this glory was unto her; but not daring to hope for it, she contented herself with assuring his Highness, that she would share in all the obligations wherein the grand Visier stood engaged unto him, and that in her particular she would all the days of her life be very sensible of them. The Bostangibassi being gone, she craved pardon of the Sultana Asteria for the trouble she had put her to in serving her for her an Interpreter: and that she might find occasion to talk to her of Ibrahim with civility, she thanked her for saving of his life in times past, told her, that in consideration thereof she owed her all things, and since Ibrahim could not acknowledge it to her himself, it was for her to do it. Asteria, who certainly had wit, generosity, and more address, than the retirement wherein she lived seemed to permit, answered her, that her sight and acquaintance recompensed her beyond that which the service she had rendered her deserved? That pity, being a sense so natural to the sex whereof she was, she merited no great glory for having had compassion of so gallant and handsome a man as Ibrahim. For, continued she, although I know very well, that they talk amongst the Christians of us, as if we were barbarous; yet I can assure you, that this rule is not so general, but it hath exceptions: And pity, which is a thing quite opposite to that which is believed of us, is one of the first precepts of our Religion; it extends even to unreasonable creatures; and there are found amongst us such careful Observers of the Law, as they buy up Birds to let them fly. Judge after this, whether that which I have done, deserves to be ranked in the number of extraordinary things; and whether contrarily there had not been cause to wonder, if seeing a man carried to die, whose countenance so little resembled a Slays, or Malefactors, I should not have had the thought to save him. And then again, added she, if any one ought to recompense me for this action, it must be the Sultan, since I have preserved him a man, whose brave actions have rendered his Empire famous, and whose merit and conversation hath made up all his felicity ever since he was here. For as for you, continued she, I do not see how you are obliged to me; if I had been contented with saving of Ibrahim's life, you might well have said so; but since it was I that was the cause of the Sultan's seeing, loving him, and retaining him in his service, methinks I ought rather to demand pardon of you for robbing you of him, then to attend thanks for his preservation.  
Isabel, who did not think that Asteria was acquainted with all her history, knew not how to answer her, which the Sultana perceiving, desired her not to marvel if she understood by her discourse, that she was not ignorant of all her adventures. She told her then how the Sultan her father had been almost constrained to impart them unto her, for a reason which she would tell her another time, it being unjust to keep her any longer from the liberty of lamenting an absence, which could not choose but be very grievous unto her. Isabel was so satisfied with the civility and wit of Asteria, that she felt some consolation, in finding a reasonable person in a place, where she imagined there had been nothing but stupidity; so that to oblige her she requested her with a great deal of tenderness and respect not to leave her for that reason, nor to defer to another time the acquainting her with that, which she would fain hear, although she knew it. Asteria then recounted unto her, what Ibrahim had already told her, namely, that Soliman had purposed to have married her to him; but she particularising the matter further unto her, in letting her know, how this business had not been so hastily carried, but that some days were passed, after the Grand Signior had spoken to her of it, when as Ibrahim's discourse obliged him, to propound it sooner unto him than he had intended. That whereas he could not foresee how this marriage should be disagreeable to Ibrahim, he had resolved to have had her conducted to his Palace upon the day of his Triumph, to the end he might do the more honour to the grand Visier, but that he had been hindered from it by a Persian, named Alibech, who came to demand Justice of him against the Bassa of the Sea, and had kept him till it was night in the Hipodrome. That having learned all these things from the Sultan's own mouth, and seeing afterwards that nothing came of all this, she had cast herself at Soliman's feet, and besought him to let her know, for what cause Ibrahim had refused her; and that after many entreaties, having had experience of her discretion in other encounters, he had declared unto her the truth of the matter. That after this she had far more esteemed of the Bassa then before; and that his fidelity to her had in such sort touched her heart, as far from being incensed against him for the refusal he had made of her, she had commended him for it in her talk with Soliman. Do not disquiet yourself, said this Sultana to Isabel, if I dare say to you, that I have been your Rival; that Ibrahim's glory had touched my inclination; and that I could have resolved with joy to have been his wife; since I had not thus opened my heart unto you, if it had not been free enough to offer you all manner of service, and to assure you, that that which I felt for the Bassa could not be named Love, but a simple desire to marry a gallant and virtuous man. Do not regard me then as your Rival, seeing that could not be without hatred, but as a person that hath no stronger a passion, then to serve Ibrahim in you. You are too generous, answered Isabel, and Ibrahim too happy, for him to be indebted to you. I should condemn him nevertheless, continued she, for not failing in his fidelity to me, had he had the honour to know you, but his misfortune hath made him commit this fault: Do not accuse him then for want of judgement in preferring my conservation before your Conquest, since his ignorance hath been the cause of it; and seeing you know my whole life as well as I, lament us without accusing us. But what say I, added Isabel reprehending herself, rather admire Ibrahim's good fortune, in that he could oblige you to save his life, and afterwards gain the affection of the greatest Prince of the Earth; and to join our good fortunes, as our interests are joined, I must add further, in having procured me the honour of your acquaintance.  
This conversation, having lasted an indifferent long time, combined the Sultana Asteria and the Princes in so straight a league of friendship, as they were almost inseparable, so long as Isabel continued in the old Seraglio. The day after she was come thither, Soliman visited her, and by this last sight made the chains which captived him stronger than before. The incertainty he was in, wholly ceased; and the combat which he had in his heart, between his friendship to the grand Visier, and the passion he was in for Isabel, was at an end; and love remaining absolutely victorious, his mind had some more peaceable moments, so th●t he had no other thought, then of the Conquest of Isabel. But whereas he knew, that to make himself be beloved, he must first please, he complied so far with her, as not to speak of any thing but Ibrahim in this first visit. He craved pardon of the Princess for being the cause of his absence from her; he desired her not to remember it was he that caused her to be brought away by force; and to think that she was in a place, where she might absolutely command; where she should see no body but that would obey and serve her with joy. Isabel answered to so obliging a discourse with all the civility and acknowledgement she was capable of: but whereas she was sad, though she constrained herself to seem otherwise, he entreated her to be as merry as she could, for fear lest melancholy diminishing her beauty, it might be laid to his charge, that he had but ill preserved so rare a thing.  
The Princess having promised him all that he desired, he went away very much satisfied, and very amorous, and left her with as great an esteem of him, as Ibrahim could not have more. And whereas Asteria seldom abandoned her, she talked to her the rest of the day of ●othing but of the admiration she was in of Soliman, of the virtues of this Prince, of the greatness of his spirit, of that exceeding and generous friendship, which he testified to our illustrious Bassa.  
After this first visit there were nothing but magnificences in the old Seraglio. Soliman sent every day new presents to Isabel; and in consideration of her to the Sultanaes', which lived in the same place, for fear lest envying her they should come to hate her, and so lose the care of pleasing her. And whereas there passed not a day, wherein this Prince did not visit Isabel, Roxelana, who knew him to the very bottom of his heart, quickly perceived the true reason that caused these visits. Yet did not jealousy seize upon her Soul for all that; and the only design of making use of this occasion to destroy Ibrahim, and to labour the re-establishment of Rustan, was that which made her work in the manner, as shall be seen in the sequel of this discourse. But for as much as the grand Signiors Mother hated Ibrahim, because she loved Roxelana, she communicated her suspicions unto her, and they both concluded, that in all likelihood Soliman's assiduity was an effect of love; and that if it were so, it would be almost an infallible mean to destroy the grand Visier, who it was said was desperately in love with this person. For coming to know this passion, he would questionless do things, which would make him be banished, if he did not voluntarily banish himself.  
Having held this secret counsel, Roxelana, far from troubling Soliman's designs, thought of nothing else but making him more in love with the Princess; being not jealous but of her authority, and fearing Ibrahim's power, much more than Isabella's beauty. And for this effect, whereas there is scarce any faith in Turkey of proof against presents, she suborned one of the Slaves, who went daily to offer her some new liberality from the Sultan, to the end that according to the occasions she might invent some obliging compliment to him from Isabel, who ignorant of all these things, lived with as much content and rest, as the absence of the grand Visier would permit her. Asteria had so great a care of her, and Soliman rendered her so many devoirs, as she had scarcely any leisure to think of her misfortunes. In the mean time the Sultan was not a little perplexed, out of the fear he was in to discover his love to the Princess; for albeit he knew she esteemed him, yet he believed that it was as much for the affection which he seemed to bear to the Bassa, as for his own merit. So that not daring as yet to declare himself openly, he contented himself with praising her beauty, her wit, and all the excellent qualities which were in her, in talking to her of Ibrahim; and this name, which had been so considerable with him, was employed against him that owed it. For so often as he commended Isabel, he would exaggerate how happy Ibrahim was to be beloved of so marvellous a person; what judgement Ibrahim had showed in the choice he had made of her; and out of a malicious gallantry he told her many times, that Ibrahim was to blame for abandoning her at Monaco, to come and keep his word with him; that it was a great fault in him to go to the Persian War, and not to die with grief, rather than to quit her; that for him, if he had been in his place, he would never have done so, thinking it a great deal sweeter to die, then to be absent from her. So artificial a discourse, was not for all that interpreted by Isabel as Soliman desired, and without seeking for any hidden sense in it, she believed that it was a pure effect of the Sultan's compliance, who thinking to please her, would talk to her of Ibrahim in any manner whatsoever. In this ignorance, she always answered him very civilly, and with a great deal of respect; so that interpreting in this sort all that Soliman said unto her, she put him into an extreme pain. For without telling her precisely, that he was in love with her beauty, he would fain have had her perceive it; being so afraid to offend her, that this fear peradventure might have wrought that in him, which Reason could not do, had it not been for the messages, which the Slave whom Roxelana had suborned, at several times brought him.  
But whilst Isabel talked of Soliman's generosity, all the Sultanaes' had not other discourse but of the love which he bore her. Asteria, perceiving it as well as the rest, and knowing to what violences this passion carried the Grand Signior, was much afflicted at it, for Isabella's interest, whom she exceedingly loved. This melancholy was quickly marked by the Princess, and whereas her cares and her merit had given her an high place in her affection, she one day conjured her to acquaint her with the cause of it. Asteria judging with reason, that if she should tell her the truth, it would very much grieve her, excused herself from it at first as well as she could; but coming to consider, that it might be the ignorance wherein Isabel lived, might further augment her unhappiness, she resolved to confide in her, and to impart unto her the suspicions she had. That which made Asteria be interessed so strongly for all that concerned Ibrahim, as to forget the Sultan's interests, was because she had understood how mightily he had protected Mustapha and Gianger her brothers, whom she had infinitely loved; and how he had always opposed the violences of Roxelana, to whom she bore a secret hatred, whose chief foundation was in her proper virtue. Asteria, following her resolution, after she had prepared Isabella's mind by a long discourse, to make good use of the advice she was going to give her, and after Isab●lla had on her side promised her all manner of fidelity, told her, that knowing the Sultan her father, as she did, she feared lest her beauty had possessed him with more love for her, than he had friendship for Ibrahim; and that at last his reason would be found weaker than his passion: That she desired to discover her suspicions unto her, to the end she might through her prudence examine the matter, lest being altogether ignorant of it, she might increase the Grand Signior's unjust designs by innocent civilities.  
At first this discourse surprised her, she changed colour ever and anon, and out of the trouble she was in, she thought that Asteria spoke not the truth, though she could not imagine any reasonable cause for this fiction. The Sultanaes' ingenuity notwithstanding destroyed this secret accusation, which she charged her within her heart; and passing from one extremity to another, she in an instant justified not only Asteria, but Soliman also, and calling to mind all that this Prince had done for Ibrahim, she believed that the Sultana gave an ill interpretation to the Grand Signiors civilities; and took that for testimonies of love, which she was persuaded was but an effect of his friendship to Ibrahim. This last thought having quieted her mind, she thanked Asteria for the care she had of her, commended her generosity and wisdom; and testified at last how she could not believe that so great a Prince, as Soliman, could be capable of letting himself be vanquished by so unjust a passion, as that was whereof she spoke. I wish it may be so, said the Sultana Asteria, both for the glory of Soliman, and your content; but take heed, as I have already told you, that your beauty be not more powerful in the Soul of the Grand Signior, than his friendship to Ibrahim. If that should be true, replied the Princess, it would rather be an effect of my unhappiness, then of my beauty; but I profess unto you that I shall never resolve to accuse this Prince, till I am forced thereunto by himself.  
This conversation being ended, and the Sultana gone, Isabel found not herself so quiet; howbeit Emilia confirmed her in the opinion, that Soliman's respects to her proceeded only from friendship, in making her consider, that Asteria's conjecture was questionless grounded on the belief of all the other Sultanaes', who supposed that the Grand Signior could not have any affection for a woman, but strait it must be love; and who out of jealousy for the presents that he sent her, and the civilities that he used to her, had imagined it could not be otherwise. This reasoning carrying some likelihood with it, comforted the Princess a little, and after she had run over in her memory all that Soliman had said, she found, being willing to deceive herself, that all his discourses and all his actions, might be interpreted to his advantage: yet saw she not so much certainty in all that she imagined, that she durst absolutely rely upon it: and though she feared the sight of the Grand Signior, out of the doubt she was in of finding him guilty, yet had she some instants, wherein she desired it, out of a hope of justifying him.  
Roxelana on her side, having communicated her design to Rustan, and he approving of it, they thought of nothing but of augmenting Soliman's love to Isabel, by the obliging messages, which that suborned Slave delivered to him daily. It was at the same time, when as there were three marvellous beautiful Slaves presented to the Sultan, who without being ever a whit touched with their charms, had refused them, if he had not by chance demanded of them whence they were; but having understood that they were of Italy, he retained them with a purpose to bestow them on Isabel, seeking after nothing with more care, then to please her. He went then to visit her, after he had commanded that those three Slaves should be carried into the old Seraglio: And whereas Asteria's discourse to her had rendered her more melancholic than she used to be, he marvelled at it, and by his much pressing her to let him know the cause thereof, he made the Princess apprehend, that the Sultana's suspicions were justly grounded; yet destroyed she herself, this her own opinion: and having answered the Grand Signior, that her melancholy was derived from the remembrance of her past misfortunes, rather than from any other reason, he desired her to forget them, and not to render herself unhappy with things, which would never arrive to her again. He told her afterwards, that to comfort and delight her, he had chosen her out three Slaves, which it may be would not be disagreeable unto her; and would understand her orders better than the others which had been given her, because they were of her own Country. Isabel answered thereunto very civilly, and the Grand Signior having commanded them to be brought in, the Princess was strangely surprised, when she saw that these three Slaves were Sophronia the sister of Leonora, Leonida, Alphonso's Mistress, and Hippolita, Doria's sister. She had no sooner perceived them, but she gave a great skrick, then turning herself to Soliman, May it please thy Highness to pardon me, said she unto him, if I lose the respect which I own unto thee, and if the joy to see persons that are so dear to me, is stronger in me then good manners. In saying so, after she had made a low obeisance to the Sultan, she went and embraced her dear friends; who were no less amazed and glad than she, to encounter her in a place, where they hoped for no consolation.  
This first compliment being over, Isabella once again besought the Grand Signior to pardon her, if friendship and surprisal had constrained her to fail in that which she owed to him. The incomparable Isabel, answered he, can owe nothing to any body; and in what place of the world soever she can be, she can never want Slaves. This civility is too excessive, replying the Princess blushing, and I shall hold myself infinitely obliged to thy Highness, if thou wilt give me for companions these three fair maids, whom Fortune hath made thy Slaves. I have already said, answered he, that Isabel may command absolutely; and I swear unto her further, how there is but one only thing, which she may not obtain of me.  
After this speech, whereof the Princess durst not demand the explication, Soliman would needs know of her, whether these three beautiful persons were of Genova, as well as they were of Italy; and when she had informed him that they were, he used a great deal of civility towards them; and enquiring of Hippolita where her brother was, he understood that he ●nd three of his friends were Slaves in Constantinople. My Lord, said Isabella unto him presently, in casting herself at his feet, I humbly beseech thy Highness to grant them their liberty. We have not used to refuse Isabel any thing, said he unto her, lifting her up; and without enquiring who Doria's friends be, I declare them free; and in what hands soever they are, their chains shall be instantly broken. Sophronia, Hippolita, and Leonida would have fallen on their knees to render him thanks, but he not permitting it, told them, how it was Isabel they were to thank, and not him. And having demanded of them, to whom their friends were Slaves, they answered, that he which presented them to his Highness could tell to whom he had sold them.  
The Grand Signior, desiring to oblige the Princess in all things, went away for to leave her at liberty to entertain her dear friends, and to take order for the delivery of those Slaves, whom she had recommended unto him. When he was gone, embraces and civilities began afresh between Isabel and these three fair maids: Emilia likewise testified the satisfaction which she had to see them; but in the midst of their first apprehensions of joy, the remembrance of their pleasures past, made them shed tears of sorrow. They demanded of one another, by what adventure they were met together in the same place; and being scarce able to believe what they saw was true, their amazement redoubled every moment. The desire of demanding one thing was lost by the curiosity of knowing another, and going both at once to ask the Princess questions, and to answer those which she asked of them, neither of them answered precisely to each other. Howbeit the Princess understood that those Friends, which were Slaves, as well as Doria, were Horatio, the French Marquis, and Alphonso. She desired to hear some news of the Count of Lavagna, and of Leonora his wife, but Sophronia told her sighing, that she should know their adventures too soon; and Hippolita added, that in a day wherein Fortune had done them so great a grace, it was not fit to remember so many misfortunes.  
In the mean time Isabel, who seared lest the name of Seraglio should disquiet them, and make them conceive something to her disadvantage, acquainted them with the difference which there was between the old Seraglio, and that of the Grand Signior's women. And whereas in her discourse she many times named Ibrahim without thinking of it, and spoke of him, as of a man, in consideration of whom the Sultan favoured her, Sophronia demanded of her, who this Ibrahim was? This question made the Princess blush, but at length she informed them that this Ibrahim was Justiniano; it seeming unto her, that in the estate wherein their fortune stood, it was not requisite to make a secret of his adventures to them. This novelty equally surprised Hippolita, Leonida, and Sophronia; not being able to imagine, but that all which they were told was any other than a fiction: Their own experience forced them notwithstanding to believe, that what had been imparted to them was true, there being no more difficulty in giving credit to that which was arrived to them, th●n to that which had happened to Isabel.  
When it was almost Evening, the Bostangibassi came to the Princess from Sol●man, to tell her, that according to her order (for he was commanded to speak to her in those terms) he had caused Horatio, Doria, and Alphonso to be delivered; but for the other, he could not possibly learn as yet where he was; that all he could understand of him was, how in less than a month he had changed his Master nine or ten times; but he besought her not to be troubled at it, assuring her that he would the next day make a general review of all the Slaves in Constantinople, rather than fail in finding out of him, whom she desired to have: That moreover, the Sultan was very sorry he could not leave with her the three persons, which he had presented unto her, out of a belief that they should have been her Slaves; for in regard they were not to be entreated so, it would be the abusing both of their Religion and Custom, to let so many persons of a free condition, and of a faith differing from his, be in the old Seraglio. Howbeit, not to deprive her altogether of a conversation that was so agreeable to her, she might go every day and visit them at Ibrahim's Palace, where their friends were already attending for them, and whither he had order to conduct them; assuring her that they should be served there with as much care, as respect. The Princess received this news with a great deal of grief; and she would fain have obliged him that brought her this message, to have gone and besought his Highness from her, that he would permit her to accompany her friends to the Grand Viziers Palace; but he answered her, that the order which had been given him was absolute, and how he could do no other than execute it.  
Isabella it may be would have redoubled her entreaties, had not the Sultana Asteria arrived: who having been informed of the estate of things, counselled her not to exasperate the mind of Soliman, and to comply with him in this particular, which he did not desire of her without some reason; it being very certain that it was altogether extraordinary to see persons, that were free and Christians, in the old Seraglio. Isabel, who knew the virtue and discretion of Asteria, resolved to yield to that which was desired of her, in taking leave of her dear friends; who left her with tears in their eyes, having this comfort notwithstanding that they were going to meet, not only with their Brothers, but with their Lovers also; for Time, Fortune, and Slavery, had not changed their hearts: Horatio, Sophronia's Brother, loved Hippolita still; so did Doria, Hipolita's Brother, Sophronia; and in like manner Alphonso continued constant to Leonida. But for Isabel, she remained without any consolation, but that which was given her by the hope she had to go the next day and visit these fair infortunate ones, whose encounter had possessed her with as much grief, as joy, both by the thought that they were not Slaves, and the displeasure she was in for being so soon deprived of their sight.   

The Fifth Book.  
IT was no sooner day, but Isabel sent to desire permission of the Grand Signior, that she might go and visit her dear friends, which he durst not deny, so much was he afraid to displease her; He repent him nevertheless for having made Hippolita, Sophronia, and Leonida go out of the Seraglio; and feared lest that which he had done for his content should destroy it; for it was true, that he was not carried thereunto, so much by the requisiteness of things, as the doubt he was in, that he should not be able to speak to the Princess in private, so long as they were with her. Isabella then, having obtained the permission which she had demanded, went to Ibrahim's Palace with as much magnificence, as if she had been the Sultana Queen. Horatio, Alphonso, Leonida, Sophronia, and Hippolita, received her with exceeding satisfaction, yet was it less for all that then Doria's, who having understood from his sister, that Justiniano was in that Country, was in so extraordinary an impatience to know by what adventure he was come thither again, as he had scarcely made his first compliment, when as he conjured her to acquaint him with it: But she, that was in no less to understand his, and those of his friends, and by what hap they were arrived there, told him, that he should not know it, till he had informed her what good or bad fortune had conducted them to Constantinople. Hippolita and Horatio professed, that that was the least thing they could pay her for the liberty which she had given them. As for Sophronia, she consented not without regret to this sad and pitiful relation, well foreseeing that so lamentable a discourse would cost her many a tear: howbeit she desired at least, that Doria might be he who might recount their misfortunes, it being impossible for her to do it. Doria, not using to resist Sophronia, was preparing to obey her, when as Horatio told his sister, that it would be unjust to oblige him to this relation, by reason of the name he bore; and albeit that they which were mingled in this adventure were his Enemies, yet were they still his Kinsmen. Doria answered thereunto smiling, that Lovers had no others but those of their Mistresses: But in the end Alphonso was the man that contented the curiosity of Isabel. As soon as for the honour of Ibrahim's Palace, she had led them into his Cabinet, and that they were set down there, Alphonso, addressing himself to Isabel, began to speak in this manner.  

The History of GIOVANNI LODOVICO Count of LAVAGNA.  
SEeing our misfortunes, and your retirement, have made you almost a stranger in your own Country; and that your absence hath kept you since from knowing our mishaps, I will content your curiosity, and recount all this story unto you, as if you had not been born at Genova, and that all the persons, of whom I am to speak, were unknown to you; Yet have you not forgotten, as I think, that the Family of the Fiesques, being one of the noblest, and most illustrious of all Italy, as having twice furnished a head to all Christendom, given so many Cardinals to Rome, and so many great men to the world, was that also which Andrea Doria had always most dreaded, ever since that action which made him merit the having of a Statue at Genova. They that intermeddle with the knowledge of things, and that judge not of intentions by appearances and events, will not have the designs of Andrea Doria to be always so disinteressed, as they have appeared unto us; but in fine, this is not a place, where I am to tell you what the Count believed concerning him: As for me, that ever speaks sincerely of things, I hold that his intentions were as fair as his enterprise.  
But to come to that which I am to impart to you, and to keep you from being too much surprised by the Counts last action, I am to tell you, that although in appearance he was the sweetest, the civilest, the gallantest, and of the freest and most peaceable disposition that ever had been seen, and that he gave himself to all the exercises of a man of his quality, wherein he had profited admirably, yet had he an imperious spirit, and was always possessed with some great design. Ambition, and the desire of glory, were his predominant passions, and the only things for which he did all others. His education did not contribute aught to these thoughts; for whereas he remained yet young enough under the government of his Mother, who was the most ambitious woman that ever was, she gave him a part of her inclinations. He had had for his Governor one named Pensa, by Simbaldo his father's appointment, whose manners were wholly noble, and that had instructed him in all the fairest knowledges, which a person of his condition might have. But this man being too moderate for the bringing up of the Count according to his mother's designs, she placed another about him, but yet without removing the former, to the end that if the one taught him the Sciences, the other should teach him not to make use of them, but to arrive at the height of sovereign greatness. These two men being opposite in all things, gave him also quite contrary counsels. The first made him in the Roman History observe the noble actions of those, who had exposed themselves for the safety of the Commonwealth; and the other made him oftentimes read the Conspiracy of Catiline, the lives of Tiberius and Nero; Nevertheless whereas the Count's inclinations were too virtuous to love crimes, he followed not the advice of this same; but his Soul being withal too ambitious to be confined within the directions of Pensa, he took a third way, and loved nothing so much as the reading of the lives of Alexander and Caesar, especially of this last; and he was wont to say, that they which had called him Tyrant were to blame; since he can never be so, that aspires not to the sovereign power, but for the using of it well; and they which found themselves capable of governing people, were responable to Heaven for not employing a Talon, which might be advantageous to all the world.  
These discourses were not at that time considered but by his Mother, who took incredible delight therein: but at length, the Count, being arrived at seventeen years of age, saw Leonora, the sister of Julio and Horatio Cibo, in an assembly, where Jannetin Doria, the Nephew and Favourite of Andrea Doria, was present as well as he. You have without doubt observed, that Leonora, though gentle and civil, had for all that a majestic reservedness, which shown in her behaviour that she had something of great in her Soul. I tell you this, Madam, to let you know withal, that it was with this charm, rather than with her beauty, that she began to please the Count He regarded and observed her with care; and seeing nothing in all her actions, that was not both extreme civil, and a little imperious, he began to love her, and so much the more ardently, because he knew that this alliance would not be disadvantageous to him; if he sought after either nobility of race, or commodity of riches, for that being born of a first wife of her fathers, she was her only heir. But if Leonora was agreeable to the eyes of the Count, it may be said, that he seemed charming to Leonora's: and verily I must acknowledge, that I never saw him so amiable, as in this assembly; and if I must speak the truth, I do not believe that there can scarce be found in one only person greater quality than he had. And for agreeable things, it may be well assured, that never man was more proper to make himself be beloved. His beauty, his good aspect, his conversation, his compliance, his merry and jovial humour, his address in dancing, in playing on the Lute, in singing, in riding, and all other things that can give any liking, rendered him incomparable. You may judge after this, whether Leonora, who had not her heart engaged otherwhere, could refuse the affection of a man, in whom she found all that she could wish for.  
This springing affection was soon known of every one, but especially of Andrea Doria, who was advertised thereof in a time, when as the Count could not yet tell very well himself, whether he loved Leonora or no: for the first time that he began to consider her with indifferency, was on the day of that assembly, which I have spoken to you of already, and where Jannetin was present, who always regarding the Count as his Competitor had perceived it, and therewith acquainted his Uncle. We have learned since, that Andrea Doria no sooner understood of the Count's design, but falling into a deep muse he appeared very sad and unquiet; and that after his musing was over, he commanded Jannetin to beware of the Count's designs: for, said he unto him raising up his voice, it is fit for us to observe this young Lion. He is undertaking, and hardy, and if we suffer him to gather new forces, by allying with the house of Cibo, and Leonora's riches, he will be capable of enterprizing any thing. Jannetin hearkened to this discourse as one that was interessed therein, and obeying Andrea's order, he observed the Count and Leonora, and confirmed himself in the opinion he had had, both by his own knowledge, and the talk of the Town. Being in no longer doubt than but that the Count was in love with Leonora, he advertised his Uncle of it, who without further delay commanded him to be the Count's Rival in this suit. It would not be enough, said he to Jannetin, if we should but break off the Count's marriage; but we must make profit of his damage, and pluck the weapons out of his hands, to destroy him therewith when we ar● Masters of them. You must marry Leonora, she is fair and amiable; but were she only noble and rich, it would be enough to oblige you to marry her. Think of it then, Jannetin; you are young as well as the Count, you have spirit and courage, and though it may be you have not so good a grace as he, yet you are Nephew to Andrea Doria, and that is to say every thing. Think then of winning Leonora's heart, before it be engaged; but above all, come to no violence; for it imports much, that the adoptive son of him, who hath restored Genova to her liberty, should not engage him to protect him in such like things. Jannetin, who held all his fortune from Andrea Doria, and who reverenced him more than if he had been his father, promised him to forget nothing of all that should lie in his power to satisfy him; as indeed, all that care and magnificence could contribute to gallantry, appeared in Genova at that time; and had not your melancholy retained you then at Monaco, you would have acknowledged as well as we, that the like had never been seen.  
But whereas the Count could not give place to any body, he no sooner understood Jannetin's design, but he overtopped him in all things. There was nothing but running it the Ring, Attorneys, Serenades, Balls, and Feasts; and in all things if the Count was not more magnificent, yet was he more gentile. His apparel was braver, his horses were gallanter, his matches better made, his serenades better consorted; in fine, he had the advantage in all things. And whereas he loved Leonora really, all the testimonies he gave her of it, wrought another effect in her heart, than the feigned protestations of Jannetin, who prevailed not with her at all. Things continued a while in this manner, during the which these two Rivals lived civilly enough together, as well by reason of the order which Jannetin had received for it, as of Leonora's prudence, and the Counts address, who never made sh●w of perceiving his Rivals designs; though each of them did for his part all that he could to destroy his enemy. But at last Love and Fortune ceased to be blind in this occasion, and gave the prize to him that best deserved it.  
The Count had Leonora's permission to demand her of her brothers, under whose government she had been ever since the death of her mother; he was their particular friend, so that upon the first overture which he made to them of it, they received him with incredible joy, and assured him (especially Horatio, who was more a friend to the Count than Julio) provided their sister did not oppose his content, that he was certain to be happy. The Count, who was no less discreet than passionate, would not let them know that their consent was craved to a thing already resolved, but only told them, that from their mouths he desired to understand Leonora's mind, and from them receive either his good or bad fortune. In the mean time Jannetin found that Leonora favoured the Count to his prejudice, yea and that she was resolved never to marry any but him. He thought fit to advertise Andrea Doria of it, who came to know by another, to whom the Count's mother had told it, that he had spoken of his marriage to Horatio, who had answered her favourably, which Andrea Doria understanding, he told Jannetin, that he was to conserve with address the friendship of him, whom he could not destroy by force; that one of the greatest effects of prudence was, when one could not vanquish his enemies, to constrain them to be his friends; and not being otherways able to keep them from hurting, one must, continued he, tie their hands with a false generosity, especially when one hath for opposite an illustrious adversary, such as the Count is. Go then, Jannetin, said he unto him, give up a victory, which you are not able to carry away; and making show as though you come to learn that he hath a design for Leonora, tell him that you prefer his content before your love, and so as he will be your friend, you will yield him your Mistress with joy: But so order the matter, that this may be heard by some, to the end that the Count knowing how the world believes he is obliged to you, may also in consideration of the world, and for fear of being blamed, live hereafter with you, as if he were your friend. Madam, do not think it strange, that I should know so many particularities of Andrea Doria's discourses; but be pleased to understand, that a friend doth not so well know what is done in his friend's house, as mighty enemies do ordinarily know what they project one against another: yet was it not equally so between the Count and Andrea Doria, it being certain that this last knew nothing of the Count's designs, what care soever he took for it; whereas he on the contrary could conceal none of his from him.  
But to come again to Jannetin, he had been no sooner instructed by his Uncle, but he went home to the Count, who attended with a great deal of impatience the answer which Horatio was to make him, for it was he who had in charge to give it him, he quitted this musing humour to receive Jannetin's visit with his ordinary civility; and according to Andrea Doria's direction, three of Jannetin's friends arrived at the same time to be witnesses of these two Rivals conversation. After the first compliments, Jannetin told the Count, that he came not only to render him a visit, but also to render him up his arms, and to demand the grace of him, that he might be one of the captives of his Triumph. I know not, answered the Count, what Triumph you mean. It is a Triumph, replied Jannetin, wherein for a Trophy of Arms you shall have all the chains of the Lovers of the incomparable Leonora; who knowing that you alone merit her, will follow you without regret or envy; at least wise I am come hither to assure you, that that is my intention: and if I had known that you had born an affection to her, I would have been your Confident, rather than your Rival; yet am I not sorry, that I have had the commodity to testify unto you, that nothing in the world is so dear to me as your friendship.  
The Count understood presently Jannetin's cunning, yet would make no show of it, but contrarily answered him with a great deal of civility and gallantry. I thought, said he unto him, that I had nothing to vanquish but the rigours of my Mistress, and if I had believed that I had had so redoubtable a Rival as you, I had not it may be undertaken to serve her: But since you are so obliging, as to content yourself with meriting her, without pretending to her possession, I am ravished to know that you have judged her worthy of your esteem; and to understand that I shall have nothing more than her cruelty to surmount; since if you had continued serving her, and that she had been just, I should in your triumph have held the place, which you demand in mine; and which I do not grant you, seeing he that yields up a victory cannot be said to have been overcome. Jannetin, hearing the Count speak in this sort, believed, that his cunning had succeeded, and took that for a testimony of friendship and freedom, which was but an address of his wit; and that not having been able to vanquish him in love, he had at least surmounted him in subtlety, and was arrived at the end he had propounded to himself. But the Count was too clear sighted to be deceived so easily; and whereas the most dextrous guile is that which persuades our enemies that they have beguiled us, though indeed we are not; the Count said so many obliging things to Jannetin, as he made no doubt at all, but that he had abused his enemy; and that from thenceforward he would count himself effectively his obliged: nevertheless it proved not so, as you will understand by the sequel of this discourse.  
In the mean time Horatio came to the Count, and having at first embraced him in naming him brother, he absolutely assured him of Leonora's consent. But not to stand relating to you the rejoicings of a time, whose felicity is so far from that which we have passed since, I will only tell you, that a little while after the nuptials of the Count and Leonora were celebrated. You were invited, but you would not quit your solitude to come and see the magnificences of that feast. Jannetin was the forwardest of all the City, to testify the joy he was in for that of the Count, who afterwards served him in his suit to her whom he married; and lived always with him, as if he had been one of his dearest friends, albeit in his heart he had quite contrary thoughts.  
The Count's Mother was ravished with her son's marriage; Leonora was infinitely contented; Julio seemed satisfied; Horatio esteemed himself very happy in it; and Sophronia was so much the more pleased with it, for that being of an age wherein delights, Music, and company make up the happiness of a life, she found all these things in the Count's Palace, where s●e lived with her sister after her marriage; for it might be said, that this house was the retreat of all worthy persons, and of all pleasures, which made the Count to be loved of every one. In the mean time the prosperous success of his love, had not smothered his ambition, but contrarily his esteem of Leonora seemed to have augmented it; and Sophronia, hath assured us, ●ow she hath often heard him say, that his Fortune was not worthy of her. This generous Soul had not it may be for all that been ever capable of the resolution which he took, though ●e believed it to be just, if the counsels of three men, who did but flatter his ambition to satisfy their own, had not confirmed him in that design. And truly it must be acknowledged, that one hath never heard speak of an enterprise so daring in so young an age, of a prudence so extraordinary for the conduct of so dangerous a thing, and of a success, equal to his, if Fortune had not abandoned him.  
But, Madam, to make you acknowledge that which I say, you are to understand, that about two years ago the Count finding himself ill for certain days together, went as he used oftentimes to do into his Cabinet, whither his ambition's mother came to him, for to acquaint him, that Andrea Doria, who had adopted Jannetin for his son and successor a good while before, had then made him his Lieutenant to the charge he held of Generalissimo: And all this, continued she, whilst you are denied the pensions which the Republic gave Simbaldo your father; for it was true, that as long as he lived the Senate had assigned him a pension for a mark of honour, which had not been continued to the Court, because he had been suspecte● by Andrea Doria, an enemy of the French, to be affected to that Nation.  
In the mean time to return unto my subject, the Count had no sooner heard what his Mother said unto him, but would have answered, when as she staying him told him roundly, think before thou speakest of saying nothing to me unworthy of thyself, or of me that brought thee into the world, and know that I will disavow thee for my son, if thou be so base, as to be contented with thy fortune, and to endure, that they, who do not outgo thee either in birth or merit, should mount into the Throne, and leave thee amongst the people. This discourse nettled the great heart of the Count, who was but too sensible on that part, yet concealed he his resentment within himself, and said no more to his Mother, but that all he could promise her was, how he would absolutely lose himself, or lose them that oppressed him; and that the sequel or end of his life should not permit her to complain of him. After this she left him, but to confirm him in this dangerous design, she had consulted with those three ambitious persons, of whom I have already spoken to you: the first was the second Governor which she had given him, named Vincentio Calcagna, whose maxims were contrary to those of the generous Pensa; the second was called Raphaello Sacco, a Lawyer of Savona, and a cunning and dextrous man, who served him in the government of all his affairs; and the last Baptista Verrin, a Citizen of Genova, who dwelling close by the Count's Palace, had by his submissions, and his wit, so gained his friendship, as he was of all his counsel, and disposed almost absolutely of all his estate.  
It was then by the means of these three pernicious Counsellors, that this ambitious woman hoped to carry the Count to the taking of some violent resolution. She had advertised them to be ready to go to her son, as soon as she should come out of his Cabinet: As indeed, she was no sooner retired, but encountering them, she said unto them; Go, my dear friends, and labour for yourselves, in labouring for the Count: but above all things remember, said she to Raphaello Sacco, to counsel him unto nothing that is violent, which you cannot give a pretext unto of the public good, of equity, and of glory: for, continued she, I know the Count so well, that if you propound nothing to him but his own conservation, his utility, the advancement of his fortune, and the undoing of his enemies, you will never vanquish him: You must spur his mind forward with the desire of honour, and dextrously beguile him to keep him from beguiling our hopes. They promised her then as much as she could wish, and too faithful in this occasion they kept their word with her; at leastwise Raphaello and Baptista, for as for the third, he did that out of fear, which another would have done out of virtue.  
They went then to the Count's Cabinet, and to give him no cause of suspicion, they repaired to him separately. The first that came thither found him in a deep muse, and never taking notice of him, he continued walking without speaking a word: A little after, the other two arrived, making show as if they had not seen one another of all that day. The Count in the mean time, not doubting of the Treason which they had plotted against his virtue, seeing the three men of the world, in whom he most confided, come by chance unto him as he believed, at a time when he had need of counsel, could not forbear testifying a great deal of joy unto them for it. What good Angel, said he unto them, hath brought you so opportunely to draw me out of the thought I am in at this present? I know not, answered Baptista cunningly, whether my sight be pleasing to you or no, but I know very well that I have nothing that is pleasing to tell you. We are in an age, said the Lawyer, wherein good men have no great cause to rejoice, seeing every day the ambition of some few carry insolently away all that which ought to be the recompense of virtue. It may be some one will be found, continued Baptista, that will make a change in things. But, said the Count interrupting him, and addressing his speech to Verrin, what bad news have you to impart to me? My Lord, answered he, it is badder for the Republic, then for you; for in fine, to acquaint you that Jannetin hath still new honours conferred on him, is to tell you that the power of Andrea Doria will pass into his hands; that his Tyranny will be perpetuated in the person of his Nephew; and that we shall never have the happiness to see virtue where it ought to be.  
It is certain, added Raphaello Sacco, that this is the sense of all good men; and in the misery of the age, it seems, said he, addressing himself to the Count, that all the world turn their ey●● upon you. Your illustrious and great birth, accompanied with so many rare qualities as are in your person, makes all them that love the public good desire, that your fortune were as great as your heart: And for my particular, I would gladly see your virtue on a Theatre higher than that whereon you are, to the end you might be seen of every one: But you are born in so unhappy an age, as it seems you cannot aspire to the power of doing good to your Citizens; so true it is, that Andrea and Jannetin Doria, under the name of the public liberty, have solidly established their Power, or to say better, their Tyranny. And in this sort, one may well assure, that the people do sufficiently chastise themselves for the blind resolution, which carries them to shake off the yoke of a great and excellent Prince, to suffer to be imposed upon them that of two Tyrants, who will be so much the more cruel, by how much they are less accustmed to reign. Their weakness, being supported by the power of Caesar, and rendered insolent by the great number of warlike Vessels, which we see in the Port, will never suffer a courageous and resolute spirit. They will believe the high virtue of a man of condition too dangerous for their rising fortune to endure. They will make use of the ambitious Titles, of Fathers of their Country, and Restorers of the liberty, which have been given to Andrea Doria, for the oppression of the most magnanimous, with the pretext of the common good. So that a man of your courage, under this unjust dominion, is more sure of offences, then of life: and if unto this day we have not seen such like things, it is because the power of Andrea Doria, hath not yet attained to its supreme greatness; and that his moderation hath in some sort retained the imperious humour of Jannetin. You know how insolent he is, how proud, and how insupportable; think then, if when he shall see himself in an estate of being able to do whatsoever he will, and followed by young people, who reverence him by reason of his Charge, whether there be any thing which will not be permitted to his capricious humours? Do you believe, that a spirit insatiable as his is, will be restrained within the bounds of Reason? Do you believe, that the desire or thirst of reigning, exasperated by so certain a hope, can be extinguished but with the blood of innocents'? Do you believe, that content with the power, which Fortune and the simplicity of our Citizens have given him, he will die with the sole name of Jannetin? For me, I do not believe it. His mind is not so moderate, as that he will, or knows how to contain himself, upon the point of arriving at his last felicity. He attends, as I conceive, the death of Andrea, which cannot be but near at hand, that he may follow all his inclinations; and to that effect, being already in the possession of the hearts of the Nobles, he goes nourishing the people in idleness, and the gain of commerce, to the end that this effeminacy depriving them of courage, and being disaccustomed from the exercise of Arms, they may not dare to resist him, when he shall enterprise any thing; and by this means he hides a parricidial design under the vail of the public repose and tranquillity.  
But let us presuppose, that the divine providence, for the preservation of this Republic, should take him off from this dangerous design; the continuance alone of the rank whereunto he is raised, aught to put shame and confusion into the hearts of all the other Citizens, whose births are noble. What reason is there, that in a free Province, so many men of eminent quality, which yield not unto him, either in nobility, or courage, should live as private persons, whilst he alone, with the magnificence of a Prince, regards all the rest as his inferiors, and in such sort, as they seem to depend absolutely on him? what Law of a well-ordered Republic consents unto it? what Nation is there, that is not barbarous, which permits it? in what history of civilised people is any thing seen that authorises it? If hitherto you have not in your particular tried the insolency of this haughty humour, it is because there hath no occasion been offered for it; and you know but too well the thoughts which he hath for you: But henceforward you must partake in the public miseries; yea I do foretell it with grief, that you will be seen, as others, to visit him, accompany him, serve him, and obey him, as our Sovereign: and Jannetin Doria shall reckon up amongst the Trophies of his insupportable temerity, that Giovanni Lodovico, Count of Lavagna, courted him, reverenced him, and basely crouched under his dominion. O! how fitter were it, that rousing up your spirit, at the complaints of an oppressed people; and taking a resolution worthy of your Country, of your race, and virtue, you would deliver all your Citizens from this infamy, as well as yourself. But it may be that means would be wanting to you for the execution of this design; contrarily never thing was more facile. If you turn your eyes towards Rome, you will find all the succour there, that you can desire. If you seek for protection in Franc●, the Enemy of Doria cannot fail of encountering a mighty one there. Here in Genova, the people, always a foe to Tyranny, will serve you for a sword and buckler. Jannetin blinded, or rather lulled asleep with his good fortune, will fall of himself into the nets which you shall lay for him. Your own subjects, and the Duke of Placentia's, will defend you from all opposition. In fine, all things invite you to victory, there is nothing wanting, saving only your Will, not for you to fight, but to triumph. As Andrea Doria made use of the pretext of liberty to oppress his Country, so do you make use of the pretext of Tyranny to deliver yours. And consider, that it is absolutely necessary for you, either to command, or to serve; to render yourself dreadful to others, or to live in continual fear. And since Heaven hath given you all that can be desired for so glorious an enterprise, birth, courage, wit, conduct, and means, be sure to make a profitable use thereof; and do not render yourself worthy of the servitude that is prepared for you, in neglecting so fair an occasion to avoid it.  
Raphaello Sacco, could not have touched the mind of the Count in a more sensible part; and this man being born for great matters, was extremely pleased, in that he could persuade himself, by the reasons alleged unto him, that he might both together deliver his Country, revenge his own injuries, destroy his Enemies, content his ambition, and do nothing contrary to glory. The joy he had of it made him resolve to open his heart to his Confidents; whereupon he acknowledged unto them, that from his tenderest years, he had felt a disposition in himself to undertake that which had been now propounded unto him; that he had ever been an Enemy to Jannetin, though he appeared to be otherwise; that his insolency was insupportable to him; that having been his Rival in love, he would be the same in ambition: Then he recounted unto them, how Andrea Doria would have broken off his marriage; and for a conclusion, he declared un●o them plainly, that he would change the order of things, and for that effect crave the protection of France, as being very much inclined to that Kingdom.  
Vincentio Calcagna, seeing how ardently the Count was carried to this design, and that he spoke of it as of a thing which he had a long time before determined, was constrained to yield to his temper, which was exceeding timorous: And though he had promised the Count's Mother all that she had desired of him, and that all his life-time he had given l●ssons of Tyranny and Usurpation to him whom he had brought up, yet seeing the peril so near, and doubting to be involved in it, and to lose all his fortune, in losing the Count, whom he he dearly loved; fear made him perform an action of virtue, and pushed on with zeal and dread, he spoke to the Count much after this manner. If you be as strongly resolved to attempt some change in the affairs of the State, as your speech doth witness, I may, O my dear Master, rather lam●nt our common misfortunes, then draw any advantage by contradicting you: but if my good fortune can make your prudence give some room to second thoughts, which ordinarily are the intest, you will in this occasion make trial of the ardour and fidelity which I carry to your service, by the liberty of my discourse, as you have made trial of my diligence, in the encounters where it hath been necessary unto you. Until now you have lived in so constant a felicity, as it may be said, you have never seen Fortune displeased; and that is the cause why your imagination presents none but agreeable objects unto you; that is it which makes you, according to the custom of the happy, think of nothing but Victories, Sceptres, and Crowns: But I am much afraid lest these deceiving hopes be not one day destroyed by some fatal event, which will be so much the more insupportable unto you, by how much you have less foreseen it. To go about to alter any thing in the Government of the Republic, in a time wherein we are, is an enterprise attended with so many difficulties, and exposed to evident a peril, as I cannot force my mind to figure it unto me certain and facile, as one would persuade you. For in fine, you will pretend either to make use of strangers, or to hold intelligence with our Citizens; of the former I see no likelihood for it: but suppose it were possible, at leastwise the matter could not be carried with such speed and so secretly, but the City, Doria, or the Emperor, would have notice of it. Italy, for your ill fortune, is at this present in so great a trouble, as every one's eyes are open upon his neighbour's affairs: And Genova itself, by reason of its situation on the brink of the sea, is guarded as the key of that State. The D●●chy of Milan, which hath been a long time, both a prey and place of battle to the fortune of the Imperial and French Armies, makes Caesar regard Genova, as the only defence, and sole rampart, which covers his power in Italy. Doria also serves the Emperor with twenty Galleys, but a great deal more with the goodwill of the Citizens, who believe they are obliged unto him: Besides this, all the Co●st of the River of Genova, especially towards the Levant, is absolutely at his devotion. The City, that is still much troubled with the Tyranny of the Duke of Milan, and Government of the French, detests the very name of foreign dominion. You may indeed with small forces discover your intention, but not arrive at your end. It is so much the more grievous, that enterprises of this nature are not favourably judged of, but by their happy success, and that is it which I do not see you can obtain. For from what part hope you for great Troops? The King of France, on whose protection you rely, hath not so little to do, in regard of his pretensions to the Kingdom of Naples, and Duchy of Milan, but if he had even a mind to make some new stir in Italy, that he could come and succour you with all his forces, which are employed for the safety of his frontiers. But say that he, or any other Prince, should undertake it, could you believe that the Emperor, who for his own interest takes that of Genova upon him, would not oppose them with forces, if not greater, at leastwise equal to those which you should draw to your assistance? And that being so, you would see your designs but ill assured, since they would still depend on the loss or gain of a battle, whose event is always doubtful: but on which side soever the victory doth fall, you are still to follow the pleasure of the conqueror, nothing being left you that is certain, but the shame of having deprived your Country of her Liberty, for to submit it to a stranger. But if you turn your eyes to a nearer succour, by thinking to find it in this City; either I know not the humour, and inclinations of the Genovesses, or your hopes are but weakly grounded. Tell me, I pray you, from which sort of our Citizens do you look for assistance? Will it be from the Nobles? into whose hands Andrea Doria hath put the power and government, and who being obliged to him for the authority they enjoy, live in an happy and honourable tranquillity, so that no change being able to arrive, which would not be disadvantageous to them, how would you have them aid you in an enterprise, which would precipitate them into a more miserable estate then ever they were? Is it possible, that merely to comply with you, they should forget their Country, their liberty, their fortunes, their wives, and their children? Is it possible, that they should prefer your friendship, before the protection of Doria, whom they reverence as their common father? No, no, disabuse yourself from this error; and believe too, that the people will not be more  unto you, since it is true, that the more hate they bear to the Nobles, the less will they trust you, who being the most illustrious amongst them, cannot easily persuade them, that you have no intent to do them hurt. But grant that some of them could believe it, the Chief of the popular families would never consent that their welfare should come from your hand.  
Again, if you pretend to usurp the Empire of the Republic, what act can be farther from meriting the goodwill of the people? But it may be you will say, that you will re-establish the first form of Government, changed by Doria, where the popular authority did all things; and that by the declaration thereof the multitude will rise for your advantage: For my part, I am not of a contrary opinion, but believe, as well as you, that those which are ill satisfied will with joy embrace an occasion of renewing their ancient Tragedies; and so much the more ardently, for that they shall reap all the profit of it, nothing remaining for you but shame and infamy. For, for you to imagine, that the Fregoses and Adorns, who so many years together have fought one against another, to obtain the prime rank in the administration of the popular affairs, will yield it to a man of your birth, is a thing which cannot be believed without clashing with Reason. They will it may be commend your temerity, and name it valour; they will follow your Colours, as those of their Deliverer; they will rejoice to see the Noblemen put in chains, by the hand of a Nobleman; the bowels of their Country torn out by you; the common rest troubled by your fury; their Tyranny established by your fault: but a time will come when wholly discharging themselves of the sedition which you have caused, the people will give them the recompense of your travels, the glory of your enterprise, and the triumph of your combats. In what terms will you find yourself then? Which way will you turn yourself for shame? Detested of the Nobles, whom you shall have betrayed; despised of the people, who will deride the means which have caused their utility and your ruin; abominable to your Country, as having ravished her of her liberty; an Enemy to Caesar, the Protector of the Republic; suspected of the King of France, who desires to have an absolute power at Genova; and hated of all the world, which naturally and reasonably abhors Treasons.  
In fine, I am forced to tell you, and it is necessary that you should understand it, the extreme love which I bear you permits it me, and my fidelity enjoins me to it. I fear, I say (and may it please God that my fear may be vain) that these thoughts of troubles and disquiets be not foretellers of your bad fortune; which it may be hath already resolved the loss of your estate, of your life and reputation. You know that Jannetin Doria regards you with an eye of envy, and you yourself have oftentimes complained to me of the treacheries he intended against you; why then will you furnish him with Arms to destroy you? With what avidity and joy would he embrace the occasion to be revenged of you, and to content his particular hatred to your person, under the pretext of the public good? He will rejoice in his heart at this resolution, and excess of courage, which precipitates you; and taking up Arms openly against you with all the partakers of his fortune, with what reasons will not he justify his violences? You shall be the Enemy of the people's tranquillity; the Tyrant of the common liberty; a Rebel to the Republic; and the Catiline of Genova. With these so just reproaches, and so plausible a Manifest, what one amongst the people, or amongst the Nobles, of Citizens or Strangers, of private persons or Princes, that would not arm himself to exterminate you? It is an horror to me, not only to say it, but to think it. It will be absolutely impossible for you not to be utterly confounded by the attempts of so many Enemies, as shall conspire against your life. Your Estate will be confiscated, as the goods of a Traitor; your memory will be abominable and dishonoured in the Annals of Genova: and Jannetin, acknowledged for a second Deliverer of his Country, and Restorer of Liberty, will build his glory on the ruins of yours. We shall see, it may be, that the gratitude of the Genovesses will erect a Statue to Jannetin, which shall be placed near to that of Andrea, in the inscription whereof shall be seen graven the name of Giovanni Lodovico, Count of Lavagna, the public Enemy, subdued by Jannetin Doria, the Benefactor of his Country.  
Now I beseech you, suffer not yourself to be carried away by the impetuosity of age and choler to so evident a peril. Let the pity of yourself, of your family, and of your subjects, arrest you. Remember what you own to your birth, to your reputation, to your Country, and to God: Have compassion of the miseries of your wife; free the minds of those that love you from so just a fear; consider that your youth, accompanied with so many virtues, ought not to be so precipitously thrown into the hands of Fortune. Enjoy, enjoy, the blessings which your Predecessors have left you in so great abundance; and call to mind, for the extinguishing of your ambition, that you are in so considerable a rank, which way soever a man regards you, as you may be envied even of Jannetin himself. This speech could not be heard of the Count without emotion; and seeing his design combated with such powerful Reasons, by a man too of whose affection he was so well assured, he seemed very unquiet and uncertain, which Baptista Verrin, quickly marking, conceived, that if the Count's reason had time to fortify itself in that which was good, all the enterprise would be in doubt.  
He began then with an incomparable subtlety and address gently at first to oppose Vincentio's discourse, as you shall hear, and as I understood it even from Verrin himself, who afterwards recounted all these things to us at Albengua: Behold then in what manner he spoke. I would to God, said he, that the affairs of the Republic were brought to that pass, as all our Citizens might enjoy their estates with tranquillity, I should not then be at this day in the necessity of wishing you an happier condition, since as Vincentio Calcagna hath well observed, there is never a one in Genova, either for Riches, greatness of Estates, or for illustrious Birth, can match you: Neither am I ignorant, that a wise man ought not to tempt Fortune during an extreme felicity, in regard it cannot change but to his disadvantage. Howbeit destiny, the enemy of your good, hath in such sort perplexed the State of the Republic, as you are enforced to attempt something that is great, or to perish. Jannetin Doria, who for so long a time hath regarded the Empire of Genova, as the term of his desires and ambition, cannot endure you; and if you do not see on his brow, and in his eyes, the marks of the extreme hate he bears you; if by his actions you do not discover the excess of his pride, and his contempt of your virtue; the Galleys, which you have bought against his will, may render you a sufficient testimony thereof; and persuade you, that ambition hath its jealousies as well as love; and that Jannetin regarding you as his Rival, your ruin is one of his most ardent desires. His insolency carries him so far, as he will be absolute Master of the Sea, and he will not have any man so much as dare to trouble or divide his power with him: How then will you have him endure you for a Competitor in the Government of the Commonwealth, since jealousy, or the desire of reigning, spares neither the blood of brothers, of children, no not of fathers themselves?  
A wicked inclination, and an opiniative humour, as Jannetin's is, cannot be changed but by violence: you must then, as things stand, either retire shamefully from Genova, and abandoning your Galleys to him, declare him victorious, in leaving him Master of the field, or rouse up that spirit and courage in you, which is to surmount him. But if nevertheless you be resolved to decline this peril with infamy, and to preserve your life, as having received it of grace from the hand of your enemy; I am willing, I consent to it, and will no longer oppose it; though it be the most deplorable estate, wherein even the hatred of Jannetin can wish you. But if your virtue do not deceive my hopes, in making me attend some greater and more generous thing from you, I shall see this rash man surmounted by your valour, and his pride wholly subjected to your courage. It is for you then to attempt an enterprise, which is so glorious, as even Jannetin himself will envy you for it. Fortune hath set between you two the whole Empire of Liguria; and the one cannot vanquish the other to mount into the Throne, but by passing the Chariot of his Triumph over the body of his enemy. He alone shall best assure to himself the victory, who can first prevent his enemy dextrously, by taking from him the means of outstripping him. It is a necessity common to you both, for each of you to think of your conservation; and he shall be the wisest, that with the diligence of a speedy execution shall mock at his enemy's sloth, in oppressing him without resistance. In fine, prepare yourself to assault, or to be assaulted; to lay ambushes for your enemy, or to fall into the pit which he hath digged for you; to put him to death, or to suffer death yourself. It may be this speech will seem harsh to the prudent Calcagna, but necessity, which in the most desperate affairs augmenteth valour and courage, serves also to justify the violentest actions, when the cause thereof is just, and in these occasions it may be named the buckler of innocency. Let the temerity of Jannetin, the baseness of the Genovesses, and the injustice of Fortune, which have forced you to this inevitable mischief, be accused for this enterprise. You do no body injury, when you defend yourself, but only follow the ordinary Laws of Nature.  
It is prudence to divert upon the head of our enemy the tempest which would overwhelm us: And if that cannot be done without some appearance of evil, the fault shall not be yours, but destinies, which leaves you no other mean to preserve your life, but by the death of your adversary, nor will not let your virtue be able to defend itself without a crime. But what say I, a crime I this word is for you, O too prudent Calcagna; you have learned it no doubt in the School of the Vulgar, who know not the politic of Conquerors. With such like terms the actions of private persons are spoken of, but not those of the Great: And if your Rule were true, it might be said that all Empires were Robberies, because there is none of them which was not established by that natural right, which the strong impose on the weak.  
Nature brought men into the world with an equality of all things, and yet left unto Virtue the power of raising them, which possess it, to the glory of reigning over others: From whence it comes, that the most part of those, who are Princes or Masters of the Earth, carry not that title, but because their Predecessors, by the address and by force of Arms, usurped the Empire over their equals. I do not deny but that there are some persons, who as well as Vincentio will blame your resolution, before it be conducted to its end, in regard all hardy and dangerous actions are never commended till they are executed; but as soon as the happy success of the event shall have justified and authorized the greatness of your enterprise, the blame will be turned into admiration; and that which was called temerity and imprudence, will be termed valour and greatness of courage. As long as the first of the Caesars was in Arms against Pompey, and that the Roman Empire was the cause of their conflicts, he had not only Pompey for an adversary, but even all the Nobility were his most cruel foes. In the mean time as soon as he had defeated his Enemies mighty Army in the plains of Pharsalia, and that this victory had put him in full possession of the Roman Empire, all the hatred which was born him ceased; and he was so dearly and ardently beloved of the Romans, as this affection could not finish with his life, but they punished his death with a memorable revenge. Resolve then to suffer the Genovesses for a time to call you Tyrant, and do not take this name as a grievous injury, seeing it shall be the last insolency of their dying liberty. They will accustom themselves afterwards to acknowledge you for their lawful Prince, and as such reverence you. Behold how much I rely on your fortune, in speaking to you of the felicities of your Empire, before you have resolved to fight for the acquiring of it. But things are disposed in such sort, as you may sooner be wanting to yourself, than the Empire to your virtue. For if the difficulties be great, according to Vincentio's opinion, your courage is yet greater. Let us grant him, that the enterprise is dangerous and difficult; in what History, ancient or modern, hath it been found, that the way which conducteth to glory is covered with flowers? and that an illustrious action hath been executed without pain? All great designs have always been followed by great perils; and all high places are ever near to precipices: A generous man will not for all that let the fear of an uncertain evil, make him a prey to an inevitable servitude. Amongst private persons it is an effect of prudence to be contained within mediocrity; but in affairs of State all resolutions are to be extreme, the rest being dangerous, especially in erterprises, which begin not to break forth but by their execution. For it being then no longer in our power to retain the thing, we must of necessity arrive at the end we have proposed to ourselves, or fall in the midst of the course, and be utterly lost. Yet let us not make so unhappy a presage of our designs, but let us forecast the misfortunes which may arrive to us, not to torment ourselves in the expectation of them, but by prudence to take from them the power of hurting us. We are to be guided with precaution, but yet not so far, as that extreme wisdom may thereby render us more timorous and viresolute. You must, generous Count, give something to the conduct of Fortune, who having chosen you for the Deliverer of Genova, and Restorer of the ancient Italian valour, will know well enough how to find out the means to plain all difficulties before you. It is she that calls you to glory; it is she that will conduct you to it; only consent to your good fortune, and with an open heart receive the Crown which fate presents you with, nor sharing it with any one. For to what end would it serve you to call in the French to the sharing of your glory? whereas that Nation, having lost their credit in Italy, as well as their States, would hurt you more, than they could help you. The example of Andrea Doria should keep you sufficiently from it: He had served them with exceeding affection, and to their great profit, in the mean time you know how he was entreated.  
And then again, what recompense could the French ever give you, that might be worthy of your labours? It may be they will leave you Governor in Genova, with the dependences which they use to exact of their Subjects; but that would be to render you mercenary in a place, where Nature hath given you part in the Dominion. If any resistance should be made by the Emperor, or by the City itself, against your designs, with what forces could they come and succour you, being in a Country so far distant from ours, and so taken up with their own affairs. Verily you are to make use of your Subjects, of your Friends, and of your Confederates. And why will you not with so generous a Troop undertake to set this Crown upon your head, which is as worthy of you, as you are worthy of it? When as your power shall be established in Genova, which may be said to be the Key of all Italy on the Sea-coast, the chiefest Kings of Christendom will seek for your alliance and amity with care. The envy of your Competitors being surmounted, the family of the Counts of Lavagna will be in a state, whereunto no person in Genova ever yet arrived. It will lie in your hands to be revenged of those enemies that despised your youth; Jannetin himself, yea Jannetin Doria, your mortal enemy, shall fall spite of his teeth at your feet, to crave pardon of you; He shall reverence you as his Lord; he shall fear you as a Prince; his actions shall be accommodated to your pleasure; your will shall rule his desires; and on you alone shall his life or death depend. Let the French then keep themselves in their Kingdom, and from thence only let them hear the fame of your Victories. It is for you alone to surmount all the Obstacl●s which may be opposed to your generous designs. Undertake it then with a confidence worthy of your birth, and of your courage; merit by this action the triumph which Heaven hath destined to you. Let all the world learn that you knew how to be the illustrious and sole Artisan of your fortune. Surpass the hopes which I have of you, although they be very great: and to say all, assure the Empire to your family, and Eternity to your name.  
Baptista Verrin had no sooner made an end of speaking, but Raphaello Sacco affected to France, and Vincentio Calcagna pushed on by his timidity, by the fear of losing that repose which he had enjoyed all his life time, and by the affection which he bore to the Count, opposed themselves once more against Baptista. The first would have had nothing undertaken without the succour of the French; and the other would have had nothing undertaken at all. But Baptista for his own interest would be sure not to yield in this occasion: He saw, that as long as the Government was in the hands of the Nobility, he should never pretend to have any part in the sway thereof. And then again, he had brought his affairs into so strange a disorder, by the debts which he had run into, as judging that he could hardly conceal his misery longer, if the tranquillity of the Republic should last any time, he was desirous to steal it from the eyes of the world by a universal confusion. He considered also, that if the enterprise were prosperous, he should raise his fortune to an high pitch; that it contrarily the success of it should be infortnate, his ruin being accompanied with that of others, and dying in his endeavouring the execution of a great design, it would be some comfort to him to think that the infamy of his name would pass unto posterity; so true it is, that the ambition of men is so unreasonable, as to make them oftentimes to put no difference between good and bad fame, provided it be great.  
Baptista then opposed himself with a great deal of vehemency against their Reasons that appugned his, and told the Count, that it was a thing unworthy of a noble Soul, to let himself be vanquished by fear, or to say better, by Chimeras. He represented unto him, that the Garrison of Genova consisted of no more than two hundred Soldiers; that Doria's Galleys, though many in number, would be unprofitable for his defence, so as the time of execution were chosen, when as they were disarmed, at their return from scouring the Seas, which they usually did every year; that Andrea and Jannetin, far from all suspicion, lived without any particular Guard, and in a confidence which would be very commodious to them; that it would be easy for him to draw into Genova a good number of selected men, and taken out of the Lands of his obedience, who on a sudden should go and seize upon Doria in his own Palace; and that at the very same time it would be facile to render himself Master of the Galleys; that the hatred of the people against the Nobles would make an end of the rest of the enterprise, and give it an happy success. He offered for his own particular to get the Citizens to rise in favour of this design; assuring him, that by his means they were wholly disposed already to rebellion. With such like Reasons, which Verrin amplified with a great deal of address, he became Master of the Count's mind, who plainly testified that he determined, either to perish, or to reign. And after he had made known, that nothing could alter his resolution, he said unto Raphaello Sacco, who had persuaded him to the business under the pretext of the public good, Heaven is my witness, that if I did not believe I should make my Country more happy under my Command, than it is under the Tyranny of them that oppress it, I would choose rather to die, then to attempt that which I am going to undertake.  
This speech ended, they all resolved with one accord, that since the Government could not be changed without the death of Andrea and Jannetin Doria, they were chief to think of giving such order to the matter, as the end of their lives should be the beginning of the execution thereof. This Conspiracy being made, the Count went out of his Cabinet, with a marvellous tranquillity of spirit, and we were all the evening with him, talking of Music and Painting, as if he had hid nothing else of importance in his thought. As for his Counsellors, they told her who had employed them, that she was to attend great matters from her son, without particularising any thing unto her, for fear lest she should discover them. In the mean time, the Count, having certain days after taken great care for the Galleys, which he had bought not long before, used to go oftentimes to the places belonging to him; where with an admirable Providence he furnished his Subjects with Arms, and made them to exercise them, upon pretext of being in some fear of the Duke of Placentia, whose neighbour he was; but indeed, it was to render them capable of serving him in his design.  
The end of Autumn being come, he return d to Genova, and applied all his care to gain the goodwill of all the young men, of those families newly ennobled, which are called Popular. He introduced himself into their conversation with a marvellous compliance. He sent presents to some, he served others according to occasions, and offered himself to all, with an extraordinary courtesy. And whereas he had a quick and pleasing wit, and a supple and charming humour, he won their affection in so high a manner, as he was their Master, rather than their friend. When as he knew that he might begin to confide in them, and that their wills depended absolutely on his, he fell to jeering, as occasion served, at the Government of Genova, which he termed the Tyranny of the Nobles. Sometimes he testified with interrupted speeches that he suffered in the miseries of the popular families; sometimes he seemed to tell them that the matter was not past remedy, and that they might abase the pride of the Nobles, if their hearts did not fail them; sometimes also with a bitter scoff he exhorted them to servitude; yet still leaving them a sting behind in their minds by his doubtful and uncertain words. And above all things, he aggravated the injustice of the Government, when by chance any accident fell out, that displeased the popular families. But if he were agreeable to them, he had rendered himself no less pleasing to the common people, by such means as he had carefully used for it. He most readily saluted some, he smiled upon others as he met them, he was magnificent in his apparel, gentle and courteous to every one; and that which advanced his design more was, as you know as well as I, that he was wonderful handsome, and of an exceeding jovial humour; that the air of his face was sweet and agreeable; and his carriage so noble, so free, and so fair, as one was forced to love him at the very first sight. He exercised himself also in fencing, and riding of the great horse, and that with so gallant a grace, and so great an address, as they that saw him could not choose but love a man, who gave them so much delight.  
But whereas liberality is the strongest chain, wherewith the people may be captivated, he met with no occasion of demonstrating his unto them, but he testified it with a magnificence past compare. Yet would not our prudent Conspirator cast himself so absolutely into the hands of the people, as to minister any jealousy thereby to the Nobles; but he used so just a temper in a conjuncture, where mediocrity was so hard to be observed, that the goodwill of the one did not make him lose the friendship of the others. And to that effect, though Jannetin was become very insolent, since Caesar had admitted him for Generalissimo after the death of Andrea; though he would be no longer followed by young men but for interest; though he would be no longer served but for fear; though his arrogance had even carried him to offer some ill usage to the Count; yet began he not only to go oftener to Andrea than he was wont, and to show a more particular reverence to him, but shutting up also in h●s heart the hatred which he bore to Jannetin, he conversed often with him, and demanded counsel and assistance of him in his affairs. And because that in times past the love of Leonora had put them at odds with one another, he used great care to take from him the memory thereof.  
In the mean time, he had treated secretly with the Duke of Placentia, who had promised him two thousand Foot, to join with two thousand others, which he had picked forth out of all his subjects, for the service of his enterprise when time should serve. He had also caused one of his Galleys to come to Genova under pretext that he meant to send her forth to scour the Seas all along the Coast of Barbary. Howbeit during all this we observed as a most extraordinary thing in him, that he was as merry as he used to be, delighted as much in our company, and seemed to have no other greater thought, then of being agreeable to his friends.  
Now Baptista, cunning and undertaking as he was, remained not idle; for in a very short time he had gained a great number of persons, who promised to follow and serve him faithfully in a secret design which he said he had. With these preparations, they believed that they had laid foundations solid enough for the execution of their intentions; and being assembled together to take their last resolution, the advice of Baptista Verrin was, that whereas there was a ceremony to be celebrated for the performance whereof every one would resort unto the Church, he would have them begin the executing of the business in that place, offering to give Jannetin the first stab. But the Count's piety being unable to consent to this proposition, he made a step or two back, crying out, He would never endure that the beginning of his enterprise should be a profanation and a sacrilege. Raphaello Sacco added thereunto, that the matter likewise would even be as uncertain, as it was execrable; because Andrea Doria might excuse himself upon the incommodity of his age, and so not come, but send Philippo Doria his Kinsman in his stead. To this Verrin answered again, that if they thought it fit he would go, whilst they were executing the business, to Andrea's Palace, and under colour of visiting him as he was wont to do, he would strike him to the heart with his Poignard. But the Count being very angry with him for it, he gave this over, and propounded another expedient worthy of his wit: He told the Count, that Jannetin's sister being shortly after to marry with Julio Cibo, Leonora's brother, he would have him desire them to sup at his house; and to render the feast the more magnificent, he should also invite Andrea Doria and Jannetin, together with a great number of Ladies, and all such amongst the Nobles, whom they might judge were most to be feared for the execution of their design; That things being thus, it would be easy for them whom they had hid for that purpose to kill them; that presently thereupon the Count, followed by his friends, should go through all the streets of Genova, sounding out the sweet name of Liberty, and acquainting the people that their chains were broken; That in this Tumult the Palace was to be seized upon and secured; that in the mean time he would possess the people with the Count's generous designs, concealing from them with address that which he had of absolutely reigning; and letting them know the necessity of reforming the Government, or to say better, the cruel Tyranny of the Nobles, for so it was that he spoke; That for this effect he would crown him Duke of the Republic, and cause them whom he had gained to take the oath of allegiance unto him; That if any one, either in word or deed, should contradict them, he should be killed upon the place.  
The Count found this plot indifferently well contrived, but yet he felt an extreme repugnancy in resolving to violate the law of hospitality, in kill men in his house, whom he had entreated thither; but being persuaded that he should not meet with a better mean to arrive to his end, he resolved for it: And to that purpose, he commanded, that the Soldiers, which he had chosen from amongst his Subjects, should come one by one into Genova; And on the other side he solicited the Duke of Placentia to send him the succour which he had promised him. All these dispatches could not be so secretly made, especially having to do with a levy of men of war, but that Don Fernando de Gonzagua, who had succeeded to the Marquis of Guast, and commanded at that time in the Duchy of Milan, was advertised thereof. For whereas he was vigilant for the security of the State, which had been entrusted to his conduct, he had carefully set spies to observe the least motions of the neighbouring Provinces, especially of the Princes that were suspected to him; so that he was soon informed by men, that were as dextrous as faithful, whom he had employed for that effect, that the Duke of Placentia had levied in his State two thousand Soldiers with extraordinary haste for the Count of Lavagna; and conjecturing by the silence and secrecy, which was used in this affair, that there was some great design a plotting, he sent with all speed to Genova, to advise Doria, and Don Gomes Suarez, the Emperor's Ambassador there, to stand upon their guard, because the young Count of Lavagna was conspiring some great matter.  
Andrea received this advice, without grounding any thing thereupon; for he was so strongly persuaded of the Count's affection to him, and so powerfully assured, by the tranquillity which he always saw in his face, that he had no bad design in hand, as this discourse made no kind of impression in his mind; and to confirm him in his incredulity, the Count entered accidently into Andrea's chamber, when as the Ambassador and he were speaking of this affair; but he appeared with so clear a countenance, and talked to them with so much judgement, and liberty of spirit, that Andrea Doria, charmed with his conversation, and persuaded of his innocency, approached to the Ambassador, and said to him softly in his ear, as we have learned since, Judge you yourself, whether this Princely look, this both modest and confident carriage, this noble and quiet soul, and this liberty of spirit, can be capable of so horrible a conspiracy? The Ambassador not able to gainsay Andrea's Opinion, made a sign to him that he was of his mind. And albeit that two days after Doria had a second advertisement, yet the Count's address was so great, as his sight alone destroyed whatsoever was said against him. And so wonderful was his conduct, that Andrea Doria, above fourscore years of age, and held for one of the greatest politicians of his time, was beguiled by a man of two and twenty.  
The generous Pansa, who had been of none of the Count's counsels, was without comparison more advised. For whereas he joined affection to prudence, it was the more easy for him to suspect something of the truth. He had exactly observed all the Count's actions, ever since he had bought the Galleys of the Duke of Placentia; and carefully examining all that he had seen or heard in divers occasions, he found that he had cause to fear lest the Count had some dangerous design a foot. He saw how he, who was accustomed to communicate the most important affairs of his house to him, talked no longer with him but of indifferent things; that he was often in a retired and private conversation with Baptista Verrin, and having followed him sometimes when as he withdrew himself into his Cabinet, he had perceived him to be musing and melancholic: For though the Count seemed to be merry, when as he might be seen of any body, and by that artifice admirably covered the designs which he had in his heart, yet was he no sooner retired in private, but he became quite another then what he had been seen abroad, which Pansa alone had marked, for he had concealed himself from Leonora, as well as from others. That which kept the Count from communicating his design to Pansa, was his knowledge of the affection and exceeding prudence of the man, so that he was assured he would have opposed his design, or at leastwise have counselled him not to have undertaken it so precipitously; and would have had him seek for more security in an enterprise, where none had ever been.  
At length, one day when as the Count returned to his Palace more melancholic than he used to be, carrying in his face some marks of an extraordinary unquietness, and with such a paleness, as amazement many times paints on the forehead of those, which are upon the point of executing some great design, whose event is but ill-assured; the generous Pansa followed him to his Cabinet, and resolved to tell him his suspicions, for fear lest if he should longer defer to do it, there would be no time left for the remedying of the evil whereof he was afraid. After he had shut the door, than he addressed his speech to the Count, who leaning on a Table, heard him with a great deal of unquietness. I know very well, my Lord, said he unto him, that one merits to be as much blamed, for enquiring into the secrets of another, as one ought to be esteemed, for fidelity in concealing them, when they are entrusted unto us; wherefore mine being known by so many proofs which I have rendered unto you of it, I have believed, that it was for you to discover your minds unto me, and for me not to do any thing that might displease you. But now that the trouble of your eyes doth justify my suspicions, and redouble my unquietness, I learn to fear by the fear which I discern in your face, that doubtless betrays your thoughts; Yes, my dear Master, I fear, and am not able to tell you what it is I fear; howbeit I know very well that it is an effect of the love I bear you, and an excess of my fidelity, which puts me into doubt; but I know also, that my fear is not without probability. For how can I be persuaded that that which you are premeditating is glorious and honourable, if it hath the power to trouble the tranquillity of your Soul? Believe me, the execution of the matter you are thinking of, can be neither very assured, nor very facile, since the only imagination thereof disquiets you. Let this fatal presage arrest you, and know, that all the erterprises which are commenced with this repugnancy and pensiveness, whereof I behold the marks in your face, have never or seldom any prosperous success. Make profit then of the interior advertisements, which Heaven sends you. I do not press you to tell me the secret, which you will not have me to know, though I may presume to ask of you, why you retain me about you, if my faith be suspected to you, and that you no longer judge me worthy of your confidence? But only tell me, what object and what end can the conversation of these men have, who always leave you so sad and unquiet, as I never saw you so before. Alas! how do I fear, lest these secret counsels, which you hold so often with these violent persons, and whose inclinations are not very sincere, should by their address and cunning draw you out of the way of virtue! Suffer me, my dear Master, to discover the disease that I may cure it. They, from whom my suspicions arise, are not of such commendable manners, or of so exemplary a piety, as I may believe they give you counsels, which do not clash either with Virtue, or with Religion. It may be they abuse your little experience, and knowing you generous they propound unto you actions, which in appearance are great and glorious, but which in effect are rash and vain. Open your eyes then, O noble Count, and think that an inconsiderate man may make you fall into a precipice, out of which the prudence of all the wisest in the world cannot draw you. It is easy enough to set a Palace on fire, but it is not so easy to quench it: Take heed lest they that counsel you do not make use of you, to arrive at the end which they propose unto themselves; and that your undoing do not serve for the benefit of them which deceive you. It is rare to meet with men, who counsel that which is good, because it is good, without regard to their interest; and yet it is by this experience, that we are to be secured of them. Examine then seriously, whether they, which counsel you, cannot become greater or richer by that they would have you undertake. And to tell you all that I think in this occasion, I cannot be persuaded, that they, which spend their lives amongst crimes, are capable of persuading virtue unto others. For though there be great difference between deeds and words, the most important part of persuasion consists in example rather than in discourse; and commonly the mouth and the hand act alike. What would these men have of you? To what innovation would they carry you? The estate of your affairs are at such a point, as they have no need of change; there can no mutation arrive unto you, but will be to your disadvantage. Envy hath a long time sought to fasten on you, and will you let her take hold on you by the disorder whereunto they are carrying you? For you are not ignorant, how there is a great number of persons, who are inferior to you, both in Nobility, Estate, and Virtue, which endeavour to traduce you. I know that hope is sweet unto young people, especially to them which can sustain it with the greatness of their courage, but I know withal that nothing is more slippery than prosperity: Beware then lest the hope of an incertain thing do not make you lose an assured good. They which counsel you have nothing to lose, nor nothing to hazard, whether their means or their reputation be considered; and therefore it is, that these kind of men wish for revolts, seditions, tumults, and disorders, because it is the custom of such like persons to enrich themselves with other men's losses, and to find their particular rest in a general confusion. In fine, they which are not very high, fear not falling; but you are to deal otherwise: For you are not only obliged to conserve the blessings, which Heaven hath committed to you, as it were in trust, but you are also obliged out of a sense of honour to give occasion unto fame, by the generosity of your actions, to publish, that you are the worthy successor of so many great men which have preceded you.  
The Count heard the generous Pansa with a great deal of impatience; he told him for all that in general terms, that all his designs being great and noble, he should be assured he would do nothing unworthy of h●s birth; and having embraced him very tenderly, he left him, after he had conjured him not to say any thing to Leonora of his unquietness. In the mean time the Count and his Confederates impatiently attended the day of that fatal feast, which was to be the fourth of January, for the executing of their design. But they were constrained to hasten the business, because Andrea Doria, having been taken with a fit of the gout, that was accompanied with a fever, was not in case to keep his promise for being there: and Jannetin being to part from Genova about a very pressing affair, the Count did thereupon judge, that it would be superfluous for him, to attend the day of the feast, since the two principal sacrifices, which were to be offered, would not be present there. And considering further that the greatest obstacle of Conspirators is always retardment, they resolved on the second of January at night for the execution of their design. And to that effect the Count began to publish that he had a determination to send one of his Galleys against the Pirates; for that the Pope having allowed him entertainment but for three of them, he would have the other bring him in wherewithal to defray the charge he was at with her. Upon this pretext, and by this artifice, he caused a great part of the Soldiers, which had been sent him from Placentia to enter into Genova; saying, that out of them he would make choice of the strongest and ablest men. And lest the number of those which came from his Lands, who were far more than were needful for a Galley, should give any suspicion, he made a great many of them to be led in chained, as Malefactors destined to the Oar; and caused the rest to enter in one after another through several gates, after they were well furnished with Arms. And the better to beguile Jannetin, he entrusted him with the design which he said he had for the sending of his Galley to scour the Seas, desiring him so to deal with Andrea, as he might give no impediment unto it; fearing (said he) lest the obligation wherein the Republic stood engaged to Soliman by the means of Justiniano, should keep Andrea from permitting it. Jannetin promised him all that he desired, and kept his word with him.  
In the mean time the second of January being arrived, which preceded that dreadful night, the Count caused certain Soldiers of the Garrison to come to his Palace, whereof some were his Subjects, and the rest such as had been placed there by him, and having left them under the Command of one of the Conspirators, he went and passed away the rest of the day till evening with Andrea Doria, where he had never been seen more merry, or more pleasant. He entreated Jannetin again, who was there present, to give order at the Port, that his Galley; which was that night to set sail towards the Archipelague, might not be stayed. He advertised him also, that he would not be troubled, if he heard any noise, or any Ordnance discharged; for, as you know better than I, said he unto him, they always shoot off some for the Ceremony of parting, and these things never pass without some stir. At his coming from thence the French Marquis and I met him; but it had been hard for us to foresee what the Count had in his thought; for he talked to us of nothing but of matches of sport and delight for the ensuing days; Howbeit he gave us dextrously to understand, that he should be busy this evening in setting forth his Galley, for fear lest we should go home with him, seeming nevertheless very sorry at it, and telling us that Leonora and Sophronia would not be friends with him for it. After we were parted from him, he went to his Palace, which, as you know, was in that part of Genova, called Carignan, and which seems to be severed from all the rest of the City, and to command it, as well for its advantageous situation, as for its magnificence. You know also, that this Palace, being built upon a little hill, touched the walls of the City almost on every side; The Sea was in the face of the building, and backwards it had for prospect the pleasant Valley of Bisagno. I put you in mind of these things, that you may comprehend, how this Palace, being as it were an Island, was very commodiously situated for the Count's enterprise; having no nearer a neighbour than Baptista, who being of the Conspiracy was not to be feared. In fine, being returned home, he drew thither about the beginning of the night, a great many of armed men, of those which he had caused to enter secretly into the City, and of those which he had suborned even in Genova itself. He placed them for the Guard of the Gates of his Palace, whom he held to be the most courageous and faithful; with order to leave the entrance thereinto free to every one, but to let no body pass out of them.  
In the mean time one of the Captains of the Garrison, going to set Sentinels, perceived that some of the Soldiers were missing, and enquired of his Lieutenant whither they were gone; whereupon some of their fellows answering that they were gone to Carignan with the Count of Lavagna, it made him suspect something; so that he went instantly and gave notice thereof to the Senators that were at the Palace, and to Andrea Doria; and than it was that the Count's dissimulation wrought the greatest effect, and began to produce that which he had expected from it. Jannetin hearing this advertisement, told him, that his fidelity was to be commended, although this advice had no ground for them to fear any thing. For whereas he was prepossessed by the Count's address, who had demanded permission of him for the parting away of a Galley this night to scour the Seas towards the Levant, he assured them that all these Soldiers, which were gone to him, being of his own or the Duke of Placentia's Subjects, were destined to that purpose; and that those, which were said to be at Carignan, were gone thither to take their farewell of some of their friends. With such like discourses, Jannetin made the rest give over their suspicions, and he himself served the design of his Enemy.  
This while the Count, after he had given order for all things necessary at home, went to two or three of those assemblies, which are made a nights in the houses of persons of quality in Genona, where the small time that he stayed there, he left a new admiration of his wit. He was magnificently apparelled that day, and redoubling also his ordinary civility and gallantry, he went not out of any of those companies without augmenting the affection which they already bore unto him. But at last he went to the house of one, named Assereto, where he found three and twenty young Gentleman of the Popular order, whom the cunning of Baptista Verrin had drawn thither. The Count caressed them exceedingly, and talking with them of divers things, and supper time being near, he desired them to go home and eat with him. He told them, that it was too fair an evening to part so soon; that the night was too light, and the Moon too clear, for them to excuse themselves upon the season; and briefly, he entreated them with so good a grace, as they went along with him. The Count led them to a back room, willing the discreet Pansa to go and entertain his wife, unto whom he would come ere it were long, because, said he smiling, our design will not brook the presence of Ladies. At first these young Gentlemen believed, that it was to treat them with the more liberty he did so, and so went on with him. In the mean time Baptista Verrin went dextrously to see if he could discover any thing about the Palace, or at Doria's, that might make him think they were suspected.  
Things being in these terms, the Count entered into another chamber, after he had told them, that he would come to them again presently, as indeed he stayed not long before he returned. But they were mightily surprised, when as they saw him enter completely armed, and followed by two hundred Soldiers, with Partisans or Muskets, which ranged themselves round about him; He had his Viser up, and his Sword in his hand; and beginning then to let the hatred and choler break forth, which he had for so long a time kept concealed in his heart, his face was all on fire, and fierceness and fury appeared in his eyes. He approached to a Table, and leaning on it with his left hand, he continued a while without saying any thing; then suddenly giving a great bounce on it, he said with an imperious tone, and a precipitate voice, It is done, I am resolved, O conragious and illustrious friends! a spirit touched with any generosity can no longer suffer it; the insolency of them that would oppress us hath incensed my courage, and wearied my patience. My imagination presents unto me a spectacle, too horrible and too deadly, in making me see our Citizens tyrannised, and the subversion of our Country indubitable, for me not to oppose myself to a mischief, which fear, or to say better, Reason, makes me see so nigh at hand. If the evils, wherewith the Republic is mortally tainted, could hope for remedies from time, I would endure, as others do, a retardment, which might be profitable to the public good; but since we are arrived at the last period of our misery, and that we see ourselves quite ready to be ruined, we must of necessity go and encounter that which is to overwhelm us: and if it be possible, not only sustain, but overthrew it. How great soever the peril is, it loses much of its force, when it is courageously affronted; whereas contrarily, it increases and becomes inevitable when it is attended with patience.  
Jannetin Doria weary of that idle felicity which follows him, dreams of nothing but of contenting his ambition; and seeing his pernicious designs, so near to be executed, his whole thought is bestowed in contriving my death, and your servitude. It was not enough for this ambitious man to see the people of Genova despoiled of the Empire of Liguria, and submitted to be the object of the contempt of the Nobles, but he must enterprise also to render himself tyrannically Sovereign of you: yea, more barbarous than Strangers have been unto us, so great a pride is there seen in his heart, as cannot be vanquished by patience, nor avoided by humility. And to secure himself of you, he holds you besieged on the Seaside with twenty Galleys, which in the midst of an apparent peace are in the Port, more for your ruin then for your safety. We see him always going through the City, environed with Nobles, who by the favour of Andrea, having usurped the Commands which appertained unto you, render unto Jannetin, for a recompense of your infamy, an honour unworthy both of them and of him. But that which touches me further, is, that I certainly know how under the authority of a Prince he prepares an heavy yoke for the public liberty. And because I have without considering my birth embraced your cause, not so much for the interest of your order, as for following of Reason, and satisfying of my duty; because, I say, I have never consented to the insolent contempt, which the Nobles have used towards all them that are not of their body; because I have esteemed of virtue wheresoever I have met with it; because I have always taken part with Equity, without considering that their interests were in some sort mine; they attempt upon my life, and believe that they cannot put you into chains, unless they deprive you of him, whom they conceive to be strong enough, or courageous enough, to undertake the breaking of them.  
What do we mean then, O my companions, by our sloth and our cowardice? Will we be always the Spectators of our own misery? For what enterprise shall we reserve our courage, if in the general desolation of our Country we abandon ourselves? It is no time for us longer to complain of our Enemies, but to revenge ourselves of them. Let us leave the use of tears to our wives, and if we be worthy the name of men, which we bear, let us employ our courage, our force, and our address, in destroying our Tyrants. We have too much already endured their insolency, which doubtless carries them to believe, that our patience is an effect of our faint-heartedness. They who leave crimes unpunished, are guilty of those, which the excess of their goodness doth make their oppressors commit afterwards; who ordinarily augment their violences, when as they see they are dissembled. What do we further expect, O generous Citizens? May it be, to have the Government, and all kind of Authority in the Republic to be utterly lost? May it be, that you will have the heart to place Jannetin in the Throne? To see the Ministers of his fury go and take your goods out of your houses, ruin your families, attempt upon your lives, dishonour your wives, and commit those wickednesses, which may justly be attended from a Tyranny, that is born for the ruin of the Country, nourished by the public dissension, increased by the miseries of the Citizens, and established by the death of so many good men? Are our courages so base, and so low brought? Have our swords so little edge, as we cannot cut off the infamous life of him, who makes a glory of our shame, who triumphs over our misfortunes, and feeds on our miseries? Shall we not pluck out of Jannetin's body that cowardly heart, which hath contrived so many Treasons, and which may be termed the scource of all our mischiefs? Shall we suffer a simple Citizen to be our Tyrant, let him trample us under his feet, and subjecting us unto him as his Slaves, dispose of our lives and deaths as he pleaseth? For me, I profess freely unto you, that I hold it more glorious to buy liberty with a great peril, then to sweeten servitude with idleness and patience. And as I take it for a glory, that our Enemies have a design to add the loss of my life unto that of the Republic, so do I consecrate my life with joy for the liberty of my Country, acknowledging that I should be unworthy of enjoying it, if I could prefer it before the public utility. I desire only, O illustrious Citizens, to discover a resolution in you, if not worthy of your courage, at leastwise proportionable to the danger wherein you are. In fine, whether you will have me for a Soldier, or a Captain; if you will go before me, I will follow you, if I shall go before you, do you follow me. Besides, whether you be sensible of honour, or that you only think of your safety, you are always forced to take up Arms: for since I must deliver things unto you as they are, this resolution, as to generous men, is glorious for you, as to men of little courage is commodious for you, and in what manner soever it be, is necessary for you. I do not call you to an enterprise, that is unforecasted or ill conducted, I have long since considered the end and means of it: And I have not only examined the sequel of it, but I have assembled troops for it, and having distributed them in the most commodious places for execution, it is rather inviting you to the pleasing spectacle of a certain victory, then to the peril of a doubtful fight.  
But without animating you by the hope of that is to come, I know very well, so as you will call to mind the outrages of the Nobles, and the insolency of Jannetin, I know very well, I say, that the desire of revenge being roused up in your Souls, you will come to fight with so much heart, as our Enemies shall to their damage admire the valour of those whom they despised; and you on the contrary shall know by your own experience, whether they have as much force in warlike occasions, as they have weakness in abandoning themselves to voluptuousness in the time of Peace. Let us go then, generous Citizens, and let this be the end of my discourse, and the beginning of your victory. Let us go out of this Palace, and descend into the City, where we are attended by a great number of our friends, for the ending of an enterprise so well begun. The gates are in the power of the Soldiers, whom I have gained to me, the Galleys upon a Signal given will fall into the hands of a Troop of men, as hardy to render themselves Masters of them, as prudent to conserve them. We have in the City fifteen hundred inhabitants, which are armed for us; and even now that I am speaking to you, there are in the Suburbs two thousand of my Subjects, and as many of the Duke of Placentia's, which are come to succour us.  
Let us go then, my companions, and call the people again to liberty; let us return to the sweetness of our ancient Government; let us exterminate the Nobles and Jannetin's Tyranny; and in one only night, more shining than the fairest days of our lives have been, let us re-establish the glory of the popular families in their first splendour; let us for ever deface out of the memories of men our past faint-heartedness. But if any of you (as I cannot believe) be so audacious & so cowardly both together, as to oppose a design so glorious for us, and advantageous for our Country, let him behold round about him this dreadful company of Arms and Soldiers, and let him imagine that he sees at the very same instant the points of all our swords leveled at his heart. Yea, my Companions, I do protest it openly, we must of necessity either fight or die. And that blood which shall be ingratefully denied to the succour of our Country, so near to ruin, shall be shed, in this very place, to wash away the stain of such perfidiousness. Yea, I say it once again, the first sacrifice, which shall be consecrated for the public safety, shall even here have his throat cut with my hand, if any one undertakes to oppose my will.  
These dreadful menaces amazed those to whom they were addressed; they beheld one another, and then that great number of Soldiers which environed them; and after they had been a while without speaking, they cried all with one voice, two excepted, that they would follow the Count even to the death; that they would be the companions of his triumph, or of his fall; and in conclusion, that they would never abandon him, but would obey him in all things. The Count embraced them then with a great deal of joy, and testimony of satisfaction; and being turned towards those two, which as yet had said nothing, they besought him to have pity of their weakness, with words wherein fear appeared so visible, as the Count could not forbear smiling. They represented unto him, that the request which they made him, was advantageous to him, as well as to them; because being so uncapable of fight, they should hurt him more than they could help him; that their fear might beget the same in others, and their flight give an ill example to his Soldiers: Briefly, they gave him so many marks of their affright and terror, as changing his determination, he only contented himself with reproaching them for their cowardice in a bitter jeer, and for the security of his enterprise he caused them to be shut up in a chamber, where he left them under a Guard, which should keep them from coming forth. After this he commanded meat to be brought in, but in such a fashion, as this meal might be rather named a collation, than a supper; fearing lest they should be too much taken up with good cheer. Whilst then that some did eat standing, and others were arming themselves with the Arms which the Count had caused to be presented unto them, he went to Leonora's chamber, who was talking with Sophronia her sister about the unquietness she was in to see so many Soldiers in her Palace. As soon as he was entered, he approached to her, and taking her by the hand, he told her in few words the design he had; desiring her to pardon him for not having spoken to her of it till then.  
The great heart of Leonora found not itself firm enough to remain constant in this occasion; and considering the extreme peril whereinto the Count was going to expose himself, affection and fear troubled her in such sort, as falling at the Count's feet, and her face all bedewed with tears, My Lord, said she unto him, embracing his knees, to what danger are you going to expose yourself? I conjure you by the thing that is dearest to you in the world, by the love which I bear to you, by that which you b●ar to me, by the tears which I shed, and by your own glory, to preserve my life in preserving yours. The interest of our Country is dear to me, but yours is yet far more to me. I had rather have Jannetin reign insolently, then to see you perish for the saving of others. And I shall resolve with joy to wear chains, rather than to see myself exposed to the hazard of wearing mourning for your death. But what say I, senseless as I am? could I preserve my life, if you were no longer living? No, no, my destiny is tied to yours; and what my despair could not do in this occasion, my grief alone would execute. Let Jannetin then, my dear husband, usurp the Empire; let our Country be ruined; let all our Citizens be made Slaves; provided that you live it imports me not. For in the end Jannetin may indeed raise himself up into the Throne, but he can never surmount you in greatness of courage and virtue. You have told me an hundred times, that I made up all your felicity, what do you seek for then, O my dear husband! Is it just, that you should be so far sensible of the complaints of a people, that may be ingrateful, as to lose your life for their liberty? And that my tears should move you so little, as that you will not preserve me, in preserving yourself? What will you have me do in this fatal adventure? Will you have me, letting you go, attend here the news of your death? Ah! I can never endure this thought, no more than your design. For, my Lord, what can this design be, which I see you undertake, without communicating it to your dearest friends? To whom of all those, which are in this Palace, may I entrust your life? Are you yourself assured, that they will not abandon you? If I saw the generous Justiniano, the French Marquis, and so many other illustrious friends, which you have, about you, I could say that they would vanquish, or die together with you. But in the estate wherein I see you, it may be that those, whom you believe to be most faithful unto you, have betrayed you, and have undertaken to destroy you. Ah! my Lord, give an end to my fears and tears, in changing so deadly a resolution. But if nevertheless you are determined, as methinks I observe by your looks, not to let your sel● be vanquished with my tears, suffer me at leastwise to accompany you; that I may, in this abandonmen: of all your friends, serve you for a buckler, to bear off all the blows which shall be made at you; that I may at least expire before your eyes, or you die in my arms. In fine, my Lord, permit me to enter into your Chariot of Triumph, or into your Tomb with you.  
The Count, feeling himself very much moved with Leonora's tears, and fearing to be surmounted by them, interrupted her with embraces; do not make so ill a presage of my enterprise, said he unto her, and carry that great heart, which I have always admired in you, to higher and more happy thoughts. I am going to a place, whither Justice and Fortune call me; and if I have concealed this design from my friends, it is because I knew they loved my life too well to counsel me unto it. And then again I shall be glad, if Heaven will permit me to prevail over my Enemies, that I have given them a content which hath cost them nothing; and if I fall in so brave an enterprise, they shall at leastwise remain to comfort you. In fine, my dear Leonora, prepare your mind for all events that may arrive, either happy, or unhappy; for the business is at such a pass, as I can neither defer, or break it off: But this I can assure you, that you shall not be long in uncertainty, and that in a few hours you shall hear of my death, or victory; howsoever it be, remember, that, glory excepted, I never loved any thing more than you. Farewell, my dear Leonora.  
At this word his ambitious Mother came and interrupted him; who knowing that the Count was touched with his Wife's tears, and fearing he should be overcome by them, Go, go, said she unto him, and call to mind, that if Coriolanus had never been wrought upon by the tears of a woman, he had gotten himself the Empire, and preserved his life. Fear not, my son, that I will be Volumnia in this encounter, but contrarily I command you, as much as I can, to hasten the execution of your enterprise, for all the time which you have lost here, would already have served you for your approach to the Throne: Go then, my son, perform an action proportionable to your courage, or find a death worthy of your birth.  
The Count, having heard his Mother speak in this sort, and having told her that he would obey her, turned himself once again to Leonora, whom grief suffocated, and beholding her with a troubled countenance, Farewell, said he unto her, either you shall never see me more, or you shall see yourself in Genova above all others of your sex. At these last words he left her, without harkening to the generous Pansa, or the sage Sophronia; For as for Leonora, she was so strucken with the Count's speech and departure, as she fell into a swoon.  
In the mean time Baptista Verrin was come back from the City, to assure the Count that there was no obstacle which could hinder his design; that his Galley was in a posture of fight, full of a great number of Soldiers, throughly resolved to do then duty, and ready to shut up ●he mouth of the Port, by that means besieging all those of Doria. The Count seeing all things in such order as he could have wished, went to his friends again, and having made all them to take up Arms which were to follow him, he issued out of his Palace three hours after midnight. And to march in order, he made as it were a Vanguard of an hundred and fifty of the resolutest Soldiers he had, whom he advanced forty paces before; himself he put in the head of all those young Gentlemen, which he had brought along with him; and after marched in rank, and as it were in a battalion, all the rest of his men. When he was arrived at the Suburbs, he commanded some Soldiers to go under the conduct of a natural Brother of his, named Cornelio, and seize upon the Bow gate, which was presently executed; Cornelio finding no other resistance then of a few Soldiers, who being surprised, scarce fought at all. This prosperous success redoubling the Count's courage, he sent Giralomo and Ottobuono his Brothers, with Vincentio Calcagna, who notwithstanding his natural timidity had not left following him, to render themselves Masters of Saint Thomas Gate. He descended afterwards through S. Andrews street to S. Donat, and passing by the place of the Savages with his companions, he arrived at the point of Catana. Baptista Verrin went aboard the Galley, and Thomaso Assereto did what he could to seize upon the gate of Dars●ne; at first, in regard he was one of Jannetin's Officers, and had the word, the Guards suffered him to enter; but perceiving so great a number of armed m●n, wherewith he was followed, they rudely repulsed him: Nevertheless seeing it was necessary, that some one should enter to open the gate unto the Count, it was resolved that Scipio, one of his subjects, and a Captain of great courage, should cast himself with some Soldiers into little Boats, kept there of purpose, in case of necessity, and by that means enter by the Sea into the Port, where the Galleys lay, and so facilitate the entrance of the rest of the Conspirators thereinto. This design was as happily executed, as it was well thought of; for albeit they found some resistance there, yet in regard the Conspirators were more in number, and incomparably more valorous, it was easy for them to prevail.  
In the mean time the Count was come by Land to that Gate, where with much impatience he attended the signal that was to be given him, which stayed longer than it ought, by reason the Galley with her motion and agitation had struck herself a ground, and it was above half an hour before they could set her afloat again. All these things, which could not be done without noise, began to raise a great deal; but at length the signal having been given, the Count, devancing all his companions, leapt with exceeding courage into Doria's Galleys. This unexpected violence, and the noise of Arms and Soldiers, having awaked all the Mariners and Slaves, a dreadful and confused din of chains and voices was suddenly heard. All the Sailors cried to Arms, all the Galleyslaves resounded the name of Liberty, and laboured as much as they could to break off their Irons: But the Count, who knew not what to do with the Galleys if he had not men, considering what a prejudice the flight of the Slaves would bring unto him, he cast himself ashore again, and went with all speed to the Admiral, which with the sudden and unruly motion of them wherewith she was filled, floated leisurely, and seemed as though she would eloign herself from the Land.  
Whilst things passed thus in the Port, Giralomo and Ottobuono failed not in that which had been commanded them; for as soon as they heard the Cannon discharged, which was the signal that was given to them, they went courageously with threescore Soldiers to seize on S. Thomas gate, not only to render themselves Masters of it, but to pass along unto Doria's Palace, which was hard by, for to kill Andrea and Jannetin. This enterprise was not so facile unto the Conspirators, as the former; the Soldiers that guarded this gate defended themselves well enough; and Sebastiano Lercato with his Brother, whereof the one was the Captain, and the other the Ensign, coming in, made all the resistance that valiant men could do: But in the end, some of their Soldiers being corrupted, and the assailants fight like men that would vanquish or die, they were constrained to give place to the stronger, and the gate remained in the power of the Conspirators, the Captain being made a prisoner, and the Ensign slain there.  
In the mean time the cries, clamours, and noise of Arms, which increased in the Port, where the Galleys were, arrived even at Doria's Palace, which as you know is not far distant from it, and where Andrea lay sick. Jannetin's wife first hearing it, awaked her Husband, fearing some rising of the Galleyslaves; Jannetin risen instantly up, and having hearkened a while, he made himself ready in haste, believing nevertheless that he should find nothing else, but some dispute about pay, or some other occasion, that had fall●n out amongst the people of his Galleys. Andrea, more foreseeing than he, and fearing some unlooked for accident, would not have had him gone forth, but well accompanied; His Wife cast herself at his feet to keep him from it: but he, carried on by his destiny, contemned the counsel of the one, and the prayers of the other, and went out alone with one Groom of his Chamber, and a Page, that carried a Torch before him, without any other Arms, than his single sword. When he arrived at Saint Thomas gate, which he thought was guarded still by his own followers, according to his insolent humour, whereunto the choler he was in that time being joined, he fiercely commanded them to open unto him. Jannetin's voice being straightway known of the Conspirators, they opened the gate, and suffered him to enter without resistance; but scarcely was he entered, when as a shower of Musket shot fell on him, and laid him instantly dead on the ground. This adventure made Giralomo and Ottobuono change the order which the Count had given them, for going directly to Doria's Palace. For seeing Jannetin dead, who was the only man of the Count's Enemies, that could satisfy with his person; and believing that the Count had rendered himself Master of the Galleys, they did not think that Andrea, fourscore years of age, and sick of the gout, could bring any great obstacle to their design. Moreover they feared, that if they should go to Doria's Palace, the riches of the booty would withdraw the most part of the Soldiers from the action, and make them quit their Arms, to lad themselves with the plunder of such rich moveables, as it was full of.  
In the mean time, the noise and disorder still increasing, Andrea was much troubled for Jannetin, not being able to imagine what should be the cause of so much stir. But at length having sent one of his servants, certainly to know the occasion of this Tumult, he brought him word, that the Count of Lavagna had made himself Master of Genova; that the Republic was in extreme peril; that his Galleys were full of his Enemies; that the people resounded all about the word of Liberty, and the name of Giovanni Lodovico; that furious men ran up and down with Arms in their hands; that there was nothing seen but blood and slaughter; and that every where was talking of outrages against the Nobles, and menaces against his life. So dreadful a relation persuading Andrea that the matter was past remedy, he resolved to attend the violence of his Enemies in his Palace, and to yield to them whom he could not resist. But his wife, and his servants, with their tears, entreaties and reasons, made him at last resolve to let himself be carried down into his Palace-yard, where they set him on an horse with much ado; in this estate they conducted him to Mazona, which is a Castle belonging to a Kinsman of mine, and from thence to another place, where they understood the death of Jannetin, with which he was sensibly touched.  
In the mean time the Conspirators still advanced their design; and whereas this noise and Tumult had awaked every one, all the Count's particular friends having heard the people cry, Long live the Count of Lavagna, went forth with Arms in their hands to see what the matter was, and to join themselves with him; and amongst the rest Doria, the French Marquis, and I, who by chance lay together that night, going also forth to seek the Count, met some thirty paces from my lodging, Giralomo with all his Troop, who sought for him as well as we. All the people, that took his part, required to see their Deliverer; but though there was crying every where, Long live the Count of Lavagna, and that every one enquired after him, yet no body answered thereunto. This silence made us fear some disastrous success, yet did it not make them give over the design of pursuing a victory, which seemed so certain. Giralomo left a sufficient Guard at the gates, and sent Ottobuono to take a care of the Galleys, in case his Brother was not there. The French Marquis followed him, and I stayed with Giralomo, who being accompanied only with two hundred Soldiers, went, as he had resolved, through all the streets of Genova, to cause the people, both with his speeches, and the hope of Liberty, to rise. And though the Count appeared not, yet each one declared himself for him, with earnestly demanding where he was. The City in the mean space was in a general confusion and consternation; every one ran up and down in the streets, without knowing whither they went; every one asked of one another what was the cause of this dreadful disorder, without knowing what to answer; the women out of their windows, in the midst of the cries and lamentations which they made, called for their husbands, their brothers, and their children. The Nobles, in so great a disorder, would willingly for the public interest have resorted to the Palace, that they might have advised together what to do, but their particular interest kept them from it, and the doubt they were in, lest their houses should be plundered in their absence, retained them still there.  
Caesar's Ambassador, surprised with this unexpected accident, was upon the point of going out of Genova, for fear lest the person of the Prince, to whom he belonged, should be outraged in his; but at length after he had gotten company about him, he resolved to see the matter decided, and according to occasions to take such a course as should be most advantageous for his Master. To that effect he went to the Palace, where he found Cardinal Doria and some others, who consulted with the Senate, whereof Nicola Franco was the Chief, there being no Duke at that time. They resolved that Bonifacio Lomellin, one of the Pallaxucins, and Antonio Calvo, with the Ensign of the Guard and fifty Soldiers, should go and defend S. Thomas Gate; but having on the way encountered with the Troop where we were, they were constrained to retire into one of their friends houses, but not without leaving some of their men prisoners. Part of them went in great haste by another street to the same gate to learn some news of Andrea; but finding it well guarded, and Lomellin having at the very first been made a prisoner, th●y fled away with great precipitation, whereat ours were so joyful, as this prisoner escaped from them.  
In the mean time it was not known where the Count was; they that were with Giralomo thought he was at the Port; they of the Port on the other side believed that he had left them to repair unto his brothers; Ottobuono not finding him there, thought that he was gone to visit the Gates, or it may be to Doria's Palace; they of the Gates were persuaded that he was in the City; in fine, every one thought any thing save the truth. But amongst all the rest, Baptista Verrin, as having the greatest share in the enterprise, was most earnest in ask after him. He saw the business so well carried, and the Victory so certain, as he was mad for that he could not see the Count; the Gates of the City were theirs; they were Masters of the Port; the people favoured them; the Nobles seemed to make no opposition; the Senate had no Duke; Andrea was fled, and had left the field to his Enemies; and Jannetin was dead; in fine, there wanted nothing but that the Count should show himself to the people for receiving the Oath of Allegiance from them. But all Verrin's care was in vain, so that hearing no news of him, and seeing the enterprise ruined if he did not appear, he retired in despair unto the Galley, to the end that if the Count came, he might secure him the Port still, which was a matter of extreme importance; and if the enterprise were ruined by his absence, that he might have the means to fly to Marseilles: This resolution was the cause of very much mischief to Giralomo; because the Conspirators, neither seeing the Count, who was their Head, nor Baptista Verrin, who had been always the principal Agent in the Conspiracy, did not so much rely on the conduct of Giralomo, who being very young, and of an haughty humour, carried things with more impetuosity than discretion: They followed him for all that out of the hope that the Count would appear ere it were long; but it was not with that confidence, which makes one abandon his life without unquietness, and obey without repugnancy an Head whom one esteems, and of whose prudence and valour one is assured, so that one reserves no more care then to fight and obey: but contrarily the most part began to murmur, yea and some thought already of seeking some occasion to withdraw, or at leastwise to go and inquire out the Count On the other side, the Senate, not knowing what resolution to take, and believing that affairs were altogether remediless, desired Cardinal Doria, and some others, to go and find out the Count of Lavagna, which at first he accepted of, but some having counselled him not to expose his dignity to the insolences of a people in fury, he refused it; and the Senate deputed for the same effect six Gentlemen of quality, with order to know of the Count what he desired. But at the same time, when as the Deputies went out of the Palace to seek for the Count, we understood, Madam, the most deplorable adventure that ever arrived: For since our ill fortune must be told you, we learned that the Count, being returned to Land (as I have already declared to you) from aboard Doria's Galleys, to go to the Admiral, which he meant to secure himself of, in passing over a plank, which lay with one end on the Land, and with the other on a little ladder that is near to the Poop, the Galley stirring somewhat made the plank lose its hold, so that it fell, and in falling tumbled the Count into the water, who being armed at all pieces could not disengage himself from that peril; and even those arms, which he had taken to preserve his life, were the cause of his death; for had it not been for them, he f●ll so near the shore, as it was impossible he should have been drowned: the tumult and the darkness contributed also very much to his loss, which was not seen by any of his followers, and that was the reason it was published no sooner. We had no certain knowledge of it but by the French Marquis, who being gone, as I have told you, with Ottobuoni, and ask of every one where the Count was, two Mariners of the Admiral, who had seen him fall, and heard his voice which they knew very well, as having served him before-times, assured him that he was dead; which having understood with extreme grief, he thought it fit to come unto us, and acquaint Giralomo with it; for as for Ottobuono he had lost him in the press. He came presently away then, to acquaint us with this doleful news, but having encountered, as he told us, with a great number of armed men, which issued out of your Palace, whereof the Gate was broken up, he stayed to learn what the matter might be; and thinking that he knew the voice of Emilia, whom they were carrying forcibly away, he pursued them fight even to the Port.  
Isabella hereupon remembered her carrying away, and interrupting Alphonso, Behold, said she to Emilia, that which we could not comprehend, and the true cause of that dreadful disorder, whereof I thought that I had been the occasion. And then she recounted, how she had been forcibly carried away, and after she had testified her gratitude to the French Marquis for the succour he would have given her, and craved pardon of the company for her interrupting Alphonso's relation, he continued his discourse in this sort.  
The French Marquis having been a good while pursuing those which carried you away, it was the cause that we knew not the deplorable death of the Count, till there wanted nothing but his presence, to make an end of obtaining the Victory: And judge, Madam, whether there can be any doubt of this verity, since the Count being dead almost at the beginning of the execution, it may be said that his name alone vanquished all his Enemies: And certainly if he had lived, the business had had a quite contrary event. For my part I profess unto you, that I shall never be comforted for this death. Had the enterprise succeeded ill; had any of the Conspirators betrayed him; had the people abandoned him; had the Nobles resisted him; had Jannetin vanquished him; I should say that these are ordinary things, that these are accidents, whereof there are are examples found: But to see a man of two and twenty years of age, the goodliest, the handsomest, the most courageous, the most dextrous, the fullest of spirit, and the most generous that ever was seen, to see him, I say, after he had contrived a great design; after he had so admirably conducted it; after he had deceived Andrea Doria; abused the whole Republic; was come not only to the execution, but also had executed the business; Jannetin being dead, and Andrea himself fled away; after all these things, I say, to imagine, that this excellent man should fall from off a plank, and be drowned not above three or four steps from the Land in five food of mud, is so unsupporable to me, Madam, as I cannot endure the thought of it.  
But to testify unto you, that the Count alone held the Victory in his hands, I am but to to tell you the end of this enterprise. The French Marquis had no sooner acquainted Giralomo with the death of his brother, but the Deputies from the Senate appeared. At first, some would have set upon them, nevertheless this tumult being appeased, one of the Deputies advanced, and demanded of Giralomo where the Count was, to acquaint him with what he had in charge from the Senate; Giralomo surprised with this demand, answered rudely and inconsiderately, that he should seek for no other Count of Lavagna but himself, for he was now the Count, and that to him only they were to render up the Palace, which he ordained them to do, and that with speed. The Deputies understanding by this imprudent answer that the Count was dead, returned back to advertise the Senate of the change of things by the death of the Count This news put them in heart again, so that they instantly commanded twelve of the chiefest of them, that were come to the Palace, to go and arm as many of the people as they could, and joining them with the ordinary guard, to use their uttermost endeavour to chase the Conspirators out of the City, or utterly to defeat them: But there was no need of fight to put them to flight, for they were vanquished in the death of the Count; which being published over all, put one and the same resolution into the minds of all those who had taken up arms for him. And whereas the day began to break, they desired it should not be said, that they had been in arms against their Citizens; wherefore they began to retire one after another to their homes: They which had taken arms in the Count's Palace left them in the streets, for fear lest if their houses should come to be searched, they might have been convicted of being of the number of the Rebels; and they which contrarily had taken them in their own homes, carried them thither again, for fear left leaving them in the streets they might be accused for making use of them in this occasion. We passed not one corner of a street, but it cost us above thirty Soldiers; some s●ly slunk away; others ran away as hard as they could drive; and in conclusion, they which guarded the Gates abandoned them: Things went in that manner, as when Giralomo came to S. Lawrence's Church, which was fast by the Palace, he was almost alone.  
In the mean time the generous Pansa having been sent for by the Senate, who perfectly knew the virtue of this excellent man, he so wrought with them, that he got them to change the order they had given for fight with Giralomo, into that of propounding unto him his departure out of Genova, his retiring unto Montobio which belonged to him, and pardoning in consideration of him all the Conspirators, provided they continued still in the City. Pansa was chosen to make this proposition, which was accepted, and executed instantly. So that the break of day arriving, one would have said, that the blood which was seen spilt on the ground; the bodies of those that had been slain; the houses that had been broken up; and so many other disorders, whereof the marks were evident; had been the work of an invisible hand. No Enemy appeared, all the Tradesm●n were in their shops, every man was in his house, and Genova was never in a greater tranquillity, at leastwise as we were told afterwards: For as for us, as soon as we understood of the Count's death, we went directly to his Palace to save his dear Leonora: Doria's interest in Sophronia made him go thither with incredible speed; and though he was Jannetin's kinsman, yet having never affected him, and been hardly used by Andrea, his love met with no very mighty obstacle to overcome. The French Marquis was carried thither by his own generosity, and I by the desire I had to serve the Count in the person of Leonora. At such time as we left Giralomo, he had still some Soldiers about him, so that believing him to be in safety enough we went to the Count's Palace, fearing some violence would be offered to her; there we met with Horatio, come thither as well as we, and at the same instant, with a Gentleman from Ottobuono, who after he knew of his brother's death, had gotten with Baptista Verrin, Raphaello Sacco, and Vincentio Calcagna, into the Count's Galley for to fly away; but being moved with compassion for Leonora, he sent this Gentleman to will her that she would get herself to be safely conducted to the Port, where she might save herself with him. We being then thus all encountered here together, Sophronia, who had heard of our repair thither, left Leonora on her bed, and came out unto us; for she rightly imagined, that it may be we had some dismal news to tell, which was not fit for her to know. She presently discerned by our looks the misfortune that was arrived unto as; but it being no time to lament, we arrested our tears and her sighs, and declaring unto her the estate of things, we represented unto her, that we were not to suffer the Count to be outraged in the person of Leonora; that her loss was undoubted if she stayed longer in this Palace; that the people peradventure would come and set it on fire; or it may be the Senate would cause it to be razed to the ground; and that in fine it was requisite by flight to avoid outrages worse than death; that Julio Cibo her eldest brother hated them all; that it would be glorious for her to make away with a brother of her husbands; and in conclusion, that it was for her to persuade Leonora to the taking of this resolution; that for us, we protested unto her, that we would follow her fortune; and that the Count's mother, albeit the cause of his loss, was notwithstanding to be set in a place of safety, for the glory of her son; for fear lest some extraordinary violence should be used against her.  
Sophronia having mused a while said, She was confident that Leonora, if once she came to know the death of the Count, would never think of preserving her life; that the only fear of it had already put her into such a violent despair, as it would be impossible to make her resolve for that which they desired of her, when she should be assured of it. Doria, having heard this objection, said, that Leonora was to be beguiled, and only told, that the Count's enterprise having succeeded ill, he was retired into his Galley, whither he willed her to repair, having to that purpose sent us for her; and for fear she should come to know the truth of the matter, his mother also was to be beguiled in the same manner.  
This advice being well approved of, we entered into Leonora's chamber, who no sooner saw us, but she risen up, and with a dismayed countenance and tears in her eyes, she demanded of us, whether the Count were dead? we answered her as we had before resolved; and declaring the business unto her with as many circumstances as we could, to render it the more probable, we so wrought with her, that she believed us, and constantly resolved for her flight. We found not the same facility in the Count's mother; What, said she unto us, doth he, who promised me to vanquish or to die, prepare himself to fly? Ah! base and inconsiderate, cried she, I will go to find thee out, not to fly away with thee, but to oblige thee once more to fight, and if I cannot do that, I shall at leastwise have the satisfaction of reproaching thee for thy want of courage. This said, she marched foremost, and I advanced to lead her; Sophronia took a little casket wherein her sister's jewels were, and unto her Doria lent his hand; the French Marquis conducted Leonora; as for Horatio, he followed alone, being very much grieved to abandon Hippolita: But Fortune, who was willing to favour him, so ordered it, that being arrived just before Doria's house, we heard people coming in wonderful haste, which without doubt were some of them that fled; finding ourselves then in so commodious a place for to let them pass by, we entered into Doria's house; and whereas Hippolita was exceedingly troubled both for her brother and her Lover, she no sooner heard their two voices, mingled with some women's, but she came down to us, and understanding our design, What, said she to her brother, will you abandon me? I do not abandon you, sister, answered he, but Love and Fortune do snatch me from you. Hipolita's mother was de●d not long b fore, so that having nothing to retain her at Genova, and not knowing withal what should become of her, she made use of all these reasons to persuade her brother he would permit her not to abandon him, or to speak more truly, not to quit Horatio. What, said she unto him, will you have me stay here, that Andrea may revenge himself on me, for the injury which he believes he hath received from you? And having lost my mother, and seeing myself forsaken of my brother, shall I abide here without support and comfort? I do not desire you to leave Sophronia, but that you will permit me to follow her. Hippolita spoke this with so much grief, that every one was touched with it. And when as Horatio prayed Sophronia, that she would oblige Doria to consent thereunto, Doria embraced his sister with a great deal of affection, and told her, that he was ravished with her generosity.  
Hippolita having obtained her desire, and we no longer hearing any passing by, we proceeded on in our way towards the Port, where we arrived without any obstacle. Ottobuono's Gentleman conducted us to the Count's Galley, where we were received, and Leonora put into the Captain's , being told that the Count would come thither to her. The Mother, when sh● was there, asked of every one, where the Count was? I approached to her, and told her that she should know ere it were long. In the mean time we were no sooner got aboard, but we propounded the sending to Giralomo, that he might come to save himself with us. Verrin without harkening thereunto, commanded them to steer for Marseilles, whereupon all the Slaves betaking them to their Oars, the Galley made from the Port, which was left free and open to the Turks, who had abandoned their own Vessel, and taken one of Doria's Galleys, named the Temperance. They went away in this sort, and could never be overtaken by two Galleys, which were sent after them the next day. The most part of the Galleyslaves having knocked off their Irons, stole all the Arms, and all that they could lay hold of; and getting away, they alone enjoyed the liberty, which the Count would have acquired for himself.  
This while, Madam, we remained in the Galley of this illustrious infortunate man, but with so much grief, as never voyage had so sad a beginning. Baptista Verrin was mad to see his enterprise broken; Vincentio Calcagna upbraided him with being the cause of all this mischief; Raphaello Sacco repent him for having counselled so unlucky a design; and Ottobu●no, without testifying his thoughts, continued in a silence, that would not permit us to know what they were. As for the rest of us, although we had all of us misfortunes, which diversely regarded us, yet the death of the Count prevailed over all our other sufferings, and his loss in this occasion made up all our sorrow. In the mean season, Leonora, not seeing him, and perceiving the Galley make from the Port, pressed Sophronia that she might see him, and hearing her sister make her no precise answer, she of herself knew the misfortune that was happened unto him: And when as we entered into her chamber all at one time, and that she saw him not amongst us, she cried out, and said, There is no longer doubt but that the Count it dead. The Count dead! said the Mother with a great deal of precipitation. Yes, Madam, continued Vincentio Calcagna, who was extremely touched with this loss, and dead by your commandment: you enjoined him to vanquish or to die, and he hath done both, Madam; for he is dead after the death of his Enemy. We were very sorry that this man had delivered the matter so bluntly before the infortunate Leonora, who unable to support so many sorrows at once, swooned in the Arms of Sophronia.  
As for the Count's Mother, she entered into a rage that cannot be represented unto you; the apprehensions of a Mother having re-assumed their place in her soul, she said all that grief, anger, repentance, fury, and despair could make one say. Oh! cried she, it is I that have laid the Count in his grave! I am thinking of my safety, and making from a place, where it may be I should be punished for the crime I have committed! Ah, no, no, I must be carried back to Land; I must go and be torn in pieces by an enraged people: I must acquaint them that I am the only cause of the Conspiracy, and so losing my life by their fury, receive the punishment which I deserve.  
But whilst this ambitious woman repent her of her violence, and punished herself for her own fault, the unhappy Leonora came out of her swoon; she had no sooner opened her eyes, but turning herself to her sister, she demanded of her where the Count's body was, and prayed her that at leastwise they would let her see it. We thought then, to the end her grief might not be renewed another time, that it was b●st to tell her the truth of the matter, and acquaint her, that being drowned, his body was not in our power. This last circumstance of the Count's misfortune, redoubled Leonora's affliction. Can I not at least, said she with a languishing voice, have had the consolation to be enclosed with him in the same Tomb? scarcely had she ended those words, but suddenly passing from one extremity to another, she risen up with violence, and entreated us that we would leave her on the shore, there to spend her life in seeking for the body of her dear Husband. And when as we resisted her entreaties, she termed us ingrateful, cruel, and insensible; nay she would have rid herself out of our hands, to have gone and cast herself into the Sea, but at length the excess of her grief, and her weakness, made her tumble down again into Sophronia's arms, almost without any sense; and after that, as long as we were upon the Sea, we never heard her speak but once only, which was the next day at night, when as there arose so furious a tempest, as we verily believed we should have suffered shipw●ach. Leonora, having observed by the cries of the Mariners that we were in danger, seemed to receive some consolation from it; then looking on Sophronia and Hippolita, whom the fear of death, which they believed to be so near, possessed with strange unquietness; Do not afflict yourselves, said she unto them, I am too unhappy to suffer shipwreck, and death will be sure not to succour me.  
But not to weary you with so doleful a relation, I shall tell you in few words, that the tempest redoubled in such sort, that it drove us to Albengua, where Leonida having a house, was gone thither a good while before. We had no sooner cast anchor, but having been advertised of the mishap of her dear friends, she came to visit them, and would so far take part with them in their afflictions, that when we had furnished ourselves with another Vessel at Albengua, and were putting forth again to Sea, she would not abandon them. But I forget that it is not yet time to speak of our departure from Albengua; you shall understand then that at such time as we arrived there, Leonora suffered herself to be carried whither soever one would, and without so much as demanding where we were, so exceedingly was her Soul possessed with sorrow. As for the Count's mother, the distemper whereinto she had put herself with her crying, lamentations, and repentance, brought her to so violent a fever, as refusing all kind of remedies she died a little after. And to make an end of telling you the whole sequel of the Count's Conspiracy, you are to understand that which we learned at Albengua, where we tarried a good while, which is, that after we parted from Genova, and that Giralomo was retired to Montobio, the Count's body was found; and dead as he was, remained still a terror to his Enemies. Andrea would not suffer him to be exposed to the view of the people, for fear lest so deplorable an object should cause some sedition, and the love which was born to him should renew the passed disorders.  
In the mean time Ottobuono took our Galley, and left us at Albengua, that he might with the more speed get to Marseilles; Baptista Verrin, and his two friends, abandoned us also, and putting themselves into Montobio, the Senate, having elected a Duke, retracted the abolition they had given to the Conspirators. And for that effect, they confiscated all the Count's Estate, declared his two Brothers Rebels to the Republic, and then sent Pansa to persuade Giralomo to render up Montobio, where he had fortified himself. But Giralomo, who by nature was boisterous, answered him as if he had a mind to augment the suspicion which they had of him, that he held that place in the name of a Prince, more mighty than the Senate, meaning in this occasion the King of France, unto whom the illustrious family of the Counts of Lavagna, have always been much affected. This answer exasperated things in such sort, as shortly after Montobio was besieged by Augustino Spinola, on whom this employment was conferred, and so hardly laid unto, that Baptista Verrin counselled Giralomo to render at discretion, which he instantly did. But within a while Baptista Verrin had cause to repent him of his bad counsel; for Andrea Doria, seeing the Senate inclined to clemency, came thither in person, and spoke with so much vehemency, as he caused them to change their minds, and carried matters to their uttermost violence, by making them to be put to death against the public sense.  
Behold, Madam, what the deplorable fortune of the Count hath been; as for the rest of us, after we had taken another Vessel at Albengua, and being put again to Sea would have directed our course for Marseilles, our navigation was not more prosperous this second time then formerly it had been; for we were not far from the Port, when as the tempest began again with such fury, as during six days and six nights we were continually in expectation of being cast away. At length a calm having succeeded the storm, we came to discover Land; but we were mightily surprised, when as our Pilot assured us, that that which we saw was the City of Morocco. Our Vessel was so bruised, as we resolved to land there; and this design being executed, the King of Morocco received us with a great deal of courtesy. Now for that which arrived unto us there, and for that which brought us to Constantinople, I think it will be requisite to refer the relation thereof to another time: And whereas the beautiful Hippolita and Sophronia have a greater share in it then I, you shall, if you please, learn the sequel of our fortune from their mouths.  
It is without doubt very deplorable, said Isabel, and I can assure you, that I have not felt that motion in my heart, which they say is so ordinary with every one, and causes us in some sort to be comforted for our miseries, when we see others infortunate as well as ourselves; but contrarily I find my sorrow augmented thereby. That proceeds from your generosity, said Sophronia unto her, but do not lament the Count so much, as not to reserve some sighs for my sister, whom we have lost as well as he, with the grief she took for his death. The Princess hereupon redoubled her complaints, which had not finished so soon, if a Capigibassi had not come and told her, that it was time to return to the old Seraglio, because the gates thereof were always used to be shut somewhat early. Isabella rose up blushing, and without any resistance, parted somewhat unwillingly from her dear friends, promising to come and see them again the next day: Howbeit she would needs conduct these three fair persons to their lodging first, for they would at no hand lie asunder in several chambers. And after that she had rendered them this civility whether they would or no; and after that Doria, Horatio, and Alphonso had waited upon her and Emilia to her Chariot, she returned to the old Seraglio with the same magnificence, as she came from thence.     

IBRAHIM: OR, THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA. The Fourth Part.  

The First Book.  
ISabella was no sooner awake the next day, but the Slave, which Roxellana had suborned, came and told her from the Grand Signior, that at length his care had not been in vain; that after a very exact search, the Slave, whose liberty she had desired, had been found out, and sent immediately to Ibrahim's Palace unto his other friends; and that the Sultan entreated she would be pleased he might come and visit her. Isabella not daring to refuse a favour unto a Prince, who accorded her so many, answered, that the Sultan did her too much honour, and how she was very glad that in coming to visit her he gave her the opportunity to thank him for the new obligation wherein she stood engaged unto him. This Slave than left the Princess, and went unto Soliman, to whom, according to the directions she had for it, she amplified Isabella's civilities, and with that which she delivered, persuaded him, that the Princess might be acquainted, without any great offence, with the passion he was in for her. In this opinion he went to the old Seraglio, with a determination to use some artifice to keep her from going so often to visit her friends. In the mean time Isabel had used such diligence in making herself ready, as she had leisure to go, before Soliman repaired to her lodging, and entreat the Sultana Asteria, that she would be with her when as the Grand Signior should come to see her, as he had sent her word he would, imagining that her presence might stop him from saying any thing to her that would offend her, if it were so that he had a mind thereunto. Asteria, who loved Isabel, would by no means deny her, so that when the Sultan arrived there, he found them both together; yet durst he not testify how much he was displeased at it, but contrarily magnified Asteria's good hap, in that she could always be with her; commended her for the care she had taken to make herself agreeable to her; thanked Isabel for the affection she shown her; and after a long compl●ment, which still gave her occasion to increase her suspicions, he suffered her at length to render him thanks for the French Marquess his liberty, and to crave his permission for her to go and rejoice herself with her dear friends.  
Soliman blushed at this request, and after he had stood a pretty while silent, he assured her that she might absolutely do whatsoever she pleased: Nevertheless if she would permit him to speak freely in this occasion, he would confess unto her, that he should be glad she would not go forth every day, because the people might at length find something to say, upon seeing so extraordinary a liberty of going in and out of the Seraglio; that the Sultana Queen, who might do so when she would, seldom or never made use of that liberty: Wherefore he prayed her to have some regard to the waywardness of the people, who peradventure might fall into some sedition, wherein her friends might be involved; that he did not desire she should not go thither any more, but only that she should not go every particular day; howsoever he assured her that she might do as she pleased, choosing rather to expose his Empire to all things, then to expose himself to the hazard of her displeasure by constraining her in any thing. Isabel answered as she ought to so obliging a discourse, howbeit she requested the Sultan to permit her to visit them for two or three days more together, because she had an extreme desire to understand all their adventures, and after that she promised his Highness she would not see them so often. The Sultan, who was willing to win the heart of Isabel, and to vanquish her rather with courtesy then with violence, consented to her request, and the more to comply with her also, he went away from her sooner than he had determined, to give her the longer time for the visiting of her friends; unto whom likewise, for a greater demonstration of his favour unto her, he sent most magnificent presents, as soon as he was returned to his Seraglio.  
In the mean time Isabel, after she had given thanks to the Sultana Asteria for her assistance, and had entreated her to continue it to her, entered into a Chariot with Emilia, and went unto Ibrahim's Palace, where she found a great deal of joy for the return of the French Marquis, who in his particular was not a little glad to learn from his friends the happy encounter they had made of Isabel, which had caused both their liberty and his. He no sooner knew then that she was arrived, but he descended in all haste to go and receive her: And whereas the change of places, misfortune, and slavery, had brought none to his humour, he scarcely saw her appear before he advanced to kiss her robe; I do not know, Madam, said he unto her, whether I ought rather to give you thanks for breaking my chains here in Constantinople, or to complain of you for that you are going to give me others in making me see Emilia again. Isabella not able sufficiently to admire the tranquillity of the Marquis his mind; I should not have believed, answered she him smiling, that ever I could have envied you, but I acknowledge to you now, that I would willingly be almost of your humour, for in fine, be it virtue or insensibility, you are ever happy. The Marquess was going to answer her, but the arrival of Sophronia, Hippolita, and Leonida, of Horatio, Doria, and Alphonso, kept him from it, whereof he was not sorry, to the end he might make a compliment in particular to Emilia, who without doubt was somewhat joyful to see the Marquis; for although she had no great affection for him, because she was not capable of it, yet did she infinitely esteem of him, and bore a great deal of goodwill to his person.  
After this fair Troop had used many civilities to one another, they entered all into Ibrahim's chamber, where Isabel, to husband the time which she had to be with a company, that was so agreeable to her, desired them to acquaint her with the sequel of their misfortunes. The Marquis, beginning first to speak, said, that for his part he had none but good fortunes to relate unto her since his coming to Constantinople. Therefore, said the Princess, they shall be kept for the last, as indeed it is fittest that I should understand things in order as they fell out. Hippolita seeing it was but reason, entreated her brother Doria, that he would take the pains to do it, upon condition nevertheless that he should spare her in some parts of his relation, by omitting certain things, which he called Caprichioes, and which she was persuaded was an effect of sovereign reason. Doria accepted of this commission, but howsoever he told his sister, that he would be a true Historian, and since she believed that Reason always ruled her thoughts, she needed not to fear they should be known. Isabel apprehending that this dispute would make Doria lose time, prayed him not to hearken to Hipol●ta, who questionless could not take it ill, that any thing should be known which she had done. Doria, according to the Princess' desire, without giving any further ear to his sister, began to speak thus, as soon as ever this fair Troop was set.  

The History of HIPPOLITA, SOPHRONIA, and LEONIDA.  
I Will not renew Sophronia's sorrow in particularising unto you the loss of Leonora, since it will suffice me to tell you, that her end had no other cause but her affliction; and that her destiny was such, as dying on the main Sea, we were constrained to give her the same Tomb, which the injustice of Fortune had given her illustrious husband: But to get away speedily from so lamentable an adventure, you shall understand, that we were no sooner arrived at Morocco, but we lost all that the Tempest had left us, that is to say, the wrack of the Vessel and out liberty. For whereas they knew us at the first sight to be Christians, hardly had we cast anchor when as they made us Slaves. Indeed it is true, that in the beginning our servitude was easy enough; for as our good Fortune would have it, the Princess Mariama, sister to King Abdalla, who reigns at Morocco, passed accidentally along by the Port when as we were making into it; and this Princess seeing our ship without sails, without rudder, the tackle torn, the sailyards broken, and every part of it almost battered in pieces, she caused the Chariot, wherein she was, to stay, that she might see us land, and know of what Nation we were: for the Tempest had left our Vessel no marks, whereby it might be known. When as we came near the Port, whither the wind, rather than the skill of the Pilot, conducted us, there was not one in the Ship which got not up on the deck to behold this Land, where we hoped, if we did not find a refuge, at leastwise we should escape casting away: So that the Princess Mariama, having observed women amongst us, redoubled her curiosity and compassion much the more. As soon as ever we touched Land, than she commanded us to be brought unto her, that she herself might know who we were, and what our fortune had been. This order having been observed, they led us before this Princess; and verily this first encounter was an happy presage for us, and an extreme consolation for the beautiful Sophronia, Leonida, and Hippolita; for this Princess hath so much majesty and sweetness, as she caused in us both a great deal of respect, and a great deal of hope. And whereas she had noted by our apparel that we were of Italy, and not understanding that Tongue, she would not stand to send for an Interpreter, but thought that some of us peradventure could speak Spanish, which she understood perfectly, and is common enough throughout all the Kingdoms of Fez, Tunis, and Morocco, by reason of the neighbourhood of Spain with this part of Africa, and of the Wars and Commerce, which in former times they have had one with another, especially before the Kings of Granado, who were originally Moor, were subdued by Ferdinando and Isabel. And truly she was not deceived in her conjecture, for there was not any of us but spoke it well, or at leastwise could make ourselves be understood in it.  
When as this Princess saw that her design had succeeded, she testified as much joy for it as we did; and having demanded of us whither we were going, of whence we were, and in what place we had been taken with the Tempest? we told her all things as they had passed, without acquainting her nevertheless with the occasion that had caused us to part from Genova, and without telling her our names, and falling at her feet we besought her to protect us; for by the respect which was rendered to her, and by her train, we believed she was Queen of Morocco. This excellent Princess made us rise up with a great deal of courtesy; and being touched with the charms of those whom we conducted, she took an affection to us, and resolved to serve us as much as she could. But whereas she was willing to observe in all things the respect which she owed to the King her brother, she took up Sophronia, Leonida, and my sister, into the Chariot to her, and commanding us to follow her, she willed some of the Guard that attended upon her, to lend us their horses. We went in this manner to Abdalla's Palace, whom we found alone with his Favourite, called Ali-Ben Ducar, a man of a great spirit, but cruel and ambitious. As soon as Mariama appeared, and that the King saw he● followed by so many unknown persons, and chief of three fair women (if my sister can suffer me to put her in that number) he was so surprised therewith, that advancing presen lie towards her, he said to her in her language, (as Mariama recounted unto us afterwards,) What adventure is befallen you? from what War are you come? what Conquest have you made? and by what good hap have you met with so fair a Troop? The Princess Mariama, who had so much goodness, as that she would not be suspected of us, said unto him in Spanish, (for he understood it as well as she,) that Fortune having put so many afflicted persons into her hands, she came to crave permission of him, that she might take care of them, protect them, and restore them to their liberty.  
Aly, who understood this Tongue, and that all the time of Mariama's discourse had eyed Hippolita, as well as Abdalla, with a great deal of attention, and it may be already with a great deal of love, approached and said in Spanish, that one must needs be very inhuman, which would not protect such beautiful persons; but, continued he, speaking to Mariama in her natural Tongue, you may not, Madam, deprive these three fair creatures, of the honour of being your Slaves; Liberty cannot be so happy to them as this servitude, and you will be cruel to them in using them otherwise. Aly hath reason, replied the King in his language, and to content you and them to, I permit you to take care of them, and to protect them; and I do withal conjure you to retain them in your service. You know that all the Christians are our Enemies, so that to set them at liberty, when we have them in our hands, were to violate our Religion, and to infringe our Laws, wherefore accept of these fair strangers for your Slaves: But whereas their beauty deserves a gentler usage than others, give them no other, said he smiling, but cords of silk to retain them. My Lord, answered Mariama, the greatest of all good things is Liberty, and by consequence the greatest of all evils is servitude; there are no chains that are not heavy, and the less they be, the more do they straiten him that wears them; In fine, my Lord, either they do load him, or they do wring him, and both the one and the other is always grievous.  
It was in this sort, Madam, that the Princess Mariama spoke to obtain our liberty; and that which carried her yet more to oblige us, was, because Aly, whom she extremely hated, had at first opposed our deliverance with speeches of gallantry. But at length, seeing her persist too much in her demand, he by an artificial discourse coloured the matter with the public good, and gave the King a pretext to follow his inclination, by obliging Mariama to retain these three fair Slaves in her service. It being so resolved then, the King used them with a great deal of civility, and having demanded of them what we were unto them? they answered, that we were their brothers, and besought him that we might not be separated from them. As for us, seeing we might be understood, we humbly requested the King to entreat us as free men; and to consider that we had been driven into Morocco by a Tempest; that howsoever if he would notwithstanding have a ransom of us, we desired he would be pleased to set it down, to the end we might seek out the means to satisfy him. But thereunto he answered no otherwise, but that the next day we should receive his pleasure; and instantly we were conducted to a lodging, which was in the outward Court of the Palace, where we had a Guard set upon us. In the mean time the Princess Mariama, being moved with the tears and entreaties of these three afflicted ones, permitted them to remain with us, on condition that they should spend three or four hours of the day at her lodging, praying them not to be grieved, and to hope for all things from her assistance.  
But, Madam, that you may the better comprehend the sequel of our History, I am to relate unto you a part of Mariama's, and acquaint you in what estate the Court of Morocco was at that time. I will not stand for all that to tell you by what Artifices, two Xeriffes, that is to say amongst them, two holy men, and descended of the race of their Prophet Mahomet, invaded the two Kingdoms of Morocco and Taradant; but I will only tell you, that these two Xeriffes, though they were brothers, could not content themselves with the partition they had made of their Conquests; and after many breaches of promise on either side, they came at last to Arms. Whilst they were in good terms together, Hamet, who was the eldest, and to whom the Kingdom of Morocco was fallen for his share, had married Mariama, daughter to Mahomet his brother, King of Sus or Taradant, to Muley Zidan, the eldest of his sons; so that when the War began between these two brothers, the fair and virtuous Mariama found herself on the party of her father's enemy; and whatsoever she could do, it was impossible for her to make them change their resolution. Seeing then that her prayers, her tears, and persuasions were all to no purpose with her father-in-law Hamet, and that Muley Zidan, her husband, told her, how he could not but follow him in this War, who had given him birth; that he was not an enemy to Mahomet, but only an obedient son; that it was not for children to ask who were the enemies of those to whom they owed their lives, but only to hazard them against whomsoever they were, for the conservation of the lives of them, who had given them theirs. This wise Princess seeing, I say, things in this estate, abode in Morocco, and without making vows for the victory, either of the one of the other, she wished that their Arms would fall out of their hands, and that Reason might be stronger in them then ambition. But things went not after this sort; for after many encounters, wherein the Kings of Morocco, and Taradant, had each in their turn had the better and the worse, the chance of war being fallen in the end on Hamet, she saw Muley Zidan her Husband return almost alone of all his whole Army, which had been utterly defeated, and acquaint her with tears in his eyes, that his Father, and a Brother which he had, named Muley Buaçon, were prisoners in the hands of Mahomet. This virtuous Princess hearing this news, had generosity enough to weep for the victories of her Father; and when as she saw that her Husband, after he had assembled together all the Alfaquis, Cavaliers, and Captains that were in Morocco to advise on that which might be done, found out no expedient which could be commodious for him, she presented herself unto the Council, and demanded the permission to go and cast herself at the feet of Mahomet her Father, to endeavour the effecting of a peace; or to offer herself, and three children she had, for the ransom of Hamet; or to obtain a● lest that she might serve him during his captivity, if her tears could not move her Father's heart.  
So generous a proposition was approved of by the whole Assembly; and Muley Zidan went himself to conduct his wife and his children forth of the Gates of the City; yet was h● in some trouble to part with her, out of the fear he was in, lest Mahomet, knowing how ardently she was beloved of him, should retain her without rendering up his Father, and without harkening to peace. But she assured him, that when as she could no longer be useful to her Father-in-law, nothing but death alone should keep her from returning back to him again. The voyage of this sage Princess was not fruitless; and albeit that her Father was one of the greatest Politicians in the World, and one of the most ambitious Princes on the Earth, yet her Reasons, her Tears, and her Prayers drew him to grant her the liberty of Hamet and Muley Buaçon, and by a Treaty, as reasonable as if Hamet had not been a prisoner, they contracted a peace which seemed inviolable.  
But scarcely was Mariama reentered into Morocco as it were in triumph, after she had brought the King thither again; scarcely had Muley Zidan her Husband rendered her thanks for so brave an action, but that Hamet began to assemble new forces, and to say, that whatsoever he had promised in prison, was not to be kept; and for that effect he went out of Morocco to go and make new Levies himself; but at this time the victory fell to the juster side. For during Hamet's absence, Mahomet having been advertised of his designs, came to Morocco, and made himself Master of the City, partly by force, and partly also by the revolt of some, who could not approve of Hamet's change: So that when he thought to return to Morocco, with Muley Zidan, who had followed after him with an intent to divert him from the design he had to make war, he understood that he was a King without a Kingdom; and that the people, who ever follow the victorious party, had acknowledged Mahomet for King of Morocco. This Prince was so mightily strucken with this adventure, that abandoning all things he retired to one, named Cidy Ben Cecy, who lived solitarily in the Mountains, and past amongst them for a very great and holy person. As for Muley Zidan, he retired to the King of Fez their confederate.  
In the mean time, Mariama, who was in the City when it was taken, carried by her ordinary generosity, and fearing lest she should have been suspected for contributing somewhat thereunto, cast herself at her Father's feet to obtain leave of him to follow the infortunate party. And when as he refused her, she suborned one of the Captains that guarded the gates, and accompanied with two women, and some of her servants, she got out one night, and went to Cidy Ben Cecy's retirement. This action so touched Mahomet's heart, as it carried him once again to treat with his Brother, but it was upon condition, that he should not re-enter into Morocco, because he had promised so much to the inhabitants, who feared to be ill-intreated by him.  
But not to prolong this discourse any further, you shall understand that Hamet recommenced the War four or five times, and that so often Mariama obtained his liberty, and always followed his and her Husband's fortune. Howbeit in the end Mahomet, after he had conquered the Kingdom of Fez, took him in the last War, and committed him to close prison, with four of his children, and three of Mariama's, because he accused Muley Zidan her Husband, for having succoured the King of Fez, whilst he made war upon him: And the unhappy Zidan having been taken, lost his life, by the command of him, whose daughter he had married. True indeed it is, that it was by the counsel of Aly, who afterwards was Abdalla's favourite, and in the absence of Mariama, who at that time was not with her Father. In fine, not to aggravate the sorrow of this excellent Princess, Mahomet died a little while after, and Abdalla the eldest of his children succeeded him; having ordained by his Testament, that after him the second of his sons should succeed, and in order all his other brothers, without any pretence to be made by any of Abdalla's children to the Crowns of Morocco, Fez, and Taradant, as long as their Uncles lived. At such time as Mahomet died, Abdalla was not at Morocco, so that when the news of his death arrived there, Aly, who commanded in the City, and was Visier of the Kingdom, which is the next dignity to the King, fearing lest the people should revolt, and should draw Hamet and Mariama's children out of prison, to set them on the Throne which appertained to them, carried by an inconsiderate zeal, and an extreme cruelty, caused the infortunate Hamet, and his children, together with Mariama's, to be put to death, for the assuring of the Crown to Abdalla, whose favourite he would be, as he had been Mahomet's. And truly it was not hard for him to be so; for whereas this man was very great in riches, most mighty in friends, of an extraordinary courage, having a great deal of prudence and wit, and much more ambition, there would have been folly, and no little hazard, for whomsoever would have enterprised to disoblige him.  
Abdalla, though grieved with that which Aly had done, yet named it an excess of zeal and affection, rather than inhumanity; and continuing him in his Commands, committed unto him almost the whole sway of his Kingdoms. But in some sort to repair this cruelty, he took care to dry up the tears of the Princess Mariama, enforced her to return to the Court, made her to be reverenced as the Queen of all his States, would have persuaded her that Aly was not altogether culpable of the death of Hamet and her children, and would exact no other thing of her, but to live in good terms with Aly. This Princess, who was no less prudent than virtuous, made as if she believed that which the King her Brother told her, albeit in her heart she bore an irreconciliable hatred to Aly. And indeed she lived so well with him, without doing any thing for all that unworthy of her great mind, as it was believed, that the consideration of her Brother, and her own virtue, had made her forget, that Aly had counselled the death of her Husband, and had caused her Father-in-law, and her children to be killed. But you shall perceive by the sequel of this History, that she had other manner of designs.  
Behold then, Madam, the estate wherein the Court of Morocco was at such time as we were driven thither by tempest. Abdalla was peaceable in his Estates, the Princess Mariama was very powerful with him, and Aly shared with her in Abdalla's heart. I think that after this you will the less marvel, when you shall come to know that this virtuous Princess set herself so strongly and so readily to protect us, in regard she was carried thereunto, both by her own virtue, and the hate she bore to Aly, as you shall understand by the sequel of this discourse. But to come to that which touches us directly, I am to tell you, that whether Sophronia's extreme affliction had rendered her eyes less powerful than they used to be, or Leonida's negligence had taken off some of her charms, or that my sister, having a complexion not so clear as her fellows, was the more suitable to that of the Country, it was she that made Abdalla and Aly her Slaves; and who by consequence was the cause that we were so too.  
You have promised, said Horatio interrupting him, to be a faithful Historian; wherefore, without digressing from your subject, relate only the effects of Hipolita's beauty, and not establish yourself the judge thereof. The Marquis could not forbear laughing at this discourse, no more than Sophronia and Leonida, nor Hippolita blushing, and all out of different apprehensions: but at length after some civilities had passed betwixt them, Doria continued his discourse in this sort. Hippolita then having seemed beautiful, both to the King, and to his Favourite, they had both of them a design not to give liberty to a person, who had already somewhat engaged theirs: But whereas this first sense of love was not yet very strong in their soul, they said nothing of it to one another, and only resolved together, that we should be retained as Slaves; but whereas ill fortune had brought us to Morocco, and that we were not their Enemies, but because we were Christians, therefore we should be treated very gently, yea and hope given us that in time we might obtain our liberty. This resolution taken, all our Soldiers and Mariners were the next day committed to safe custody, without any other ill usage offered unto them; and for us, they contented themselves with leaving us under the guard they had formerly assigned us, with this difference nevertheless, that we were separated from Sophronia, Leonida, and Hippolita; for it was Abdalla's absolute pleasure, that they should abide in the service of the Princess Mariama, and that they should lie in her lodgings; but with this grace for us, that we should be permitted to go sometimes and see them, or they to come and visit us. This extraordinary favour having been granted to us, against the custom of the Country, by the goodness of Mariama, whom these new Slaves always found ready to render them all kind of good offices. It is certain that this separation was grievous unto us, and seeing the terms wherein we stood, we were almost sorry that we had not suffered shipwreck, at leastwise me-thought I observed such like apprehensions in the minds of Horatio and Alphonso: But as for the Marquis, it is to be spoken for his glory, that never man was so soon comforted as he, and I was not a little surprised, to hear him say laughing, a quarter of an hour after we were returned from conducting the persons, who were so dear unto us, to the Princess Mariama's lodgings, that the Africans Love could tell how to use his how better, than he of Europe; it being very true, said he, that he had never been so suddenly strucken to the heart, as he had lately been by the charms of a sister of the Princess Mariama, who was called Lela Mahabit, only with seeing her at a window.  
For me, said the Marquis interrupting him, who had neither Sister nor Mistress to grieve for, nor was afflicted but out of a sense of friendship, I am not to be blamed, if, to render myself more like unto those with whom I conversed, I suffered myself to be surprised with the passion which possessed their Souls. If I be always interrupted in this manner, said Doria, i● will be hard for me to relate this day that which you desire to know of me. Isabel, finding that Doria had Reason, made all the company pass their word that they would not speak any more until he had ended their History; so that every one keeping silence, and Isabel having renewed her attention, Doria prosecuted his discourse in this sort.  
These new Slaves were no sooner come to the Princess Mariama's lodgings, but Abdalla, who visited them very often, repaired thither, accompanied with Aly. And whereas he found her with them, and that therefore they would out of respect have withdrawn, he would not permit it, telling them that the name of Slave, which he had imposed upon them, was rather an artifice to retain them about the Princess his sister, than a design to keep them in servitude. This compliment was seconded by another which Aly used to them, and with a sincere protestation made to them by Mariama for the treating of them as her sisters, rather than as her Slaves. This second view yet more augmented the love, which the King of Morocco and Aly already bore to Hippolita; and whereas Aly was cunning and dextrous, and had out of a sense of ambition for a long time before taken great care to observe all Abdalla's motions, he quickly perceived that the beauty of Hippolita had touched his heart, and that his Master was his Rival. And whereas he knew very well that Love, no more than Royalty, endures not any companion, he resolved to conceal from the King the design which he had in his head. It was not long, before his suspicions were fully cleared; for Abdalla being become passionately in love, and fearing lest if he should talk too often with Hippolita, his sister, to whom he carried a great respect, would come to know his intentions, he opened his heart wholly to Aly, discovered his passion unto him, conjured him to find out the means to acquaint her with it, who had caused it. Aly, as we understood afterwards, testified a great deal of joy unto him, for that he being fallen in love, as he said, with one of those Slaves, he had been so happy as not to prove his Rival. The King demanded of him then, whether it were so that he loved any of them? and the other answered him with a false confidence, that Leonida had touched his heart. That which obliged him to this lie, was his belief, that by this mean the King would never be jealous of him, nor would fear his falling in love with Hippolita, being persuaded that his affection was engaged otherwhere; and indeed the matter fell out as he imagined. The King gave him the conduct of his Love, as well as that of his Estates; commanded him always to follow him whensoever he went to the Princess Mariama; and not to lose any occasion of speaking to Hippolita concerning him.  
In the mean time, as if Fortune would give a particular persecution to each of these three fair Slaves, a younger Brother of Abdalla's, named Abdelcadar, became desperately in love with Sophronia. For the rest of us, except it were the Marquis, we had no new passion; and mishap in this encounter, appeared not to us at first, but in the semblance of good fortune. The King sent to visit us with presents, and many times made us come to his lodgings for to entertain him. Aly resorted to us himself, and assured us of his protection: We had also the liberty to see and speak with our sisters, or to say better, our Mistresses; for in these occasions, love always prevailed over friendship.  
In fine, the greatest of our unquietnesses was, that we could not foresee the end of our present felicities, nor divine wherefore they treated us so favourably, and yet would not deliver us. Howbeit we were not long without discovering it, for the King's and Aly's love still augmenting, whereas gallantry seems to be natural to all the Moors, they were willing to restore Hippolita to her former joy, before they would speak to her of their passion. For notwithstanding all the caresses which these fa●r maids received from the Princess Mariama, and the affection which they carried to her, yet melancholy appeared still in all their discourses, and in all their actions: So that to delight them, there were nothing bu● public feasts, turneys, balls, and rejoicings. But in all these encounters Aly so carried the matter, as all the parties, whereof he was the Head, were, both braver, and more magnificent, then that of others, without the Kings ever suspecting any thing of his true intent, because his mind was prepossessed with the opinion, that it was Leonida he was in love withal, and not Hippolita. And surely he should have been very melancholic, that could not have taken pleasure in these assemblies, it being certain, that nothing is seen which is more agreeable even in Europe, especially for dancing. For whereas, since the desolation of Granado, many persons of quality retired to Fez, Tunis, and Morocco, though the remembrance of their misfortunes ought to have made them renounce all manner of delights, yet their desire to please Abdalla who protected them, caused them to be present at all these feasts. And truly I do not marvel, if the Spaniards in conquering their Kingdom, though they be conquerors severe enough, have not forborn taking some of their gallantries, chief that dance, called Sarabanda: But it must be acknowledged that they are but bad imitators of them, no more than we, who have taken it from the Spaniards; it being most certain that they dance it in a manner wherein there is so much art and grace, as we come nothing near it. And whereas out of a particular favour we were present at all these feasts, I remember one amongst the rest, wherein the Marquis made an end of losing his liberty by a Sarabanda, which the Princess Lela Mahabit danced. For whereas all th● features of her face were excellent, her eyes sparkling and passionate, her shape advantageous and comely, her carriage free and majestical, although the colour of her skin was not v●ry agreeable, yet her whole person together appeared infinitely pleasing in this Assembly, where she danced a Sarabanda with a negligence so full of charms, with so graceful a disposition, and so gallant and amorous an air, as the Marquis was in a mind solemnly to renounce his ordinary humour, and become constant for this Princess.  
And to testify unto you, how great an impression she made in his heart, I only can tell you, that in four days the Marquis, who was desirous to transform himself into the person beloved as much as possibly he could, learned this dance so miraculously, that having demanded permission of Aly to intermingle himself amongst a Troop of Granadins, who were to dance disguised in one of these Assemblies, he charmed all the company in such sort, as the Princess Lela Mahabid, who was an equitable Judge of such like things, would needs know who he was: But she was much amazed, when as she perceived that he was not a Granadin, but one of the favourite Slaves, for so we were called; Sophronia, Leonida, and Hippolita were no less than she, to see that they had admired him without knowing him, never dreaming it should be he, though they discerned him not amongst us. In the mean time this adventure was not displeasing to her, for after that, there passed not an Assembly (and there was one almost every day) wherein he spoke not to her, wherein he danced not before her, and wherein with his address, and accustomed confidence, he gave her not some mark of his affection, yet without passing those bounds of respect which he owed to her. But whereas all these Feasts were made upon design, the King solicited Aly to sp●ak to Hippolita of his love, which he did soon after, but in such a manner, as seemed at first sight infinitely to oblige my sister: For after a reasonable long discourse he besought her to consider what he owed to the King his M●ster, to the end that afterwards she might receive that which he was going to say to her, as a pure effect of his obedience to Abdalla, and not as a matter he approved of. He told her then, that he had such a particular esteem of her, as he would rather expose himself to the hazard of losing his life and his fortune, then to that of displeasing her.  
In fine, after a preparation long enough, and when as he believed that he had given sufficient good impressions of his virtue to Hippolita, he told her that her beauty had touched the heart of Abdalla, and that he had commanded him to acquaint her with his love; but, said he unto her with a seeming sincerity, whereas you can never be but his Slave, Heaven shield me from contributing aught to so bad a design; contrarily, I will do my uttermost to hinder such a misfortune; and that you may furnish me with means to serve you, make known to the King, added he, if he happens to speak with you, that I have acquitted myself of the commission which he gave me; in the mean time assure yourself that there is not any thing which I will not undertake for your service.  
Hippolita was strangely surprised with this discourse, for coming to consider all Abdalla's liberalities, and the manner wherein he had lived with her for a good while before, she made no question but that Aly's discourse was true. Nevertheless, whereas she is naturally suspicious and mistrustful, she doubted of Aly's sincerity in some things; howbeit she answered civilly enough to the offers he had made her; but for so much as regarded the King's love, she spoke to him with so much firmness, as he seemed to be very blank at it. It was not because he desired she should accept of Abdalla's love, but seeing in what manner she refused the King's affection, he feared lest when he should come to discover his own, he should be worse entreated. And whereas Hippolita perceived his unquietness; for what reason, said she unto him, are you afflicted to see me resolved to oppose myself with all my power against an affection which you seem not to approve of? It is, answered Aly, with as much cunning as malice, because knowing by your discourse, how much that which I have used to you hath troubled your mind, I cannot choose but grieve for that the King hath picked out to persecute you, the only man in the world that honours you most: But believe, fair Hippolita, continued he, that this unjust love touches me as much as you, and that there is not any thing which I will not do to deliver you from it. After this Aly quitted her, and left her in such an unquietness, as the like was scarcely ever heard of. Not only the King's affection afflicted her; not only the sadness, which she had observed in Aly's face, troubled her; not only the incertainty wherein she was whether she should discover Abdalla's love to the Princess Mariama, disquieted her; but an odd and altogether extraordinary jealousy put her mind upon the rack. She did not complain of Horatio's looking on any other person; she did not accuse him of infidelity, but she was jealous because he was not jealous: For when as Aly talked to her, she had marked how Horatio's eyes were still fixed on her, and albeit he had seen that man entertain her a long time, yet had he not appeared the more unquiet for it. And as it is the custom of passionate persons to aggravate things, according to the apprehensions which they have, so Hippolita had the injustice to believe, that her Lover must needs perceive the King's love, which she herself had not known. If he loved me ardently, said she (for she declared it unto us afterwards) the fear of losing me would have made him fear all things; he would have taken notice of the King's civilities; his liberalities would have been suspected unto him; I should have seen some unquietness in his eyes, when as Aly talked so earnestly to me: in fine, concluded she in her heart, either he loves me not, or he loves me but a little; and if he loves me but a little, he loves me not at all, since love never endures any mediocrity.  
Whilst she reasoned in this manner, Aly, who desired to persuade the King that he was in love with Leonida, took great care that notice might be taken how she was pleasing to him. And whereas Alphonso hath not by nature so quiet a mind as Horatio, he seemed to us almost is much troubled as Hippolita, though it were in a different manner. He was not jealous of Leonida, but he was vexed to think that Aly was amorous of her. He did not fear that she would be unfaithful to him, but he was angry that another was passionate for her; it being his humour, as I conceive, that the person whom he loves should never see any but him, nor should be seen of any but him. As for me, that am of a contrary mind; that would have all the Earth raise up altars to my Mistress; that cannot be jealous no more than Horatio; that places all my felicity in having Rivals, to the end I may possess the glory of being better entreated than they, and may no longer doubt, but that I am loved as well out of choice, as out of inclination; I saw Abdelcader, as long as this Assembly lasted, employ all his address to please the fair Sophronia, without being troubled at it; but contrarily I beheld with pleasure the admiration which her beauty put him into, as well as all the rest of the company, and it seemed unto me, that in commending her, they commended my judgement, and augmented my glory.  
Behold, Madam, in what sort this Assembly ended; The King retired with a great deal of impatience to know what answer Hippolita had given to Aly; this false Confident very sorry for having encountered with so much firmness in my sister's mind; Sophronia sufficiently displeased with Abdelcader's complacency; Leonida in a humour of laughing at the affection which Aly seemed to bear her; Alphonso nettled with having a Rival, though he would not acknowledge it to us; the Marquis exceedingly contented with having a Mistress; Lela Mahabid well satisfied with the Marquis his gallantry; Horatio with a mind indifferent enough for all that had past; and I sufficiently contented in our misfortune, and even with a secret sense of joy, to see that the beauty of Sophronia was so perfect, as she made herself be adored of all Nations.  
In the mean time, the Princess Mariama, who hath a quick and piercing wit, perceived all the divers interests of this Assembly: and though she could not discover them perfectly, yet knew she that the King was in some passion; that Aly was not exempted from it; that Abdelcader her brother did not hate Sophronia; and that Lela Mahabid was too civil towards a Slave. This wise Princess resolved for all that, not to make any show of all these things, till she was more certain of them; but it was not long before she was dear therein. For my sister being retired with her companions, and having acquainted them with Aly's discourse, they resolved to advertise the Princess Mariama of it, and absolutely to confide in her virtue. Sophronia was notwithstanding of the opinion, to ask counsel of us first; so that the next morning, according to the permission they had for it, they sent for us. And when as Sophronia had propounded the matter unto us, and that I began already to give my advice, Let Horatio speak first, said Hippolita unto me, with precipitation enough; for if to give good counsel one hath need of a quiet mind, it may well be said that he is in such an estate as he ought to be, to counsel us as we should be. Were it true, replied Horatio mightily surprised, that I had a quiet mind, the manner wherewithal you have spoken is enough to trouble it in such sort, as to render me incapable of counselling others. Since your rest is so dear unto you, answered she, as you even seek a pretext not to assist afflicted persons with your advice, leave us at leastwise to think of what we have to do. Horatio seeing her so bitter, would not answer her out of prudence and respect, for fear lest her fantastical humour should appear too visibly unto us. As for me, who comprehended nothing in this discourse, I said unto my sister half laughing, that I believed the King of Marocco's love had possessed her with pride, rather than with melancholy, if she continued speaking in that fashion. But in the end we resolved, that these four Slaves should absolutely confide in the Princess Mariama, for fear lest if they should not advertise her of the truth of the matter, she might have cause to think, should she discover it some other way, that it was not displeasing to them, since they made a mystery of it. We conceived that from her alone they were to hope for their protection, and their liberty, and consequently that it was requisite they should make all their virtue known to this Princess; who out of sympathy and conformity, would without doubt be always carried to serve them.  
After we had a long time reasoned of all these things; after that Sophronia had acquainted us with her new Conquest, and Leonida with that which she thought she had made; after, I say, we had spoken of all this in general, Horatio, who desired to know what he was accused of, separated Hippolita dextrously from us, and having led her to a window, where she leaned, he conjured her to tell him what had obliged her to speak with so much bitterness unto him, (at leastwise he related it so unto us,) I know full well, said he unto her, that I am not faulty; but I do not know of what crime I am accused: Be so good unto me then as to acquaint me with it, that I may justify myself; but if you will have me speak like an offendor, although I be none, let me know what fault I have committed, to the end I may repent me of it, and amend it. You may peradventure do the former, answered she, but it is impossible for you to do the other. I have a long time known, that there would be some injustice in accusing you of an insensibility, which you cannot choose but have; howbeit I cannot also choose but complain of my hard fortune, in having a mind so sensible for a man, that is so little himself. The more you complain, said Horatio unto her, the less do I comprehend of what fault I am accused; for to say that the beautiful Hippolita does not touch my heart sensibly, and that she alone makes not up my felicity, is a thing without all likelihood. You have reason, said she unto him with a bitter smile; Hippolita can do something upon your felicity, but she can do nothing upon your misfortune: She can sometimes with a  look, or with her discourses, give you happy moments, but she can never with her coldness, or the love that she shows to others, beget any sadness in you: verily, continued she, you are the happiest Lover that ever was; nothing displeases you, nothing molests you; neither fear nor jealousy trouble you; you hope without unquietness; you desire without impatience, and of all the thoughts which Love inspires, you know none without doubt, but those that lead to joy. You interpret all things, as you say, to the advantage of the person beloved; but to speak more reasonably, it is to the disadvantage of your love: For whosoever loves truly, can never hold himself so assured of the person whom he loves, but that fear will be stronger in him then hope; now for your part, you hope all things, and fear nothing. It is certain, said Horatio unto her, that you oftentimes reduce me to an estate of fearing nothing, and of having recourse unto hope to comfort me. For in fine, whereas the greatest of misfortunes is to see you in choler, I behold myself so many times exposed thereunto, that I have nothing else to fear. No, no, said Hippolita unto him, you are yet more ingenuous than so; my very choler gives you joy; you regard it as a mark of my affection; and thus making profit of all things, you are never unhappy. Might it please Heaven, said he unto her, that you spoke true! Confess to me, added she interrupting him, that if I had said nothing to you of the long conversation which I had yesterday with Aly, whether you would have suspected any thing of it. Any other but you would have been troubled at it, continued she, and whereas love renders the mind clearsighted, you would have imagined something of the truth. But as for you, doubtless you believed that he entertained me with the Government of the King of Marocco's State; that policy was the object of our conversation, whilst you could in the mean time look without unquietness upon the Princess Lela Mahabid, because she danced with a good grace. Are these, rigorous Hippolita, said Horatio unto her, all the crimes which I have committed? Have I done nothing but see you talking with Aly, without divining what he said unto you, and without afflicting myself at it? No, answered she, you have done nothing else; but this indifferency, or to say better, this insensibility, and this stupid love so vexes me, as in the state whereunto it hath reduced my mind for a long time together, I had rather see you desperately in love with another, then to see you so quiet: for either the spite of your change would set me at rest; or if I had not resolution enough for that, I should say in flattering myself, he will come out of his error, he will repent him of his inconstancy, and since he can tell how to love, he may be capable of returning and repenting, and of having as much affection for me, as he hath for another. But in the case wherein I see you at this present, you will be always insensible and always happy, and I always unfortunate. That cannot be, answered Horatio, my destiny and yours are not separated so easily. But, amiable Hippolita, why will you not have me live innocently, why will you have me render myself faulty, in suspecting you amiss? Why will you have me make myself unhappy voluntarily, and abandoning Reason, form monsters to myself to combat withal? and why will you not on the contrary have me confide in your virtue, rely on your fidelity, and without rendering me infortunate, suffer me to be in some rest? Would you know, said Hippolita unto him, why I will not have it so, it is because I do not seek in you for a Wiseman, and a Philosopher, but for a Lover. Love hath a Reason, which is wholly particular unto it; reasonable persons, who are touched with this passion, never abandon Virtue for it, but withal they do not follow that severe Reason, which will have one receive with an equal temper, both good and bad fortune. Love aught to be stronger than Reason; it doth not destroy it, but it troubles it. I blush, Horatio, at that which I say, and at the grief I am in, for that if I am to know these things, it hath not been rather by your actions, then by mine own experience, that I have understood them. You ought to have taught me, that love is suspicious, impatient, unquiet, and curious; that it wishes for that which it hath not; that it feareth to lose that which it possesseth; you ought to have learned me, that none of the actions of the person beloved can be indifferent; that she alone ought to be more considerable, than all the world besides; and that the only desire to please her, and the fear to offend her, should make a Lover act. By this reason, answered Horatio, I should not dare to accuse you, no not when you had given me occasion to complain, being persuaded that all those words of cruel, unjust, and inexorable, ought not to be said to a worthy person, but in songs, and if it were possible for me to be angry with you, respect should force me to conceal it. You are in an error, replied she, choler and jealousy are the true marks of love, and provided that one does not continue in them, one never offends the person whom one loves; but you speak so, because you know not how to love. Nay but I speak in his sort, answered Horatio, because I know how to love well, and that I respect you. Respect, replied Hippolita, can be but a mark of esteem, and not a mark of love: And tell me, I pray you, by what way pretend you to testify yours unto me. In protesting to you, answered Horatio, that you are all my felicity; in absolutely remitting unto you the conduct of my fortune; and in assuring you that I would lose my life with joy for your service. One may do all these things out of esteem, and out of generosity, replied she, but one can never be jealous without love; all other passions may receive interpretations, but this same leaves no room to doubt of the cause of it; and jealousy is the only assured mark of this passion. If I could cease from esteeming of you, replied Horatio, I should be jealous, I should be unquiet. Say, answered she lifting up her voice, and quitting him, that if you could cease from being insensible, you should be a Lover. She spoke this so loud, as Sophronia, Leonida, the Marquis, Alphonso, and I, heard h●r, and we judged that there was some little disorder between them, especially when I saw a Carnation colour on my sister's cheeks, which used not to be there, and a certain constrained and artificial smile, which anger always produceth in her face. Sophronia willing to play the good sister in this occasion would needs know their dispute; and when as Horatio had recounted it unto her, notwithstanding Hipolita's resistance to the contrary, we made their peace, after they had on either part said all that their wit and passion could furnish them with.  
Thereupon we retired to our lodging, and these three fair Slaves to the Princess Mariama's; where after the first civilities they besought her to give them a particular audience. Mariama, having granted them their demand, commanded her women to leave her alone; which was no sooner done, but the fair Sophronia, who had in charge to speak in the name of all the three, requested her to remember the promise she had made to protect them; and then she related unto her the discourse which Aly had used to Hippolita and Leonida: but not able to obtain so much confidence from her modesty, as to tell her withal, that Abdelcader had testified a great deal of affection to her, my sister acquainted the Princess with the conquest that Sophronia had made. Mariama being very much satisfied with their freedom and their virtue, redoubled the care and goodwill which she had for them; and to show that she put as much confidence in their discretion, as they done in hers: and to let them see also, how much interest she had to oppose all the bad designs of Aly, she recounted all his adventures unto them, namely, all that I imparted to you at the beginning of this History: And thereupon assured them, that whatsoever came from a spirit so artificial as Aly's, was ever to be suspected. She told them moreover, that whereas he did always work with cunning, he was always to be dealt with in the same manner: that to that effect, great care was to be taken to keep him from discovering, that they had acquainted her either with the King's love, or his; that it was likewise requisite, that Hippolita should seem to place some confidence in that false generosity, which he had feigned to have in speaking to her of the King's love. For, said Mariama unto them, I know Aly, he would never have dealt in that sort with Hippolita, had not some passion, more powerful than his malice, carried him thereunto. Hitherto he hath never contraried the King in any thing; hitherto he hath affected a blind obedience to all his will, and an exterior fidelity, which hath not permitted me as yet to revenge the mischiefs he hath done me. Nevertheless I see something in his heart, since the time that I have obtained of myself to speak with him oftener than I used to do, which puts me in hope that I shall find the means for it. In fine, believe it, said she to Hippolita, that Aly hath not declared the King's love unto you, and promised to protect you against him, without some secret reason that induces him thereunto, and without some particular interest. But for discovery, we must dissemble as well as he, and not speak so severely of the love which he saith the King bears you, that we may see what he will be at. Leonida, for her part, must endeavour to discover his designs; and Sophronia, carrying herself according to her humour and her virtue, will no doubt punish Abdelcader rigorously enough, for suffering himself to be surprised by the splendour of her beauty; howbeit I will take care that he shall no longer importune her. In the mean time, continued she, fear no violence, unless it be from Aly; for touching the King, I know that he hath some respect to my person, and doth carefully endeavour to make me forget the cruelties which Aly hath done, under the pretext of assuring the Crown unto him. And grant also that the wickedness of this man should prove contageous to the King, be assured that I will never abandon you, and will hazard all things to keep you from having any violence offered unto you.  
These fair Slaves gave her thanks for a discourse that was so advantageous unto them; commended her virtue and her generosity; lamented the misfortunes that had arrived unto her; detested the cruelty of Aly: and making an exchange of their own sorrows, it might have been said that Mariama felt their miseries more than her own; and that these fair Slaves, who were no less generous, nor less sensible than she, had as much sense of her past fortunes as of their present mishaps.  
After that so sad a conversation had lasted some time, and that out of the compassion, which they had one of another, they had in some sort mitigated their griefs, the Princess Mariama told them smiling, how it would not be just, that whilst she was thinking of their protection, one of their Troop should undertake to revenge Hippolita of the King's love, with another love; desiring them to advertise the Slave, which danced with so good a grace, that the Princess Lela Mahabid was her sister; because she believed, that either he knew not so much, or that he had forgotten it. Sophronia perceiving by Mariama's speech, that she meant the Marquis; and that she also had taken notice of his inclination to the Princess Lela Mahabid, thought it was best to acquaint her with his humour, to the end she might not be offended if he continued the gallantry he had begun. Sophronia then drew the Marquis his picture so agreeably, and so advantageously for him, as the Princess told her that she was very glad of the conquest her sister had made, and that she might in some sort share with her there●n, it was fit she should more particularly know so extraordinary a man: and so, the Princess Mariama, and Sophronia, became his Confidents, without having any purpose to be so, and procured him the pleasure to see the Princess Lela Mahabid almost every day at the Princess Mariama's lodging. The first time he was there, I remember that we brought him thither with some kind of repugnancy; for he had understood from Sophronia herself, in what manner she had spoken of him. It is not, said he unto us, because I am angry that Sophronia hath spoken the truth; but it is because I do not feel myself in a disposition to make it appear by experience, that I am as inconstant as she hath described me: it being very certain, that I am persuaded I cannot love any think here but the Princess Lela Mahabid.  
With this little vexation the Marquis was brought to Mariama's lodging, where all those fair Slaves were present, as well as the Princess Lela Mahabid, who received him with a great deal of civility. At first Mariama commended his address, and rememb'ring how admirably he had danced in the last Assemblies, she marvelled how he could in so short a space surmount all the Moors in gallantry and a good grace. The Moors, said he unto her, Madam, have not had so good a Master as I. And when as Mariama had demanded of him, who he was? he answered her, that Love had taught him all that he knew; it being most sure, as he said, that without him he had been the ignorantest of all men. For, continued he, the sole desire to please the person whom I loved hath taught me all that I know. If that be so, answered Mariama, and that which hath been told me of you be true, you should be one of the most universally knowing men in the world, since by that reason, the diversity of persons whom you have loved, should have taught you a wonderful diversity of things.  
Truly, Madam, you have Reason, replied he, but that which makes me know them but superficially, is, because I have stayed so little a while in one school, as I have had no more leisure then to learn to speak a little of things, without any perfect knowledge of them. The first person, of whom I was enamoured, loved valour, and that was the cause why I took care not to appear cowardly. She that touched my heart next loved music, and instantly I learned to sing, to play on the Lute and the Gittern. Another, placing her greatest delight in reading of verses, inspired me with the desire of making some. One of my Mistresses, loving Romanzes above any thing else, possessed me with the desire to furnish the subject of one with mine own adventures. I learned also to be fit for all compliance; I became a Painter, an ginger, and a Mathematician: Love made me learn languages; by him I grew many times eloquent, liberal, discreet, and pleasing; in fine, I do not know a virtue, for which I am not indebted to this noble passion.  
I profess, said the Princess Mariama, that this is the finest way of commending one's self that ever was heard of. But, said she to the Marquis, how comes it to pass, that in so little a time as you have been here, you have so perfectly attained to that, which the Granadins, who are our masters in gallantry, are so long a learning? for, as you say yourself, there are things which you understand but superficially, because your love to those that affected them was not long enough. It is, Madam, answered he, because I have at this present a greater desire to please, then ever I had in all my life.  
She that hath given you this desire, said the Princess Lela Mahabid unto him, should have a great deal of merit, or should be very much obliged to you. She hath so many excellent qualities, replied the Marquis, as I may say, that in this illustrious person I love all those whom I have loved in all my life-time: it being most certain, that I have never admired any thing in all the others, whom I have served, which I do not find yet more eminently in her whom now I adore. She is wonderfully fair; she hath a spirit as full of brightness, as her eyes are of light; and there is seen in her whole person, a charm so powerful and so extraordinary, that it is impossible to conserve so much reason, as to remember that one ought not to have any other then veneration for her; one must of necessity give place to love; she cannot inspire other thoughts; and not working like ordinary beauties, which makes one pass from admiration to esteem, and from esteem to love, she renders herself at the first instant absolute Mistress of all their souls that behold her. One cannot have indifferent thoughts for her; one must, either not see her, or adore her: and from the very first moment that I beheld her, I had all at once both admiration, esteem, and love. I was no longer mine own, I was absolutely hers; and though I know full well that I am unworthy of this honour, yet can I not imagine that I am faulty. It seems to me also (at leastwise I flatter myself with this opinion) that by a particular privilege, and to render her conquests the more illustrious, she purifies all the hearts which she inflames; that she darts forth a beam of that divinity which I adore in her, and therewith illuminates them that come near her; that in making her virtues known, she communicates a part of them; and that one is no sooner her Slave, but he is worthy to command others.  
The Princess Lela Mahabid, not able to forbear from blushing at the Marquis his discourse, would at leastwise make a gallantry of it. I leave you to judge, said she unto him, how much you would make your Mistress' modesty to suffer, if she were here, since I could not choose but change colour at this excessive praise, though I have no part in it. I fear, Madam, replied he, that in this occasion you take one virtue for another; and that this change, which hath appeared in your face, be not rather an effect of your great heart, then of your modesty, seeing it may be you take it not well, that a Slave should lose the respect which he owes you, so far, as to dare to entertain you with his passion. You speak so agreeably hereof, said the Princess Mariama interrupting him, that if my sister will be persuaded by me, she shall always be your Confident. I am not inconsiderate enough for that, answered the Marquis; and the thoughts of respect and adoration which I have for her, will not permit me to commit this fault.  
Sophronia, seeing that hereupon there was a great silence amongst the company, which might trouble the Marquis, said to him with a great deal of address, that she was glad to see a passion in him, which made her hope that at last he might be constant; since finding in a person whom he loved, all the beauties of the body, all the graces of the mind, and all the virtues of the soul, it was impossible for him to meet with any thing that was amiable in another, which was not in her. You have Reason, answered the Marquis, but not altogether to renounce my natural inclination, though I love none, or to say better, adore none, but this excellent person, yet have I found the means to mingle an inconstancy with the love I bear her, whereof she cannot be jealous. I have much ado to conceive this new mystery, added my sister; and I do not think, that she, who is the cause of your love, will reign in a divided heart. My heart is wholly hers, replied the Marquis, and to explain my thoughts unto you, know, that the person, whom I adore, is so marvellous, as it would be a crime in me, having but one heart and one affection, to offer to love all that is amiable in her at one and the same time: so that to love her the more perfectly, and in some sort also to follow this inclination, which predominates over all mine, I give every day a new object to my passion. To day I adore her eyes; to morrow I love the beauty of her shape, the next day I suffer myself to be charmed with the graces of her mind; another time her goodly aspect ravishes me; and by this means yielding my heart wholly to each of those excellent qualities which she possesses, I shall love her as much as she deserves to be; and without being inconstant to her, I shall yet be always so much, as never to be weary of my servitude. This new way of loving so mightily surprised all the company, as albeit they had no great cause of joy, yet could they not forbear laughing at it. I should never have done, if I should rehearse all the pleasing passages, which the Marquis delivered in all the visits which he gave to these two Princesses; it shall suffice then to tell you, that the Princess Lela Mahabid had all the esteem and all the affection for him, which a Princess, gallant enough, and who for all that was virtuous, was capable of.  
In the mean time you are to know, that Aly had not failed in rendering an account to the King of the commission which he had given him: but whereas he was a Lover and cunning, he had disguised the truth of that which he had said to Hippolita, and of that which Hippolita had answered him. For though my sister had testified sufficiently unto him, that Abdalla's affection could never please her, yet he feared that if the King should undertake to speak to her himself, she might at length be persuaded; so that to keep him from it, he told him, that albeit Hippolita had not favourably received the declaration which he had made her of his love, yet he held it not absolutely impossible to touch her heart; it having seemed unto him how he had observed, that the greatest fear Hippolita had, was lest the Princess Mariama should perceive this affection. Wherefore, my Lord, said he unto him, it must be by me that she must be acquainted with all the thoughts which you have for her, until such time as by great hopes we have chased away this fear from her heart. For there is no doubt, added he, considering the estate wherein I saw her mind, if you enterprise to speak to her yourself, but you will be very ill satisfied of her, for the reason I have told you.  
Abdalla, though very amorous, and consequently very impatient and very suspicious, yet made do question of Aly's discourse; and remitting himself absolutely to his conduct, he conjured him to remember, that on the conquest of Hippolita all his felicity depended. In the mean while, albeit he had promised Aly to g●ve my sister the least testimony of his affection that he could, yet was it impossible for him to conceal his passion: for he no sooner entered into Mariama's lodging, but he asked for Hippolita; he no sooner saw her, but a new joy appeared in his face; Hipolita's looks guided his whether he would or no; he followed her with his eyes wheresoever she went; and seldom did he make a visit without praising some beauty, or some virtue, which he said he had not yet marked in her. These praises did not please Aly at the beginning, nevertheless seeing he could not hinder them, whereas sovereign prudence, or to say better, extreme cunning, consists in making all things serve for the design that one hath, he laboured to draw some advantage from the love, which the King seemed to bear to Hippolita. But before I acquaint you with it, I am to tell you, that after many conversations which he had with her, wherein he always showed, how much he esteemed of her virtue, and approved of the refusals she had made of the King's love; one day, when as he found her the most civilly disposed for him (as he thought) and the most incensed against the King, he undertook to discover unto her the passion he was in for her. And whereas she was exceedingly surprised with such a kind of discourse, and hath naturally an imperious spirit; Is it possible, said she unto him, that you can speak to me in this sort, and conserve any memory and judgement? Do you believe, added she, that a person, which refuses the affection of your King, can receive yours? Do you not remember, that you have an hundred times commended the resolution which I have taken to die, rather than to satisfy him? shall I be more virtuous, in harkening favourably to your love, then to Abdalla's? What part do you play, said she unto him, without giving him time to interrupt her? You betray your Master in speaking to me of your love; and if you will pass for my Lover, you do me an injury in charging yourself with moving the Kings to me: and howsoever it be, I ought to hate and despise you more than him.  
After Hippolita had testified all her resentment and her anger, Aly, nothing daunted, not displeased, besought her not to condemn him without hearing. For, fair Hippolita, said he unto her, it may be you will find some difference between the love that Abdalla bears you, and that which I bear you: He only loves the beauty of Hippolita, and I adore the virtue of Hippolita. He is not your servant, but to make you his Slave; and I do not love you, but to marry you. His flame is unjust, and mine is lawful; the end of his love is his own satisfaction, and that of mine is your glory, and your conservation. For in fine, continued he, if it be true that you love honour, you will have some indulgence for the affection which I carry to you; seeing there tests no other mean to warrant you from the violences of Abdalla's love, but that of receiving the same which I offer you. I acknowledge, said he further to her, that I am an ill subject, but it is not but to be a faithful Lover, and because I will not expose you to the greatest miseries, which a virtuous person can suffer. For, if you will, said he unto her, all the King's love, all his force, and all his power, shall not keep me, from protecting and marrying you.  
Aly having made an end of speaking, left Hippolita, for that he would not have her, said he, answer him without advisement, in a matter whereon all his happiness or unhappiness depended. From thence he went to the Princess Mariama, to whom in appearance he bore a great deal of respect. And whereas for some time past, this Princess had given him more commodity to speak to her then before, out of the design she had to discover his intentions concerning him that was to succeed Abdalla, it was not difficult for him to talk with her in private; so that after he had protested an inviolable fidelity to her, and had sworn to her, that next to the glory and interests of Abdalla, nothing in the world was so dear to him as hers; he told her, that knowing her exceeding virtue and prudence, he thought he was obliged to acquaint her, how the King was so desperately in love with Hippolita, as he feared that his passion would carry him to lose the respect which he owed to her, in drawing him to use some violence to this maid: That if in this occasion he might be permitted to give advertisements and counsel both together, he conceived that the best course could be taken, would be to remove Hippolita out of the way, or to marry her; That, as her Slave, she might dispose of her, without the Kings having any lawful pretext to contradict her, since he himself had bestowed her on her.  
The Princess received this discourse of Ala's, as if she were obliged to him for it; and although she knew not as yet the interest which he had in this affair, because she had not seen Hippolita; yet she believed that this generosity, which appeared in his speech, was not in his heart: She thanked him notwithstanding for the advice he had given her; promised him to observe the Kings and Hipolita's actions; and then told him, that she would resolve of nothing in this affair, without demanding his counsel about it; and that he on his part should not fail to advertise her of all that he knew. Aly, to let the Princess see that he lied not, desired her to call to mind all the testimonies of unquietness and affection, which the King could not conceal in the visits he had rendered her for some time past. And when as she had told him that she remembered them very well, he went very well satisfied of her. For knowing the virtue and prudence of this Princess, he doubted not but that now understanding the love which the King bore to Hippolita, she would oppose it with all her power; and so, if it happened that Hippolita should tell her the pr●position he had made to marry her, she would not contradict it; because it would be a mean to keep the King from committing a fault; and because she would believe also by this way to put him out of grace with Abdalla, which he feared not much, in regard that all the force of the Kingdom was in his hands; that all the Governors of Places depended on him; and that it was impossible for Abdalla to rid himself of him, but by taking away his life; which he stood in no doubt of, for he could not imagine, that a Prince to whom he had conserved the Crown, could make him lose his head. And after this manner he resolved to make a show of confiding in the Princess Mariama; judging ●hat nothing could arrive therein that would not be advantageous to him.  
In the m●an time Abdelcader had his designs both of love and ambition, as well as Aly; and though he was no very excellent Prince, yet the desire of reigning is so natural in men, as it found a place in his heart, and so much the more strongly, because he knew that according to equity the Crown of Morocco appertained to him after the death of his brother, though Abdalla had a son; for that the Xeriff Mahomet had so ordained by his Testament. In this thought, he had a long time already very much courted Aly, to the end he might gain him as much as he could; out of the hope that if Abdalla came to die, he would side with him, or at leastwise remain a neuter between the son of Abdalla and him.  
Nevertheless, whereas at that time Aly had other designs, he never said any thing to Abdelcad●r, which might make him hope for aught from him. But whereas he was dextrous, and knew not certainly whether he should let Abdalla's son reign, or reign himself, he had never disobliged him, but was contented to tell him still, upon the divers propositions which he had made unto him, that for matters regarding the State, he was not the servant of the person of Abdalla, but of the King of Morocco; That as for him, he was persuaded, how it was neither reason, nor justice, that ordinarily made Kings, but Fortune only; And without considering whether she were blind or no in the distribution of Crowns, he was resolved always to serve the State with fidelity, in the p●rson of those whom she would place on the Throne of Morocco. But in the terms wherein things than were, he nevertheless altered his mind, albeit he had an hundred times promised Abdalla, if he should happen to die before him, to conserve the Crown for his son, to the prejudice of Abdelcader: And whereas Aly undertook not this design, but for his particular interest, for in making a young King to reign, he should in a manner be King himself; that interest coming to change, he also changed his resolution. For after he had well examined both the King's love and his own, he found that what industry soever he could use, it would be impossible for him to marry Hippolita with Abdalla's consent; who should no sooner be incensed against him, but the Princess Mariama, joining her credit and address to the just occasion she had to wish him ill, would no doubt constrain him to have recourse to extreme remedies.  
With such like thoughts it was that Aly had entertained himself a good while already, when as Abdelcader, who believed he was in love with Leonida, and consequently hoped, that he would excuse the passion he had for Sophronia, came unto him with an intent dextrously to learn of him what designs he had for that maid, to the end he might rule his by those of a man, who, as he believed, durst not condemn that in another, which he suffered in himself.  
All their conversation at first was but of indifferent things, and of the beauty of Mariama's Slaves. And whereas Aly was not ignorant of Abdelcader's passion for Sophronia, he was willing in this occasion to incense the mind of this Prince against Abdalla, and wholly to gain him to himself, to the end that if he were to make a universal subversion in this State, Abdelcader might furnish him with a pretext specious enough, by giving the people to understand, that Abdalla by a testament, which always remained in Aly's hands, intended his son should reign to his prejudice: For howsoever, Abdelcader was Mahomet's son, as well as Abdalla; and albeit he was no very able Prince, yet had he no vices, so that the people did not hate him. Aly considered further, that if he should come to extreme violence, and dispossess Abdalla, that Abdelcader might reign, he should make a King, without ceasing to be one; it being certain, that he would have need of him for the Government of his State.  
After this reasoning which Aly had within himself, and after an indifferent long discourse which he used to Abdelcader, to prepare him for that he was going to say to him, he gave him to understand, that Abdalla, very far from approving the love which he bore to a Slave, would not consent to his marriage with the greatest Prince of the Earth; because both by interest, and ●or the better assuring of the Crown to his son 〈◊〉 would have the matter go in that sort. I leave you to judge, what effect this discourse wrought in the Soul of a man, who was at one instant deprived of the hope of ever possessing the object of his love, and of his ambition, which are two of the most violent of all passions.  
Aly, perceiving by the trouble which appeared in Abdelcader's face, how much he was moved; and judging by his silence that he confided not in him, seeing he concealed his resentment, said unto him to confirm him, that he had always done what he could to oppose such violent maxims; that he remembered he was the son of his ancient Master; and that he assured him he would never omit any occasion to serve him. But after many conversations on this subject, Aly seeing that the Kings love augmented daily, and finding that his own always became stronger, propounded at length to Abdelcader the putting him in possession, both of his Mistress, and of the Crown of Morocco. So bold a proposition made Abdelcader doubt, that this was rather a discourse to tempt him, and to discover his intentions, then to serve him. But Aly made him soon change his opinion; for having showed him Abdalla's testament, which he had in his keeping, whereby he left the Crown of Morocco to his son, to the prejudice of Abdelcader, he no longer doubted but that he might absolutely confide in him; so that after this they thought of nothing but of executing their designs. Aly had for so long a time had the whole Government of this State, as there was not an Officer in all the Kingdom, that was not obliged to him for the Charge which he exercised: He was very powerful of himself; all the King's Treasures were in his hands; all strong places depended on him; the memory of the Xerife Mahomet reigned still amongst these people; and the violent death of Hamet was the cause that Abdalla was not universally beloved: for the people believed that Aly had not put him to death but by his commandment, though it was not true.  
Now to carry the matter with more certainty, Aly told Abdelcader, that the principal point was to render themselves Masters of Morocco: for by the experience of the past Wars, and by a fatality which seemed inevitable, all they who had seized on it had at the very same instant subjected all the rest of the Kingdom; That to do it without danger he was to make show, at such time as Abdelcader should enterprise the executing of the business, of being still faithful to the King, to the end he might give him bad counsel, and seize upon his and Mariama's person, when time should serve for it, to put them in the same prison, where Hamet, Muley Zidan, and his children had lain. But that it was first requisite to make it be dextrously bruited amongst the people, that Abdalla would defraud him of the right he had to the Crown, and for that effect would not suffer him to marry; That to render the matter more plausible, he should in a public audience go and demand permission to marry a grandchild of the last King of Tunis, who was in the Court of Morocco; but said Abdelcader then to him, If she should be granted unto me, I should be extremely perplexed; for indeed I do not desire the Crown of Morocco, but to share it with the Slave Sophronia. Fear not that, said he unto him, for I shall be of the Council, and I will oblige Abdalla so severely to refuse her to you, as you shall then have a pretext specious enough to make use of the Soldiers, which I shall give you to begin the revolt. And to let the people see Abdalla's bad faith, and to oblige him not to doubt of me, until such time as I am sure of him, you must go to my Palace to offer some violence there, as it were charging me with the outrage you have received: And after you have made as though you had plundered it, you shall show the people Abdalla's testament, which I will give you beforehand. In the mean time be assured that I will take so good an order for all things, as you shall meet but with few enemies to fight with; and that in a little time I will deliver you the key of the prison, wherein I shall have shut up Abdalla, his son, and Mariama; and after this you shall have the Crown and Sophronia, whom you may marry if you think good; or according to our Laws treat as a Slave, since she shall be yours: And for me, said he unto him, Hippolita is the only recompense which I demand of you. You mistake the name, said Abdelcader to him, and you would no doubt speak of Leonida. No, no, replied Aly; and then he declared unto him the truth of the matter, and so they parted, after they had well examined their enterprise again, and fully resolved not to let a day pass, without labouring to advance the execution thereof as much as they could.  
In the mean space Abdalla li●●● still in some hope, that he should be able to touch the heart of Hippolita, especially since cause onspiracy of Abdelcader; for the subtle Aly since that, to busy his mind the more ple●● belly, had assured him, that provided he would continue living with her, as he had done certain days before, he despaired not to obtain of her more than he had thought he should. The Princess Mariama on her part had imparted to Hippolita, and her companions, the conversation which she had had with Aly; and Hippolita had also acquainted Mariama with the declaration of love which he had made unto her, which possessed the Princess with a great deal of unquietness. I well foresaw, said she unto them, that Aly was not disinteressed in this affair; but when as she sought for means to get out of this perplexity, she could not imagine them. She knew that the King was so strongly preoccupated with the opinion of Aly's fidelity, that unless he learned his crime from his own mouth, he would never believe it. She was indeed generous enough to venture any thing for the saving of these three maids, who craved protection of her with tears; but she feared too, lest if she should enterprise it, and it should come to be discovered, she might expose them to mischiefs, which would be past remedy. She resolved then first to observe Aly with care; to talk with him oftener than she had used to do; and if she found any likelihood of being able to hurt him, to hazard all things for the executing of that secret hatred upon him which she had so long a time concealed in her heart. And whereas she had much address, she courted Abdalla more than she was accustomed to do, that she might still gain further power over his mind for the destroying of that which Aly had gotten there. As for us, we lived in extreme discontent; for being advertised of all the Princess Mariama's and her fair Slaves unquietness, and foreseeing no end to so many miseries, we led an idle and melancholic life, which was insupportable to us all, except the Marquis, who without regarding our misfortunes, esteemed himself the happiest man in the world, for being favourably looked upon by the Princess Lela Mahabid.  
But not to prolong my discourse with matters which are not necessary for you to know, I shall tell you, that in four or five conversations the Princess' address was so great, that she knew with as much certainty as strong conjectures could give of it, that Aly had ill intentions for the King's children. And without being able to divine that they were in some sort to the advantage of Abdelcader, she knew that if the King came to die, he would not conserve the Crown for his son. That which made Mariama more easily discover Aly's designs was, that seeing the civility which she had showed to him some days before, and the virtue of this Princess being more dreaded of him then all Abdalla's authority, he had used certain obscure discourses unto her, to make her apprehend, that if she would embrace his friendship, he would cause the Crown of Morocco to fall upon the head of whomsoever she would. For whereas she was the widow of Muley Zidan, to whom of right the Kingdom appertained, if they had let him live, he thought that it may be she was capable of the desire to remount into the Throne of her Fathers. But that being no intention of hers, she seemed not to understand any of Aly's speeches in that manner, though indeed she marked them very exactly. After she had throughly run over again in her mind, even to the least circumstances, whatsoever might either increase or diminish her suspicions, she resolved to advertise the King thereof. But to prepare his mind for the entertaining of some distrust of Aly's fidelity, she willed Hippolita to make Abdalla perceive, as often as she saw him, that she took great care to decline his encounter, to the end she might be the more credited, when she should assure him that Aly had offered to marry her, for the securing of her from his violences. The Princess Mariama, who did nothing inconsiderately, resolved for all that to tarry some time yet for the discovering of her suspicions.  
In the mean season Aly took order for all things necessary to his enterprise, and according to the plot which he and Abdelcader had laid, one morning when as the King of Morocco gave audience to all them which had any thing to request of him, Abdelcader, followed by certain of his Partisans, went and besought the King to grant him the permission to marry the grandchild of the last King of Tunis, and to give him a portion answerable to a person of his condition; He told him that he was not ignorant how Princes, which might pretend to the Crown, were not their own, but the States, and for that reason he would not dispose of himself without his leave: He added further, that the choice which he had made could not be blamed, since it was a person of birth equal to his; and a person whom by reason of State he was to marry, or else they should resolve never to marry him: it being unlikely that they would bestow her on a foreign Prince, which might make use of the right she had to the Kingdom of Tunis, for the troubling of that of Morocco.  
Abdelcader by Aly's counsel made this proposition, rather as imposing a Law, then craving a consent; and whereas he feared nothing so much as the obtaining of that, which he seemed to desire so earnestly, when he found that Abdalla made no show in his countenance of being any whit troubled with this proposition, he, notwithstanding his confidence in Aly's promise to him to hinder it, added so many things more to those he had already delivered, as Abdalla, after he had answered him, that the affair, whereof he spoke, was of two great importance to be resolved on precipitously, commanded him to hold his peace, and to withdraw. Hereupon Abdalla, who in his heart did not disapprove of the matter, demanded counsel of Aly in private concerning it, who after he had protested, that the sol●●ood of his State made him speak, represented unto him, that in the design which he had to preserve the Crown for his son, it imported much that Abdelcader should not be married; and less yet to the Princess of Tunis, then to any other; because in this sort it was to give him right a second time to his Estates, and to furn'sh him with a pretext to make War as often as he met with an occasion for it; That to take from him the boldness thenceforward to offer such like propositions, he was to tell him absolutely, that this marriage did not please him, even without colouring the matter with any apparent reasons, as he might do; because, said he, Abdelcader's boldness could not be sufficiently punished.  
Abdalla following Aly's opinion in all things, contradicted him not in this, where he thought his interest alone was regarded. He sent Abdelcader word then, that he forbade him to think of marrying himself, either to the Princess of Tunis, or to any other; that he should leave to him the care of choosing a wife for him; and that if he did otherwise, he should then be declared guilty of High Treason. Abdelcader no sooner received this answer, but every one in Morocco knew it, and every one murmured at it. The Princess Mariama could not comprehend this business; for she knew that Abdelcader had testified a great deal of love to Sophronia in divers occasions; and knew also that he had never regarded the Princess of Tunis but with indifferency; and that if there had not been some hidden thing in his design, she should have been the first to whom he would have spoken of it: but howsoever she reasoned thereupon, she could not discover the truth. And whereas Hippolita had for some time together lived with the King, as she had ordained her, she observed that Abdalla perceived this change; so that seeing the matter in this estate, she went one morning to his lodging, where she craved the favour of him to talk with him in private, and the King having granted it to her, she besought him to promise her, that if he did not give credit to what she was going to tell him, he at leastwise would never speak of it again; being fully resolved not to acquaint him with that she had to communicate unto him, unless he would engage his word unto her to do so.  
The King, being touched with an extraordinary curiosity, and yet fearing that Mariama would speak to him of his love to Hippolita, stood a while without answering her; but at length having promised her as much as she had desired of him, she began to prepare his mind with a very particular address. I know, said she unto him, that for this which I am going to tell you I ought to be suspected of you, either of malice, or of preoccupation: I know also, that Aly being so mightily established in your affection, I shall expose myself to the hazard of displeasing you, in telling you that I suspect he is not so faithful unto you, as his birth and obligations to you ought to make him: I know too, that in what manner soever you hear the business, it will be still offensive unto you; for if you believe there is any malice in my discourse, you will no doubt be sorry to find a stain in the Soul of a person that is so dear unto you; and if on the contrary you find that I am not to blame, the displeasure of having been betrayed by a man whom you have so much obliged will disquiet you; and whether it be out of a sense of glory, or of tenderness, you will be grieved: Judge then, my Lord, if the matter which I am to tell you be not important, since bearing you all the respect and all the affection that I ought to have for a Prince, who is both my King and my brother, I expose myself notwithstanding to the hazard of troubling his rest, and getting his hatred, which is to me my supremest misfortune.  
Abdalla, amazed with Mariama's discourse, though he did not believe that she could tell him any thing which was true against Aly's fidelity, yet left he not to assure her, that in case the suspicions which she said she had against Aly proved not to be well grounded, he would judge well of her intentions, and be always obliged unto her for her zeal and affection. After this Mariama, to stir up some trouble in Abdalla's mind, and touch his heart where it was most sensible, imparted unto him how Aly, forgetting the respect which he owed to him, had been so daring as to profess love to the Slave Hippolita, who belonged to her; but this prudent Prince did not let Abdalla know, that she understood any thing of his affection; so that without standing longer on this discourse, yet this is not that, said she unto him, which obliges me to speak to you of Aly, but the design which he hath, if you chance to die before him, to break the testament you have made him, by taking the Crown from off the head of your son, to dispose of it according to his pleasure, or it may be to set it on his own head.  
So strange an accusation did not at first encounter with any great belief in Abdalla's mind, thinking that the secret hate, which this Princess bore Aly, made her judge of him in this sort for that which regarded his State; but for that which concerned his love, though it was more unlikely than the other, because he might conceive, that Mariama had taken his Confident for a Lover of Hippolita, yet he believed more of it then she would have had him. And making show of being more moved with Aly's want of respect to her, then with his own interest, he demanded of her very exactly, how she came to perceive Aly's passion; and whether the conjectures she had of it were strong enough? because if it proved to be so, he meant to punish him for his boldness. My Lord, said this Princess unto him, you do me too much favour, rather to think of me, then of the good of your State; but to imitate your generosity, be pleased, without considering me, to let me regard nothing but your person alone, and by some invention let me furnish you with means, either to convince or justify Aly. And then, without Abdalla's demanding it, she recounted all those things unto him which had been cause of her suspicions: but at length the trouble of this Prince's mind being somewhat appeased, he believed that Aly might be his Rival, but believed not that he had any design upon his Crown. Howbeit Mariama said so much unto him, that in the end with her entreaties and reasons she obtained of him, that for fifteen days space he would do whatsoever she would have him for the clearing of the business. This Prince had much ado to resolve upon making any doubt of Aly's fidelity, so far forth as to seek out the means of convincing him; but at last the consideration of Mariama, and a little touch of jealousy carried him unto it: yet was it upon condition, that if Aly were found innocent, she should from thenceforward have as much goodness for him, as she had had aversion.  
Mariama having promised Abdalla all that he desired, she began the very same day one of the most extraordinary Artifices, as ever was made use of, for the discovery of the thoughts of an ambitious man and a Traitor; and lo, how she proceeded. She obliged Abdalla to keep his chamber certain days, and not to let himself be seen of any but his Physicians, and the Slaves which served him. At first Aly marvelled not to see the door kept fast against all the Great ones of the Kingdom, because he knew that it is the custom of the Kings of Morocco to shut themselves up many times whole Months together with their wives and Slaves, to the end that suffering not themselves to be seen so often, the people may respect them the more: neither did he find it strange, that he himself was not permitted to enter there, by reason Mariama, who kept her design concealed, told him, that Abdalla was not well, and that they which looked to him, had forbidden any body from seeing him; as indeed the Physicians had a command f●om the King to say so, and to be always very frequent about him, that it might be believed he was sic●. During this, Aly was somewhat jealous and fearful, that this retirement proceeded rather from Abdalla's love, then from any malady; but at length the knowledge he had of Mariama's virtue dissipated this suspicion, and he believed, as all others did, that the King was effectively sick. In the mean time, Abdelcader and he thought of the design they had in hand; and they brought the business to such a pass, as it wanted not above eight days of being in an estate to be ready to break forth, when as Mariama began to tell Aly, that the King was in danger; that his disease became every day worse and worse; and that if he mended not the sooner, his Physicians were out of hope of him.  
This Princess had carried the matter with such Art, as all those of the Palace were in tears; for she had so well instructed all the persons that saw the Prince, as with a feigned melancholy they possessed every one that spoke to them with a true one. This false news stayed Abdelcader's designs; for Aly represented unto him, that if the King should happen to die, it would be a more  conjuncture for them, then that wherein they were, to make the business which they had projected, succeed; because than they should have a lawful cause to take up Arms for the executing of the Xeriffe Mahomet's Testament, to the prejudice of Abdalla's: That in the mean season they were not to neglect giving order for all things; and to cause as many Soldiers, as they could, of all the Garrisons which depended the most absolutely of Aly, to come secretly into Morocco, to the end they might make use of them, as soon as Abdalla should be dead, or escaped from the danger wherein they thought him to be. Aly in this incertainty went twenty times a day to Mariama's lodging to know how the King did; but though he was one of the most dextrous men in the world, yet was this Princess more than he. In the beginning of this fiction she sighed, and shown as much affliction, as if that which she said had been true; but when it came near to the time, wherein she had resolved to finish her design, as often as Aly saw her she composed her countenance in that manner, as it seemed she took great care to conceal a part of her grief; and that her Soul was more nearly touched, than she made show of. This Artifice failed not to work that which she expected from it; for Aly, thinking he had observed, how this Princess affected to appear more constant, than she was, believed that Abdalla was dead; and that Mariama, for some secret design, or to seize upon the Crown, or to conserve it for Abdalla's son, would not publish it as yet.  
When as Mariama perceived Aly's thought, she advertised Abdalla, that the next day she would either convince, or justify his favourite: And having instructed him in that which she would have him to do, she caused a Guard to come in for to seize on Aly, in case there should be need of it; and took order for all things so secretly, as no body discovered any thing. The day following Aly early in the morning came to Mariama, with an intent to employ all his address for the clearing of the doubt wherein he was: for ambition and love gave him so much impatience, as he had no rest. And verily in this occasion the protection of Heaven appeared visibly, both to revenge Mariama of Aly's cruelty, and to preserve us. For it is certain, that as the matter was carried, Abdalla and Mariama had been lost; Sophronia had been exposed to the violences of Abdelcader; Hippolita to the brutishness of Aly, and the rest of us to be constrained to die in defending them, or not to survive their loss, had not Mariama wrought as she did.  
But in fine, Aly, being come one morning, as I have told you, to the Princess' chamber, and she having used as much address in talking with him, as she had done at other times, augmented in such sort the opinion which he had that Abdalla was dead, as not able to let himself be any longer guided by prudence, he in plain terms desired the Princess to tell him whether the King were not dead? because, said he, if it be so, it were fit that the affairs of the Kingdom were speedily provided for. Mariama, seeing so fair a beginning to her design, did not answer him but with a great sigh, and without saying any thing unto him, she led him into Abdalla's chamber. Now albeit he was already persuaded that the King was dead, yet left he not to be mightily surprised to see all this chamber hung with black Velvet, all the windows shut, in the midst a great bed of State environed with a balustrate of Ebony, set all about with flaming Torches, and upon Cushions near to the Bed, the Mantle Royal, the Sceptre, the Crown, and the Turban of Abdalla, with his Scymitar at the feet of the Bed, whereupon was a large black Cloth trailing a great way on the ground, which seemed to cover the body of the King; some of his Wives and Slaves were about the Balustrade, who testified by their countenance so sensible a sorrow, as would have drawn tears from any other but Aly. The Princess having conducted him then into this chamber of mourning, and perceiving that this sad object had sufficiently persuaded him that which she desired he should believe, she began to show an extreme affliction, and to request him with feigned tears, that he would perform the King's last Will, in conserving the Crown for his son, according to the Testament he had made, whereof he had the custody, though it was contrary to the Xeriffe Mahomet's intention. And then, said she unto him, he hath commanded me to restore the Slave Hippolita, and her fellows, to their liberty; in regard it had seemed unto him that he had violated the Law of Nations in retaining persons in slavery, who by Tempest had been driven into Morocco. But, continued she, generous Aly, this last thing imports not much; nor have I told it you, but that I would not fail in any thing which my King, my brother, and my Lord, hath given me in charge at his death. For so much as regards the Prince his son, perform what you have promised him, and what you ought to do.  
If Abdalla, answered Aly insolently, would have me conserve the Crown for his son, he should have lived a longer time; for it shall never be reproached unto me, that I have placed an Infant on the Throne of Morocco. The same Testament, added he, which gave the Crown to Abdalla, shall set it on the head of some other; for in conclusiion, it is for men to govern children, and not for children to govern men, no more then for women to give Counsels of State. And, continued he, for the Slave Hippolita, he that shall be King shall dispose of her; and until then, whereas the Charge which I hold gives me absolute power over the State, whensoever an interraign happens, remit her presently into my hands, to the end that ceasing to be a Slave, I may at leastwise perform Abdalla's will, in breaking off her chains.  
Ah, vile Traitor! cried Abdalla, in coming out from under that Cloth of black Velvet, under which he was hidden; thy persideousness must be punished with my hand; saying so, Abdalla laid hold on his Scymitar, and all the Guard, which lay concealed for that effect, rushing into the chamber, Aly was so surprised, and so confounded, as he knew not at first whether it were an apparition, or whether effectively this Prince, whom he had believed to be dead, was living. In so great a trouble Abdalla without doubt had killed him, if the Princess Mariama, who would not have him die by so illustrious an hand, had not hindered him; which was the cause, that Aly, being come to himself again, and freeing himself from the Guard which would have seized upon him, opened a window when as they were not ware of it, and whereas all the houses of that Country, as they are here, are exceeding low, he leapt into the Court-yard, and was so fortunate as he did not hurt himself, but got shi●r away out of the Palace; leaving Abdalla so amazed and afflicted at his perfidiousness, and Mariama so satified with the happy success of her design, that if the displeasure of seeing Aly escaped had not moderated her joy, it would have been too violent.  
Abdalla instantly commanded him to be pursued with all speed, and alive or dead to be brought unto him: But Aly was already gotten into a man's house, whose life before times he had saved. For in what disorder soever his soul was, yet had he judgement enough not to go to his own home; imagining rightly that he would be sought for there. In the mean time, the fear he had lest the King should cause the gates of the City to be shut, made him seek out all kind of inventions to escape. For albeit the plot which he had laid with Abdelcader was ready to be executed, yet wanted it so much time, as he durst not enterprise it, especially out of the thought he had, that they would not have made use of so extraordinary an invention to discover his intentions, without having taken order for all things. He sent word then secretly to Abdelcader, that he should attempt nothing until he was in one of the places of their intelligence, to the end they might be assured of a retreat, if their affairs should go ill. After that, he disguised himself like a woman; for whereas they are all veiled in that Country, he believed that getting speedily out of the City, before any exact order was given at the gates, it would be easy for him to save himself, as indeed it fell out. He that served him in this occasion promised to bring him an horse to a place, which was not above a mile from the Town; and than Aly, being disguised in the manner that I have related, went out of Morocco a very little before the Guards had been placed at the Gates, with a Command to suffer no body to pass out upon any pretext whatsoever. In the mean space Abdalla had sent to search for Aly in his Palace, and afterward caused it to be proclaimed over all the City, that whosoever could bring Aly unto him should have a recompense able to enrich him for all his life.  
The people, no sooner understood that Aly was in disgrace, but falling into an uproar, and manifesting their secret hatred unto him, plundered his Palace; and this wretched man had not a friend, who for his own security did not at leastwise seem to be otherwise. But whereas the people are inconstant in their resolutions, after they had committed an hundred outrages, there ran a bruit amongst this multitude, that Abdalla was dead; and that the proclamation which had been made was an artifice of Aly, who meant to discover by this fiction, whether he were beloved, or hated. And whereas all extraordinary novelties easily find credit with the people, they believed this same; and carried by despair for that they had used too much precipitation, they went to the Court in Arms for to see Abdalla; who, not knowing whether these which used this violence were Aly's partakers or no, durst not go forth to show himself to them; not having scarce any body with him, because he had sent all them of his ordinary Guard in search of Aly. The people in the mean while not seeing Abdalla appear, were confirmed in their opinion, and augmenting their despair and fury they attempted to force the Palace; and they had already broken up the first gate, when as Abdalla, causing himself to be armed, and we being placed about him, appeased this storm with his presence, and by his speech assured the people that Aly had incurred his indignation.  
In the mean time the man, who had promised to bring him an horse, found himself to be very much perplexed for the keeping of his word with him; for when as he presented himself to get forth, upon pretext of some business that he had in the Country, the Guards were already set, and having been at all the gates in vain, yet would he not give over so, but thought that another might be more fortunate than he; wherefore he confided in one of Aly's friends, who taking the same horse which the other had made use of before, he went to one of the gates to get forth, but he had the like success as the former; who, willing to hazard all for Aly, sent a third person thither: which was the cause, that one of the Guard, who had more brain than the rest, perceived, that although three several men had presented themselves for to go out of the City, yet it had been still with one and the same horse; so that he certainly believed there was some mystery in this adventure, and how it might w●ll be that Aly was not far off. This Soldier having imparted his thought to him that commanded the gate, he conceived that his opinion was not ill grounded; wherefore, to clear himself therein, he made show of being persuaded by the entreaties of this man who desired to be let forth; but whilst to gain time he made yet some new difficulties, he sent for three horses, to the end he might follow him a far off with two of his companions; which were no sooner come, but having let him go out, and set them elves to follow him, they saw that contrary to the custom of all such as fear ●o be followed, he went on still without turning his head to the place from whence h● parted, so great a desi●e he had to arrive where the unhappy Aly waited for him. S●eing then that they might follow him without his being ware of it, they approached nearer to him, than they would have done if he had behaved himself otherwise, and quitting the highway as well as he, when they came near to a wood, whither this man seemed to have a purpose to go, they espied a woman, who having discovered them, hide herself in the thickest of the bushes. This action made him, that was carrying the horse to Aly, turn about his head; who knowing that he was followed, would have tak●n more on the left hand, and not have gone to the place where he was attended; but this trick would not serve his turn: howsoever it was not because those which had observed her believed that this woman was effectively Aly, but being near unto it, they would needs know certainly what this adventure was. The Captain then, having given order to the two Soldiers to seize on this man, went to the place where he had seen the woman hid herself, and had not gone fifty paces but he found her at the foot of a tree; where, keeping down her vail still about her, she besought him, in counterfeiting her voice, not to do her any violence. And when she saw that this man had no intent to use her civilly, and seemed fully resolved to discover what she was, she would have tempted this Captain with the hope of a great recompense; so that suddenly lifting up her vail, Thou seest, said she, the infortunate Aly, who can make thee happy if thou be'st wise; for if thou wilt resolve to let me escape, I will put thee in a condition that thou shalt never need to ask any thing more of Fortune. This Captain, who was faithful, or it may be did not believe that Aly in the case he was in could recompense him as much as he said, answered him, that he would never enrich himself by a Treason, and without further delay he called his companions, who, having tied the man, on whom they had seized, to a tree, went to help him to take the miserable Aly, who, though without Arms, left not off resisting them for while. But at last they brought him to Morocco, and having conducted him before Abdalla, this Prince reviled him with all imaginable reproaches, And whereas Aly had always been happy, this one blow of unhappiness so mightily surprised him, as that judgement and prudence, which had rendered him so considerable in his prosperity, wholly abandoned him in his misfortune: so that in stead of seeking to colour his fault, he confessed it as it was, and related unto Abdalla all that he had said and thought, just in the same manner as I have delivered it unto you, for the Prince●s Mariama had the goodness to recount it unto us afterwards; in so much as Abdalla regarding Aly, not only as a Traitor, but as his Rival, the tenderness which he had at other times had for him, was of no power to excite any thought of pity in his heart; but contrarily the remembrance of the goodwill he had born him incensed his mind the more. At last, love, anger, interest of State, and jealousy, made the King without further delay, as soon as Abdelcader was apprehended, even the very same day take off the ambitious Aly's head, who seeing his loss inevitable resolved for it with constancy enough. Thus was the Princess Mariama revenged on this man for his cruelty, and Hippolita delivered from one of her persecutors. Aly was no sooner dead, but the Princess Mariama, always generous, went and cast herself at the King's feet, to beg Abdelcader's life of him, which he granted to her tears, upon condition that he should remain for some time a prisoner: For albeit he was guilty of high Treason, as well as Aly, for intending to usurp the Kingdom during his life, yet was there this difference, that Abdelcader was Abdalla's Brother, and was not his Rival.  
But, Madam, to make an end of telling you at once, both the goodness of Mariama, and our fortune, you shall understand, that in the confusion wherein all the City of Morocco was this day, when as the Princess Mariama entered into a Chamber where these three fair Slaves were, and saw them all in tears, especially Hippolita, who knew well that she was in part cause of all this disorder: this Princess, I say, seeing them in this estate, had so much generosity, though she loved them very tenderly, as to deprive herself for ever of them: It may be also, that the design of taking from the King an object of passion, which might trouble his rest; from Abdelcader that which had made him fail in this duty; and from the Princess Lela Mahabid another, which might make her in some sort forget the rank which she held, carried her to this resolution. But in conclusion, a little interest, and a great deal of generosity, made her tell them, that profit was to be made of others misfortune: so that before the King had leisure to ask for them, she caused them to be secretly conveyed to the house of a man, who absolutely depended on her; and having advertised us to repair thither, we continued concealed there above eight days. She in like sort caused the Mariners and Soldiers, which we had brought to Morocco, to be delivered; for the ambitious Aly being dead, the Princess Mariama was as powerful in the State as the King himself.  
The day following, Abdalla, seeing the Princess Mariama with a feigned melancholy in her face, which yet he believed to be true, demanded of her, whether revenge, which is said to be one of the greatest pleasures of Kings, did not give her some? My Lord, said she unto him, present misfortunes are doubtless more sensible than past pleasures; the loss of the Slaves which you gave me, is cause of more grief to me, then that of Aly hath made me feel joy. So strange a discourse surprised the King extremely; and whereas he desired to be cleared therein, the Princess Mariama told him, that in the confusion wherein all things were the day before, whether Aly had caused them to be carried away by force, or whether we had contributed any thing thereunto, so it was, that returning in the Evening to her lodging, she had not found them there, neither could she possibly learn any news of them. I will not repeat unto you all that Abdalla said in this occasion, although the Princess Mariama acquainted us with it: But in conclusion, it suffices you should know, that Abdalla took this adventure as an amorous Prince would do; and after he had caused search to be made over all the City, except in the place where we were, which by the care of the Princess was exempted, she had the goodness to come secretly and bid her dear Slaves farewell, to whom also she gave very rich gifts: And the night following, having disposed of all things for our departure, she caused us to be embarked in a Merchant's Vessel, that set sail the same night; and whereof the Captain, who was of Palermo, undertook to carry us whithersoever we would go, in consideration of an excessive sum of money which she gave him for that purpose.  
Now, Madam, before I leave Morocco, I am to tell you, that the Marquis was not so glad of the liberty which we hoped to enjoy, as for that he should no longer be exposed to the hazard of being constant. I should have died, said he unto us, had I not escaped from so great a danger; for if I had tarried longer at Morocco, I was in jeopardy of changing my humour, in not changing my Mistress: But in the end, Madam, we had no great leisure to laugh at the Marquis his agreeable humour, for we had not made two days sail, when as we encountered a Vessel, by the Turks called a Carmossal, which having set upon ours, that was but ill provided of things necessary for war, became Master of it, notwithstanding any resistance we could make; and the Turks, which commanded this Vessel, took us, and brought us to be sold here at Constantinople, where our destiny hath been such as you have understood.  
Isabel thanked Doria for the pains he had taken in recounting this History unto her. As for me, said Hippolita, I am not contented with my Brother, for methinks he stood a little too much in examining that which he calls fantasticalness in my humour. It is not for that you complain, answered Horatio smiling, but rather because you apprehend, that we do not judge of the greatness of your affection but by that of your jealousy. For my part, said the Marquis, I do not complain of Doria; and I have taken more delight in hearing him relate my love, than I took in it when I was in Morocco. And for so much as regards me, added Leonida, I am the least satisfied with his relation, seeing I served but for a pretext to Aly's love. Let us not jest so soon, said Sophronia interrupting her, for in fine we are still at Constantinople. You have Reason, answered Isabel sighing, and would it might please Heaven, that I could as readily procure your departure from thence, and mine own with you, as I can assure you that you are in safety there; but we must hope, continued she, reassuming a more quiet countenance, that the return of Justiniano will cause ours soon after. Sophronia's humour, being very serious, and consequently more agreeing, than the rest, with Isabella's melancholy, begot a particular conversation with her. The Marquis approached to Emilia, and intermixing his discourse with Hipolita's, Horatio's, Leonida's, Alphonso's, and Doria's, they entertained one another, as persons whom the hope of a future good had made to forget all the evils past. But at length night coming on, and Isabel rememb'ring the counsel which the Sultana Asteria had given her, not to incense the mind of Soliman, she took leave of this dear Troop, and returned to the old Seraglio; where Asteria had been in much impatience for her return, fearing lest the Sultan her Father should be displeased, if she did not observe the order he had given.   
The End of the First Book.   

The Second Book.  
ROxelana in the mean time was not without unquietness, in knowing by her Spies, that Soliman's friendship to Ibrahim, and the respect which he had to Isabel, had kept him until then from discovering his love plainly to her that caused it. For whereas ambition was the only thing that reigned in her heart, she might well be jealous of the power of Ibrahim, but not of the beauty of Isabel. She knew that the grand Visier would never give her the means to ruin him, nor do any thing against the service of the Grand Signior, were he not constrained thereunto by some very sensible outrage. She knew also, that Soliman would never disoblige Ibrahim if some mighty passion did not force him to it. In fine, the love to Isabel was that, which begat a hope in her heart of destroying a man, whom she did not hate, but because he was too generous, and that she would reign alone. And whereas she saw that if Isabel went every day out of the Seraglio, it might come to pass that Soliman seeing her but seldom might peradventure change his mind, she resolved, for the preventing thereof, to complain of the liberty she had, and to let the Sultan understand, how the Muphti had advertised her, that the people began already to murmur at it. There needed no further matter to oblige Soliman to a thing, which he desired far more than she. But whereas the fear of displeasing Isabel was so much the greater, as his love was the stronger, he could not resolve, not only to forbid her from going forth, but to see her that day wherein she should receive this order; neither knew he what person to choose that might deliver this rude message unto her: At last upon good advisement he sent for the Sultana Asteria, whom he enjoined, after he had extremely caressed her, so to order the matter, that Isabel might go but very seldom out of the Seraglio.  
My Lord, said Asteria unto him, hath thy Highness forgot what thou saidst to her yesterday with thine own mouth? No, said the Grand Signior unto her, and therefore it is why I will not make a prohibition which contravenes the civilities I have used to her, but I would willingly, that by thy counsel and address, without any show of my constraining her, she should be carried of herself to do that which I desire; for the Sultana Queen complains of the liberty which I give her, the people murmur at it, all the Sultanaes' take it ill, and hate her for it.  
My Lord, answered Asteria, after that which thy Highness hath said to Isabel, I doubt that my counsel and speeches will be suspected of her; and that she will give more credit to thy words, then to all that I can say to her. I perceive well, said Soliman then to her, that thou lovest not to carry displeasing news; but howsoever it concerns thee to please and obey me. I do not refuse either the one or the other, replied the Sultana with a great deal of submission, but if I might be permitted to say what I think, I would beseech thy Highness to consider if there be not a kind of rigour in keeping Isabel from visiting the only persons which are dear to her ●n Constantinople; and by a constraint, whereunto she is not accustomed, to make the place of her refuge become her prison. In truth, my Lord, continued she, the virtue of this Princess, and the services of Ibrahim, should deserve methinks, that our Customs should not be so much considered as their Interests. Soliman, not being able to answer the Sultana Asteria, grew angry with her; you have your Reasons, said he unto her, and I have mine; but if I had none, I would not for all that but be obeyed: Go then, and do what I command you, for otherwise you alone shall be responsable to me for Isabella's actions. Asteria seeing so much anger in Soliman's eyes, no longer doubted but that this passion was occasioned by another, so that fearing to hurt Isabel in thinking to serve her, she besought the Sultan to pardon her, and went away, after she had promised him to perform his pleasure.  
The Sultana Asteria, being extremely afflicted for the commission she had received, went to Isabella's lodging, who seeing her enter with an extraordinary melancholy; Is it in your person, or in mine, said she unto her, that I am unhappy? I could wish, answered Asteria embracing her, that you were in a condition of having no other grief, but that of the compassion which others miseries might give you, but Fortune will not treat you so favourably. Isabel suddenly blushed, and according to the custom of those that love well, she presently thought of that which was most dear to her, and imagined that some misfortune was befallen the grand Visier; so that beholding Asteria with an extraordinary attention, Is there, said she unto her, any unlucky accident happened unto Ibrahim? hath he been beaten? is he dead, or a prisoner? No, answered Asteria, there is not any of that arrived; and that which I am to tell you, is indeed enough to make you murmur, but not enough to possess you with any extreme grief; and if you discern any melancholy in my face, it is rather a mark of the part which I take in all that concerns you, then of the greatness of your misfortune. And then Asteria, not to hold her longer in pain, recounted unto her all the conversation which she had had with Soliman, and thereupon advised her to comply so far with him. For truly, said she unto her, either the Sultan does love you, or he does not; if he does not, and that he desires you should abide here, to satisfy Roxelana, and the custom, you are not to oppose his pleasure: and contrarily, if it be true, that he is in passion for you, the l●ss occasion you shall give him to be carried to some violence, will be the most advantageous and sure. A Lover in choler (as I conceive) is more to be feared then another; for whereas choler doth most commonly banish away respect from the Souls of those whom it possesseth, one must forbear as long as is possible from exposing one's self to the hazard of angering an amorous Prince, who being able to do whatsoever he will, is always in an estate to be feared. You have reason, generous Asteria, said Isabel unto her, but what will my friends say, when they shall see that I do not visit them any more, and that I abandon them? Will they not have cause to think, that the magnificences of the Seraglio have blinded me? and it may be something yet worse. No, no, said Asteria, for we will cause them to be advertised of the truth of the matter, or at leastwise of the pretext which they have made use of to retain you here. But, added Isabel, what end can I foresee of my misery? The return of Ibrahim, replied Asteria, will make it cease; and he shall no sooner be at Constantinople, but the Sultan will no longer have other then just desires, and you shall recover your liberty. After that these two virtuous persons had entertained themselves a while, they parted; Asteria promising Isabel, if she would write to her Friends, to see her Letter conveyed unto them the next morning, as indeed she failed not to do.  
This news strangely surprised all this fair Troop; but whereas the pretext, whereof Soliman made use, was not without probability, and that Isabel by her Letter had rendered it more likely unto them, to the end she might keep them from conceiving any thing to her disadvantage, they believed it to be as it was represented unto them, without seeking for any other explication thereof; comforting themselves in some sort with the hope which Isabel gave them of visiting them sometimes: For to make their separation the easier, though she could not hear from Ibrahim as yet, she left not for all that to assure them that he would be back in a little space; and so consequently they should ere long be in an estate of going to see their Country again.  
This hope failed not to work the effect which Isabel expected from it; all this company was more jovial and more sociable, and whereas Ibrahim's Palace was wonderful fair, and that they were served thereby the Grand Signior's order exceeding magnificently, their exile no doubt was supportable enough; sometimes they walked in the Garden; sometimes they rome up and down in the Grot, or sat in the shade of the Grove of Orange Trees, which was hard by; other whiles they bestowed their time in the Gallery of the Turkish Emperors; and many times also in the Library, where they met with that which diverted their sorrow, or contented their curiosity. But one day when as they met all together in Ibrahim's Cabinet, after they had called to mind all their mishaps, and had admired by what adventure Fortune had conducted them into a place, where they had encountered Isabel, passing insensibly from one discourse to another, they bethought them that they had not been yet acquainted with that which had arrived to the Marquis. Whereupon Leonida demanded of him why he had not related it unto them? You have showed yourselves so little curious of it, replied he, that I am resolved not to give you this satisfaction without some recompense. You have too noble a Soul, said Leonida to him smiling, to be mercenary; and then again, what can you ask of exiled persons, and such too as do not enjoy their liberty? To put you yet into more pain, replied the Marquis, I must tell you, that you alone can pay me in that manner as I desire; and it is you alone that can oblige me to recount my last adventures. If you do not explain yourself better, answered Leonida, we shall not make up our match; but whereas the entertainment of the company is exceeding dear to me, tell me, what recompense do you demand? I desire, said he unto her, that before I relate that unto you which befell me, you will let us know what discontent that was which made you quit Genova to go to Albengua; what moved you to marry a man whom you did not love, and banish one whom you did not hate: For to speak freely unto you, it hath been imparted unto me at Genova in such a manner, as gives me a great deal of curiosity, and makes me desire to know whether I have been told the truth or no. As for me, said Hippolita, I have intended a long time since to entreat Leonida she would acquaint me with it; but Fortune hath so cruelly persecuted us, as we have scarce had any leisure but to feel new miseries, without remembering those which were already past. Certainly, added Doria, it I durst join my entreaties to those of the Company, I would request Leonida to grant us this favour. For my part, said Sophronia, I have not the same curiosity, for I am so fully informed of this History, as I do not know any thing that hath happened to myself better. If the company, said Leonida to her, will needs know it, I shall make advantage of it if you will take the pains to relate it unto them; for as for me, I am fully resolved not to expose myself a second time to the vexation which this relation hath been the cause of to me. Do not reproach my old error unto me, said Alphonso interrupting her; and to deliver you from this unquietness, and for fear lest I should find myself too weak to hear a thing without grief which hath given me so much, I will go and walk in the Garden, or entertain myself with a Book.  
Alphonso, after he had said this, went without attending Leonida's answer forth of the Cabinet, and would not return thither again, though the Marquis called him more than once. His absence did not for all that change Leonida's opinion, and whatsoever could be said unto her, she would not recount her own History; but she requested Sophronia to take the trouble of it upon her. This fair maid, seeing that the whole company desired this complacency of her, resolved to satisfy them, after she had prayed Leonida, that if she forgot any thing she would put her in mind of it; and Leonida, having promised her to do so, she then made the Marquis to swear, that as soon as ever she had finished her relation, he should begin his: And when as he had assured her that he would not fail therein, and had told her that he had at leastwise as much desire to recount his adventures unto her, as she had to know them, Sophroni● began, and spoke in this sort.  

The History of LEONIDA.  
THe Adventures of Leonida have something so extraordinary in them, as they are to be related in somewhat a particular manner; for to render the recital of them the more agreeable and intelligible unto you, I am not to say any thing to you yet of the beginning of her life, of her first Conquests, nor of her marriage, but only acquaint you with Alphonso's love, which I believe took its beginning presently upon Justiniano's return, and a year and half after the death of Leonida's husband. This Conquest without doubt was not disagreeable unto her; for, as you know, Alphonso hath merit, wisdom, and wit; and if after these, which certainly are the greatest and most essential good things, it is fit to consider the rest, you are not ignorant that Alphonso is rich enough, and of a race illustrious enough to touch a heart on the side of interest and glory, as well as of affection. In fine, whether Leonida were capable of love or ambition, she found in the person of Alphonso, wherewith to beget these two passions in her heart, and wherewith to render them excusable. If Leonida were not present, I would tell you, that whereas she hath a great deal of wit, Love in this encounter was introduced into her Soul rather by Reason, then by sense and inclination.  
But not to stand upon small things, you shall understand that Alphonso, who you have always seen so assidual in serving her, after he had rendered her all the testimonies of love, that a worthy person can desire of a man infinitely passionate, he knew at length from her own mouth, that his vows were not rejected, and that he was not forbidden to hope. After the day that she had permitted him to entertain her openly with his passion, it is certain that Leonida had continually all the complacency for him, which a virtuous woman was capable of. And whereas you know that Leonida hath naturally a gallant wit, and a very ●ovial humour, should oftentimes gave him the pleasure to hear her jeer his Rivals in his presence, and an hundred times made her Conquests serve for his glory. Alphonso then lived in this sort with more content, than the extreme love which he bore her seemed to permit; for, as I have heard it said, this passion seldom leaves any great tranquillity in the Souls of those whom it possesseth.  
But for Alphonso, he was the most generous Lover that ever was; his inclination had not been blind; all the world approved of his choice; he loved an amiable person, and was beloved of her; she took care not to give him any cause of jealousy; his very Rivals served for his delight and felicity by the usage that she gave them; his father did not contradict his affection; Leonida was of a free condition, and might dispose of herself; yea and to keep him from being deprived of the pleasure of hoping for the possession of a person that could render him contented, Leonida, to assure herself yet further of his love, would not so much as let him make use of his friends for the motioning of their marriage. In so happy an estate methinks it is hard to imagine what could trouble his felicity, especially when I shall have told you, that Leonida used him still as favourably as before, and without any change arriving in her, yet there arrived a change in him. I well perceive, continued Sophronia, after she had been a while without speaking, that you cannot divine what it was which troubled Alphonso's happiness; and certainly I cannot think it strange, seeing according to my sense this adventure is so extraordinary, as it is impossible to conjecture it. You shall understand then, that one day Alphonso being gone to see a kinsman of his, whereas the person beloved is a part of all conversations, and a man infinitely amorous speaks without choice and judgement of his Mistress to every one, he came to speak of Leonida to his kinsman, though to say truth he was not worthy of that honour; for this man is both malicious and blockish; According then to his humour and stupidity he rudely asked of Alphonso, whether he believed that he had been the first which ever had been affected of Leonida?  
Now whereas Alphonso had been a long time in the voyage, from whence Justiniano brought him back, he had understood nothing of what had happened to Leonida, for being fallen in love with her presently after his return, no body had been so uncivil as to say any such thing to him. It was not, as you shall know by the sequel of this History, because that which arrived unto Leonida was not glorious for her; but because love is a passion that renders the spirit so sensible and delicate, as it is impossible to hear that the person whom one loves, should have affection for another, without some sense of gri●f. And verily Alphonso tried it but too well in this occasion; he believed at first notwithstanding, that this was an effect of the malice of his kinsman, who regarding his succession, had perchance a design to do what he could for the rendering Leonida less amiable: but when as continuing his incivility he had told him, that one, named Octavio, of the House of the Pallavicins, and who was dead since, had in times past loved her, and that he had been infinitely loved of her, he did not believe that this man durst have told him things so precisely, if they had not been true.  
At length Alphonso, having made his visit, retired with some unquietness; nevertheless, whereas he had not yet lost his Reason, he did not find that he had any cause to complain of Leonida, for that she had been loved of Octavio, or for that she had loved him in a time when as he was not known to her. For, said he, I should be unjust to desire, that the eyes of Leonida should not have begun to make Conquests before they captivated me; and I should be unreasonable to desire also that she should have been absolutely insensible of the affection of a man, who it may be was of more worth than myself. Now whereas Love is ingenious to torment those which are under his Empire, Alphonso did not complain of having a Rival, that had not been hated, but for that Leonida had made a secret of it to him: This unquietness was not for all that very strong, but you shall understand by the sequel of my discourse, that it carried him to another, which put him to a great deal of pain.  
Alphonso had no sooner the commodity to speak with Leonida in private, but making show as if it were without design he took occasion to name Octavio; this name, which had been so dear to Leonida, could not be heard of her without touching her heart; and her heart could not be moved, without giving some marks of it in her face: For her Sense preventing her Reason, she blushed and ●●●hed both at an instant; howbeit desiring to conceal this disorder from Alphonso, she laid her hand over her eyes, and endeavouring to change discourse, he was thereby persuaded, that this touched her heart exceeding sensibly; augmented his curiosity; and made him resolve to testify it to her plainly.  
In pursuance of so precipitous a design, Alphonso, without deferring the execution of it any further, said unto her, I would fain, fair Leonida, be assured, that after my being dead for your service, my name should be so happy as to make you blush and sigh, as the blessed Octavio's hath done. You should do better, answered Leonida sighing a second time, to call him infortunate Octavio. Whosoever hath been loved of you, replied Alphonso, could n●ver be unhappy, notwithstanding any thing that could arrive to him otherwise. I wish for all that, said Leonida, that you never make trial of the like felicity: But, continued she with an altered countenance, why have you spoken to me of Octavio? Let us leave him to enjoy that rest which he could never find in this life; let us not trouble ours in troubling his; and let us, I pray you, have so much regard to him, as to leave his ashes in peace. Please you to pardon me, said Alphonso then unto her, if without losing the respect which I own to you, I dare crave of you, for a mark of your affection, that you will take the pains to relate exactly unto me, that which Octavio in times past bore unto you, that which you bore to him and briefly all that befell you till the time of his death; otherwise you will give me caus● to complain of you. Leonida would not at first accord to Alphonso that which he desired of her; for as she knew how highly her heart had been touched for Octavio, so she know likewise that it would be impossible for her to remember all their felicities, and all their misfortunes, without a great deal of unquietness; wherefore she excused herself from it as much as she could; nevertheless seeing that Alphonso took this refusal for a wrong, she promised to grant him his desire, so as he would give her some time; and in this sort many days passed away, Alphonso being unable to make her keep her word with him, But at length, his curiosity being grown the stronger by Leonida's resistance, he testified unto her one day so seriously, that he should hold himself disobliged by her, if she continued in the resolution which she seemed to have, as having appointed him a time to come to her for that purpose, she resolved to content him. If one had then demanded of Alphonso why his curiosity was so strong, he could not have told, at leastwise he hath acknowledged so much to Leonida since: For whereas he was persuaded that she had loved Octavio, both by that which his Kinsman had told him, by that which he had also learned otherwhere concerning it, and by the marks which he had seen of it in her countenance, if in her speech nevertheless she had disguised the truth, that lying would have given him a great deal of unquietness; and yet he felt in his heart, that if contrarily she should avouch unto him, that she had loved him very much, this discourse would not please him. But at last, carried by a secret motion, which he could not resist, he went with an extreme impatience to the assignation which Leonida had given him. He found her more sad than ordinary; for whereas her imagination was filled with displeasing ideas, that charming and jovial air, which she hath usually in her face, was somewhat changed. After she had caused Alphonso to sit down, and had told him, that she was going to render him the greatest proof of her affection that he had ever yet received, she was ready to impart unto him what her fortune had been, when as Alphonso, before he would give her leisure so to do, conjured her once again not to omit any part of all that which had arrived unto her. But he had no need to entreat her thereunto, for Leonida had no sooner began to speak, but forgetting that she was recounting her History to her Lover, she suffered herself to be charmed with her own relation; and showing grief or joy, according as the matters which she related gave her occasion for, she omitted not any thing of all that happened unto her. She imparted to him, that Octavio's house being near to hers, she had no soone● opened her eyes, but she was acquainted with him; and that he had no sooner beheld her in his tenderest infoncy, but he was pleased with her. That their Fathers being friends, they had a thousand times seen one another in that innocent age, wherein decency did not require one yet to live with so great a restraint; and that then, without knowing what it was to love, they sorbore not carrying affection to each other. She told him further, that in this age, wherein feigning and dissimulation have no part, and wherein the inclinations of the Soul appear such as they are, so great a correspondence was seen betwixt Octavio's, and hers, as no difference could be found therein. But, said she to Alphonso sighing, neither he nor I knew, that this sympathy, which so straight united our hearts and minds, should disunite us eternally; that this springing love should one day be the cause of his death, and cost me so many tears; and without dreaming of any such thing, the pleasure alone of seeing one another and talking together, took up all our Souls. We knew not as yet for all that, added she, what those thoughts were which we had one for the other; neither did we perceive them, till decency would not permit us to see one another so often. The privation of a good makes us know the greatness of it, and the design which we had to conceal our affection began to make me suspect th●● there was something in it more than goodwill: I did then all that I could to disengage my mind from a passion, which I had always heard to be very dangerous; but whereas it was more ancient in me then Reason, Reason was not strong enough to chase it out of my Soul; but contrarily it was she which engaged me further in it, and that speaking to me of Octavio, drew the picture of the worthiest man that ever was. She told him moreover that, which she felt in her heart, when as by any reason of honour, or business, he was constrained to be absent from Genova; the small delight she took in Assemblies when he was not there; and how much she enforced herself to seem merry during his absence. She acquainted him also, how exact Octavio was in following her pleasure in all things; what care he used to take from her all occasion of suspecting his fidelity; and with what discretion he still demeaned himself towards her all the time of his serving her.  
But, said Alphonso interrupting her, had you never any of those petty disorders, which augment love, rather than diminish it? No, no, answered Leonida, Octavio never gave me cause to complain; besides, our affection had no need of that artifice to render it the stronger; since it is certain that never any person loved more perfectly than we. Alphonso would fain have assured Leonida, that he loved her yet better than Octavio had loved her, but his mind was so unquiet, as he could scarce speak. And then again, Leonida gave him not leisure to do it; for she was so attentive in exactly relating all that had passed betwixt Octavio and her, as she never took heed of all the several changes which her discourse made in his face. She continued then telling him, that after an indifferent long love, Octavio, having obtained permission of her to demand her of her parents, believed that his happiness was so sure, as he had no doubt at all of it; for whereas his Father and hers had always lived as good friends together, and their fortunes were equal, he could foresee no impediment in it. But he knew not, said Leonida then looking on Alphonso, that a passion less noble than that which reigned in his heart opposed his; and that avarice, which is far more powerful in the minds of old men, than love is in that of young folks, should destroy his and my hopes, and should finish our love by his death, for to settle a grief in my soul, which I shall conserve there eternally.  
In sequel hereof, Leonida likewise declared to Alphonso, that one named Livio, of the Family of the Frigozes, a man very rich in the goods of fortune, but very poor in those of the mind, being touched with her beauty, without any thought of discovering his affection to her, or gaining her favour, went the very same day that he fell in love with her, and demanded her of her Father: prescribing him no other conditions, then that of giving him his daughter; and that this old man, who knew Livio's wealth, being more mightily touched with the love of riches, than Livio was with the beauty of Leonida, had promised him to bestowed her on him, and had engaged his word to him in such sort, as nothing was able to make him break it. So that Octavio arriving an hour after that Livio was gone, and making his proposition, he was wonderfully surprised to learn from Leonida's Father, that he had promised his daughtar, and that it would be in vain for him to hope he might make him change his resolution. Octavio could not apprehend, that Leonida could be promised to any one, and she not know of it; and on the other side, said Leonida to Alphonso, my fidelity was so well known to him, as he durst not doubt of it. In so deplorable an estate, continued she, he left my Father, and came and found me out at an Aunts of mine, who favoured our affection, and where I had appointed him to come and acquaint me with the answer he should receive. But O Heaven I cried she, I did not foresee that this sentence should be that of Octavio's death, and of the loss of all the felicity that I attended from it. He came then, but with so much melancholy in his face, as at first I made no doubt but that he had some fatal news to impart unto me: When as he had obtained permission of his grief to speak to me, and that he had acquainted me, that not only I should not be his, but that I was already another's, my affliction was so strong, that albeit Octavio's was exceeding great, yet was it for him notwithstanding to comfort me. He told me that our misfortune it may be was not without remedy; and that if I had as much steadfastness, as he had love, I should vanquish my Father's rigour. Alas! said I unto him sighing, I will not bewail the tears which I shall shed, if they may move his cruelty: but if they prove unprofitable to me, continued she, what arms shall I make use of? Of those of your constancy, said the infortunate Octavio to me. Alas! cried Leonida in making this relation to Alphonso, how often have I repent me for not believing him I and rather choosing to obey my Father, then to be faithful to my Lover.  
After this transport of affection, she recounted unto him all the resistances she had made against her Parent's pleasure; her grief and despair, when as she saw that neither her prayers, her tears, nor her reasons could avail; the pain she was in not to grant Octavio the permission to steal her away, or to rid himself of his Rival; and for a conclusion, she acquainted him, how the tyranny of her Father, and the consideration of her honour, having forced her to abandon Octavio, to marry Livio, she saw herself in so deplorable an estate, as that which would have made up the bitterest grief of another, was her only consolation. For, said she to Alphonso, I had no other in this encounter, then to know that I married a man whom I could never love, no not if time should cure me of the passion I was in. It was not because I was not resolved for my own glory to live well with him, but because I had at leastwise this consolation, that Octavio could not suspect me of infidelity; yea and I hoped too, that the more peevish Livio should be in his humour, and the more cankered and unpleasing he should be, the more he would shorten my days. Judge then, said she unto him, if these were the most agreeable thoughts that I had, what the rest were.  
But in the end, said Alphonso unto her, you married Livio? Yes, answered Leonida with tears; and the infortunate Octavio, unable to resolve to see me in the possession of another, departed from Genova to go and seek for the death which he found soon after. For although I had done an hundred things beyond what was fitting, to oppose myself against my Father's will, yet he believed with reason, notwithstanding he knew that I loved nothing but him, that seeing I could not be married without mine own consent, I should never have granted it, and that I should rather have resolved to die, then abandon him. In so reasonable a thought, despair seizing on his soul, he went to the Emperor's Army, and arrived there so unluckily, both for himself, and for me, and so opportunely for the design which he had, that the next day there was a battle sought; but before he entered into it, he desired to let me understand, that he went not so much to expose his life for the Emperor, as for the love of me. In saying so, Leonida let him see the Letter which Octavio had written unto her; and whereas I have found it extremely moving, and that it is not long, I think if I do not remember the words precisely, I shall meet with at leastwise the true sense of it.  
OCTAVIO'S Letter to LEONIDA.  
Being unable either to cease from loving you, or to see you in the possession of another, I am going to seek for death, as the only remedy which I can find for my grief. And without complaining, or murmuring, I wish that the blood, which I am going to shed, may not cost you too many tears, and that the end of my life may not trouble the tranquillity of yours.  
When as Leonida had made Alphonso read this doleful Letter, what shall I say to you more, said she unto him with her eyes full of tears? Octavio, after he had given this Letter unto a man that served him, with an express charge to keep it, and deliver it to mine own hand, if he returned not from the danger, whereunto he was going to expose himself in that deadly battle. Whereupon he put himself into the foremost Troops, without any other Arms then his Sword, to the end he might not fail in his design: Yet left he not for all that to sell his life very d●ar to the Enemy, for he was seen to do wonders. But when he heard the retreat sounded, because night approached, far from retiring with the rest, he ran into the midst of a body of Horse, and defending himself no otherwise but to provoke them the more, and to keep himself from being made a prisoner, he fell at length, and found the death which he sought for. But alas, he died rather by my hand, then by the Enemies! After this, said she, I concealed our affection no longer, and I gave so many marks of despair, as my Father himself repent his having rendted me so unhappy. A while after, Livio fell sick and died, and left me the liberty to weep. Behold Alphonso, said Leonida unto him, with as much grief as if Octavio had died the very same day, that which you desired to know of me; but never speak to me more of him, I beseech you; for as you perceive there is a kind of inhumanity in renewing so sensible an affliction in my heart, and for which I should never be comforted, had I not found in you some resemblance of the humour and dispossion of the infortunate Octavio.  
Leonida, having finished her relation, and wiped her eyes, thanked Alphonso for the sadness which appeared in his countenance; imagining that it was an effect of the compassion he took of her past misfortunes. But she knew not, that the same which she believed to be a sense of pity, was one of the most violent jealousies that ever an amorous spirit was tormented with. For he so strongly persuaded himself that Leonida could not have the same apprehensions for him, which she had had for Octavio, as he went away from her, with an affliction the like whereof was never seen; yet he left her without giving her any notice thereof: but when he was come home, and had shut himself up alone in his Chamber, he ran over all that, word for word, which Leonida had told him, for they had made so powerful in impression in his Soul, as I think there escaped not so much as one out of his memory. The more he considered the matter, the more was he confirmed in his jealousy. He remembered, that she had loved Octavio, out of sympathy, out of acknowledgement, and out of reason; that their affection began from their infancy, and continued all their life. Now, said he to himself, Octavio is not dead in the heart of Leonida, he lives there still in despite of me, and in such a manner as I cannot chase him from thence. He is not only dead to keep me from being revenged of him, but he is also dead to reign eternally in her soul. For, added he, quite transported with grief, infortunate Alphonso, Leonida loves thee not neither but for the love of him; thou knowest it from her own mouth, and thou canst not doubt of thy unhappiness. Ah how wretched I am, continued he, and how Imprudent have I been in labouring mine own ruin myself I if I had not been curious, I had been the happiest of men, and I have rendered myself the most infortunate that ever was. That which I have seen, that which I have heard; the tears of Leonida, her sighs, her speeches, and the marks of love and tenderness, which she hath rendered to the memory of Octavio, have not only destroyed my present pleasures, and all those which I hoped for, but also my pleasures past. I no longer marvel, continued he, if Leonida ill-intreats my Rivals, it is for the ashes of Octavio that she hath this respect and this fidelity, and not for me. O blessed Octavio, cried he, how worthy of envy is thy fate, and how unhappy is mine! This fantastical jealousy got such deep rooting in his heart, as he lost all rest, and almost his Reason. He wished sometimes that Octavio were still living, to the end he might be revenged of him; and by and by after in another quite contrary thought he considered, that if he had been living Leonida had never loved him, and in this manner he was in some sort glad that he was dead. Sometimes likewise, he comforted himself for that Leonida had not loved Octavio so much as to marry him against the will of her Parents; but then when he came to remember the last marks of affection which Leonida had received from Octavio, and what resentment she had testified for it in relating it to him, he entered into despair again. What can I do, said he, that can ever persuade her that I love her as well as Octavio! When I shall tell her, that she reigns in my heart; that her will may dispose of mine; that she is absolute Mistress of my soul; and in conclusion, that I live not but for her alone; with one only word, she will set Octavio above all that I have said; for telling me that he died to testify his affection to her, is to tell me, that he hath incomparably done more than I; that he reigns always in her mind; and that I can never pretend to the first place.  
Of all the thoughts that afflicted Alphonso, that of his not being loved by Leonida but because he had some conformity with Octavio, was the most inhuman; and the opinion which he had, that since this was the cause of his Mistress' affection, she could not therefore see him without remembering Octavio, troubled him in such fort, as he continued certain days unable to resolve to visit her. Nevertheless there were some instants, wherein he condemned his transports; and demanding of himself what he desired of Leonida in this occasion? he knew not very well what he would have; but these good intervals lasted so little it while, as it might have been said that he had no rest at all. If I had a Rival, said he sometimes, I should spend a part of my anguish in seeking occasion to hurt him, and to set him at odds with her I loved, and whom he should love; I should observe their actions, and knowing them, I should make use of them, either to trouble their designs, or to advance mine, or to cure me of my passion. But is the case stands, I have a secret Rival in the heart of Leonida, whom she entertains, I not knowing, nor being able to hinder it: She weeps, she sighs, even as she is talking with me, for this blessed Phantosm, which she loves still, and ever will love, since he is no longer in a condition to be able to do any thing that can displease her. As for me, said he, I am in far other terms; for I can easily displease her, and I cannot be agreeable unto her, but because I resemble Octavio. Who ever saw, continued he, such another thing? I am jealous, and yet I have no Rival; I am beloved, and yet I am not happy; and through an extravagancy of my destiny, or of my humour, I shall never be; let Leonida do what she will, it is impossible that ever I should be so. For say I should marry her, it would always run in my mind, that if by a miracle Octavio could rise again, she would abandon me for him: Yea and I believe, added he, that if she could buy his life with my death, she would consent unto it with joy.  
This deadly thought seized so strongly on Alphonso's heart, as there were certain moments in which he had as much hatred for Leonida, as he was capable of. For whereas this extraordinary jealousy agitated all his passions, and principally hate and anger, not finding a nearer object to employ them upon, he had for her no doubt very different thoughts, and wholly replenished with violence. Love remained nevertheless still victorious over all the rest, or to speak more rightly, all those several passions were but effects of that same.  
But in the end, after Alphonso had spent some days in the entertainment of his anguish of mind, without seeing Leonida, the extreme love which he bore her, carried him to her whether he would or no. He hath told her since, that being gone out of his lodging, with an intent to walk in some place out of the way, that he might muse by himself better than at home, and exactly run over all the favours which Leonida had conferred on him, to the end he might compare them with those which Octavio had received from her; he acquainted her, I say, that against his purpose, and without being ware of it, his steps conducted him to her door, where he no sooner was, but without consulting what he was to do, he knocked there, and understanding that Leonida was within, he went up directly to her chamber without advertising her of it, though it was not his custom so to do; for Leonida seldom ever saw him at her house, when she was alone there; but at this time Alphonso was not in a case regularly to observe good manners. When as Leonida first saw him, she received him somewhat coldly; for whereas he had been a good while without sending to her, or enquiring after her, she thought it was but just to use him so.  
As for Alphonso, how disordered soever his mind was, yet durst he not make show at the beginning of that which he had in his heart; for respect and Reason had so much power over him, is he could not resolve to discover his suffering to a person who caused it, until he should be extremely pressed thereunto by her. After Leonida had received him somewhat coldly, and had observed the change which jealousy had made in Alphonso's face, the anger wherein she was in for his neglect turned into unquietness. She was afraid left some mishap had befallen him; or through some adventure, which was unknown to her, Alphonso should accuse her unjustly of some defect of affection: In this belief she used him more favourably; asked of him whether his melancholy was feigned or true; and urging him to answer her, she forced him to tell her a lie, in such perplexed and obscure terms, as she doubted not but that he had some unpleasing thought in his mind. She employed all her address then to discover it by the several questions she asked him: but seeing she nothing prevailed thereby, and that the more she demanded of him, the less she was satisfied, she did him the favour to deal with him as a M stress, and absolutely commanded him to tell her what that trouble was which he had in his Soul. You have assured me an hundred times, said she unto him, that I could do any thing with you, and that your heart was not so much in your own dispose as in mine, wherefore then, if you have not deceived me, do you not obey me? When as I promised you that which you say, replied Alphonso, I hoped that I might, if not reign in your heart, at leastwise not be surmounted there by any body.  
Leonida perceiving then, that jealousy was the disease that tormented him, and knowing that she had given him no reasonable occasion for it, fell a smiling, and reaching him her hand with that gallantry, which is so natural unto her, Afflict not yourself, said this amiable creature, nor fear that I will be displeased to understand that you are jealous; I know, said she unto him still smiling, that we fear to lose the good which is extreme dear to us; that jealousy is an undoubted sign of a strong passion, and of the merit of the person whom one loves, because if she were not amiable she would have no Lovers, and consequently she would give no cause of jealousy. And I am the less offended, continued she, to see you touched with this passion, in regard it is easy for me to help you. For to speak more seriously to you, added Leonida, you have no Rivals which can keep me from giving you the pleasure when you will to hear me termed by them, cruel, inhuman, rigorous, and inexorable. In fine, said she unto him, you have a malady, whereof you shall no sooner have acquainted me with the cause, but you shall be cured of it.  
I do not think, answered Alphonso, with as much anguish, as Leonida had gallantry, that it is as easy for you to restore tranquillity unto my Soul, as it was easy for you to deprive me of it: for, continued he, I have no Rivals, whom you can ill entreat, and yet I am the most jealous that ever was. I do not understand you, said Leonida to him with more coldness than before; and if you do not explain yourself better, I shall believe that either you have lost your Reason, or that with a premeditated design you purpose to break off with me: But take heed Alphonso, of leaving me long in this suspicion, for fear lest, whereas I am proud and disdainful, I do not prevent you, and it be too late for you then to have recourse to my goodness.  
Alphonso, surprised both with Leonida's discourse, and the manner wherewith she spoke, resolved at length freely to tell her the cause of his grief. I know very well, said he unto her, that I am going to speak in vain for myself, and indeed it is rather out of despair then Reason that I am carried to obey you. Know then, continued he, that I am jealous, and that I shall be so eternally, since the Rival that surmounts me in your heart can never die; for to conceal the truth from you no longer, the blessed Octavio is the object of my jealousy. The tears which you shed for his memory are the cause of those which I shall pour forth all my life time; the sighs which you fetch for him, shall always make me sigh; and his past felicity shall beget the misery of all the rest of my days. You have loved him so much, continued he, and you love him so much still, that I can find no place in your Soul: He much reign there alone, for indeed you do not suffer me there but only to conserve the memory of him the better. Ah cruel man! cried Leonida hearing him speak in this sort, is it possible that you have the inhumanity to open the Tomb of Octavio to persecute me? and in stead of weeping with me, or at leastwise of bemoaning and comforting me, you are so audacious as to give me marks of your hatred to a person, whom I have so much loved, and whose memory is still so dear unto me; and yet in grateful as you are, said she to him, you own the affection which I bear you to that little resemblance you have with Octavio; but as this infortunate creature hath been the cause of it, so shall he likewise give an end to it: for in regard of that which you have said to me, I ordain you never to speak to me, and never to see me more. Why do not you shut yourself up then in Octavio's Tomb, answered Alphonso, since you can love none but him? Reply no further to me, inhuman that you are, said she to him, and take from my sight the persecutor of Leonida, and the enemy of Octavio.  
Alphonso seeing Leonida in such choler, and not able to give her a good reason, either for the maintaining of his error, or for the obtaining of his pardon, went away more jealous than before. Alas, said he to himself, how sensible she is on that side I what a powerful mark of her love is her choler! if she had loved me, she would have used me after another manner; she would have taken pity of my weakness; she would have given me some new proof of her affection; but she could not disguise her heart; all her thoughts have been for Octavio, and all her words have been against me. In this opinion Alphonso got him home, with an intent to obey Leonida exactly, and never to see her again. As indeed he came no more at her, and that be might avoid meeting with her any where, he feigned himself sick. Leonida, seeing to what a madness this ill-grounded jealousy carried him, desired at leastwise to conceal it from the eyes of the world; and to that effect she advanced a voyage which she was to make to Albengua, where, as you know, she hath some means and affairs. She departed then from Genova, so incensed against Alphonso, that she could not so much as resolve to do him the favour to complain of him by a Letter. Her departure did not cure Alphonso of his frenzy, but contrarily it augmented it; for he believed that Leonida did not abandon Genova, but to bewail Octavio with the more liberty. This thought for all that was not the most powerful in his heart; the impossibility of seeing Leonida, redoubled his desire of it, and love being stronger still than jealousy, he purposed an hundred times to go to Albengua, to cast himself at Leonida's feet; to crave her pardon; and to obtain an oblivion of his fault of her. But no sooner did the Phantom of Octavio present itself to his imagination, no sooner did he call the tears and sighs of Leonida to remembrance, but he reentered into his former furies. He made an hundred impossible wishes, which destroyed one another, and led a very irksome and melancholic life. During that time he wrote divers Letters to Leonida, according to the divers thoughts wherein he was; but when as she perceived so great an inequality in his mind, and such marks of an unsettled Reason, she returned no answer thereunto; and although she loved Alphonso so much, as to be extremely grieved to lose him, yet could she not imagine how she might cure him of this fantasy: so that finding no expedient for it, and being very much incensed against him, she lived with so much anguish, that if Alphonso had known her most secret thoughts, he would have been healed of his jealousy, and would have been assured that she did not grieve more for the death of Octavio, then for the loss of his affection. It was in this sort then that Leonida and Alphonso lived until that infortunate day, wherein we were constrained to forsake Genova. And I make no doubt but that Alphonso's despair induced him to follow us, as well as the generosity which he testified to us in this occasion, in not abandoning us in the sorrow we were in, since he absented himself from a place where Leonida was not. You know in like manner, what that Tempest was, which luckily for him drove us to Albengua; neither are you ignorant how the compassion and generosity of Leonida obliged her to embark herself with us: But doubtless you do not know, what Alphonso's and her thoughts were, when as, after they had had the goodness to lament our misfortunes, they had the leisure to think of the terms wherein they stood. For whereas we had scarcely been upon the Sea without a Tempest, without fear of death, and without extreme sorrow for the loss we sustained there, they had never talked together in private during this troublesome Navigation; but when we were at Morocco, and at those times, wherein we had the liberty to see and speak to one another, Leonida, who desired to conceal the terms wherein she was with Alphonso, entertaining him with indifferent things, found that his understanding was as deeply wounded at Morocco, as it had been at Genova, with this difference nevertheless, that at the first time he spoke to her he moved her to anger, and the second time he moved her to pity. What is the reason, said he to he with tears, that I can neither continue loving you, nor begin to hate you? and wherefore, since you are capable of some affection for me, must I not only share it with another, but I must owe it wholly to him? and without being able, either to change my passion, or revenge myself, I must eternally be the most wretched of men.  
He that imposeth a necessity on himself, replied Leonida, cannot complain with reason, seeing he himself is the cause of the evil that arriveth to him. Ah, cried Alphonso, that you said true! and that I could dispose of my thoughts! Yes, Leonida, said he unto her, would I could love you less, to the end I might love you always, and live happily in sharing your affection with another: But to endure, that in speaking to me you should always think of Octavio, that whilst I sigh for love, you should sigh for affliction, and having absolutely given you my heart, I should have but a piece of yours, is that which I cannot suffer. But how is it possible, said Leonida interrupting him, unjust and cruel Alphonso, that a man, who is no longer in an estate to have any affection for me, can give you jealousy? You do not comprehend, replied he, what is the true cause of jealousy; the affection Which any one should bear you, would not displease me; it is of your thoughts that I am jealous, and not of those of others. I would be willing chat you should be loved, and that you should be adored, but I would have you love none but me. I should not care to see you have an hundred Lovers, provided I were alone in your heart; I do not hate my Rivals in their person, but in yours only; it is you that can increase or diminish the hatred which I have for them, by the good or bad usage you shall give them; and whereas you may love Octavio as well, though he is not in being, as if he were living, you are not to think it strange that I am jealous. In fine, continued he, you reduce me to those terms, that I had rather you should not love me at all, so as you would love nothing, then to love me as you do, in loving Octavio better than me. But Octavio is no longer in being, said Leonida to him sighing. Yet he is still in your Soul, answered Alphonso, and this sigh which you fetched testifies it but too much unto me. No, no, Leonida, said he unto her, that which I suffer is without remedy; one may sometimes make present mishaps cease, and decline those which may happen unto us in time to come, but when we are unhappy by the remembrance of that which is past, death alone can finish our pains: It is not in your power to forbear sighing, shedding of tears, and to say all, loving of Octavio more than Alphonso, wherefore marvel not if it be not in your power to cure my mind of the jealousy that possesseth it.  
It was much after this sort that the first conversation ended, which Leonida and Alphonso had together at Morocco. But whereas Leonida affected him, and saw the estate whereunto this fantastical jealousy reduced him, she opened her heart to me, and having asked my advice what she should do, I counselled her, I think, as she desired to be, and as indeed was just. I told her then, that she was to do all that she could to set his heart at rest! that this caprichiousness proceeding merely from an excess of love, she was to pardon so bad an effect, since it came from so noble a cause, and labour to restore his Reason to him, which she had deprived him of. I agree with you, said she unto me, that Alphonso is to be eased, but in what manner do you think I may do it? if he were jealous of the French Marquis, of Doria, or of any other, it would not be difficult for me to satisfy him. The coldness which I would show to them, should soon set him at rest; and if there were no other means for it, I would deprive myself absolutely of their company to preserve it; but as the case stands I know no remedy for it. It is from myself that Alphonso hath learned the affection which I have born to Octavio, I cannot unsay it; and if I should be so base as to swear to him that I have not loved him so much as he imagines, I should tell a lie to no purpose; it being very certain that he would give more credit to my tears, then to my latter speeches; and then again, that is a thing I could never do. Counsel me then, continued she, how I shall carry myself. I profess unto you, that I was then very much perplexed what counsel to give her, for I saw no assured means that could cure Alphonso: Nevertheless after I had mused a little, my opinion was, that the only thing which she could do was, to endeavour to persuade Alphonso, that she loved him as much as she had loved Octavio, as indeed, I think I did not oblige her to tell an untruth.  
At first Leonida told me that this would serve to no purpose, but finding nothing to stand with more reason, she resolved to follow my advice: So that the first time she could speak with Alphonso in private, his melancholy still increasing, she demanded of him, whether he were resolved to live long in that manner? Truly no, answered he, for I do not doubt, but from the misery which I feel, death will come shortly and deliver me. Is it not possible, said she, that Alphonso should make use of his Reason in this encounter? I perceive very well, answered he, that you have some pity of the hurt you have done me, but know that it is not that which I desire; in the estate wherein Octavio is I could endure that you should have compassion for him, provided you would have affection for me; but I could not endure, that you should have love for him, & have nothing but pity for Alphonso. What change, said she unto him, is there come to me, since the time that you were contented with my affection? have I loved Octavio more, or have I loved you lest then I did? in no wise at all, I swear unto you. Wherefore then since I am not changed for you, are you changed for me? If I had known my unhappiness sooner, replied he, I should have been less unhappy; it being certain, that I should not have engaged myself so straight in the love of a person, that could never love so much as she had loved. It is true, said she unto him, that I have loved Octavio as much as I was able to love in the age wherein I was; and it is true also that his memory is dear and precious unto me: but who hath told you that I have not the same thoughts for you? I know it from your own mouth, replied he; for in having assured me that you loved me less than he, you have let me understand that you have done that for his consideration, which you have never done for mine. You loved him as soon as ever you opened your eyes, said Alphonso unto her; he was agreeable unto you as soon as ever you knew him; and your Reason hath told you since, that you would have done out of choice, what you had done out of inclination; he hath had the happiness to please you always, without ever giving you cause to be displeased; you have sighed for him in divers occasions; you have many times bewailed his absence as much, as I could pretend to be lamented by you, if I had lost my life in your service, and for my last unhappiness he died in speaking to you of love. It may be, if he had lived longer, you would have repent the tears, which now you shed for him; but as the case stands, there is a shadow of Octavio remaining, which is in stead of his person to you, that possesses your soul, and will not suffer you to have such thoughts for another.  
How unjust you are, said Leonida unto him, to speak to me thus! howsoever, since I am resolved to try whether I can draw your mind out of that disorder, whereunto, this strange jealousy hath carried it, promise me, that if by my discourse I can let you see, that you have received more testimonies of my affection, than I have given to the infortunte Octavio, you will then repent you of your error, restore tranquillity to your soul, and leave mine in rest. Alphonso, after he had withstood it a while, in saying, that she propounded an impossible thing to him, and by consequence he was not to answer unto it, resolved for all that to hear her, and promised her that if she kept her word with him, he would crave pardon to his fault, and would live better for the future. After they had made this agreement; tell me, Alphonso, said she unto him, if I can make it appear to you, that since the day wherein I permitted you to serve me, you never have had occasion to complain of me; and if I can show you, that the unhappy Octavio, if he were living, might with justice accuse me of little affection; would you not have reason then to be contented? That will not be enough, answered Alphonso, for it may be that you have never given me just cause to complain, and that you have given Octavio occasion so to do, and yet for all that I cannot be happy: But that which I desire is, you would let me know, that you have not done any thing for Octavio, which you would not have done for me, and that I think will not be easy for you to perform.  
I will peradventure show you yet more, replied Leonida, and to begin to cure you, is it not true, Alphonso, that the original of the affection which I bear to you, is far more advantageous to you, then that which I have born Octavio? when I began to wish him well, continued she, I was in an age, wherein perchance that which I then called love, was none; wherein I counted for great services petty things, which now I should not regard; and wherein I acted without knowledge, and without judgement. I, said Alphonso interrupting her, but not without inclination, which is that which renders affections the stronger and more durable. I agree with you therein, said she unto him, but howsoever I had this inclination in an age, wherein at first my reason did not combat with it, for I had none at that time. That is the cause, said Alphonso, why it is so will settled in your soul. And that is the cause, replied Leonida, why I do not know whether it were any whit strong, since I did not make resistance against it. But as for you Alphonso, when as you began to please me, and that my inclination carried me to like of your services, I was in an age wherein my Reason was in a condition to oppose itself against it; as indeed, it did resist it as much as it could. You had to vanquish in my heart, not only that wisdom and that modesty, which permits not a woman to engage herself lightly in affection to a man; but had also the memory of Octavio to surmount, in forcing me, if one may say so, to commit a greater infidelity against him, then when as I abandoned him to obey my Father; seeing it is certain that I married Livio without loving him, and that I could not keep the promise which I had made to myself, never to love any thing more after the death of Octavio.  
This discourse is very subtle, replied Alphonso; but have you not told me that you did not love me but because I resembled Octavio? I have indeed told you, answered she, that by this resemblance you comforted me for the loss of Octavio; but not, that this conformity, which you have with him, was the only cause of the goodwill which I bear you. And certes, to speak truly, since I must retract what I have said with shame, if there had been no other than this reason. and that my inclination, your services, and your merit, had not constrained me; I should rather have avoided the sight of you, than sought it: It was not ye● so long since I lost Octavio, that I could behold his picture without tears and sorrow; I should rather than have shunned you with care, than received you favourably, had I not been forced by a power, which I could not resist. You make me new wounds, said Alphonso thereupon to her, in seeking to cure the old; for if it be true that you have this intention, why do you tell me that the sight alone of one of Octavio's pictures hath made you weep? I told it you, replied she, to let you see, that a man which could comfort me for so excessive a grief must needs have a great deal of power over my soul.  
Alphonso, not able to contradict Leonida, suffered her to continue her discourse. You perceive very well then, said she unto him, that in the beginning of our goodwill I gave you more marks of a strong inclination, than ever Octavio received of me, seeing when I loved him, I was in an age, wherein flattery, complacency, and gallantry, do extremely touch the mind. Octavio was my first conquest, and the first man that told me I had something that was pleasing in me: and by this reason, it was almost impossible for me not to have admitted of his affection: But for yours, I accepted of it in such a manner, as would not permit you to doubt of mine, if you be reasonable. And to pass from the beginning to the progress of it, tell me, I pray you, what is that I have done for him as long as he lived? All things, answered Alphonso; and whereas more marks of affection are given by grief, then by joy, without running over all the complacencies which you have had for him, I will only say that you h●ve wept an hundred times for him, and that all the love which I have born you hath not cost you a tear.  
It is not time yet to discover my weakness unto you, replied Leonida; and to answer precisely to that which you say, as long as we lived well together, it is true that I have not wept, but it was because you were not unhappy; and I doubt not but if our affection had been thwarted as Octavio's and mine was, I should have had the same sorrow. And then again you have this advantage over that infortunate man, that I have not forsaken you, as I did him; for indeed if I had known how to love perfectly, I had not married Livio, I had not abandoned Octavio, I had not been the cause of his death. Therefore it is, answered Alphonso, that to repair that failing, in not loving Octavio enough, you love his ashes and his Tomb; you cannot speak of him without tears; you cannot think of him without sighing; and it may be if I should lose my life, I should not give you a minute of unquietness. Ah cruel creature I cried Leonida, must I acknowledge my weakness unto you? Yes, insensible as you are, said she unto him, I will resolve to do it, to the end I may cure your mind, or have so just an occasion to complain of you, as absolutely to cease from loving you. It is true, said she unto him, that I have wept for Octavio; but it is true too, that spite of the grief, which your capricious humour hath possessed me with, I can assure you, not only that I should die with affliction, if your death should happen, but that I cannot call that a life which I have led since thus unjust passion hath troubled my rest in troubling yours. In fine, Alphonso, I have shed as many tears for the fear alone of losing your goodwill, though you were faulty towards me, as ever I shed for Octavio, who died for my sake; so that if I am unjust, it is only to him, and no way to you. It is true, that he hath rendered me all the testimonies of affection that I could attend from him; but it is true also, that I have not done the same; I abandoned him to marry Livio, and I have been capable of a second love, which without doubt must be stronger than the other was, because it hath been able to comfort me for the loss I had sustained: For you, Alphonso, it is not so; you have no occasion to complain of me, I have done for you all that reasonably I could do; and when I gave you a mark of my desire to please you, it is come to pass that out of an unheard of inhumanity, you have made use of the same Arms, which I gave you, to combat me; my ingenuity hath been th● cause of your malice; and mine innocency hath made your crime. In conclusion, Alphonso, said she unto him, with a countenance wherein appeared more grief than choler, you must resolve upon the choice of two things, either to quit your error, or never to see me more. For, continued she, I can no longer endure to see you in the disposition you are in; but know, unjust and cruel as you are, that if you choose the last, you will peradventure be constrained to have, whether you will or no, ere it be long, more affection for the ashes of Leonida, than you have had for her herself.  
Alphonso, touched with so obliging a discourse, and not able to resolve to see Leonida no more, cast himself at her feet, and having not the power, either to repent him of his error, or to crave pardon for it, or to say any thing that might show he was not yet cured of it, he gave her so many testimonies of an extreme love, both by his silence and by his tears, as Leonida being sensibly touched with compassion, asked of him once again what it was he desired of her? I know not, answered he, only I know that I can never cease from loving you, nor ever separate myself from you. Be reasonable then, said she unto him, and believe that nothing in the world is so dear to me as Alphonso. Have pity of my weakness, answered he, and if you will have me comfort myself, say not, that nothing in the world is so dear to you as Alphonso, but say without reserve, that nothing is so dear to you as Alphonso. I know not, said she unto him, whether I have ill expressed myself or no, but my intention was such as you would have my words to be.  
I should never have done if I should repeat all Alphonso's questions, and all Leonida's answers; it shall suffice me then to say, that after an hundred odd precautions, to assure himself of the love of Leonida against Octavio's phantosm, whereunto this amiable creature out of her goodness answered seriously, he returned to Reason, and certain days after craved pardon of her for his error, and absolutely promised her never to fall into it again. I believe notwithstanding that he was not so soon rid of it, and though he hath not spoken to Leonida since of it, because it was one of their conditions, yet he hath not for all that left off having many times very odd thoughts. This dispute and this peace were so secret amongst us, that I was she alone who was acquainted with it; and that was it which persuaded Horatio and the rest, that Alphonso's melancholy proceeded from the jealousy he was in of the affection which Aly seemed to carry to Leonida; but indeed it was that which I have declared unto you.  
The Marquis seeing that Sophronia held her peace, and that Leonida was going to speak, as if she would have excused Alphonso: It must be acknowledged, said he, that there is a marvellous diversity amongst men; and that which makes me most to wonder, is to see by example, that Alphonso, who in all other encounters hath a great deal of wit and discretion, and would in indifferent matters without doubt think the same things that I do, should fall into in imagination so far distant from all good sense. I think, answered Leonida smiling, that in matter of love, it may be said that you are both of you an object of admiration and wonder the one to the other, but with this glorious difference for Alphonso, that his fantastical jealousy was not derived but from an excess of passion; and that your inconstancy proceeds not but from a defect of love.  
If the very excess of Reason, replied the Marquis, comes near to, folly, I believe that this excess of love is not far from it: and if it be true, that by the effects one may judge of the cause, acknowledge, fair Leonida, that this inconstancy, which you call defect of love in me, gave you not so much unquietness, when I abandoned you for another, as this excess of passion hath been the cause of to you; and confess withal at least, that it were better to be loved of a man of my humour, then of that of Alphonso. It would be more advantageous, replied Leonida very roundly, because as long as one should not be loved but by an inconstant man as you are, one should not be exposed to the hazard of too much engaging one's self in this affection. And then again, continued she, there is this difference betwixt: you too, that I have cured Alphonso of his error, and that nothing can cure you of yours. You believe it to be just, and you find it pleasant, judge then whether your disease be not incurable?  
For my part, said Hippolita, (who according to her humour always took jealousies part) I cannot condemn Alphonso; nor should I be sorry that a man would render me this proof of affection. You speak in this sort, said Doria interrupting her, rather out of temperature, than reason; but whatsoever you can say, I do not think that Horatio will become jealous out of complacency, and will open Tombs to find a Rival there. It would be easier for me questionless to enter into them never to come out again, answered Horatio, then to give this unjust mark of love, to the person I affect. I believe what you say, replied Hippolita, it being likely enough, that a man, who could see an hundred Lovers at the feet of his Mistress without being disquieted at it, would be never a whit moved to know that she should grieve for a dead man.  
As for me, added the Marquis smiling, if by an inversion of all the ages it might come to pass, that a person whom I should love had been beloved of all the Heroes of antiquity; that they had all died for her, and that the ashes of the Caesar's and the Alexanders had been the object of her tears, and of her love, I should be less jealous thereof then of the least amongst the living; and there is not a man, how misshapen soever he could be, that would not more disquiet me to see him on his knees before my Mistress, than Alexander would in the state wherein he is, should he reign in her heart, as he reigned over all the Earth.  
I confess, said Sophronia laughing, as well as the rest of the Assembly, that in this occasion I am of the Marquis his side, for I cannot but follow Reason wheresoever I meet with it. I perceive, said Leonida then, that all the world abandons me, and that I have need of Alphonso's assistance for the vanquishing of so many Enemies. I am generous enough, answered the Marquis, to go and fetch him myself; and saying so, he went and called Alphonso, who was almost ashamed to come unto the Company again, making no question but that they had condemned his jealous humour. And whereas Leonida perceived it, Fear not, said she unto him, as long as I am on your side, you will have no Enemies which you may not overcome; and doubt not that the remembrance of an error, which I have pardoned, can make me angry with you. I believe you to be too just, replied he, for me to suspect you of any such thing, only I fear that you will be accused for using too much goodness towards me, and that by this means I should be the cause of condemning a virtue in you, which makes one to be commended in all the world besides.  
If we engage ourselves in making of compliments, said Sophronia interrupting him, the Marquis will not be able to pay me that to day which he owes me, and so we should spend the time less pleasingly then otherwise we might do if we gave him audience, for I assure myself that he cannot tell us any thing but what will delight us. I do not know, answered the Marquis, whether this discourse be advantageous to me or no, howsoever, since I have promised to relate that unto you which befell me here in Constantinople, I will not break my word. And then again, continued he, to speak sincerely unto you, I shall have a share in the pleasure which I shall give you; it being most certain, that I am of a humour to receive more satisfaction by recounting the adventures which have happened unto me, be they never so happy, than I had at such time as they arrived unto me. In fine, continued he, I comfort myself for mishaps in telling them to others, and I augment my good fortune in publishing it.  
Seeing it is so, said Leonida, haste you to satisfy Sophronia, in satisfying yourself, and be not of the number of those, who make one hope so long for an indifferent pleasure, as one is not obliged to them for it. All the Company having added their entreaties to Leonida's discourse, the Marquis acquitted himself of his promise in this sort.   

The History of the too good Slave.  
NEver was any so happy in servitude as I, and never did happiness produce an effect like unto that which I am going to recount unto you. You remember without doubt, that when we arrived all at Constantinople, and landed at the Port, there was a man, who rightly imagining by the chains we had on us, that we were destined to be sold, and finding something in my person that pleased him, bought me for the price that was demanded of him. This man, who was my first Master, carried me home to his house: and whereas he was one of the mightiest men in Constantinople, I was comforted in my misfortune to see, that at leastwise if I were a Slave, it should be in a place where I should have companions. I was no sooner come thither, but to testify that he had some inclination for me, he caused the chains that I had on me to be taken off, to give me lighter; so that desiring to be acknowledging for this favour, and render my slavery also more easy, by making myself be beloved of those, who might ill-intreat me, I became in two hours the best Slave that was in Constantinople. I did not only that which was ordained me, but I also helped others to do that which had been commanded them. And whereas it is the custom of the Turks, as I learned afterwards, carefully to observe all their new Slaves at their first coming, my Master was a witness of all the services which I rendered him, and seemed to be so satisfied with m●, that all the other Slaves began already to hate me.  
The first day being passed over in this sort, the next morning my Master would needs have two wives that he had to see me; he commanded then that I should go to their lodging, and whereas I knew not whither they led me, I was so surprised with their beauty, as I could not forbear testifying a great deal of joy by my carriage at it. I found them so much the fairer, because for four and twenty hours before I had seen none but black Slaves; I saluted them then very civilly, and beheld them at leastwise with as much attention, as they had in considering me: and without regarding whether my Master took it well or no, and without remembering that I was a Slave, I thought of nothing but of making show with low obeisances, as often as I could judge by their behaviour that they spoke of me, that I was as respectful for them, as I was serviceable and diligent for their husband. But at length he commanded me to withdraw, which presently I did; true indeed it is, that it was not without turning back my look to the place where I left two fair women, and truly I felt some pain in separating myself from them.  
I was no sooner gone down, and had done something which had been enjoined me, but I went with all speed into a back Court, upon which the windows of these women's chamber opened, out of a hope that I might peradventure see them again: But by ill fortune my Master was there as well as they; so as having observed that I had nothing to do there, I cannot tell you whether he suspected the truth or no, howsoever without having any cause to complain of me, he commanded me to be conducted the next morning to the Market where Slaves are sold, and that there they should rid themselves of me at any price whatsoever. I must confess to you that this change surprised me; nevertheless whereas I comfort myself easily, as you know, in all things, I resolved for patience.  
He that next bought me was a Merchant of Tripoli, whom I served as exactly as the other: And whereas in these kind of houses the restraint is not so great, as in those of persons of quality, I had some content to see that in serving my Mister, I should at leastwise have the satisfaction to meet sometimes with a wife that he had, and two Greek Slaves that served her, and that certainly did not shame their Nation. I got their goodwill the very first day, without being able to tell you how I did it. If they saw that I had a purpose to go forth, they went in all haste to open me the door; if I carried any thing, they presently offered to help me; in conclusion I won their inclination in such sort, as my Master hated me for it. For when he was withdrawn to his chamber, his Wife and the Slaves praised me so much, as out of jealousy and covetousness he resolved to be rid of me. He feared lest his wife would love me too well, and that his Slaves would agree together with me to rob him.  
In this thought, he conducted me himself to the Market; but whereas he was known to be one of the most avaricious men in the world, it was not very easy for him to get me another Master: For although he assured them which cheapened me, that I was the most dextrous, the most serviceable, and most diligent Slave that ever he had had, yet no body would believe him; because out of the intention he had to rid himself speedily of me he set me at too cheap a rate. Certainly, said they who were willing to buy me, this Slave must have some great defect, which we know not of, seeing the most avaricious man that is resolves to part with him at so low a price. He is young, he is not unhandsome, he seems not to be melancholic; so that without doubt he hath taken him in some theft, or else he would never be so forward to sell him.  
In this opinion no body bought me the first day, nor on the second neither. Howbeit my Master, having observed that his Wife and Slaves were very glad to see me brought home again, he purposed to part with me for less than he had intended, hoping thereby to be the sooner rid of me. But he considered not, that out of the opinion the world had of him, the less he should ask for me, the more he would be troubled to sell me. And verily there was never any pleasanter thing, than the choler of this covetous wretch when as he could not resolve to lose his money, and was constrained in the evening to carry back to his house a man, whom he beheld as his Rival, and yet had no cause to complain of him. For whereas I was not ignorant, that Slaves in this Country are at their Master's mercy, the fear of some cross adventure made me very prudent, so that as long as my Master could see me I did not answer the complacencies of his Slaves. Wherefore not being able either to sell me, to complain of me, or to resolve to give me my liberty, because he would not lose but a part of the money he had given for me, he was in an unquietness which I am not able to represent unto you.  
But at last on the third day a Boluchbassi, who had cheapened me when first he would have sold me, and who imagined that I could have no other defect then of being unfaithful, tempted by the good pennyworth, resolved to take me into his service. And to secure himself from the vice whereof he suspected me, he purposed to employ me in his Garden, until such time as he had made trial of my fidelity. I was then conducted home to his house, where I no sooner was, but having given me wherewith to labour the ground I found myself at first somewhat troubled. Nevertheless whereas I had whilst I was in the Wars helped many times out of a bravery to cast up Trenches, and raise Forts, I became in two hours so good a Gardener, as I leveled an Alley better than all they of Constantinople could have done.  
My address having pleased my Master, he brought three Wives that he had, followed by all their Slaves, to see my work, which they admired; and passing from the commendation of my work to that of my person, they said too much for themselves, if they took any pleasure in seeing me. Nevertheless it was not that alone which made me change my dwelling, but it was for that, my Master being gone a little way off, and that I saw all these women walking still about me, without making show of heeding them, and as if it had been to render my labour the less irksome, I set myself to sing indifferent loud. My voice pleased them in such sort, as I thought they would never have left me; and when I perceived the satisfaction they received by it, I did nothing but sing, out of a hope that at leastwise I should not always be alone in this Garden. But for fear my Master should think that it was only for his Wives, or for their Slaves that I sung, I never gave over; so that if I had continued in that manner any long time, I should, to speak poetically, have died like a Swan. My invention failed not in the expected success, as also it failed not in making me to be turned away. For I no sooner began to work, but I began to sing; and presently not only all the Slaves, not only all the Officers of the house, but even my Master's wives, who were wont to fear the Sun, and to walk but very seldom, came in all haste to hear me: A Slave could not be sent any whither, but she would still make it her way to go out at one of the Garden doors; and how pressing soever the matter was about which she was sent, she would hid herself behind some hedge to hear me; and in this sort, though I wrought very diligently, yet left I not incommodating my Master, because I kept all his servants from doing their duties. This man had so much goodness, as he could not easily resolve to forbid me from singing; imagining that I had no other design then to drive away melancholy in doing my work. Howbeit, seeing at length that he could not be served by his people, and that even his Wives could not be kept in the house, he absolutely forbade me from it, and I obeyed him without resistance. But this which he thought to do for his quiet, and to retain me in his service, was that which troubled him the more, and made me to be turned away. For no sooner did his Wives and his Slaves know of the prohibition he had made me, but there was a strange disorder in the house. Both the one and the others murmured alike; Who ever saw such cruelty, said they, as to forbid a man, loaden With irons, and that does his duty so well, from singing? this tyranny is so excessive, as is not to be endured, and certainly the like was never heard of. In fine, this murmuring and this revolt went so far, that this man to be at rest resolved to sell me away, which he did the next day with a great deal of regret, because I pleased him extremely.  
It was my destiny to be bought by an Arabian Physician; for whereas he had asked to what employment I had been put in my Master's house, and had been answered that I was an excellent Gardiner, he imagined that I knew some Simples, and consequently might be useful to him, by reason the Physic of this Country consists much therein. In effect, he acknowledged that he had never been served more diligently; and albeit I was very ignorant in all the things that he made me do, yet my address and confidence supplied that defect. This Physician had two daughters, who having lost their mother lived alone with him; so that whilst he was in his visits, I had sometimes the pleasure to see them. For whereas the women of Constantinople are very curious of their beauty, the desire they had to gain me, to the end I might give them certain waters for the face, which their father would not let them have, made them use me very civilly; and for fear I should be put away, they taught me all tha● I had to do the best they could.  
I had no sooner made an end of whatsoever the Arabian Physician had commanded me to do at his going forth, but I went to entertain his daughters at a lattice window that was very low, and teach them new means to become fair, which I said I had learned in Italy; so that when my Master came home, he never found me amongst his essences: yet he could not complain of me, because whatsoever he had ordained me to do, was always performed. He imagined then, that since I was so diligent, he was to give me more employment, for fear lest out of idleness I should have too much conversation with his daughters; but whereas they were dextrous, they perceived his design, so as finding that to busy me, besides necessary things he had left me great store of Grite roots to prepare for the Baths, which are so frequent in this Country, they made me give them part of them; so that all three working, the business was quickly dispatched, and we had time enough besides for conversation: In so much that my Master coming home in the evening, with an opinion that he should find me very busy, and a belief that he had met with an excellent expedient to keep me from entertaining his daughters, he was strangely surprised to see me labour no more than I was wont to do. Nevertheless he could not resolve to quarrel with me, having never been so well served as by me.  
In this unquietness he took a new resolution, which was to enjoin me to wait upon him in the streets, and to leave him in my place who was usually to accompany him. But these maies were no less witty in this occasion then the other; they won this Slave with money, and dealt in such sort, as when we came home, there was nothing done of all that had been ordained him; and this out of the hope that their father would alter his mind, and not carry me any more abroad with him. This slight notwithstanding wrought that which they expected not; for the Physician, seeing that when he carried me abroad with him, none of his work was done; and that when I stayed at home, his daughters always sent for me, resolved to sell me. And truly I was not sorry for it, in regard I had but little knowledge in the mingling of Drugs; and in my ignorance, I could not find out a better invention, then when as my Master named one to me, which I knew not, to choose another, which had no ill quality; to the end that at leastwise if I did no good, I would do no harm.  
In going from thence, I was bought by two Janissaries, who having demanded of me in that corrupted Italian, which every one understands at Constantinople for the commodity of commerce, whether I could carry their Arms, and keep them bright? When as I answered them, that I would do it as well as I could, they agreed of the price, and carried me home with them. And whereas I was better seen in the use of a Scymitar, then in the knowledge of the virtue of Simples, the manner wherewith I handled theirs when they came to their house pleased them in such sort, as I was their well beloved Slave. I looked upon the blade of it like a man that was not ignorant thereof; I knew of what temper it was, and by my behaviour they judged, that War without doubt had been my Trade.  
Now you must understand, that these two Janissaries had each of them a fair Slave; and that as long as I was with them, though they were both of one company, yet were they of a different Squadron, so that they were not both upon the Guard at one and the same day; by which means one of them always remained at home, as it were the Guardian of the two Slaves. In the mean time I acquitted myself admirably of the employment had been conferred on me; and never had their Arms been so well kept, as since the time that I had been in their service. But if they were contented with me, no less were the two Slaves, though I contributed nothing thereunto: For by reason of that which I told you in the beginning, I was never less a Love, then in all these several encounters, albeit I was never so much beloved. These fair Slaves did not for all that testify unto me both at once the goodwill they bore me; and out of a particular address they those the day wherein the Janisary that was their M●ster was upon the Guard, so that he which stayed ●●●me very well perceived the care and complacency which his friends Slave had for me; but ●hereas he was contented with my service, and saw that I contributed nothing thereunto, he did not advertise him of it. The same reason which this Soldier had, the other had also; and by this means I was for some time equally beloved of both the two Janissaries, and of the two Slaves. It happened at length, that by order of War these two Janissaries were put into one and the same Squadron, and thereby would have been constrained to leave me alone with their Slaves, being obliged to go upon the Guard the same day, had they not bethought themselves of telling one another that which they knew concerning the goodwill these Wenches bore me. Wherefore considering how they were equally interessed in the business, they disputed a good while betwixt themselves what they were to do. At last, though they loved me exceedingly, they sold me that very day, not being able to resolve to leave me alone with their Slaves.  
The fantasticalness of my fortune so wrought, that a Musician of this Country, who taught to play on the only Instrument which they have at Constantinople, and that holds somewhat of the form of the Lutes of Italy, took me into his service, and carried me home with him. The next day after my coming thither, when he was gone abroad, I took one of those Turkish Lutes (for he had many of them,) and whereas this Instrument hath but one string, I thought, that if I could put more to it, this Harmony it may be would please my Master, and might obtain my liberty. I took one of those Lutes then secretly, and going to one of those that makes them, who dwelled hard by this Musicians house, and whom I had by chance taken notice of as I came thither, I directed him how I would have it done. At length I made him fit this Lute for seven ranks of strings; and whereas I had still one of those enameled Gold rings left, which are worn rather out of gallantry, then for their value, I gave it him for payment of his pains. Being returned home, I put strings to this Lute, and beginning to touch it, I drew to me with my harmony my Master's wife, two sisters that he had, and three Slaves. So that when he returned, he found me in the midst of all these women, who hearkened to me with a great deal of delight and attention. At first he was angry, both with them, and with me; but coming to hear me himself, he pardoned them their curiosity, and hoping to gain good store of money by my means, he caressed me extraordinarily. He undertook notwithstanding to maintain against me, that in something their Lutes were more perfect than ours; because, said he, having but one string they can never be out of tune. This pleasant reason being nothing hard to be destroyed, I made him easily comprehend, that my Music was better than his; and the very next day he carried me to all the houses, whither he used to go; where they had no sooner heard me, but they would hear him no more. This man being as proud as he was covetous, although I might have got him a great deal of money, yet could he not resolve to carry me any more along with him; so that purposing to learn to play as I did, he left me at home; and mornings and evenings only I took him out Lessons. But I was not long both his Master and his Slave; for when as he was no less jealous than proud, knowing that his Wife, his Sisters, and his Slaves, did nothing but hearken to me, out of a capriciousness worthy of him, he resolved to sell me. Nevertheless it was not without a great conflict in his mind; and vanity, covetousness, and jealousy, gave him no little trouble.  
This last passion being the stronger, he sought to rid himself me; and had so much malice, that to keep me from teaching some other that which he would not learn of me himself, he went to sell me at the Port, where I was presently bought by the Captain of a Galley, who was upon going forth to scour the Seas. I confess that this adventure vexed me; for considering that I left you all at Constantinople, without knowing whither I went, I was out of quiet above an hour at least; howbeit I hoped to meet with some good fortune which I did not foresee; and in this thought I served my new Master with as much care as I could, yet was I not long with him, for whereas he was avaricious, and had no need but of one Slave, that could row, he was persuaded that he might sell me for so much, as he might therewith get two in stead of one; so that all the endeavour which I had used for two days space, to show him the greatest address I could possibly express, served not but to make me be sold away the sooner, and to give me a Master of an higher condition than those last I had had; for whereas the price which he asked for me was great enough, I was no longer cheapened but by persons of quality. The Cadilesquer then of Anatolia became my Master, and to his house I was carried; but from him I parted a little after for the like reasons; then was I entertained by the Muphti; and the next day after I passed into the service of the Aga of the Janissaries, where they that sought for me by the Grand Signior's command found me. Indeed it is true, that I should not have been long there, for I was to have been sold away again the very same day.  
In conclusion, after I had had for my Master a great man of the Port, a Merchant of Tripoli, an Arabian Physician, two Janissaries, a Player upon the Lute, an African Captain of a Galley, the Cadilesquer of Anatolia, the Muphti, and the Aga of the Janissaries; after, I say, I had equally satisfied them all, Fortune at last restored me to liberty. And truly I was not a little obliged to her for so far complying with my humour, as not to let me wear the same chains long; it being most certain that I should have been dead with grief, if she had used the matter otherwise. For is it credible, contined the Marquis, that a man, who could not live long under the Empire of one only Mistress, whose dominion is incomparably more gentle than a Merchant of Tripoli's, could have lived long under that of an imperious Master? And to say all in a word, it is easy to be imagined, that if I had still worn but one chain, it would have seemed very heavy to me, seeing even bracelets of hair would incommodate me if I should wear them long. Change is the charm of all pleasures, and the ease of all sorrows. There is not an evil, how little soever it be, that would not become insupportable to me, if I should always endure it after the same manner; nor is there any which I should not bear with patience, if it were not always the same. For in fine, whether it be for the pains of the body, or for the pains of the mind, one cannot pass from one evil to another, without some moments of rest. Change hath this marvellous in it, that in pain itself, manger that which we feel, it diverts, it eases, and fortifies us. And of what humour soever we be, we think not so much of the evil that is arrived to us, but that we have some joy for that which hath left us.  
You are too eloquent on this subject, said Leonida interrupting the Marquis, and if I might be credited herein, both for the interest of public society, and good manners, you should be prohibited from ever speaking in the behalf of inconstancy: For whereas you have a great of wit; whereas also you speak as a man interessed; and as a man that maintains his own cause, you may at length pervert the good thoughts of some. If it be true, added Sophronia, ●hat one easily persuades others, when as one is mightily persuaded himself, I acknowledge that by this reason, the Marquis should be the most dangerous Orator in the world. If I had established my doctrine well, answered he, you should be constrained to acknowledge, that it is not contrary either to common society, or the public good. For never hath any inconstant man precipitated himself; never hath any inconstant man killed his Rivals, nor ill-intreared his Mistress; and fire, sword, and poison, are things of no use in nature to him; but he leaves them to the disposing of all those obstinate Lovers, who always render themselves unhappy, in following this constancy, which you term the Queen of all Virtues. We are not to judge always of things, replied Doria, by the event; and then in this occasion, it is not Constancy that makes Lovers unhappy, but Fortune, that delights to persecute Virtue; and in this sort, even unhappiness serves for the glory of which are constant.  
For a conclusion, answered the Marquis, I know full well, that if Justiniano had not been constant, he should not be now absent from his Mistress; he had not been banished from his Country; he had not been a Slave; he should not be in Persia, and in jeopardy to die there. If Isabel had not been constant, she should not be in the old Seraglio; and if all you that are here had not followed this goodly virtue, you had not sighed so much as you have done, and peradventure you should not be at Constantinople. If that be a punishment of our fidelity, replied Alphonso, you must at leastwise acknowledge, that that which you call our chastisement, is your recompense, seeing you are here as well as we. It easily appears, answered the Marquis, that I am not unhappy but for your sakes; for do not you see how Fortune hath made be beloved of all my Masters, of all their Wives, and of all their Slaves? and to work a prodigy in favour of me, she hath caused them all to turn me away without hating me. I must confess, said Hippolita, that this adventure is altogether extraordinary, and that it is not a little strange to imagine, that that which should have made you use but one chain, hath made you change it so often. You know me but ill, fair Hippolita, answered the Marquis, when you speak to me thus; for I can always break my chains, but never wear them out.  
After this, all this fair Troop ran over the Marquis his adventures again, and not able to forbear laughing at their imagining him a Slave to two Janissaries, a Gardener, a Physician, and a Merchant, they figured him such to themselves as he had been in all those divers employments which he had had. And he himself represented them unto them in so diverting a manner, as manger their ancient miseries, and those wherein they still were, they passed away all that day without annoy, without care, and without melancholy.  
The End of the second Book.    

The Third Book.  
Whilst this agreeable Company endeavoured to forget their present misfortunes, by remembering those which they had avoided; Isabel was in an extraordinary melancholy, although she was as yet but in the apprehension of an evil that was to arrive unto her. Every time that she heard her chamber door open, she always believed that Soliman was come to discover his un●ust passion to her; and every time that the Sultana Asteria went from her, it seemed to her that she abandoned her to the Sultan's violence. There were yet some times wherein she condemned her own thoughts; and wherein Emilia's speeches gave her some consolation. These good intervals for all that lasted not long; and how constant soever Isabel was, she was always nearer to despair then to tranquillity. On the other side, Soliman was in no less pain; his love, his virtue, and his irresolution upon that which he was to do, put his Soul into so great a disorder, as he then merited to be as much lamented, as blamed.  
But at length, whereas it is hard to consent to the rendering of one's self unhappy for another's felicity, and to renounce things out of generosity which one ardently affects, Soliman's Reason being combated by his own desires, by a violent passion, and by the Artifices of Roxelana, it found itself in the end so weak, as he absolutely resolved to speak to Isabel of his passion. I know very well, said he to himself, that this is to betray the friendship which I have promised to Ibrahim; but I know withal, that it would be the betraying of myself, and the cause of my death, if I should bereave myself of the hope which I have of prevailing one day with Isabel.  
In this resolution, Soliman went to the Princess' chamber on a time when as the Sultana Asteria was come from her, and that none but Emilia was with her. When as first the Princess saw him, she changed colour; and Soliman on his part, who very much respected her, and that still loved Ibrahim, thought to alter his resolution; and in this sort, fear troubling Isabel, and respect silencing Soliman, they were a while unable to speak to one another. The Sultan was he at last that began the Conversation, in craving pardon of Isabel for the constraint wherein she lived. My Lord, said she unto him, since it concerns the quiet of thy State, I dare not murmur at it; and though the privation of my friends be a displeasure sensible enough, I do endure it without complaining of thy Highness; I do accuse Fortune, and do justify Soliman, who without doubt will never be but equitable. Would to Heaven, said he unto her, I might be sure that you would speak thus always! My Lord, replied she, this is a thing which will absolutely depend on thy Highness; it being most certain that I shall ever be reasonable, and not be so inconsiderate as to think aught to the disadvantage of thy Majesty, if I be not constrained thereunto by thyself. I could have wished, replied Soliman, that without exception you had promised me never to think amiss of me; for it may be you will learn from mine own mouth that I am faulty.  
Isabel blushed at this discourse, and casting down her eyes without daring to look any more on Soliman, and being unable to answer him, she was a pretty while in this incertainty: but on a sudden, Soliman, carried away by his passion, resolved to discover it unto her. I know full well, said he unto her, that I am going to destroy myself; that in acquainting you with my thoughts, I am going to make you hate me; but I would said have you tell me, added he, before I confess my crime unto you, whether an error, which is not voluntary, merits as much chastisement, as a premeditated malice? My Lord, answered Isabel, all persons that have great Souls like thy Highness can never commit faults but voluntarily. There is nothing that can ●orce Reason when one will make use of it; and the most violent passions without doubt are but the pretext of weak ones, when as they will excuse the bad actions which they do; it being certain, that it is not impossible to furmount them. I knew well enough, said Soliman interrupting her, that you would be a rigorous Judge to me; that you would judge of others by yourself, and that you would condemn in another, that which is not found in you. But, amiable Isabel, continued he, you are unjust to deal so; seeing it is impossible that ever your Soul should be put to so difficult a trial, as that is which I have encountered. You have but weak enemies to sight with, and a great deal of virtue to resist them; your Reason, in what a occasion soever you find yourself, is always on your side; but, amiable Isabel, in this wherein I am, my Reason is my cruelest enemy. It is not because she hath not opposed all my thoughts as much as she could; and this is it which puts me out of all hope of vanquishing, having no longer arms to defend me. For my Reason hath been so absolutely surmounted, as it is rather by her then by my passion, that I am resolved to discover my hurt unto her which hath caused it. Let thy Highness take heed, said Isabel to him then, that in discovering it thou make it not the worse; and that that which thou believest would be a remedy for thy grief, be not a means to increase it. That which you say, answered Soliman, may easily fall out; but, continued he, what would you have a Prince do, who is no longer Master, either of his heart, of his soul, or of his will; who se●s his death indubitable, if he conceals the disease wherewith he is stricken? and who is absolutely resolved to die, or to move the person whom he adores with love or pity.  
Isabel, knowing not what to answer to a discourse which she understood but too well for her rest, fetched a great sigh in lifting up her eyes to Heaven, as it were craving succour from thence; which Soliman having; ob●erv●d; I perceive, said he unto her, incomparable Isabel, that you have understood me; that you are not ignorant of the Conquest you have made; and I thank Fortune, for that she hath not compelled me to tell you that I love you, so to make you know it; for it is certain that I should have been much troubled to execute the resolution which I had taken for it. But after I have persuaded you, continued he, without giving her leisure to answer him, that Soliman adores you, suffer not that, which hath accustomed to be beneficial to all Lovers, to be prejudicial to me. For, added he, I see very well, that the more I shall persuade you that I love you, the more you will hold yourself injured by m●. But to take away at leastwise the means from you of reproaching me with my crime, I will acknowledge, divine Isabel, that I know being your Protector, I ought not to be your Lover; that loving Ibrahim as I do, I ought not to be his Rival; that respecting you as I ought, I should not use any discourse to you that offends you; that loving glory, I ought not to endure an affection which may blemish it; but I know, more than all this, that love never shows itself, either greater, or more perfect, then when it destroys friendship, forces Reason, and without considering either honour or glory, carries us to die, or to make ourselves be beloved of the person whom we adore. This, incomparable Isabel, is the estate whereunto you have reduced my Soul; but if notwithstanding I may be permitted to employ Reason for the obliging of you to pity, remember that you would be unjust in causing the death of a Prince, who heretofore hath saved Ibrahim's life; and that cruelty can never pass for a virtue. Be then in some sort indulgent to my passion, and at leastwise bemoan the hurt which you have done me.  
Soliman holding his peace, and Isabel being somewhat come to herself again; Is it possible, said she unto him, that this which I hear is true? and that the greatest Prince of the Earth should be the weakest amongst men? No, I cannot think it; and the discourse which thy Highness hath used to me, is doubtless a design to prove my constancy and resolution. But, my Lord, to oblige thee no longer to continue so dangerous a fiction, know, that if it were true that thy Highness had for me the violentest affection that ever was heard spoken of, it should not serve but to hasten my death; it being most certain, that the most terrible and horriblest torments that can be imagined should never carry me to be wanting, either to that which I own to Ibrahim, to myself, or to thy Highness. No, my Lord, I should never be a Complice of great Soliman's fault; and for his own interest I ought always oppose myself against him. But, continued she, it is in some sort an injury to thy Majesty to answer so precisely to a discourse, whose foundation is not tru●. Would to Heaven, replied Soliman, both for your content and mine, that it were so! But, amiable Isabel, it is but too true what I say; and if there be any feigning in my discourse, it is that I have not said all that I feel. I confess, that I am faulty towards Heaven; that I am so towards Ibrahim; that I betray the friendship which I have promised him; that I forget the care of my glory and honour; and that I betray myself; but in conclusion, being faulty towards all the world, I am innocent towards you; since it is certain, that a violent love, to speak reasonably, can never offend the person that hath begotten it. And how constant soever you be for Ibrahim, how rigorous foever you be for me, you cannot without injustice but take pity of the deplorable estate wherein I am. I do not demand of you your love as yet, but some compassion; and at least bemoan me, if you cannot love me.  
Great Princes, replied Isabel, aught to be sensible of pity, but they never ought to put themselves into a condition of being the object of it to others: Neither will I be drawn to believe that Soliman hath a thought so unworthy of himself. For, my Lord, how can I think that thy Highness will stab a Poignard into the heart of Ibrahim, after thou hast saved his life? if it should be so, it had better, both for him, for me, and for thy Highness, that he had been left to languish in his irons, or to die of melancholy, then to save him for to kill him the more cruelly. Let thy Majesty consult well with thyself, and thou wilt find without doubt, that thy heart agrees not with thy mouth; that thy words betray thy thoughts; and that Ibrahim is yet more powerful in thy Soul, than the fatal beauty of Isabel. No, said Soliman interrupting her, do not justify me in this sort; since in the terms wherein I am, I have no other design, then to let you know, that I am the most faulty of all men, in persuading you, that I am the most amorous. Ah, my Lord, said she to him weeping, doth not thy Highness consider, that at this very time it may be, wherein thy Highness useth so strange a discourse unto me, Ibrahim is fitghing with thine enemies, is hazarding his life for thy service, and shedding his blood for a Prince, who makes me shed tears, and who without doubt will bring me to my grave, if his unjust love doth continue?  
Soliman being moved with so pressing a discourse, stood a while without answering thereunto; but at length his passion still surmounting his virtue in this occasion; I know, said he unto her, that Ibrahim's life ought to be dear unto me; but I know withal that mine ought to be considerable to me: and I am certain, that what exploits soever he can do in Persia, I have done more yet in consideration of him. I have fought for him against myself; I have felt myself in the flame without daring to complain; love and friendship have torn my heart; and I know no torments so terrible which I have not endured since the first instant that I saw you, rather than to do any thing against the affection which I bear him. But being come to the terms, either of dying, or speaking, I chose the last; and so much the rather, because I do not think but a man, who could abandon you at Monaco, to come unto me to Constantinople, will easily enough resolve to quit you, for the saving of a Prince's life, to whom he is indebted for his own. Ah, my Lord I cried Isabel, if Ibrahim be faulty in this occasion, it is against me, and not against thy Highness, who by this very fault art yet the more straight obliged not to commit one against him. For what doth not a man deserve, who rather than he would fail in his word which he had given thee, resolved to abandon, not only his Country, not only his Friends; but the only person whom he could love; who was in stead to him of all the world; and without whom his life had been irksome, and death the term of his desires? No, my Lord, continued she, flatter not thyself in this occasion; think better, both of Ibrahim and of Isabel, and be most assured, that as I am certain he would die a thousand times rather than abandon me, so should I do the like, rather than be unfaithful to him. And if by some prodigy, which I cannot fear should happen, Ibrahim should consent to thy passion; if he himself should speak to me of thy love, yet let thy Highness know, that I am not capable of failing by example. I should cease to love Ibrahim, if he ceased to be generous, but I should love thee never a whit the more; contrarily, I should regard thee then, both as having outraged me, and as having bereft me of a virtuous Lover.  
Isabel was going on in her discourse, and Soliman was going to interrupt her, when as the generous Asteria entered: And whereas the Sultan had still some respect for Isabel, he would not command the Sultana to withdraw; but being unable withal in the estate wherein his Soul was to begin an indifferent Conversation, he went away, leaving Isabella with an affliction, that may be better imagined then described. He was no sooner departed, but Asteria, who had observed a great deal of alteration in Isabella's and Soliman's faces, demanded of her with much impatience and grief, what it was that had caused the trouble wherein she saw her. Alas! answered the Princess, how have my fears been too well grounded, and how true have your suspicions been! and than she recounted unto her what had passed between her and Soliman, with so many testimonies of resentment, that the Sultana Asteria was exceedingly moved therewith. This misfortune did not altogether surprise her for all that; b●cause she had sufficiently observed in divers occasions, that the Sultan her father was desperately in love with Isabel; but she had nevertheless conserved some remainder of hope, that his reason, and the friendship which he bore to Ibrahim, would surmount his passion, or at leastwise keep him from discovering it to her. Isabel for her part had thought as much, so that being equally surprised, one might almost say, that they were equally afflicted: For whereas the Sultana Asteria was extremely generous, she was grieved not only for Isabella's interest, whom she very much loved, but also for the Sultan her Fathers; who by this unjust passion blemished his glory, and did a thing unworthy of himsef. She feared likewise that this love might have dangerous consequences; for she was not ignorant to what extremities this passion had carried the mind of Soliman in divers occasions; and so being in much unquietness, she was very incapable of comforting Isabel.  
It was in vain for them to seek for some remedy to their misery; it was too great to find one for it. Emilia propounded nevertheless unto them, the advertisng Ibrahim of the outrage was done her; but whereas he was too far off for them to hope for any succour from him, this advice was but a weak consolation to Isabel. Howbeit she desired the Sultana Asteria to endeavour the finding out of means to convey a Letter to Ibrahim, which the Sultana promised her to do; upon condition that she might obtain of her generosity, that he should be contented with delivering her, without enterprizing to be revenged on Soliman; for, said the Sultana to her, Were not the Grand Signior my Father, knowing him as I do, I could not choose but have compassion of the estate wherein I see him. If he were not generous, he were not to be lamented; but I am well assured, continued she, that he punishes himself in off riding you; that the remorse which he hath in his Soul torments him as much as his passion; that at the very same time when as he speaks to you of his unjust passion, he craves pardon in his heart of the generous Ibrahim; and that he reputes at that very instant wherein he commits the fault. Alas, cried Isabel, how dangerous is this unprofitable generosity! and how little difference is there betwixt a man that doth ill without knowing it, and another that knoweth virtue, and is not able to follow it. Repentance, continued she, that begets no change in the mind of him that reputes, is rather a weakness, than a remorse. But, said she to Asteria, I desire you to pardon me for not remembering that you are the daughter of Soliman; and I promise you, if Ibrahim can return before the Sultan's love hath laid me in my grave, and that he can deliver me, to obtain of him that he shall not think of revenge: and I am very certain, added she, that what affection soever Ibrahim bears to me, he will be grieved to hear that which we will write to him, but will not conceive any hatred against Soliman.  
After that these three afflicted persons had talked a good while of this subject; and that Isabel, having written to Ibrahim, had given her Letter to the Sultana Asteria, she tried with gifts to gain one of the Eunuches that served them, to the end he might fly out of the Seraglio, and carry this Letter to Ibrahim with as much speed as possibly might be: but it fell out, that after Soliman had been at the Princess' lodging, there had been such an express Order given, tha● none should be suffered to go out of the old Seraglio, as it was impossible for her to execute her design, and that was it which redoubled her affliction, and that of Emilia and Isabel. But if these three persons were afflicted, Soliman was not without unquietness; that constancy which he had noted in Isabella's mind extremely afflicted him, by making him see an impossibility in his design; yet out of an altogether extraordinary persecution, that which opposed his love augmented it; and that steadfastness which he had found in the Soul of the Princess was a new charm, which rendered her yet more amiable.  
Roxelana in the mean time, being advertised of all the Grand Signior's thoughts, by that Slave whom he had made his Confident, carried him still on by the means of the same Slave to violent resolutions; but whereas respect never quits love, but when as fury and despair take up the place of it, Soliman suffered not himself to be persuaded with facility to employ menaces, where submissions are ordinarily most powerful. He continued then a long time in testifying his love to Isabel with high respects, magnificent presents, frequent visits, with tears, and entreaties: but the more submission he used, the more constancy Isabel shown, and the more she made it appear that her virtue was invincible. Nevertheless for all her rigour, and that love cannot subsist, as they say, without hope, yet Soliman ceased to hope without ceasing to love; and contrarily his passion becoming more violent, that little reason, which had always made him retain some fear of displeasing Isabel, being almost quite banished from his soul, he resolved to speak to her once for all, to see if he could gain her. That which carried him the rather to this extreme resolution, was the thought he had that it would not peradventure be long before Ibrahim returned; and that a conqueror or conquered, the love which he bore to Isabel would make him soon finish this war: for when as Ibrahim went away with an absolute power to treat of all things, without having new order from Soliman, he had assured him, that he would come and render him an account of his voyage himself, without ever sending to him before.  
The Sultan, not knowing then at what time Ibrahim would return, and well foreseeing that his voyage would not be long, if by ill fortune he had not received his last order, as he began to doubt, meant to try if he could obtain that by fear, which he could not obtain by love. In the mean time Isabel lived in so great a melancholy, that all her virtue and constancy were not strong enough to keep her from wishing, that death would speedily deliver her out of the deplorable estate wherein she was. She saw herself far from Ibrahim, without means to hear from him, the place of her refuge become her prison, the sight of her friends forbidden her, Soliman's persecution daily redoubling; in fine, she was exposed to most sensible miseries without other consolation, then that of the Sultana Asteria's, and her dear Kinswomans' tears. Her friends on the other side, were not without unquietness; so long an abode at Constantinople possessed them with a great deal of grief; and the privation of the sight of Isabel very much troubled them; but at length, nothing resting for them but patience to mitigate their displeasure, they comforted themselves as well as they could with the hope of Ibrahim's return, wherewith they were still entertained from Isabel; who not able to diminish her own misfortunes, endeavoured at leastwise to flatter those of others with this hope that she gave them: for the Grand Signior had still permitted her to send unto them by a Capigibassi, in whom he absolutely confided.  
All these illustrious persons being in this deplorable estate, Soliman, thrust on by despair and his love, went one day to Isabella's lodging, having first sent a Command to the Sultana Asteria to go to that of Roxelana, for she had for a pretty while before been seldom absent from the Princess. This command exceedingly disquieted the Sultana; but not able to do any other then voluntarily obey a Prince, who had power and right to constrain her thereunto; she left Isabel with Emilia, without letting her know any thing of the fe●r she was in, that Soliman had a purpose to use some displeasing discourse to her, seeing he removed her from her. Scarcely was she gone out of her chamber, when as Soliman came in to it; and whereas it seemed to her that he had less civility for her than he was wont; and that his looks gave more signs of choler, then of love; she was in some joy, hoping that it may be her constancy had so far provoked him, as to oblige him to turn her out of the Seraglio; but she soon understood, that this incivility, and this choler was an effect of his love. I see very well, said he unto her, that my visits do importune you; that my presence displeases you; that my passion begets your hatred; that my respects augment your pride; that my prayers render you inexorable; and that tears do harden your heart; Wherefore, continued he, I am resolved to take another course. I have treated you too long as a Mistress, it is just then, since you will not be so, that I cease to be a Slave: but whereas I cannot cease to be a Lover, I must tell you once for all, that if by your cruelty I am reduced to despair, I shall be capable of undoing others in undoing myself. How, my Lord, said Isabel then to him, can thy Highness persuade me that which thou sayest? No, no, continued she, I know thy virtue too well; and it is as equally impossible for thee to possess me with fear, as with love; thou mayst have unjust desires, but I hold thee uncapable of a wicked action. Thou mayst, I say, have weakness, but not cruelty; and love cannot produce in thee the effects of hatred. It is not, added she, because I do not wish with all my heart, both for thy glory, and my content, that either out of choler or hatred thou couldst resolve to chase me from thy presence, and never to see me more.  
The opinion wherein you are, replied Soliman, that the same passion, which carries me to persecute you, will keep me from hurting you, is that without doubt which makes you speak with so much confidence; but know, that a Prince, who sees nothing in his choice, but death or your affection, aught to enterprise any thing for the avoiding of the one, and obtaining of the other: It can never be unjust for him to think of his preservation; that aught to be preferred before all other things. I have friendship for Ibrahim; I have veneration for you; but I have also some interest in my life. I have done what I could to procure my content, without troubling yours; but at length, seeing I cannot do it, and that there is a fate which will not let me live without you, I must seek out the means for it. Remember then, that he which craves your affection, can command you; that he which offers you his heart, is not unworthy your love; that Ibrahim owing his life to me, ougt to render it me in this occasion; that after so many services, submissions, respects, sighs, and tears, the anger and spite of being despised may seize upon my Soul: and for a conclusion remember, that revenge is the delight of incensed Kings; that Ibrahim is in my Armies; that you have in Constantinople persons which are dear to you; and that you are in the Seraglio.  
It is true, my Lord, replied Isabel, that I cannot be ignorant of all these things; but I know withal, that thy Highness commands, both in thy Armies, in Constantinople, and in the Seraglio; and that consequently I have no cause to fear any thing; but contrarily I think that Ibrahim, my friends, and I, are in more safety in thy Estates, then in our own Country. And then again, my Lord, I cannot imagine that the remembrance of Ibrahim is utterly defaced out of thy memory; that a man whom thy Highness hath so much loved, and so much obliged, can be ill-intreated by thee; nor can I believe that Isabel can inspire thee with such unjust thoughts; no, my Lord, I cannot think it.  
Isabel, replied Soliman, hath not possessed me with unreasonable thoughts, I have nothing but love for her; howbeit I must confess, that her cruelty possesses me with fury; and that she may carry me to destroy all that I shall think can ravish her from me; and consequently to do all that I shall believe can serve my turn concerning her. This being so, answered Isabel, I need not be threatened in the person of my friends, nor in that of Ibrahim, since on my only will that absolutely depends which thy Highness calls rigour, and which I term an effect of Reason and Virtue. For, my Lord, continued she, were not my heart, nor my word engaged to Ibrahim; nay, had I as much affection for thy Highness as I am capable of, yet should I not give thee more testimonies of it then I have done. Were not my Religion, I say, different from thine, yet in that I could not be thy wife, I should not be thy Slave, since the heart of Isabel can never have thoughts contrary to her honour and her glory. The Slaves of Soliman, replied he, are more than Queens of other Nations; and then again, to say the truth, to have you command absolutely in my heart and soul, is not to treat you as a Slave.  
Isabel, thinking she was to speak more throughly to the Grand Signior, then as yet she had done, and believing, that wh●n he had no more hope, he would have no more love, said to him with a more confid●nt voice then before: Finally, my Lord, all that I can say to thy Highness, is, that if, forgetting thy usual mildness and generosity, thou couldst resolve to carry me by fear to that, which thou couldst not get by love; and for that effect wouldst persecute me in the person of Ibrahim, who is dearer than myself, to me I would see him die rather than change my resolution. Let thy Highness judge after this, whether death can fright me, and whether fear hath any power over my Soul. Consider then that though thou hast no hope left thee, yet thou hast a mean left thee to be generous; but in fine, added she, let thy love in this occasion suffer itself to be surmounted, either by reason, or by choler; have hatred, or friendship for me; be my Protector or my Enemy: let thy Highness not see me but to comfort me for the absence of Ibrahim, or never see me more. I know, continued she, that I speak with a great deal of boldness; but, my Lord, since my complaints, my tears, my prayers, and Reason itself have not been able to obtain any thing of thee, it seems just unto me to tell thee once for all, that nothing can change my mind; that neither ambition, nor fear, have any power over my soul; that virtue only reigns there; and that thy Highness forgets thine own glory to no purpose.  
Isabel made this speech with so much firmness, as Soliman not able to be moved with compassion, suffered himself to be transported with fury; but in such a manner, as there were not any threaten which he used not to the Princess. And for a conclusion, he said unto her as he was going away, if fear can no whit prevail on your soul, no more shall pity on mine: we shall see in the end, if you be not changed in eight days, whether your mind will be as constant as you say; and you shall know, but it may be too late, that Soliman, when he pleases, can tell how to make himself be obeyed at Constantinople. After he had said this, he left Isabel, and abandoned her to her grief; which Emilia saw to be so just, is she could not condemn her; and all that she could do in this encounter was to weep with her. What a misery is mine! said this infortunate Princess, after she had been a while without speaking; who ever saw, continued she, a like adventure? The greatest and best Prince of the Earth is become the basest and cruelest amongst men; he pays a generosity with ingratitude; he betrays the friendship which he hath promised; he violates the law of Nations; my protector is grown to be my Tyrant; and whilst Ibrahim is venturing his life for his glory, thi● unjust Prince would make me forget mine; but what say I? it may be that his cruelty will not rest there; he that can betray what is most sacred in this world, that harkens not to reason, that no longer knows virtue, may also be capable of a design to destroy Ibrahim: And of all this, continued this Princess, Isabel is the cause: she alone is the source of his misfortunes; she alone gave him encouragement to follow his generosity, when as she made him return to Constantinople; for, continued she, if I had effectually testified that I would not have had him gone; if I had told him that the chiefest duty carries all the rest; that he was to have considered nothing but me in that encounter, that one ought not to be generous to the prejudice of the person beloved; and that in the end I had joined force to entreaty; he had not returned; I had not been carried away by force; I should not be at Constantinople; Soliman should not be my persecutor, and we should not be separated: yet this is not my last fault, added she, I should not have let him go into Persia, or resolved to have gone along with him my s●lf: but alas! who would not have been deceived therein, and how could I have believed that which now I see; my heart indeed advertised me that our separation would be fatal to m●; but I foresaw not the mischief which was to arrive unto me; it had not been so great, if it could have been foreseen. In fine, said this illustrious Princess, I am come to that pass, as I can scarce fear new miseries: I am in fear for my friends, I am in fear for myself, and I am in fear for Ibrahim. There is a design on my glory, and on the life of the person that is dearest to me in the world: after this, let Fortune do what she will, she cannot increase my misery more. The like was never seen in any age; the infortunate illustrious persons of Antiquity had at least this advantage, to be persuaded by the error wherein they lived, that their despair was without crime; and that they might with glory finish their torments in finishing their lives: but for me, I am to attend this succour from the pleasure of Heaven, and from my grief alone; it is true indeed that I feel it so great, as it makes me hope it will not be long.  
Ah, Madam, said Emilia to her then, do not abandon me! and to oblige you thereunto, remember that your death would be the cause of Ibrahim's. Let us not call him any more so, said Isabella to her sighing, since that name hath been given him by our Enemies. Remember then, added Emilia, that Justiniano cannot live without you. But remember you, replied the Princess, that Isabel cannot live without glory; and that it will be far more advantageous for her to be lamented by Justiniano, then to be exposed to the violence of a Prince, who can be no longer moved, neither by my tears, by my prayers, nor by his own interest. Saying thus, she perceived the Sultania Asteria coming in, who seeing her weep, could not forbear weeping too, though she knew not certainly the cause of it; and not daring to ask of her what she ailed, nor Isabel able to tell her, so much was she oppressed with sorrow, they stood a pretty while without speaking; but at length, the Sultana rightly imagining that Soliman was the cause of this redoubling of grief, approached to the Princess, and taking her by the hand: I do not ask, said she unto her, what makes you to weep, but I ask of you, whether another body's crime doth not set me at odds with you, and whether you can endure that the daughter of a Prince, who persecutes you, dare still assure you, that she shares with you in all your sorrows. You may without doubt, replied Isabel, and your compassion is so much the more generous, by how much you are the less obliged thereunto; it being certain that you have more occasion to regard me as the object of your hatred, than Soliman hath to consider me as the object of his love; for if this Prince had not seen me, he would not be unjust; his violences would not give you unquietness; and your Soul would not endure the pain that it feels, in condemning the thoughts of a Father: but generous Sultana, shall we not find a remedy for the curing of this deadly passion, and to set me in safety against his violence? Soliman's interest ought to carry you unto it; and since Justiniano is already indebted to you for his life, make him indebted to you also, if it be possible, for my glory, which doubl●ss is dearer to him then his own; you have drawn him out of Irons, draw me out of servitude; and by this noble action tender your s●lf worthy of immortal renown.  
Asteria, not able to endure that Isabel should longer entreat a thing of her, which she desired as much as she, assured her that she was capable of undertaking any thing for her service; but that she was afraid all her endeavours for it would do her no good. Thereupon Emilia and she bend their minds to seek out some way, whereby they believed they might get out of the pain wherein they were; they propounded an hundred expedients, whereof the execution was impossible; and at last, after a vain search they concluded that no succour could come to them but from Heaven; and in this belief they abandoned themselves all three to grief; and said so many things, made such moan, and shed so many tears, that if Soliman had been a Spectator of so sad a Conversation, he would peradventure have been moved to repentance, but he was in far other thoughts. It was not because, to render him the more unhappy, he had not still some instants, wherein a beam of light cleared his mind, and made him see his fault; but love was ever stronger than all his other apprehensions. Isabella's resistance, the fear of our illustrious Bassa's return, and the counsels of that Slave whom Roxelana had seduced, carried him to violence; and albeit he had sent an Order to Ibrahim a good while before, whereby he forbade him, upon some pretext that regarded the good of his Empire, from returning to Constantinople, until he had a n●w commandment from him; yet not being assured whether he had received it or no, he was always in fear of his return; for he felt not his Soul so powerfully settled on his crime, that he could resolve, if the grand Visier returned before he could obtain Isabella's consent, to tell him that he would not restore h●r to him. And for this reason it was, that he was in such fear he had not received the Order which he had sent him; and truly, this apprehension was not ill grounded, for he that had this secret Command was drowned in passing over the river Tigris, before he could get to Ibrahim; whose fortune had been as happy, as his dear Isabella's was deplorable. It was not because the absence of a person whom he loved so passionately, was not extremely sensible to him, nor possessed his heart with the greatest displeasure that a Lover can be capable of; but the thought he had, that he was going to fight for the deliverance of Isabel, gave him strength to support his grief; which became less violent, when as being arrived at the general Randezvouz, he understood of Vlama, who was come thither, and had commanded in his absence, that all the Troops, which had been sent for the fortifying of the Army, were the bravest in the world; and that by the intelligence which they had from the enemy, it seemed that he had a design to decide the matter by the loss or gain of a battle; how it was advertised that Tachmas was in person in the Camp; that Deliment was there too; and that by this means, if the victory inclined to their side, they should be in an estate of vanquishing all their enemies together. Howbeit that he had a request to make unto him on the behalf of the Princess Axiamira, whom he had left at Bitilisa; which was to spare the person of Tachmas, as much as the confusion of the fight would permit him; and to promise her if the chance of War gave him the advantage, not to make other use of it then the concluding of a peace between the two Empires, and the re-entering of her into her Country without all future fear of Delim●nt's violences.  
Ibrahim answered to this discourse with as much generosity, as Vlama had testified affection in making it to him: and after they had spent some time in talking of the order they were to observe in this War, they took a resolution to make a review two days after of the Army, by a general Muster thereof, to the end that afterwards they might march on courageously against the Enemy. All the Commanders having received this Order, and having imparted it to their Soldiers, they thought of nothing else for those two days, but of appearing as gallant as possibly they could; and those which could not be rich in Clothes, endeavoured at least to have their Arms n●at and bright. At length the morning being come, wherein Ibrahim had resolved to make a review of his Troops, he went accompanied with Vlama to an indifferent great Plain; and being placed on a rising ground, th●y b●gan to muster before him. The first that appeared were composed of fourteen thousand Tartars, who by their precipitate ma●ch gave hope, that they would not be the last at the fight when occasion served. Fifteen thousand Azapes went next commanded by a Sangiac; and after them as many Spachis, who being passed, made way for a like number of Croatians, which at last left six thousand Janissaries to be seen, the gallantest and best armed in all this Empire. All the Infantry having passed, the Cavalry followed after; twelve thousand Archers first appeared; next to them ten thousand Accangis with Scymitars and Battleaxes; and last of all fifteen thousand Timariot with Guns. In the end Ibrahim found, that his Foot being threescore and five thousand, and his Horse thirty and seven thousand, his Army amounted to above an hundred thousand fight men. All these Troops being past, the Artillery appeared, consisting of above an hundred pieces of Ordnance, part of them for battery, and part for the field, with the greatest train that almost hath been heard spoken of, were it for the abundance of Powder, and Shot, or Waggans for the carriage of things necessary to furnish the Camp.  
This review being ended, and Ibrahim throughly contented with it, he no longer thought of any thing but of hastening his victory or defeature: so that to advance it the sooner, after he had encamped his Army, and learned in what place the Enemy was, he resolved to write unto the Sophy, to the end he might oblige him to the terminating of this War by a Battle. And to colour the matter with the public interest, though in this occasion it was effectively for the interest of Isabel, he wrote to him in these terms.  
IBRAHIM BASSA, By the Grace of Alla supreme Secretary, and chief Visier of the most mighty and most invincible Monarch, Sultan Soliman, his Lieutenant General, and absolute Governor of the Affairs of his State, throughout the whole extent of his most flourishing and great Empire.  
To TACHMAS SOPHY of Persia.  
THe Emperor, whom I serve, having done me the honour absolutely to refer unto me the managing of the interests, which are between his Highness and your Majesty; and knowing that all great Princes ought never to make War, but to give the more sure foundations to Peace; and that they ought to spare the blood of their Subjects, and keep them from ruin, as much as possibly they may; I have believed, that without doing aught against the service of the Sultan, or against the respect which is due to persons of your quality, I may at the request of the Princess Axiamira, yield to the motion she hath made unto me, not to destroy your people with a long War. And to this effect, if your Majesty pleaseth, we will shorten it with a Battle, which may decide the matter, and render the victorious party Master of a Country replenished with Subjects, and not of a Desert. But whereas it seems to me that the choice of Arms appertains to him that is challenged, even amongst equal persons, knowing what I own to your Majesty, it is for you to make choice of the day of Battle, and of the place of sighting; for so as it be equally advantageous, I shall receive it with joy, since whatsoever shall happen in that day cannot be ignominious to me: For if I be vanquished, the glory of the Vanquisher will make me to be so without disgrace; and if the chance of War shall make me happy, nothing will equal my glory, but the courtesy which I shall have for your Highness, if Fortune doth furnish me with means for it. I shall expect then your Majesty's pleasure thereupon, with the same respect, as I would have in all other encounters, the interests of my Master preserved.  
IBRAHIM.  
After the grand Visier had finished this Letter, he sent for Vlama to show it to him, who having approved of it, besought him withal, that he would permit him to send a Challenge to Deliment, thereby to oblige him to a single Combat before the Battle, if it happened that Tachmas should resolve to accept of it. Ibrahim did what he could to divert him from this design, persuading him, in regard deliments birth was so unequal to his, that he should do him too much honour. But Vlama's great heart, together with the desire of revenging the Princess Axiamira, and pleasing of Felixana in punishing Deliment, would not suffer him to be persuaded: So that having obtained that which he demanded, he went presently to draw up his Challenge, which he wrote in these terms.  
ULAMA's Challenge to DELIMENT.  
OUt of the fear I am in lest the day of Battle proving fatal unto you I shall not be able to revenge the Princess Axiamira with mine own hand, I thus send to offer you the Combat; and though there be some inequality between us, yet will I appear at the place of Battle, without other advantage then that of having the right on my side. And whereas valour is the only good quality which is in you, lose not the occasion which now I present you with to testify it.  
ULAMA.  
After this Challenge was finished, and that Vlama, to render the civility to Ibrahim which he had used towards him, had showed it unto him, he gave it to a Trumpet, who was to conduct a Boluchbassi, unto whom Ibrahim had committed the Letter which he wrote to the Sophy; and having dismissed them with order carefully to observe all that should be said to them, and all that they should see, they parted instantly away, and the next day arrived at the Enemies Camp. As soon as they were there, they were conducted to the Sophy's Tent, whom they found environed with the most part of the Commanders of his Army. After that the Boluchbassi had made a low obeisance to the Sophy, and told him from whom he came, he presented him with Ibrahim's Letter, which the Sophy read softly with some change of countenance; Then lifting up his voice after he had read it over, I am too much obliged to Ibrahim, said he with both an obliging and generous smile, for the care he takes to preserve my Subjects: Yes, yes, continued he, addressing his speech to the Boluchbassi, I will accept of the Battle, or to say better, I will go and present it to him; and within this hour you shall carry him the news of it.  
When as the Sophy had given over speaking, the Trumpet advanced, and after a low obeisance also to him, Which of you, said he, turning himself to all them that were about Tachmas, is called Deliment? It is I, answered Deliment, severing himself from the rest: Why then, replied the Trumpet, I present you here with a Challenge from Vlama. Vlama, cried the Sophy then: Y●s, my Lord, said Deliment; and if your Majesty will give me leave, I will see that which he hath sent me. The Sophy having permitted him so to do, he opened the Challenge, and read it aloud, but with so much choler when he came to the two last lines, as he lost the respect which he owed to the Sophy with his insolency in threatening Vlama; true indeed it is, that he knew well enough he should not offend him thereby; for regarding Vlama as his Rival, all that he said against him could not but please him. At length the Boluchbassi and the Trumpet having been committed to the guard of those which had conducted them to the Sophy's Tent, an hour after Tachmas and deliments Answer was brought unto them; and having been conveyed out of the Camp, they returned to Ibrahim, whom they found alone in his Tent with Vlama. They delivered him the Letter which was directed to him, and to Vlama deliments Answer; and when as they had declared all that they had observed in the Enemy's Camp, they withdrew, and Ibrahim having opened the Sophy's Letter, saw that it was thus.  
SCACH TACHMAS, Great King of Persia, Universal Caliph of the Sect of Aly; Chief of the Caselbas'; Monarch of Parthia, Media, Assiria, and Armenia; the beloved Son, and just Observer of the Laws of the Prophet Mahomet; Subduer of Rebels; Expugnator of all the Tyrants of the Orient; Prince of the great City of Smarcand; the lawful Successor of great Ishmael; the invincible Sophy; the greatest and most redoubted Lord of all the Seas and Lands of the Orient.  
To the generous IBRAHIM.  
THey which will fight never use long discourses; all that I can say to you for answer is, that precisely within eight days I will attend you in the great Plain of Nephates in the head of my Army ranged in Battle array; being absolutely resolved, for the lessening of your disgrace if you be vanquished, or for the augmenting of your glory if I be, to fight in person in this Battle; and to be your Conqueror or your Captive: if it prove to be the last, death shall soon set me at liberty; and if the other shall happen, be assured that the esteem which I make of your virtue, of your fidelity to your Master, and of your courage, shall make you receive more marks of my clemency and courtesy, than I shall have rendered you of my valour in surmounting you.  
TACHMAS.  
Ibrahim, having found a great deal of generosity in this Letter, and being exceeding joyful to see that the War would not last long, obliged Vlama to read the Answer which Deliment made him.  
deliments Answer to ULAMA's Challenge.  
I Accept of the Combat with joy which you offer me; being glad that in the view of two hundred thousand men the Princess Axiamira may learn by your defeat, that he whom she terms her Enemy, and that will notwithstanding be always her Lover, hath more courage than he whom she hath chosen for her Protector. For in fine, I hope that right will not side so absolutely with a rebellious Subject, as to keep the victory from being mine, and me from punishing with my arm at one instant, both my particular enemy, and the enemy of the State.  
DELIMENT.  
This injurious reproach vexed not Vlama so much, as the hope of being able to punish Deliment gave him joy; so that Ibrahim and he being equally satisfied, thought of nothing more than preparing themselves for the Battle. Tachmas and Deliment on their parts, thought no less of it; and during these eight days, both the Armies were in impatience for the arrival of this Battle, wh●ch was to accumulate them with glory or confusion. And whereas the news of this particular Combat was spread over all both Camps, a superstition crept in amongst the Soldiers, which persuaded them that the event of this Combat would be a presage of that of the Battle; so that each one on either side made vows for the advantage of his party; but above all the rest Tachmas earnestly wished, that Deliment might be victorious over Vlama; yet was it not so much for his conservation and his glory, although he loved him infinitely, as for to have the satisfaction of seeing Vlama die, whom he beheld in this occasion, not as a revolted Subject, but as the Lover of Felixana, and his Rival; and it might be said, that he had rather Deliment should vanquish him, on condition that he lost the Battle, then that he should win it without the loss of Vlama: Out of this thought also was it that he permitted the Combat to Deliment. At length the sixth day being come, both the two Armies marched to the Plain of Niphates, and encamped in the sight of one another, to the end that reposing themselves one whole day they might fight with the more courage. Never was there a goodlier or gallanter thing seen then these two Camps; nor Peace with all its abundance, what public feasts soever it hath caused, ever shown more state, th●n War did at that time in these two Armies. For Soliman out of a particular grace was pleased that Ibrahim should march with the same pomp in this voyage, as if he had been there in person; that the Officers, which are not accustomed to serve in it, but when he is there, should accompany him; that those Ensigns, which are never displayed but in his presence, should be set up; that the Spachis, who fight not but before him, should be present there; and that the same pavilions, which he himself used, should be his. And whereas the custom of the Turks and Persians is to lodge all the Soldiers in Tents, and that ordinarily they are all very sumptuous, these two Camps shown the goodliest object that can fall under the eye of man. There was nothing but Cloth of Gold and Tinsel in all Ibrahim's Pavilions, with Silver Crescents, Pennons, and Streamers on the top of them. The least Tents were painted on the outside with Arabesque foliage of Gold and Silver, intermixed with different colours; and those of the very Slaves were of Cotton Cloth of lively colours, and woven Checquerwise. Ibrahim in the evening, out of a warlike gallantry, sent to tell the Sophy that he was arrived, and desired to receive his pleasure: whereunto Tachmas answered, that the next morning at Sunrising he should see him in the head of his Army. At last this so long expected day being come, scarcely had the first beams of the Sun begun to gild the tops of those four high mountains which environ this Plain, but Ibrahim, as well as Tachmas, drawing his Army out of their Trenches, put it into Battle array; and whereas he followed the order of the Turks in the greatest part of exterior things, he ranged his Troops into the form of a Crescent, but with this difference nevertheless, that contrary to the custom of their Generals of Armies, he would be the foremost; and for that effect he placed himself between the right horn and the left, in the head of a Battalian of six thousand Janissaries. He gave the Command of the left to the Beglierbey of Amasia, and of the right to the Bassa Pialli. He caused part of his Ordnance to be set in the midst; and to surprise the Enemy the more, the rest was placed between two Battalions of Foot. He chose four thousand also from out of his Horse to ride up and down about the Camp for the succoring of those that were in need. He placed his best Troops in the head and body of the Battle, leaving the rear-ward to the conduct of the Sangiac of Morea. And whereas the Persians have more Horse than Foot, he so well disposed of his, that on what side soever they were assaulted, his Squadrons might make head on all parts. Orders being given then every where, and Ibrahim having gone more than once from Battalion to Battalion, and from rank to rank, to see that every one performed his duty, he began at length to speak to his Troops much after this sort.  
IBRAHIM's Oration to his Soldiers.  
FEllow Soldiers, It is rather to follow the custom then for necessity that I come thus to speak to you, seeing sufficiently by your faces that you are resolved to do well; and that you have not forgotten how these enemies, which we are going to fight withal, are the very same whom we have heretofore vanquished; so that without standing on vain discourses, remember only, that all the design I have in this battle is to vanquish or to die; that flying is oftentimes more deadly than fight; and that a noble death is to be preferred before an ignominious life. Let us go then, Fellow-Soldiers, to seek out the Victory which is attending to crown us. In fine, I demand but one thing of you, which is, that you will not lose the sight of me, and to go only so far as I will lead you.  
Ibrahim, having made an end of speaking, and his Soldiers having assured him that they would follow him, by a joyful shout which they gave all together, alighted from his horse, and went and put himself in the head of six thousand Janissaries, whom he had placed between the left horn and the right. And whereas this action made all them that saw it give a great shout: You see, said he, Fellow-Soldiers, that I have no intent to abandon you, since I deprive myself of the means to fly. After this he commanded to march on; and that great body, composed of so many different parts, began to advance with so regular a motion, as it might be said, that one spirit made it move.  
In the mean time Tachmas, who knew the manner of the Turks fight, had ranged his Army in battle array much after the same sort, with this difference nevertheless, that whereas he had more Horse than Foot, behind the battalion which corresponded to that of the Janissaries, in the head of whom Ibrahim had set himself, was a squadron of the most courageous Nobility of all his Empire, in the midst of whom he was. And when as he saw that his Enemy's Army moved, he caused his to set forward, so that these two great bodies advancing equally came within five hundred paces one of another; and by the manner of their marching, it had been a very difficult matter to discern to which side the victory would lead.  
When as they were at this distance, Vlama, after he had obtained permission of Ibrahim for it, severed himself from the Army, and went directly towards the Enemies with his Scymetar in his hand; but scarcely was he advanced fifteen paces, when as Deliment, having also severed himself from his party, came and encountered him in the same sort; and these two brave Cavaliers joined together just in the middle of the place of battle. The two Armies made a stand to see this combat, which was beheld by both parts almost as an infallible prefage of the victory to that side of them two which should carry it from the other. As soon as Vlama and Deliment were met, they fell to fight, either of them having too great a heart for to stand reproaching and reviling one another. At first, Deliment fought like a desperate man, and Vlama like one, who without losing his judgement, or otherwise transported, made it nevertheless sufficiently appear by the manner of his carriage, that he was resolved either to vanquish or to die. Signs of fury were seen in the one, and proofs of an invincible courage in the other; the first struck with violence, and inconsiderately; and the last, exposing himself valiantly some times to his Enemy's blows, assaulted him with judgement, and warded with address: But at length after they had made an hundred passades to no purpose, had tried in vain to gain the crupper, and had been a long time without hurting one another; Vlama seeming to be vexed for staying so long from vanquishing or dying, redoubled his endeavours, and pressing his Enemy more vively than before, he had at length the satisfaction to see his blood first, with a blow of his Scymitar, which he laid at his shoulder but lighted on his thigh. This first advantage more augmented Vlama's courage, and redoubled deliments rage; for after that it was impossible to discern the blows they gave each another: Deliment was in continual action, Vlama, no more than he, lost not a minute's time; and without either's recoiling, or taking breath, they fought very near an hour, and yet it could not be judged to which side the victory inclined. Vlama's Turban was all in pieces, he had also received a wound on his left arm, his Scymitar was died with the blood of Deliment, whom he had hurt in two places, when as in an instant flying violently at him, he discharged so great a blow with his Scymitar on his neck, that falling from his horse, he extended him dead at his feet. This fall made all those of Vlama's party to shout for joy, but he without longer tarrying in that pl●ce, galloped back to Ibrahim, and with as much tranquillity of spirit, as if he had not fought at all, said to him smiling, that he came from rough-hewing the victory for him. If I obtain it, replied the illustrious Bassa, it will be less glorious to me, then that which you have gotten, since you share it with none, whereas I shall owe the other, both to your valour, and to that of an hundred thousand men that follow me.  
After this, Ibrahim, having observed that Vlama was wounded on the left arm by the blood which came out of it, would not have had him fought; but Vlama not consenting thereunto, only caused his arm to be bound up with a piece of linen cloth of a Turban; and placing himself by Ibrahim, and all the Trumpets, Drums, and Attaballes having sounded a charge, they began to march with those great cries, which all the Oriental Nations make at the beginning of battles; but yet with this difference, that Ibrahim's Soldiers seemed to be almost assured of the victory, whereas the others on the contrary seemed to have no other design in fight, then to revenge the death of Deliment: It was not for that he was beloved, but because the Sophy shown so much resentment for it, as it passed even into the hearts of his men. In the end these two Armies being provoked, the one by the desire of glory, and the other by that of revenge, they encountered together. And to give yet a further courage to Ibrahim's forces, it happened that Tachmas, being arrived first in the field, had seized on an high piece of ground, upon the which he had planted his Ordnance; but that which he conceived would have been advantageous, proved unprofitable unto him; for when as the two Armies caused their Cannon to play on either part, that of the Persians did no hurt to the Turks, because all the shot passed over their heads in regard it was planted too high. Ibrahim's Ordnance wrought another effect, and his first discharge lighting just in the midst of that Squadron, where the Sophy was in person, cleared all the ranks, with the slaughter of a world of men. But when as the Sophy, who lost not his judgement in this occasion, had commanded those behind to take the place of them before, Ibrahim on his side, caused two battalions, behind the which were the rest of his Ordnance, to open, and the Soldiers having accordingly divided themselves to the right hand and to the left, the remainder of his Ordnance discharged all together through the void space that was between the ranks, and put his Enemies into so strange a disorder, as the like was never heard of. And truly it was advantageous to the Persians, that the thickness of the smoke and dust, which enveloped these two Armies, kept them from seeing the horridness of this execution, for otherwise peradventure they would not have had so much heart to fight, as they testified afterwards.  
At length, Tachmas having form his battalions anew, for repairing of the disorder which the great Ordnance had made, and Ibrahim's Soldiers having re-assumed their stations, these two Armies came to cope with one another. Ibrahim, followed by Vlama, gave first into the battalion, behind the which was that broken squadron, where the Sophy and Ishmael were in person. And it was there, where out of a prodigious valour he did things, which would not find belief with posterity, if they were written. He made way through all opposition, and not contented with carrying fear and terror wheresoever he went; with defending his own life, and giving death to his Enemies; but took care also for the conservation of his own party. He saved the Bassa Sinan from being killed, by discharging a great blow with his Scymitar upon him that was striking him: now though he performed the Soldier in this encounter, yet left he not for all that to behave himself like the General of the Army, and to have an eye to all things. Sometimes he sent to succour those that stood in need; sometimes he went to them in person, and joining both prudence and valour together, it might be said, that never two several men exercised them so nobly, as Ibrahim in his person alone made them to appear in this occasion. And the course that he held was such, in sending his directions to every part, as it might also be affirmed, that he was in all the fights that were in the field, and that he might with reason be termed the soul of his Army. Vlama in like manner worthily seconded his valour; and all the Janissaries, seeing in the head of them so courageous a Chieftain, performed their parts so well in this encounter, that they pierced quite through this battalion, and so absolutely defeated it, as all that the squadron which was behind it could do, was to set the person of Tachmas out of danger.  
But whilst Ibrahim fought so prosperously, the Beglierbey of Amasia, who commanded the left wing, had not the like fortune; for finding himself opposed to the best Soldiers of the Enemy's Army, who were commanded by one Basingir, a man of great consideration with the Persians, his battalion had been broken at the very first, and the Enemies intermingling amongst them, had killed part of them, and made the rest to fly, in beating them even to the body of their battle. Ibrahim, having been advertised of this disorder, left Vlama to prosecute the victory, which he was already well entered into, and mounting on a horse, he went galloping, followed only by an hundred Accangis, whom he drew from their body, towards the place where the greatest disorder was. When he arrived there, and saw his men basely flying, and suffering themselves to be killed, scarcely making defence, he went directly to them with his Scymitar in his hand; but being loath to cover them with shame, in l●tting them see that he perceived their cowardice: You mistake, said he, Fellow-Soldiers, your valour transports you too much, the Enemy is not that way, turn about, and follow me. This speech filled them with confusion, and this confusion having redoubled their courage they rallyed themselves about him. But when as notwithstanding he saw that those words were not sufficient to make them fight valiantly enough, he went to one of those who carried the Arms of the Empire, and taking the Ensign out of his hand, he threw it with all his force into the midst of the Enemies, and turning about to his men; Come, Fellow-Soldiers, said he unto them, we must die, or recover it. This action gave new strength to the Turks; for whereas amongst them the greatest disgrace that can arrive to their Troops, is to let the Enemies with whom they fight take the Arms of the Empire: the design of recovering this Ensign, which Ibrahim had thrown amongst the Enemies, infused the desire of glory, and fear of infamy into their souls. At length the one side purposing to keep it, and the other to regain it, there began so fierce a sight betwixt them, as it was in this place where the greatest slaughter was made. Wounds, in stead of weakening those which received them, seemed to incense their fury. There were men seen covered all over with blood and hurts, who in falling down dead gave death unto others. They too who had already lost their lives, served still to make others lose th●irs; for divers encountering with this great number of bodies under their feet, stumbled many tim●s against their wills, and so gave their Enemies the opportunity to run them through; and of all this infinite company of men that fought in this place, there was not one which was not died, either with his own blood, or that of his Enemies. But at last after a very long conflict, the very same hand which had thrown the Turks Ensign to the Persians, wrung it out of the hand of Basingir, who had seized upon it, by depriving him of his life; and he not only recovered his own Standart, but he also gained that of the Enemies. This so noble and brave an action abated the courage of the Persians, and augmented that of the Turks, so that after this, those which had fled in their turn pursued the very sam● adversaries, who had routed them; and Ibrahim went beating them to the very place wher● he had left Vlama; who on h●s side had almost made an end of vanquishing all that had mad● resistance against him. Howbeit he remembered in this occasion that he was Tachmas subject, for having found Ishmael enclosed by five or six Turks, who seeing that he would neither defend, nor render himself, would without doubt have killed him, he drew him out of their hands, and reproaching them for standing in that sort upon the getting of so weak a victory, having so many Enemies yet to fight withal, he gave him the opportunity to escape to his own party.  
In ●he mean time the Bassa Pialli, who commanded the left wing, was still bickering with one, named Alamut, who commanded the Persians left wing; and they had fought with so equal an advantage, as it could not be said to which side the victory leaned. But the Grand Visier being her favourite in this battle, she followed him also in this occasion. His arrival made the face of things to change; the Persian Horse basely fell off, and a battalion of Foot was wholly overthrown: the Accangis in this encounter did wonders, the Timariot likewise performed their duty, and albeit the Persian Cavalry is better than the Turks, yet this day they proved the weaker.  
The Sophy seeing his whole battle broken, a great part of his men dead, and fear in all the rest, thought no longer but of making a retreat, and putting his person in safety, that he might not fall into the power of his Enemies; and to facilitate the means thereof, he commanded six thousand Horse, which were coasting the Army, to set upon Ibrahim's Rearguard, who had not yet fought; thinking thereby to make a diversion, and give him the means to retire with some order, things being no longer in terms for him to hope that he could keep the field. But this design succeeded no better than the rest; for these six thousand Horse having encountered those, which Ibrahim had commanded to ride up and down about his Camp, there f●ll out a particular fight betwixt th●m, wherein the Persians were also vanquished: So that Tachmas, missing of this hope too, thought no longer of retreating, but of flying. And whereas of all apprehensions fear is that which more speedily passeth from one heart to another amongst the Soldi●rs, the Sophy was no sooner seen to think of retiring, but his Troops were straightway possessed with terror: The Enemy appeared more redoubtable to them then before, and losing the hope of victory, they lost the will to fight.  
Ibrahim in the mean while omitted no time; and perceiving by the Enemy's countenance, that they were no longer carried by the desire of vanquishing, but only by that of saving themselves, he redoubled his endeavours, and causing all the Troops of his Army, which had not yet fought, to fall on all together, he put that of the Enemies into so fearful a disorder, that it was no longer either fight, retreating, or flying, but to say better, it was all the three together. For in one place, a battalion was seen to stand firm, and continue fight; in another a Squadron that retired without breaking; but almost every where the Horse and Foot were seen mingled together; the Soldiers abandoning their Colours, and throwing away their Arms; some yielding themselves to their Enemies; others killing Horsemen, that they might have their Horses to fly away with the more speed and safety; the Cannon left without defence; the baggage exposed to plunder; all the Commanders without any power over their Soldiers; the most of them not knowing themselves what they would command; in the end, if the night had not arrived, I believe that not one of the Persians had been in an estate to fight, and that Tachmas would have fallen into the power of Ibrahim; but darkness coming on stole him from his victory: For Tachmas, having rallyed all the Nobless about him that he had left, commanded four Thousand Horse, and two Thousand Foot, to go and amuse the Enemy, whilst he retired. And these Troops were they alone, which shown in the conclusion of this battle, that they merited not their misfortune; for at length, by the resistance which they made, though it was not long, they gave Tachmas opportunity to retire into Sultania.  
In the mean time Ibrahim, to keep the victory from destroying his Army, after that he and Vlama had pursued those which fled, as far as daylight would permit them to distinguish between the Enemies and their own men, forbade his Soldiers from plundering the Persian Camp, promising to give them the whole booty of it; and causing every one to repair to his Colours, he passed the night in the place of battle; absolutely victorious, without being wounded, or losing above two thousand men; where after the slaughter of twenty thousand Enemies, of taking their baggage, their Cannon, and their Colours, he might without fear, and in safety, have remained in the field of his triumph, without thinking of any thing but of enjoying his victory: Yet did not he so, for after he had commanded that Vlama should be dressed, who was slightly hurt, he went himself to place the Guards, to see if all things were as they should be, and to visit such of the Commanders as were wounded. But in the end, after he was returned to his dear Vlama, and had reflected a while on himself, he in his heart offered his whole victory to Isabel, as believing it to be rather an effect of her vows, then of his valour. And the thought which he had that this happy day might make him obtain her liberty, was the only pleasure that this famous victory gave him, and the recompense of all his travels.  
The End of the Third Book.   

The Fourth Book.  
Whereas it is not enough to have vanquished, if one does not know how to use the victory, the Illustrious Bassa knew too well how to make use of the advantages of fortune, for to neglect his enemy after he had surmounted him. He was not ignorant that the chance of war is inconstant; that Conquerors may oftentimes be Slaves to those whom they have put in chains; and that the Crowns which Victory hath set on the head of those whom she favours, are not so well settled, but that they may be plucked from thence. Out of so just a reasoning, Ibrahim took as much care to have good order observed in his Army, as if that of Tachmas had been still in the field, and had not been defeated. He discamped then the next day, and still advancing into the Enemy's Country, without encountering any obstacle, he carried terror over all the Persian Empire. For whereas the Sophy; Army had been utterly routed, they which had not followed him to Sultania, and that had escaped killing in the battle, fled to the next adjoining Provinces, and by their report wrought that in the minds of those that heard them, which the Arms of Ibrahim had wrought in them, possessing their hearts with fear and terror. And whereas it is natural enough for a man to seek to excuse himself, they made the Army of the Turks far greater than it was, for the justifying of their flight; they commended the valour of Ibrahim to cover their own cowardice, and fight for him in this occasion, they induced many Towns to render themselves, who otherwise had at leastwise attended the Canon, and the fight of their Enemy. But whereas the most part of the Palaces in this Empire are not much fortified, and are commonly his that keeps the field, Ibrahim being become so absolutely Master of it, as there was not an enemy appearing, he had no other employment after the battle of Niphates, than to receive the Deputies of Towns which came to bring him the keys thereof; and one would have said, considering in what manner things past, that Ibrahim was rather a lawful King, that road in progress about his Kingdom to make himself known to his Subjects, than a Conqueror, which received the submissions of the people whom he had subdued. In fine, the matter went in that sort, as in two month's space the Grand Visier restored unto Soliman's obedience all the places which he had formerly conquered, and that had revolted after Ulamaes' defeat, and during the time of his sickness. In the mean while he had sent to Prince Mahamed and to Axiamira, to assure them that he did not conquer their Country but only to oblige the Sophy to demand peace; and if it should be long before he heard from him, he would send to propound it unto him, with such just conditions, as he could not refuse it. Ulama likewise on his part had written to the Princess and Felixana, who had not failed to testify unto him by their Letters a great deal of acknowledgement for the victory which he had obtained of Deliment. Axiamira was nevertheless much disquieted, to understand by all them which came from the Camp to Bitilisa, that since Tachmas entered into Sultania, there had been no news of him: For albeit the Sophy had entreated her very ill, yet still he was her Father, and the apprehensions of Nature were yet stronger in her heart, than the remembrance of injuries was sensible unto her. This unquietness was not particular to her, and though it was after a different fashion, yet certain it is, that the Grand Visier was troubled, for that he could learn nothing of Tachmas; not being able to imagine what design he should have in shutting himself up in Sultania, and never appearing since, nor giving any order for setting some forces on foot again. One morning as he was talking with Ulama about it, and that neither of them knew what to think of it, one came and told him, that one named Morath, Captain of a Galley of the Bassa of the Seas Fleet, desired to speak with him. Ibrahim, who knew the order which this Bassa had had to make some descent into Mingrelia, thereby to divert the enemy's forces, believed that he came to give him an account thereof, and therefore commanded him to be brought in: Which was no sooner done, but Morath, after he had saluted him with an high respect, told him, that having been acquainted by fame with the prosperous success of his Arms, and that he was in a condition to impose Laws on the vanquished, he was sent from the Bassa of the Sea to beg a grace of him in favour of Arsalon. This name equally surprised both Ibrahim and Ulama; for the Grand Visier remembered very well that this Arsalon was he who had taken Doria near to Naples; that he was Father to Alibech, whom Osman the Bassa of the Seas son had married; but he could not comprehend how they should meet together, and be made friends: Ulama knew too, by report, that the Satrap Arsalon was become the famousest Pirate of all the Seas of the Levant; so that both of them provoked by curiosity, pressed Morath to explain himself more clearly. My Lord, said he to Ibrahim, before I tell you what Arsalon desires, may you be pleased to let me relate unto you the sequel of an History, the beginning whereof you are acquainted with, to the end that by the knowledge you shall have thereof, you may be the more easilier carried to grant the favour which is desired of your generosity. Ibrahim having consented thereunto, caused every one to go out of his Tent, except Ulama, and they two being set, Morath spoke in this sort.  

The Sequel of the History of Osman and Alibech.  
I Make no doubt, my Lord, but if the generosity of Alibech moved you at such time, as by your goodness you got the Grand Signior to judge her cause to her advantage, I make no doubt, I say, but that which I am going to impart unto you will carry you to serve her. I will not stand to run over her first adventures, thereby to make you understand the rest, since I hold it impossible that you should not still remember, that she is the daughter of Arsalon the Pirate, or to say better, of a Satrap of Persia, whom ill fortune hath made a Pirate. And I do not think you have forgot that this Pirate took Osman prisoner, who in a few days became desperately in love with the virtuous Alibech, and that she delivering him, saved herself with him, upon condition that he should marry her when he came to Constantinople: No more can you be ignorant that the Bassa of the Sea would never have permitted his son to have kept his word with her, had not the Grand Signior by his commandment, and by his liberality, forced him to receive this fair Maid, in whom he found no other defect but poverty. Now since that, my Lord, I can assure you, that Alibech hath not rendered herself unworthy of the grace you did her, nor of that which yet she attends from your goodness. She hath lived with the Bassa of the Sea in as much obedience to him, as if she had been his own daughter; and with her submissions and respects hath in such sort acquired his affection, as he loves not his son with more tenderness. As for Osman, there hath never been heard speak of a more violent, or more durable love than his, and every day too he sees some new grace in his dear Alibech; for whereas the beauty of her soul is far greater than that of her face, she hath given him so many new marks of her virtue, of her courage, of her love, and of her generosity, as he should be the ingratefullest of men, if the affection which he bears her, could enter into comparison with any other. This person then, being so straightly linked in good will to her Father-in-Law, and to her husband, could not resolve to abandon them, at such time as the Bassa of the Sea was constrained to embark himself for to go and command the Fleet, which was sent into Mingrelia. And although, out of the fear they were in lest she should receive some incommodity, they did all they could to keep her from it, yet was it impossible for them to prevail with her. No, no, said she to Osman, I cannot leave you; and seeing I could follow a father out of obedience, I can better follow an husband out of affection. I am already enured to the discommodities of the Sea, which no doubt will be sweeter to me, sharing them with you, than rest would be agreeable unto me, if I should enjoy it without you. If you fight with advantage, added she, the joy which I shall have of your victory will redouble yours; and if by misfortune you be vanquished, which Heaven forfend, my tears shall fight for you, when you no longer can. In fine, said she further, tempests, war, slavery, yea and death itself, would be sweeter to me, than a long absence. Alibech having in this sort touched the heart of Osman, and the Bassa of the Sea being overcome by her entreaties, she embarked herself with her husband, who was Vice-admiral under his Father. Their Navigation having been prosperous enough, until they came to Mingrelia, they thought of no hang more than of choosing a place where they might make a descent, according to the order they had for it: but a horrible tempest that arose, destroyed all their designs. It was so great, so long, and so extraordinary, that the whole Fleet was dispersed; so that when it grew to be calm again, three Vessels were scarce found together: Howbeit so great was our good fortune, as in four or five days the whole Navy rejoined, and albeit most of the ships had something, or other broken, yet we rejoiced to see them all shattered as they were, after we had believed they were lost. The two Vessels of Osman, and of the Bassa of the Sea, were only wanting to the Fleet; but at length that of Osman coming in, made us hope that the Bassa would return in like manner. After he had been attended some days with an impatience, which well demonstrated the love which Osman, and the generosity which Alibech had for him; and after that many Vessels had been sen● out to cross up and down the Sea, for to try if they could meet with him, one day as Osman was looking forth himself to see if he could descry any thing, he discovered a Vessel: and though it was so far off as he could not discern of what Nation she was, yet the extreme desire which he had that it might be his fathers, persuaded him that it was he. In this belief he caused his dear Alibech to come upon the deck to let her see that which all the rest of his Vessel saw as well as he; they continued a pretty while in this sort, between hope and fear, but at length this Vessel approaching by little and little, destroyed the first, and increased the other; for Osman certainly knew that this Vessel was a Brigantine, and not that of his father, whose fortune had been very different from his. The tempest having severed him from his Fleet, and the storm having mightily bruised his Vessel, he had been so unhappy as to encounter with a Pirate; who having found him in so deplorable an estate, had set upon him, or to say better, had taken him, he not being able to make any resistance. The Bassa of the Sea after this misfortune, was persuaded, that to be the more gently used, and to get the sooner out of his enemy's hands, he was to tell who he was, to the end that offering a great ransom he might be restored to his liberty; the rather, for that in this occasion the affairs of the Empire being much concerned, he should have committed a crime, if he had concealed his name for the saving of money. But that which he thought would conduce most to the getting himself out of trouble, gave him the more; for be pleased to know, that by an encounter altogether prodigious, he that had taken him was the Pirate Arsalon, father to the virtuous Alibech; who no sooner understood that this prisoner was the Bassa of the Sea, but he appeared to be mightily incensed with anger. What, said he unto him, are you the father then of the Traitor Osman, or to say better, of the Ravisher of my daughter? and hath fortune, who hath always persecuted me so cruelly, at last furnished me with means to be revenged? Speak, said he unto him, but disguise not the truth, lest I be drawn to make you tell it by force. The Bassa of the Sea surprised with this discourse, and perceiving very well that this Pirate was Arsalon, thought nevertheless, since he had said so much already, that the best would be not to dissemble, and to endeavour by the assurance which he would give him that Alibech was Osmans' wife, and that he had always used her as if she had been his own daughter, to induce him to use him also with the more humanity. In this resolution, I acknowledge, said he unto him, that I am the Bassa of the Sea, that I am the father of Osman, and the father of the ravisher of Alibech; but withal, you are to acknowledge to me also, that I am the father of your daughter, seeing she hath married my son; and you are consequently to confess, that since love alone hath been the cause of their fault, you ought to pardon them for it; if so be you have not lost the remembrance, that the very same passion made you in times past forget all things. I have not lost the remembrance of it, replied Arsalon, but I remember the punishment too that was inflicted on me; and if I treat my daughter after the same manner, she will have no just occasion to complain. If you knew, answered the Bassa of the sea, what the affection of Osman and Alibech were, it would touch your heart: It is so great, continued he, that in the voyage, which I have so unhappily undertaken, she would by no means abandon her husband. Arsalon hearing this discourse, made him explain it more particularly unto him; and knew that his daughter was not very far from him: Whereat he testified a great deal of joy, and beholding the Bassa with a smile full of bitterness; to show you, said he unto him, that I am generous, and that I will not confound the innocent with the guilty; I will not use you ill; nay I will not require son, though as my slave I might do it; but I will only have that which appertains to me, that is to say, the ingrateful and unnatural Alibech. I do you a good office, said he unto him, raising his voice; for since she could betray her father, and abandon him, she would quit you no doubt, and betray you as well as me. The Bassa, surprised with this discourse and demand, stood a while without answering thereunto; nevertheless, whereas he is generous, and that the virtue of Alibech hath won his heart, he could by no means agree to what was required of him. No, said he to Arsalon, I will never be ingrateful to your daughter; she restored my son to his liberty, and I will lose mine to preserve her that which she enjoys. And then again; said he unto him, I am not master of her, she is Osmans', who commanding the Navy in my absence, is in an estate to refuse her unto me, if I should be so base as to demand her, which I will never do. We shall see, said Arsalon then to him, whether you will not change your mind; and after they had disputed yet a while, he commanded him to be loaden with chains, and told him once again, that he should never have his liberty, and that every day he would make him try new torments, if he did not write to his son to oblige him to deliver Alibech into the hands of those whom he would send to him for that purpose; promising him, that she should be no sooner in his power, but he would restore him to his liberty. The Bassa in so cross a conjuncture, knew not what to think, or what to resolve on. He knew by the report of his son, and of Alibech too, that Arsalon was firm in his resolutions, and of a severe and cruel inclination. He knew that his absence would prejudice the affairs of the Empire; yea and he was persuaded, that his son, loving Alibech more than his life, would never resolve to lose her for the saving of him; he felt a strange repugnancy in his heart too against the making of this request unto him; and not knowing what to do in so deplorable a case, he lamented his misfortune, accused Arsalons' cruelty, and without framing any design, endured the sharpest grief that any soul can be capable of. In the mean time Arsalon, fearing lest the Bassa of the Seas Fleet should remove further from him, and that then he should not have Alibech so easily, pressed him to take his last resolution: but what threaten soever he could use unto him, he could not possibly draw him to write to Osman to oblige him to give Alibech for his ransom. Arsalon did all that he could to shake his resolution; he assured him of a perpetual slavery; he made him see that his death was indubitable; and perceiving at last that he no whit prevailed, he chose out one of the most understanding and resolutest men of his company, and giving him a Brigantine, he sent him towards a Cape, where he had learned the Fleet was reassembled; and having told him he would stay for him at a creek which was not far from thence, he willed him to search so diligently, that he might find out the Bassa of the Seas Navy; and having found it, that he should deliver to Osman his son, who commanded in his absence, the message which he would impart unto him; whereupon rowning him softly in the ear, he instructed him with his intentions, and dispatched him instantly away. This man, who was a Persian by Nation, exactly obeyed him, and was so fortunate, as he sailed directly to the place where the Bassa of the Seas Fleet were all joined together again. And it was, my Lord, the very same vessel which Osman discovered at sea, which a far off gave him so much hope, and which approaching so mightily redoubled his grief, to see that it was a Brigantine, that the spite to be so deceived, made him resolve to fight with her: For which effect he commanded two of his vessels to attack her; but the Persian who had no design to endanger himself to no purpose, perceiving the intention of them that were making towards him, struck sail, hung out a flag of truce, and putting himself into the skiff, with three of his companions, to testify the more confidence, he went in this sort to encounter those which were advanced towards him. When he was so near them as he might be heard, the Persian, to have audience the sooner, required to speak with Osman from the Bassa of the Sea his father. This name made them all to shout for joy tha● heard it; and the word passing straight from Vessel to Vessel, and from Galley to Galley, the●e was a general rejoicing over all the whole Fleet. In the mean time Osman having been advertised of it, attended with as much joy as impatience, him, that brought him news of his father. And whereas he shared all his bad, and all his hood haps with his dear wife, she was with him at such time as the Persian was conducted unto him. The sight of this man made the virtuous Alibech change colour, for she presently knew him, as having seen him with her father, all the time that she lived at sea. This first motion was quickly seconded with an extreme grief; for when as Osman, out of an impatience derived from his affection, had demanded of this man where his father was; My Lord, said he unto him, with a great deal of boldness, he is in a place from whence you may easily draw him, and to clear the matter unto you, know, that the chance of War, or rather the equity of Heaven, hath made him fall into the power of the invincible Arsalon. Alas, said Alibech, looking on Osman, what have I heard! and what a destiny is ours like to be! What, said Osman, interrupting her, and all amazed, is my father in the hands of Arsalon? Yes, my Lord, replied the Persian, and it is from him that I come to tell you, that you shall never see the Bassa your father more, if you do not render him his daughter: This is the price he hath set for his liberty, and it is that which you ought to pay him. I know that I speak boldly, and that in some sort I endanger myself; but be-think you that you have a person in the power of Arsalon, which ought to keep you from entreating me ill. I leave you to judge, generous Ibrahim, what this proposition effected in the minds of Osman and Alibech, and what a combat that was, where one must resolve to abandon a father, or lose a wife; yea a wife, to whom Osman owed his life and liberty: which made up all his felicity; and which was both his wife and his mistress. Nature and Love could not be satisfied in this occasion: Osman could not be acknowledging without being ingrateful; and finding cruelty in both the parties, he knew not what resolution to take. Osman never reasoned at first for all that on this adventure, but without sticking a whit at it, he told him that had spoken to him, how he could not render his wife, neither could he abandon his father, but he kn●w well enough how to destroy Arsalon. Ah, my Lord, cried Alibech then, who had done nothing as yet but weep, being scarce able to form a word; If the Bassa of the sea is your father, Arsalon is mine; and you cannot hurt him without wronging me. Osman being come again out of this first transport, and ravished with Alibeches' generosity, craved pardon of her: and this Persian returning to speak, I know, my Lord, said he unto him, that this choice is hard to be made, wherefore permit me to go back to my vessel, and let me within a day have your answer; but consult with your reason, remember that Alibech is the daughter of him that demands her, and that the Bassa of the Sea is the father of a man that stole her away. If Osman had followed his first thoughts, he had caused this man to be thrown into the Sea, but fearing lest such violence should prejudice his father, he chose ●ather to grant his demand. When he was gone away, and that without other witnesses than his dear Alibech he might let his grief break forth; Do not think, said he unto her, that I consult whether I should deliver you into the hands of Arsalon; no, that is not my thought; but I am considering which way I may deliver my Father: For in fine, it is equally impossible for me to resolve to love him, and abandon you. I owe my life to both of you; I owe obedience to my Father, and love to Alibech: If my death could satisfy you both, I should die no doubt with joy; but fortune that delights to pick me out extraordinary miseries, will not let any thing be able to secure me. The more I consider the matter, the less remedy do I find for it; which way soever I look upon it, I am still guilty, and still unhappy. I cannot break my father's chains without giving them to you; I cannot end his punishment, but in beginning yours; I cannot restore him his liberty, but in depriving you of it, nor can save his life, but in putting yours in jeopardy; and that is it which is absolutely impossible for me to do. But, added he, if I conserve you, I load my father with irons; I myself fasten the shackles wherewith he is bound; I am the cause of his captivity, and it may be of his death; I am a parricide, and I stab a dagger into the heart of him that gave me life. See generous Alibech, said he unto her, what the choice is which I can make in so cross an adventure. My Lord, said she unto him, wholly dissolved into tears, you require a counsel of me which is very hard to be given; it is not because I fear the rigour of my father so much, as I cannot resolve without pain to endure it to deliver yours; but, my Lord, it is because I cannot do it without abandoning you. Yet I must, continued she; for whereas I am the daughter of Arsalon, it is for me to receive the chastisement of her fault; and whereas I am in part the cause of his captivity, it is for me also to deliver him; and it is for me also to dry up the tears which you shed for him: Suffer me then to go and undo his chains, and wear his irons. Ah! too generous Alibech, answered Osman, do not offer me a remedy worse than the disease, and which I cannot accept of: My father is too generous too, continued he, to endure it; and he would disavow me for his son, if I were capable of such a baseness. To have such thoughts would be a thing worthy of his great heart, replied Alibech, but it would also be a thing unworthy both of you, and of me, if I could suffer you to be cruel to the Bassa your father, and that he should lose his life by my means. No, Osman, it is that which I can never endure; and since we cannot live happy together, let us at leastwise die innocent. Do what you ought for your father; owing him your life, you owe him all things; sacrifice your wife to deliver him, it is just, and she desires it. I must, added she, for the love of you, deprive myself of you; and fear not that I will accuse you of want of affection, whenas you shall consent thereunto; no, Osman, I should not be glad that your love to me should stifle the motions of nature in you. Reason must be stronger than all other things; and he that could abandon his father, might also in some other occasion abandon his wife. Permit me to do what I ought, and leave the rest to the conduct of fortune. That would not be just, answered Osman. What will you do then, replied Alibech? I do not know, answered he; only I know that the estate wherein my soul is, I can neither be wanting to my father, nor to you; and yet being unable to save you both, I see that nothing but death can secure me. After this, Osman fell a musing, then suddenly coming to himself again, he seemed to take the resolution to go and seek out Arsalon for to fight with him. But Alibech having apprehended his design, What, my Lord, said she unto him, casting herself at his feet, could you command your men to shoot at a Vessel where your father or mine might be killed, and it may be both of them? Can that so generous heart of yours permit you to dip your hands in my blood or in yours? Think well, my Lord, of that which you say; and know that I am capable of taking away mine own life, rather than see you blemish your glory with so strange an action; whereas then you would not be carried thereunto, but only to save my life, whenas I should be deprived of it, you would deal in another manner. It is true, my Lord, that my father is cruel, and inhuman; but remember, that when the Bassa your father would have banished us from his house, I left not respecting him; have the same thought for Arsalon: Regard him rather as a man whom misfortune hath bereft of reason, than as one that is wicked; and to say all, consider him as my father. I do not refuse to deliver oyurs, but contrarily, I conjure you to permit me to do it, but have also the goodness to spare mine. Heaven can witness, answered Osman, after he had raised her up, whether I have any intent to hurt Arsalon; no, Alibech, I will never do it; but in the disorder wherein my soul is, I say whatsoever my grief suggests unto me, without giving my reason leisure to examine whether the thing be just, or whether it be not. In fine, generous Ibrahim, after so long and so sad a conversation, Osman, not able either to deliver his father, or deprive himself of his wife, or fight with Arsalon, resolved at least, and made Alibech resolve so too, to go with all his Fleet, and set himself in the sight of that of Arsalon; for all the Pirates of the seas of the Levant had a little before betaken themselves to him, and acknowledged him for their Chieftain. It was nevertheless after he had promised Alibech, that he would not fight with him; and that it should be only to endeavour to make him do that by fear which he could not make him do by reason. All the difficulty of the matter was but to know precisely where he was; but this obstacle lasted not long: for Osman having sent for the Persian to come again to him, he talked to him with so much address, that he learned the place of his retreat; after which he told this man in a gentle manner, for fear his father should be ill entreated, that before he answered directly to the proposition which had been made to him, he would willingly have a Letter from his father, to the end that being sure he was living, he might deal with the more certainty. The Persian finding some justice in Osmans' demand, presently left him, with a promise to return him an answer of it within a few days; but take heed, said he unto him, that you go not away, for fear lest Arsalon should revenge himself on your father, if you should deceive him. So Osman having assured him that he would not stir; and this Persian having set sail, he made his whole Fleet to steer the same course; so that two days after, at the break of day, the Pirate Arsalon, who could not oblige the Bassa to write to his son, saw his whole Navy appear. At first his design was to fight with it, and to that effect, he caused also his Fleet to be made ready; but when as that of Osman approached, and that enlarging itself, he could distinctly count all the vessels, whereof it was composed, he found it so great, and his so small in comparison of it, as seeing that it would have been temerity and folly in him, to hope for the Victory with so unequal a number, he took another resolution: And after he had instructed the same Persian whom he had formerly employed, with his intentions, he sent him back to Osman; who seeing a vessel lose from Arsalons' Fleet, and coming towards him, hoped that it might be his design had succeeded. Alibech was not of this opinion; and fear so absolutely oppressed her soul, as there was no place left for hope: And truly she had reason; for this man was no sooner brought before Osman, but he made it appear by the confusion which he had in his countenance, that the message which he was to deliver was fatal. I come hither, my Lord, said he unto him, to tell you, that if you do not render Alibech, and do attempt to set upon Arsalon, he will make your father be slain before your eyes; and to deprive you too of the pleasure of revenge, if he happen to have the worst in the fight, he will blow up himself, and so steal from your victory. This strange discourse surprised Osman and Alibech in such sort, as they stood a good while beholding one another, and not able to speak, but their resentment suddenly breaking forth, they said all that an extreme grief can make one think. It is no longer time to consult, said the generous Alibech, our love would be criminal if it could produce so strange an effect. Suffer me, my dear Osman, suffer me to go and make trial all alone of my father's fury; for provided I can restore you yours, death will not be altogether cruel to me. In vain you seek for other remedies to your misery; and as things stand, I owe myself not only to him which hath given you life, but I owe myself also to Arsalon, to the ●nd I may keep him from dipping his hands in innocent blood. As for me, he may deal with me as he pleaseth; I am his daughter; I have abandoned him; I have rob him of two slaves; and if he can complain of any one, it must doubtless be of me. Your accusing of yourself in this sort, said Osman then, is to put me in remembrance of the obligations wherein I stand engaged to you; and it is to say to me also, Do not abandon me. Do not you abandon me, answered she, but suffer me to abandon you. I cannot, replied Osman. Bot could you indeed, said Alibech to him, see a dagger in my father's hand to stab the heart of yours? For my part, continued she, I would rather die. Let us die then, said Osman to her; for I tell you once again, that it is as equally impossible for me to resolve to lose my father, as to abandon you. In pursuance of this discourse, Alibech did yet what she could to obtain her husband's permission that she might go to her father: She joined tears to her prayers, and albeit that which she desired would destroy her felicity, bereave her of her liberty, expose her to the fury of her father, and deprive her of her husband, yet was she so generous, as to omit nothing of whatsoever she thought was capable of persuading him not to refuse her that she demanded. But seeing at last that she entreated in vain, and that Osman unable to resolve on any thing, yet seemed to be resolved not to render her, she purposed to make use of a kinsman of the Bassa of the sea, whom she had won after the first time that Arsalons' Messenger came thither: And that she might talk with him at liberty, and without suspicion, I see very well, said she to Osman, that the tears which I shed to move your heart, do but harden it the more, and that as long as you see me, you can resolve of nothing, wherefore suffer me to withdraw myself, and remember, said she unto him, that the life of your father is in question. After this, she retired into the Captain's , whither having sent for the Bassa of the Seas kinsman, who she knew was very much affected, and greatly obliged to him, as holding his fortune of him; When he was come, and that she could speak to him without witnesses, she summoned him to the performance of the promise he had made her two days before, to do any thing for the deliverance of the Bassa of the sea, when she should furnish him with means for it. For rightly foreseeing that Osman would never resolve to remit her into the hands of Arsalon, though he was very generous, and that he loved his father exceedingly, this courageous woman had forecast a way how to beguile him. After than that she had asked of him, who was to serve her in her design, whether he was resolved for it or no? and that she had told him how all that she would have of him was, that he would give her the opportunity the night following to go to Arsalon in the vessel which he commanded. This man, albeit very much obliged to the Bassa of the Sea, was notwithstanding somewhat unwilling to consent thereunto. But Alibech adding art to her entreaties, undertook to persuade that to him, which she did not believe herself. She told him that her father would let himself be moved with her tears; that without doubt this generous action would touch him; and that so without exposing her to any great danger, she should deliver the Bassa of the Sea. This man then suffering himself to be carried to what she pleased, promised her not to go aboard his vessel till it was very late, and that the night was far spent, to the end that stealing away, he might get her into the skiff that was to carry him thither; which without doubt might be easily enough done, it being credible, that in the agitation wherein the mind of Osman was, he would not take much heed to things. The execution of this enterprise proved yet more facile than Alibech had imagined it, as you shall understand by and by. Osman, not knowing what to do in so cross an encounter, after that Alibech was withdrawn, fell into a deep muse, and began to cast in his mind what he might do. He no sooner form one thought, but it was destroyed by another; his imagination propounded nothing unto him which his judgement could approve of; the motions of nature combated those of love; and without vanquishing one another, Osman was not surmounted but by his own grief. He saw in every thing cause of despair, and whereas he had a noble and generous Soul, being unable to take any resolution which was not criminal, he remained always irresolute. But at last, after he had a long time debated with himself; after that love and nature had made him think of all that they could inspire in a like encounter; after that he had sought for an hundred unprofitable means how to deliver his father, without losing his wife; no, no, said he to himself, I cannot lose Alibech, but I must lose myself too. Let us resolve upon it then, and make the Bassa our Father see, that we do for him all that we can. He hath given me life, I am ready to render it to him again; and I cannot think that Heaven would approve of the delivering of an innocent to the cruelty of Arsalon; neither do I think too, added he, but his revenge would be more satisfied with having me in his hands, than with having Alibech. And albeit he hath not demanded me aswell as she, it was doubtless because he believed, that I would render him my wife, rather than render him myself. But alas cried he, how was he ill informed of my thoughts! As for my Father, said he, I may not believe that he can complain of me, since I endanger myself for the love of him. And as for Arsalon, he will in my person find an object worthy of his wrath; it is I that stole away his daughter from him; it is I that was the cause of the flight of that generous Slave, from whom he expected so many things; in fine, I alone am culpable; and if there be any justice in his cruelty, I alone too shall be punished. He shall deliver my Father, or at leastwise I shall wear irons with him; and if rage carries him to take away my life, I shall howsoever have the satisfaction to die, without having abandoned, either my Father, or my wife. I own my life to my Father, and I shall render it to him again, in losing it for his sake. I own my liberty to the generous Alibech, and charing myself with the same chains which are prepared for her, I shall have done for her all that the unhappiness of my destiny permits me to do. Let us go then, added he, let us go to Arsalon, since it is as equally impossible for me, to abandon my Father, as to lose Alibech. This design being strongly imprinted in his heart, he drew the Persian aside, and told him softly, that as soon as night was come he should have satisfaction of him, and assured him besides, that if he did not render Alibech to him, he would at leastwise go along with him in his vessel, and carry his answer himself to Arsalon. This man, being able to do nothing else, resolved to wait the time he had appointed; in the mean space Osman sent for one named Mahomet, a man of command, and one that you know hath courage and experience; and having told him that he was going the next night to try if he could deliver his father, by means of an intelligence which he had with Arsalons' messenger, he willed him, if by misfortune his design should not succeed, to command the fleer in his absence, and not to fail in taking special heed to Alibech, and to send her back to Constantinople in a vessel; but not before he had tarried some days in the view of Arsalons' fleet; and whatsoever should happen not to fight with him. This man, who was prudent, would feign have been a little better cleared of Osmans' design; but whatsoever he could do, he could not oblige him unto it; and Osman making use of his absolute power, he could do no other but obey. After this, Osman went to Alibech, but whereas both of them had each their design, although they had an hundred things to say to one another, out of the opinion wherein they were, that they should never meet again, the desire they had to execute their enterprise made them say little, fearing lest their conversation being too long, they should not beguile one another, as they purposed to do. So that after Osman, to deceive Alibech, had told her that he had put off the sending away of the Persian till the next day, because he would write to Arsalon to see if he could persuade with him, he left her for to go and make the visit about his flee● in a barque, as he used to do every evening, for fear said he, of some surprise; but indeed it was to go and embark himself in the Persians Brigantine. Alibech ravished with this  occasion, counselled him so to do, and looking on him as he was going out of the Cabin with her eyes full of tears, she encountered those of Osman, who believing that he should never see her more, had turned about his face towards her, as it were to give her his last farewell. After it was night, and that Osman was gone out of his vessel, he that was to serve Alibech came to her  at such time as all her slaves were already asleep; and by the favour of the dark he got her into the skiff, that was to carry them to his vessel, as accordingly it did. He was no sooner aboard then, but he set sail; and his Pilot getting clear of the other vessels as well as he could, steered directly to Arsalons' Fleet. Osman, on his side, being gotten aboard of the Persians Brigantine, had taken the same course; so that when the broad of day began to appear, and that Arsalon, wakened by his fury, and by the impatience he was in for the return of him he had sent, and was mounted on the deck, he saw two vessels appear, one on the right hand, & the other on the left, which as though they had had a purpose to advance equally, made with full sails towards the place where he was. He knew at first his Brigantine, but for the other, he could not apprehend who it was. Osman on the other part, was not a little troubled to perceive, that the vessel which he see was one of his; howbe it he believed that his dear Alibech hearing of his departure, had sent some one of the Commanders of his Fleet after him to retain him; but he was much amazed, whenas these vessels coming near to one another, he saw Alibech standing on the deck. Whereupon he gave a great skreek, and little lacked but through a transport for which he could give no reason he had not cast himself into the Sea to get to her. How unhappy am I cried he! I parted from my fleet to save Alibech, and my departure alone delivers her into the hands of her father; and so I came not without doubt but to be a spectator of her punishment. But if Osman was amazed, no less was Alibech; for some of her vessel having known Osman, and having told it to her, she was infinitely afflicted, & believed the same of Osman which he had believed of her. In the mean time Arsalon, having sent to discover this vessel, was much surprised to understand, that Alibech came in that, and not in his Brigantine; which still approaching aswell as the other, made him see Osman on the poop. Now albeit he could not comprehend that which he saw, yet was he glad to see more in his hands than he had hoped for; and causing the Bassa of the Sea, laden with chains, to mount upon the deck, Come said he unto him, give your irons to this Slave that betrayed me, and to this ingrateful daughter that abandoned me. The Bassa discerning his Son, was extremely afflicted; and Osman seeing his Father in that estate, was sensibly touched therewith. At length these two vessels being come up to Arsalons', and Alibech & Osman being brought before him, Behold, said he as they were approaching to him, these worthy objects of my hatred & wrath, whom their treachery had drawn out of my power, and whom fortune hath restored unto me. We are rather an object of your pity, answered Alibech, who was foremost, & fallen on her knee when she came near to Arsalon; but, continued she, I came not hither to move you to compassion; I believe that your wrath is equitable, & your hatred just. And seeing I hold it impossible to reenter into your favour, I come to break his chains who hath been in stead of a father to me, ever since I abandoned you; do not think that Osman hath consented to that which I do, it is a pure effect of mine own will. Alas! cried Osman then, beholding the Bassa of the Sea, pardon me dear father, if I could not resolve to give my wife for to save you; but to testify unto you, that I do whatsoever I can, I am come hither to take your chains upon me, and to obtain your liberty with the loss of my life. Wherefore, said he to Arsalon, deliver my Father, and put the chains on me that he wears. I alone am faulty, and I alone am to be punished; for as for Alibech, all her crime is nothing else but having compassion of others misfortunes, Arsalon, seeing two persons so near him, by whom he thought he had been much abused, could not contain his former fury, and commanded that the Bassa of the Sea should be loosed, and his chains divided betwixt Osman and Alibech: but the Bassa being touched with the generosity, both of Alibech and of Osman, would not suffer himself to be set at liberty. I will not quit my irons, said he to Arsalon, to charge my children with them; for I believe, since you have no more feeling of a father for the virtuous Alibech, that I may be permitted to call her my daughter. Can you remember the time said he to her, when I forbade you my house, and yet could you resolve to give your liberty for a man, who once treated you as a slave? My Lord, answered she, it well appears by what hath arrived this day, that you had reason to be unwilling I should be your son's wife, since that fatal marriage is the cause of your unhappiness. But, said she, turning herself towards her father, if I dare put you in mind of that tenderness which you have had for me, I humbly beseech you, that without regarding either the generosity of the Bassa, or the prayers of Osman, you will choose me alone for the object of your anger and revenge, and will set them at liberty. What, said Osman unto her then, can you desire that we should be separated? Yes, said she unto him, I can; for since we cannot live happy together, it is best that you should enjoy your liberty, and that I alone should be infortunate. Dispute not hereupon, ingrateful child as thou art, said Arsalon interrupting her, for if thou art mine by the law of nature, he who is also my slave, & my guilty slave, shall also be the companion of thy punishment. Alas! my Lord, said she unto him, for I dare not call you father, of what crime can you accuse Osman? Would you have had him refuse the liberty which I offered him? Do not justify me, said Osman, interrupting her, I alone am culpable; it was I that stole you away; it was I tha● caused the Slave whom Arsalon loved so much to fly away; in fine, it was I tha● have done all these things: so that my father being innocent as well as you, I am to demand justice for you both; render it unto them then in this occasion, said he to Arsalon, and let me suffer all imaginable torments; for provided I may see these two persons set at liberty, I shall die willingly, and without grief. We will no● have it with the price of your blood, cried then both the Bassa of the Sea, and the generous Alibech, and to save you we are even ready to shed ours. Why will you not have me deliver my Father, said Osman to her then? For that answered Alibech, as I am the cause of his misfortune, it is just I should be so too of his liberty. But said she to Arsalon, consult no further hereupon, Osman loves me to that height, as he will never yield but by violence. And fear not, my Lord, said she unto him, to give him his liberty, you will punish him enough in punishing me; and the irons which I shall wear, will be more heavy to him without doubt than to me. Arsalon not able to forbear from being moved with so much generosity, and Alibech having encountered his eyes, where she saw (as she thought) some marks of tenderness, continued her discourse, and redoubled her prayers. My Lord, said she unto him, I believe that I myself labour mine own ruin, and that confessing myself guilty, without seeking excuses for my crime, I render myself unworthy to obtain that which I desire of you: Wherefore, continued she, permit me for the lessening of my fault to put you in remembrance of that blessed time, when as the Pirate Arsalon was a Satrape of Persia; you know, my Lord, that my Mother abandoned her Parents to follow you, and that then you called that excess of love and generosity in her, which now you term an horrible crime in me. It is true, that I have followed Osman, but it was not as a slave, it was as my husband; and let heaven be my witness, whether in abandoning you, I do not quit a part of myself; and whether I have not ever since made vows for your preservation. This mighty Fleet which is ready to set upon me (said Arsalon to her, who yet did not yield) is without doubt an effect of your prayers and affection. Alas! answered Alibech, if Osman would have fought with you, he would not have come and put himself into your hands without Arms. Consider then, my Lord, if there be any sense of pity resting in you, whether you can with justice resolve the destruction of a man, who seeing his father in captivity, hath notwithstanding had that respect for you, as not to fight with you because you were mine; you see too that he is not an unnatural son, since he comes himself to offer you his liberty and his life to deliver his father. I conjure you then by the memory of the only person of the world whom you have most dearly loved, and who gave me life, to surmount your resentment in this occasion; and to vanquish us in generosity; you may do it my Lord, if you will, and a greater cannot be than to vanquish one's self. If you regard us as your children, you will easily pardon us; and if you consider us as your enemies, we are so wretched, and so absolutely depending on you, that compassion will be of more power in your soul, than the desire of revenge, it being most certain that a generous spirit cannot resolve to oppress the feeble. And then again, my Lord, if you consider it well, you cannot tell how to punish us, in punishing us. If you retain the Bassa still a prisoner, you will do but that which he demands, for he will not have his liberty, unless his son doth enjoy it too. If you load Osman with Irons, you satisfy the desire he hath to testify to his father, that he would do any thing for him; and if you lay them on me, they will be in stead of a favour to me, being absolutely resolved to follow the fortune of these infortunate ones. What Arsalon! cried the Bassa of the sea then, shall not the generosity of this woman, which would move a Barbarian, move a father? What my Lord! added Osman, cannot Alibeches tears obtain her and my father's liberty? at leastwise yet let the loss of my life oblige you unto it. During this discourse, and this noble dispute, where the prize of the victory was the loss of liberty, Arsalon had his mind filled with divers thoughts; the desire of revenge, and a will to pardon, agitated his soul; but in the end, whereas reason and nature were both of a side, he began to be moved. He could no longer behold his daughter, but with tears in his eyes; and both Osmans' and his father's generosity possessing him with confusion, whereas naturally he loved glory, and was not cruel, but out of an habit and despair, he suddenly changed his thoughts, and embracing his daughter with tenderness, I am overcome, said he unto her, thy virtue is stronger than my cruelty. This happy change begot shouts of joy, not only from the Bassa, not only from Alibech, not only from Osman, but from all those of the vessel. In the mean time Osman casting himself at the feet of Arsalon, My Lord, said he unto him, load me with Irons, and join together all the torments which ever have been invented, I shall give you thanks in enduring them. Arsalon hearing him speak thus, lifted him up very kindly, and unloosing the Bassa of the Sea himself, I should not have done a grace to Alibech, said he unto him, if I had not done it to you too, since your life is hers. In sequel hereof, my Lord, it is easy to imagine what these three persons and Arsalon said, who certainly for his part shown such marks of his repentance, and spoke so many generous, and obliging things, as it was easy to perceive that he had not always been a Pirate. Now, my Lord, that I may not prolong this relation any further, you shall understand, that Arsalon not only pardoned his daughter, promised an inviolable affection to the Bassa of the sea and his son, but also took the resolution to cease from being a Pirate: For which effect he obtained the Bassa of the seas permission to dismiss all them that had ranged themselves under his obedience; who although they were sorry to lose so courageous a Chieftain, yet were they comforted with the greatness of the booty which he left them; and embarquing himself in the same vessel whi●● had brought Alibech thither, without reserving any part of the riches which he had gotten; You see, said he, smiling to the Bassa of the sea and his son, how I render myself at discretion, and how I confide in your generosity. After this, my Lord, they went to the Fleet, where was so universal a rejoicing, as the like hath never been heard spoken of. In the mean while, whereas a part of the Galleys and Vessels had been bruised with the tempest, we made to land, that we might put them in a condition to follow the first design. And it was there, generous Ibrahim, where we learned that your Victory had no need of our succour. This good news being made known to Arsalon, who had been acquainted by Alibech with the obligation wherein she was engaged unto you, he desired the Bassa of the sea to obtain of you, that if any treaty of peace were to be made between the Sultan and the Sophy, you would be pleased to take the care of making his, and getting him the liberty to go and end his days in his country, from whence love in times past had banished him. I desire this grace of you then on the behalf of Arsalon, of the Bassa of the sea, of Osman, and of the virtuous Alibech, who beseeches you that you will be her protection yet a second time. Morath having given over speaking, left Ibrahim and Ulama so ravished with his relation, and the generosity of Alibech, as they thought they should never have done praising her. Ibrahim promised Morath to re-establish Arsalon; and having sent him back again the next day, because he assured them that he should find them still abiding in the Port, where he had left them, he commanded him to bring Arsalon to him with as much speed as possibly he could, and to assure all those generous persons, that he should never be contented, till their virtue were worthily acknowledged. And verily it might be said, that Ibrahim knew what would happen; for scarcely was Morath a day's journey from the Camp, when as he was advertised that there were Deputies from Sultania that desired to speak with him; he was told also that these deputies were all in mourning, and seemed to be extremely afflicted. This novelty surprised him, and whereas Ulama was not present at such time as this message was delivered unto him, he sent for him in all haste, and when he was come to his Tent, and the Deputies likewise, one amongst them, after he had begun his discourse with an Elogium of Ibrahim, the better to prepare him not to refuse them that which they purposed to crave of him, acquainted him with all that had passed at Sultania, since the battle of Niphates, wherewith Ulama and he were strangely surprised: And truly this relation was extraordinary enough, to beget no mean amazement. For it had fallen out, that after that day which had proved so glorious to Ibrahim, and so fatal to the Sophy, the death of Deliment, and the displeasure for having been vanquished, possessed him with so much grief, as he fell sick at the very same instant. As for the ambitious Perca, she rejoiced in her heart at the death of Deliment, as a thing which she had long wished for; the sicknest of Tachmas did not disquiet her, but contrarily she believed, that the less able he should be to direct, the more power she should have. As for the stupid Ishmael, she did not regard him as any great obstacle to her design, she was notwithstanding very much vexed, when she understood of him, after the loss of the battle, that in the heat of the fight Ulama had given him his life and his liberty, in drawing him out of the hands of a gre●t many soldiers, who would have either taken or killed him: For albeit she forbade him to publish this action, yet was so filled with joy for his escape out of that peril, as it was impossible for her to keep him from telling it to divers persons, though it was not out of any acknowledgement. Perca was not ignorant, that Ulama had a number of secret friends, who watched but for an occasion ●o declare themselves for his advantage. She knew likewise, that all which were of Mahamedes and Axiamiraes' party, sought but for a pretext to stir; so as she feared that this action coming to be known, in the estate wherein things were, use might be made of it for the making of some propositions to Tachmas, which might be prejudicial unto her, in the design which she had to reign. But this infortunate Prince was not long in a condition to think of the affairs of his Empire; for albeit his Physicians had employed all their skill for the preservation of his life, yet could they not possibly save him; and the fourth day after the loss of the battle, death stiffed that passion in his heart, which had made him do so much injustice. As soon as he had given up his last breath, Perca, without amusing herself in unprofitable tears, took great car● to conceal it, until su●h time as she was assured of the minds of the principal persons of Sultania; for as for the men of command, so great a number were slain in the day of battle, as there scarcely rested any considerable enough, strongly to oppose what she meant to undertake. She caused the Council then to be assembled in the name of the Sophy, where she and Ishmael appeared in mourning; and whereas she had wit and subtlety, after she had with feigned tears made the hearts of those that heard h●rpliant, she acquainted them with the death of the Sophy, ●raved their assistance for the direction of Ishmael, and in conclusion shown them a paper, which indeed s●e had made Tachmas to sign, without knowing what he did, whereby he declared, that in case Ishmael should prove incapable of reigning, his intent then was that the Empire should devolve to Perca, not holding them for his lawful successors, which had cast themselves into the arms of his enemy. All those things exceedingly astonished those which heard them; the death of Tachmas afflicted them; the order which he had left did not please; Ismael's Sovereignty was a thing they could not resolve for; and that of Perca seemed yet worse to them. They would willingly have called home again Mahamell, Axiamira, and Ulama; but besides that it was not a proposition to be made to Perca, they were not ignorant that the exiled Princes were no longer in their own power, but in theirs that protected them; and that consequently, they were not to go tumultuously and acquaint the enemy with the death of Tachmas, for fear lest he should make use of this advantage to ruin them; yea, and those persons too whom he had in his hands, and which were so infinitely dear unto them. The most of them then resolved, without making any show thereof, to defer the manifestation of their hatred to Perca, of their contempt of Ishmael, and of their affection to Mahamed, Axiamira, and Vlama, until such time as they had recovered new forces, to the end they might oppose Perca, and to the end also that in making some propositions of peace, they might yet be in a condition to defend themselves, if it were refused. Concealing then their true meaning, after they had lamented the death of Tachmas, they acknowledged Ishmael for their lawful Prince; saying nevertheless to Perca, that she was to assist him with her counsel, and that she should reign under the name of Ishmael. This Princess, who thought that the most faithful might be corrupted, and that particular interest was always preferred before honour and glory, because such were her true thoughts, believed, that if she enriched all these which were in this counsel, she should absolutely gain them to herself, and oblige them to set the crown on her head. To which effect, whenas the Assembly was ready to break up, she said further, that the Sophy her Father having given all his treasure unto her, by a testament which he had made in her favour (as indeed it was true) she did not think that she could better dispose of it, than in distributing it amongst those, that were capable of aiding Ishmael to sustain the Sceptre which he was going to bear. After this, she made them pass, though they were unwilling to it, into a great room, where she had caused all the Sophy's riches, and treasure, to be laid; to the end that by the sight of so tempting an object, their hearts might be overcome with the desire of making themselves masters of it. They proved notwithstanding more generous than she imagined; for although they testified a great deal of acknowledgement to her for her liberality, yet would they not accept of it. In the mean time they resolved to let no body go out of the City, which might acquaint the enemy with the death of Tachmas; for being so powerful as he was, it might give him a mind to come and assault them in Sultania, which otherwise it may be he would not do. During all these things, every one had their designs; Perca thought of nothing but of making Ishmael to be hated; the friends of Mahamed, Axiamira, and Vlama, attended with impatience the troops which were to come unto them from the remote Provinces, to the end they might do that which they thought would be most requisite; Ishmael sought how he might free himself from the care of affairs. Things having continued some time in this sort, it happened in the end that the same facility, which she had so much liked in Ismaels' disposition, gave her a great deal of unquietness, for even i● the like manner as she had made herself mistress of it, so did others: he was no sooner out of his sight, but this Prince altered his mind according to the humour of those that talked with him; and whereas every one was enemy to Perca, as often as she returned to him, she found him changed; and thought it was not difficult for her to bring him to her bow again, yet she feared that at some time or other use would be made of his name to undo her. They, unto whom Ishmael had told that Vlama had saved his life, having reported it to others, all the people came to know it, and began to murmur far more than before. And whereas in such like occasions a weak beginning hath many times great and long consequences; Perca going about to punish one of Ulamaes' ancient domestical servants, for something he had said against her, the people mutined in such sort, as they went and besieged her in her Palace. The servants of Mahamed and Axiamira began then to discover their true intents, in not opposing as much as they might the fury of his incensed people, who began to cry in the streets, let the cruel Perca dye, and long live Mahamed and Axiamira. In the mean time Perca, finding herself in so great a danger, would have made use of Ishmael to reduce this multitude to their duty, by obliging him to take up arms and show himself to the people. But Ishmael who naturally was cowardly and fearful, seeing the danger near, little company about him, and hearing from the chamber where he was that horrible noise which always accompanies sedition, answered her trembling, that for his part, he had rather yield the Crown to Mahamed, than to expose himself to the loss of his life. Ah base coward, cried this ambitious Princess, whosoever is capable of yielding up a Crown, is not worthy to live! In the mean season, the first gates of the Palace were forced, there wanted no more but breaking up the rest for to get in, they which guarded them having abandoned them. In this dreadful estate, Perca taking a dagger, which had been brought to Ishmael out of a belief that he would have armed himself, and seeing that she could not avoid falling into the power of a people filled with fury, did yet what she could to get him to show himself. She joined threaten to entreaties, and perceiving at last that all which she said was in vain, & that in an instant she should no longer be mistress of herself, rage so seized on her soul, as presenting the dagger unto him with an extreme transport; Choose, said she unto him, either to pierce my heart, or to do what I would have you. And when as Ishmael had told her, that he would not do either the one or the other, and that she heard a great noise, whereby she knew that the la●t door was broken open; since thou knowest not, said she unto him, either how to reign, or how to obey, I will keep thee at leastwise from dying a shameful death; saying so she stabbed the dagger into Ismaels' heart, who presently fell down dead, and without further delay struck it into her own bosom, and falling down upon her brother's body, she ceased to be ambitious in ceasing to live. These conspirators being entered into the Palace, and having learned from some of the Princess women the cause of Ismaels' death, and likewise that of Perca, they redoubled their cries, and testified as much joy, as if all their enemies had been defeated. In the mean time the wisest and the most considerable of Sultania had begun to oppose the people, although they loved not Perca; but coming to understand the success of the business, they held it not fit to incense them, but rather in so strange an accident to make use of their zeal in favour of Mahamed and Axiamira. After than that they had let them know, how there was no further need of taking up arms, since the object of their hate was no longer in an estate to hurt them; after that for the calming of their fury, they had removed the bodies of Ishmael and Perca out of the way; and after that they had promised speedily to settle a peace for them, and call home their exiled Princes, every one retired to his own house: and the Council being set, it was advised, that it was no time any longer to defer the propounding of a peace; because if the news of this strange accident should be spread over the Provinces, it might furnish them with a pretext to revolt, and work the utter subversion of this Empire; and that in fine, it was better to yield something unto the enemy, than to put in hazard the losing of all. After this, they chose the most understanding amongst them to be sent as Deputies to Ibrahim, with an absolute power to treat of all things. The grand Visior, as I have said, having received them in the presence of Vlama, and they having acquainted him with this horrible adventure, he that spoke for all the rest, added further, that knowing his generosity they came to propound a peace unto him, upon reasonable conditions; and to demand Prince Mahamed, the Princess Axiamira, and Vlama of him, for the restoring of them to the rank which they ought to hold. That if so be Soliman was their protector, he was to testify it in this occasion; that to draw an unjust advantage from these illustrious persons being in his power, would be the violating of the Law of Nations, and natural equity, since they were there as those that fled to him for refuge, and not as prisoners; but to be contented with the glory of vanquishing, and restoring of those to the Sophy's Throne, which might lawfully pretend unto it, was to do a brave and famous action; that there were more examples found of such as had conquered Empires, than of such as had rendered up Kingdoms; and that there were more which knew how to vanquish their Enemies, than surmount their own ambition. After that this man had said all that he believed was capable to advance the business which he propounded, Ibrahim answered him, that being thoroughly informed of all the Sultan's intentions, and having power to resolve on any thing without receiving new directions, he could assure them that they should have cause to commend him; that his grief was, he could not keep Mahamed and Axiamira from receiving this peace with tears, since they had so lamentable an occasion for it; but whereas this affair directly concerned them, they were to treat with them about it; that in the mean time he held it requisite, that one of them should return to Sultania, to assure the people that ere long they should see their lawful Princes again; and that the rest should go to Bitilisa, to do their duty to Mahamed and Axiamira; that to comfort them for the grief which so doleful an accident would bring them, Ulama should take the pains both to conduct them thither, and also to accompany the Prince, Princess, and Felixana back when they returned. Ulama perceiving that Ibrahim in turning himself towards him, seemed to demand his consent for that which he had spoken, assured him that he was very ready to do it. And whereas he was generous, I doubt not, said he, but the Prince and Axiamira will be sensibly touched with this loss, since I that am not obliged thereunto by so strict bonds, and that have seen myself the object of the hatred and persecution of those whom I bewail, cannot choose but be grieved at the accident which is befallen them. After that Ulama had given sufficient proof of his generosity by his sorrow, and that Ibrahim had commended him for so noble a resentment, he gave him commission to take care of the Deputies of Sultania till the next day, when he thought it fit they should departed for to go and fetch Mahamed, which accordingly was executed. Ulama parted with those that were to accompany him, carrying Letters from Ibrahtm to the Princess; one of the Deputies went to Sultania, and the Grand Visier remained with a joy that cannot be expressed; for whereas he was persuaded that the beginning of his felicity depended on the happy end of this war, seeing the favourable means which fortune presented him with to terminate it speedily and with glory, he could not render thanks enough to heaven for so advantageous a success. And whereas he knew that the people generally desired peace, he was assured that the treaty of it would be agreeable to every body; not knowing that Soliman had any other interest in this war, than that of the glory of his Arms. In this thought it might be said, that never any Lover absent from his Mistress was so happy as he, whilst he entertained himself with so sweet a hope. In the mean time Ulama arrived at Bitilisa, presented the Deputies to Prince Mahamed and the Princess Axiamira, and delivering Ibrahim's letter to her, and acquainting them with the loss they had sustained, they being generous instantly forgot all the persecutions they had suffered, and no longer remembered aught but that Tachmas was their father, Ishmael was their brother, and Perca their sister; in the thought whereof they were extremely afflicted with their loss. But at length, Ulama having imparted to them the generous designs of Ibrahim, and how necessary their presence was to their people for their consolation against so many miseries as they had endured, they set forth on their way. As for Ulama, the sight of his dear Felixana comforted him for the loss of his enemies, and the Princes and Princess' sorrow was to both of them their greatest displeasure. In the end after they had traveled with as much speed as the accommodation of Axiamira would permit, they arrived at Ibrahims' Camp; who understanding that they were at hand went to receive them with three thousand of his own quarter; and to testify the more respect unto them he appeared that day in mourning, and said so many generous and obliging things unto them, as they were constrained to acknowledge, that if fortune had done him right, he should have been King of all the world. When as Ibrahim had conducted them to their Tents, which he had caused to be prepared for them with a great deal of magnificence, and had treated Mahamed, as being Sophy of Persia, he said unto him, that he was happy amidst his unhappiness, in beginning his reign with the end of the war, and in being able to make the first declaration, which he should publish to his people, be a Treaty of peace; but that he might not defer this pleasure to them, and this glory to himself, it behoved him to propound such a one as he would have. It is not for the vanquished, said Mahamed, to impose a Law on the vanquishers, but only for them to receive it. He that knows to use a victory so well, said Axiamira interrupting him, as to speak in this sort to them which owe their lives and liberty to him, ought alone to make it such as he pleaseth, since it is certain that he can do nothing that is unjust. After that these illustrious persons had rendered all the civilities to one another which their generosity obliged them unto, they fell to accord upon the Articles of this peace, which were so advantageous for the two Empires, and so glorious for Ibrahim, as the people and the soldiers, who will meddle with judging of all things without knowledge, and out of interest, could find nothing to murmur at. This Treaty, having been signed by Axiamira, for the supplying of Mahameds' defect, was also signed by Ibrahim, by Ulama, by the Deputies of Sultania, and by the chiefest of Ibrahims' Army. After this, Mahamed, who had always loved Axiamira exceedingly, desired her that she would share in his power, and having requested her that she would be his guide, she promised him, that as she had never had a design to marry, so she would neither think of it, nor abandon him. And in this manner she satisfied that which she owed to her own inclination, that which Mahamed desired of her, and that which the memory of Prince Gianger required of her generosity. Mahamed then asked of Ulama, whether he would not enjoy the felicity of his reign? And think not, said he unto him, that succeeding to the Sophy, I will succeed to his passions; I shall be your Prince, and your Friend, but I shall never be your Rival. Ulama answered to this discourse with a great deal of generosity; and whereas the love to ones Country is strong enough in every man's soul; and whereas there was a very straght union between all these illustrious persons; though Ulama was exceedingly obliged to the Sultan, and that he loved Ibrahim as much as himself, yet he resolved to abandon his protector for to follow his lawful Prince. Things being in this estate, Arsalon arrived luckily for himself, accompanied with Osman and Alibech; and whereas Ibrahim was presently advertised thereof, he went and received them, and conducted them to Axiamiraes' Tent, where Mahamed was: and after he had recounted unto them the history of Arsalon, whereof the beginning was not unknown to them; after he had commended the generosity of Osman and Alibech, and excused the violence of her father, he obtained this grace of the new Sophy, who engaged his word to him to restore him to his former dignity. In the mean time the Articles of the Peace had been published, both in the Army, and in Sultania, with great signs of rejoicing on either side; and the hour of separation being come, the Sophy said to Ibrahim, that owing his Life, his Liberty, and the Crown which he was going to wear, unto him, he felt himself obliged to tell him, that he should always find him ready to hazard them for his service: In fine, said he unto him, generous Ibrahim, I owe unto you not only that which you have done for me, not only the good which my Empire receives from you, but also that which you have done for the Princess Axiamira, for Felixana, and for Ulama. Judge after this, if without being ingrateful I can be meanly acknowledging. And I profess unto you, added he, in taking his last farewell of him, that the most sensible sorrow which ever my blindness gave me, is that which I now feel, for that I cannot see my Protector. Jbrahim going to answer him, was hindered from it by Axiamira; Defend not yourself, said she unto him, with an unjust modesty, and permit, that now at parting, we may testify unto you, how not finding means to oblige you, we are not unworthy to be obliged, since we know how to prise your virtue, and esteem of the rare qualities that are in you. And for my particular, added she, I hold Soliman to be greater, more mighty, and more happy in having you for his Subject, than in being Master of so great a number of Provinces, which make him to be redoubted over all the earth. You so confound me, Madam, answered Jbrahim, with an high respect, as I cannot answer you; but know, said he, that into what part of the world soever fortune carries me, you shall ever have of me a faithful and passionate servant. If one might be a Subject out of choice, you would have too many, said he unto them, your virtue would make deserts of all your Neighbours Kingdoms; and this conquest would be so much the more glorious to you, for that it would not extend to any but to reasonable persons; for that you would have none but illustrious subjects; and for that without arms you would disarm all your Enemies. After many other civilities, Mahamed being mounted alone into a Chariot, and Axiamira into another with her dear Felixana, who in her particular had rendered thanks unto Ibrahim for all the happiness of her life; Ulama stayed yet a little while with him; and though they said little, yet left they not testifying the extreme affection which they bore to one another; since maugre the interests which were to separate them, they felt a world of grief. Arsalon in like manner thanked Ibrahim for the grace he had obtained for him, and for that which he had formerly done to Alibech; who seeing her father part could not forbear shedding of tears; Osman did the like; and the Grand Vifier having promised Arsalon to take care of them, and to protect them as much as he could, this generous Pirate comforting his daughter, told her, that owing more to her husband than to him, it was just that she should follow his fortune; and that she had done enough in getting him the honour and liberty to go & die in his country, to make it appear she had quitted herself towards him for the life he had given her. At last all these generous persons being separated, Osman and Alibech began their journey, and Ibrahim having given them a Convoy to secure them from the outrage of disbanded Soldiers, which they should happen to meet with, thought of nothing but of withdrawing his troops out of the enemy's country; to the end that being upon the frontier, he might quit the Army, and go to carry the news himself of his Victory, and of the Peace to Soliman. He discamped then the next day with a great deal of order and diligence; howbeit he had the satisfaction before his going out of Persia to understand, that Mahamed had been received into the throne of his Fathers with joy; that Ulama had married Felixana; that Arsalon was received to his dignity; and that after so many misfortunes those Illustrious persons were happy: For Mahamed and Axiamira took care to advertise him of it, in sending him so magnificent a Present, as there was no King in the world but it was worthy of. Axiamira wrote also to Soliman in the name of the Sophy and of herself, wherein with a great deal of address she found the means to make the Illustrious Bassas Elogium. In the mean time he advanced as much as he could, and they were no sooner in Soliman's Territories, but he committed the conduct of them to the Bassa Piali; and after he had sent one of his servants certain days before hand to Pera, he took the same way, followed by some of the Commanders: and wholly filled with hope, love, and joy, he arrived there when as it was so late in the night, as the Port was shut, and the Guards set; so that how impatient soever he was to see Isabel, he was constrained to attend till the next morning, being unwilling for this time to make use of the privilege which he had.    

The Fifth Book.  
THe Illustrious Bassa having past the whole night without sleeping, so much had the hope of seeing Isabel pleasingly entertained him, sent as soon as the Sun appeared to know whether Soliman would be pleased that he should come wait upon him, and render him an account of his voyage. The Sultan surprised with a thing which he had not much apprehended, in regard he thought it not so near, gave not his answer so speedily. He marvelled at the grand Viziers return, considering the order which he had sent him, not to come back before he heard from him, what prosperous success soever he should happen to have; but in fine, it being no longer time to reason on things past, and being constrained to answer precisely to that which was demanded of him, his mind was in a great disorder. The name of Ibrahim, who was so near, possessed him with some remorse of his fault, but the thought then of losing the Princess, made him instantly repent him of so good a motion, and wish never to see Ibrahim more, that he might still retain Isabel, whom he had not seen since that cruel instant, wherein out of his fear of the Bassas return he had joined threaten to entreaties, and given her but only eight day's time to resolve once for all, whereof six were already past when as the Bassa came back to Constantinople; and he had been three months away without any news at all of him, so exactly had the resolution which he had taken for it been executed. But in fine, how violent soever Soliman's love was, yet could he not resolve to see Ibrahim, and keep Isabel from him: For whereas he had always a strong disposition in his heart to good, and some thoughts of friendship for the Grand Visier, the shame of his crime, the small hope he had of vanquishing Isabel, and the short time he had to resolve in, made him send Ibrahim word that he might come presently; and that at his arrival he should find Isabel at his Palace, whither he was going to return her: This Prince certainly would never have yielded to this, had he had any hope left of gaining the Princess' heart; but since the day that he had last spoken with her, and that he had taken great care to have her narrowly observed, he had learned, that she was in so great an affliction, as he was afraid the extremity of her grief would kill her: So that considering he should commit a crime to no purpose, if he should retain Jsabella, he was the more easily induced to let her go forth of the Seraglio. In this thought he would not see her, but sent for the Sultana Asteria, who was no sooner come to him, but he commanded her to go and tell Jsabella, that Ibrahim was returned, and that out of an excess of bounty he permitted her to go out of the Seraglio; but that she should beware of acquainting the Grand Visier with aught that he had said unto her, because an extreme-mischief might thereby arrive both to him, and to her. Asteria went and executed her commission with a great deal of pleasure; for albeit she loved Isabel very dearly, yet the desire of her conservation was stronger in her soul, than her own content. The Princess received this news with so excessive a joy, as her heart was not capable of resenting it sufficiently; Emilia likewise was infinitely glad of it: At first Jsabella could not believe it; after she had believed it she gainsaid herself; and she was so accustomed to misfortune, as she could not think so great a good hap was befallen her. In the mean time the Chariot, which was to carry her to Jbrahims' Palace, being come, she embraced the Sultana Asteria; promised her that Soliman should have no cause to complain of he●; gave her thanks for her goodness in protecting her; assured her that she would never lose the memory of it; and then she got into the Chariot with Emilia, and went to Jbrahims' Palace to meet with her friends, to whom she gave a greater and a purer joy, than that which she felt herself, for as she was going into the Chariot, that Slave, whom Soliman had so often employed to her, came and told her from him, that in going out of the Seraglio she did not go out of his power, and that he would not fail to send to know her resolution; that nevertheless he would to favour her give her yet eight days longer for it. For as if the Prince had undertaken to be his own enemy, and to punish his own fault, he scarcely form a design but he straightway destroyed it; so that he had no sooner let Isabel know that she should go out of the Seraglio, but he seemed to repent it, and sent that slave, Roxelanaes' confident, with that message to her: and she was no sooner gone, but his love, and the desire of seeing her augmented; nevertheless in regard the thing was done, and that Ibrahim was suddenly to arrive, he changed not his order. In the mean time the grand Visier, having made no doubt but that he should easily obtain the permission which he had desired of Soliman, caused a stately Galliot, which he knew was in the Arsenal at Pera, to be launched into the water; and it was for this purpose that he had sent one of his servants certain days before, to the end he should give order secretly for the having of it in a readiness against he came. As soon then as he understood the Sultan's pleasure he embarked himself, attended by all the Commanders which had accompanied him: and truly there was never a more magnificent or more agreeable object seen than this Galliot, especially when Ibrahim was aboard it. All that was looked upon was painted and gilded; the whole Poop was hung with Persian Tapestry, whose ground was gold; it was covered all over with flags and streamers of divers colours; all the slaves that rowed were fastened with silver chains, and all of them had garments of cloth of gold; twelve Trumpeters were on the Curtsy clothed in velvet, whose ground was gold; all the Commanders apparel was embroidered with pearls and diamonds; and in the midst of this stately troup stood Ibrahim alone, though he had six great cushions of cloth of gold at his feet; He held in his hand a battoun of command, and was so superbly apparelled, as it was easy to perceive that this petty triumph was an effect of peace, since riches and abundance were every where seen, and very few marks of war. Ibrahim had that day on a robe of cloth of silver, embroidered with gold and diamonds, intermixed with certain carnation silk twist, which added very much to the beauty of that habit; His turban was covered all over with carnation and white plumes of feathers, set up with jewels of diamonds of an inestimable value; His Scymitar, and the golden chains whereunto it was fastened, were answerable to the gorgeousness of his garment: now although silk, silver, gold, pearl, and diamonds richly appeared there, yet might it be said with truth, that Ibrahim gave rather a new lustre to all those things, than that he received any from them. His shape was goodly, well made, and advantageous; his carriage free and noble; his face oval; his eyes black, and full of fire and sweetness; his mouth agreeable; his complexion neither too delicate, nor too gross, neither too pale, nor too red; but such as Mars is painted, when as he is amorously represented unto us; His hair was of chestnut colour; and his nose somewhat aquilin, yet so as it served to give him the better aspect; His physiognomy was promising and sprightful; his soul was seen in his eyes, his courage and his affability appeared equally in them; and without having aught of the beauty of a woman, he was the goodliest man that ever was beheld. In fine there was seen in his whole person, a lofty air without pride, a gallantry without affectation, a neglectful handsomeness, a freeness without artifice, a civility without constraint, and something so great and so high therein, as one could not behold him without judging him worthy to wear a crown. All these natural graces had a new lustre the day wherein Ibrahim entered into Constantineople, and the hope of seeing Isabel had painted such a joy in his face, as gave him a certain extraordinary agreeableness. This petty triumph was not without spectators; for Ibrahims' return being known, whereas he was universally beloved, all the Grandees of the Port, and all the people of Constantinople, repaired to the Haven, and by the shouts which they gave as soon as the Galliot approached, they testified their zeal and affection to him. Soliman, more provoked than by the agitation of his soul, and by an impatience without reason, than by the good will which he bore to Ibrahim, had also placed himself upon a Terrace with a Ballustrade of Jasper, which looks to the Sea on that side; and when every one still continued their shouts of joy, Must all these people, said he to himself, reproach me with my fault; must the sight of Ibrahim cause more joy in them than in me? and must he be more beloved of them than of me, who am obliged thereunto by so many reasons? Yes, said he, Love and Isabel will have it so, and I cannot hinder it. But at length Ibrahims Galliot being come so near, as it permitted him to discern Soliman, who was leaning on the Balustrade, he saluted him with a profound respect, and being landed, all the people redoubled their shouts. The most considerable approached to salute him, and they that could not do so, did at the least what they could to be seen of him. After that this multitude had sufficiently considered him, whom they acknowledged for their Protector, Ibrahim, followed by all ●he Grandees, and all the people, went to the Seraglio, where he entered alone; for Soliman feeling the disorder of his soul, would not give him any but a private audience. When as he was come into the Sultan's chamber, Soliman could not choose but be somewhat glad, yet was he possessed with confusion at the very same instant, and received not the Bassa with that freeness, wherewith he was wont to testify the affection which he bore him. Before time, he would rather have spoken to him of the grief his absence had been the cause of to him; of the fear he was in for him; of the health of Isabel; and of the joy he had for his return; than of affairs of State: but in this encounter, he would needs have him at the very first render him an account of the War; and although he had resolved to give Ibrahim no marks of the disorder of his soul, yet could he not forbear it. In the midst of his relation he asked of him, whether he had not received a new order which he had sent him? And when as Ibrahim had assured him that he had not, he seemed to be vexed at it, without telling him what it was: And at such time as the Grand Visier had informed him, how advantageous the peace which he had made in Persia was for him, he could not choose but tell him things, which might make him judge, that he would have been glad he had not terminated the War as yet. Howbeit Ibrahim suspected nothing else of it, but that during his absence Roxlana and Rustan had persuaded him from making a Peace so soon. This thought gave him some unquietness, nevertheless it presently diminished; for Soliman perceiving what he had done, disguised his mind a little better; and out of a sense of jealousy, he began to caress Ibrahim more, to the end that retaining him the longer w●th him, he should not go so soon to see Isabel; it being certain that out of ●n excess of passion, Solim●n looked no more on the Bassa after his return, but with that unquietness, which the sight of a favoured Rival gives. But at length Ibrahim, who did not penetrate into the truth of things, seeing that the Sultan still retained him, and that he had no sooner answered to one question, but straightway he asked him another; My Lord, said he unto him (with the same freedom wherewith he was used to talk to him) will thy highness be pleased to permit me, now that I have given an account of my voyage to my Master, that I may go and do my duty to my Mistress. Soliman blushed at this discourse, and desiring to conceal his confusion from the Bassa, he dismissed him sooner than otherwise he would have done; and remained in so extraordinary an unquietness, as he thought twenty times to call back Ibrahim, to send and seize upon Isabel, to secure himself of the one, to cause the other to be brought into the Seraglio again, and in the end to proceed to the l●st violence. A little beam of light, and a great deal of confusion, kept him nevertheless from executing his bad designs; and his soul was never so resolved for evil, as that he could do it without repugnancy. In the mean time Ibrahim went to his Palace, where he was expected with a great deal of impatience; but he was exceedingly surprised, when as he found, Doria, Horatio, Alphonso, and the French Marquis waiting for him in the Fore-Court. At first he doubted of the report of his eyes, yea and was a good while hearing his friends talk, before he could absolutely believe that which he saw to be true. He embraced them all with as much transport of joy, as he had affection for them; for all those that had followed him, had out of respect and by his commandment left him at the first entrance into his Palace. But above all the rest he could not choose but behold Doria with amazement, and ask of him whether it were true indeed that it was he? As they were standing there, Ibrahim chancing to cast up his eyes was yet more amazed, when as he espied on the footpace of the Ballustrade that divided his Court, Isabel coming towards him; accompanied with Sophronia, Hippolita, Emilia, and Leonida. What enchantment, cried he in advancing towards Isabel, makes me see so many wonders together? am I at Constantinople, or at Genova? and may I believe what I see? You are still in a place, said Isabel, where you have been extremely wished for, and where vows have been made for your return. You see, Madam, said he unto her, in kissing her hand which she had given him, that they have not been in vain, since I can assure you, that my voyage hath been prosperous, and that I am still absolutely yours. After this, Ibrahim saluted these four beautiful companions of the infortunate Isabel, who each of them in their particular made him a compliment; and than Ibrahim having lent the Princess his hand, this fair troop entered into the Palace, and went to Isabellaes' chamber. It was there where these illustrious friends testified the true thoughts which they had for one another; Ibrahim nevertheless marvelled to see fewer marks of joy in Isabellaes' face, than in that of all the rest, which had not so much interest in his person: Notwithstanding whereas he saw that her complexion was a little pale, he believed that it was an effect of some sickness which she had had; and in this thought he went on in entertaining his friends with liberty enough of spirit. He understood confusedly, and in few words, that which had brought them to Constantinople, but not without grief was he acquainted with the Count of Lavagnaes' and Leonora's deplorable death. You see, said Isabel to him then sighing, that there is never any joy so pure for us, but it is mixed with some bitterness. She said this in such a fashion, as gave him cause to think that Isabel had some thing which was displeasing in her mind; so that he resolved as soon as in civility he could speak to her without being heard, not to lose the occasion for it, which instantly presented itself. For all those persons were too intelligent, and knew too well how to love, to be ignorant, that after a long absence it would have been some inhumanity to keep two hearts that loved one another so perfectly, from communicating their thoughts in private; so that presently after they were risen from meat, some went into the Cabinet, some into the Gallery, and Aemilia alone remained in a corner of the chamber with the French Marquis. In the mean time Isabel was not without unquietness, the remembrance of what Soliman had said to her possessed all her soul, and the incertainty wherein she was, whether she should impart it to Jbrahim, or whether she should not speak to him of it, put her mind upon the wrack. What shall I do, said she to herself, in so cross an encounter? If I conceal the truth of that which hath befallen me from him, I trespass against our affection, and it may be put his life and my honour in jeopardy: But if I tell it to him, continued she, and he cannot forbear testifying somewhat of it, when as the Sultan hath enjoined me not to speak of it, we are undone, and nothing can save us. If I stay too, added she, till Soliman sends to me for the answer, which he will have me give him within eight days, what shall I do then? and what shall I say to Jbrahim? And if I come to the point to be constrained to acquaint him with his unhappiness and mine, what may he think of my silence? and what lawful excuse can I make to him for it? But if it should happen too, that Soliman hath repent him, and that he sent not the slave to me, but only to try my discretion, I should be guilty of all the mischiefs that might follow thereupon, if by my imprudence and by my inconsideration I should go and acquaint Jbrahim with a thing which certainly he could never conceal. In this uncertainty was the Princess, when as Jbrahim remained alone with her; and whereas this thought made her extremely musing: May I, said he unto her, Madam, without losing the respect which I own unto you, complain to you of yourself, in reproaching you for that you have not as much joy for my return, as you had grief for my departure? If this be a crime, said the Princess, it is true that I am guilty of it; yet can I assure you, added she, that it is not occasioned by any defect of affection, but by an habit which I have gotten of melancholy, I am afflicted more easily than I am comforted; I am more sensible of grief, than of joy; and in the estate wherein I find myself, there needs more things by far to content me, than there needs to render me infinitely unhappy. It is not, continued she, because your return doth not give me all the joy that I am capable of, and even to that height, as without this remedy I am persuaded I should not have lived long; but in conclusion we are at Constantinople, and that is no little evil. Jbrahim hearing Isabel speak in this sort, and observing her eyes and her face, he confirmed himself yet more in the opinion which he had; so that to be the better cleared therein, I confess, said he unto her, that we are always nearer to bad fortune, than to good; but you must confess unto me withal, that until such time as Soliman hath refused us the liberty which I am to ask of him, you have not so much cause to be melancholic, as you had when I parted for Persia. The event of the war was doubtful; it might have been long; I might have been beaten; I might have died there; and since none of these hath happened, and that I may justly demand my liberty for a recompense, why do I, Madam, see more signs of grief in your mind, than when we had all to fear, and nothing to hope for? The Princess not answering precisely to Jbrahim, began to make him partake her unquietness. He believed then that he was more unhappy than he thought he was; and suddenly calling to mind the change which he had noted in Soliman's face, he no longer doubted but that there was something which Isabel d●d not tell him. What accident, said he unto her, Madam, is befallen us? Hath fortune invented some new torment to persecute us withal? Speak I earnestly beseech you, and whatsoever it may be, be pleased to let me know it. Jsabella would then have put him off, with assuring him that she had no new matter to acquaint him with; but the more she stood off, the more unquietness she gave him: Wherefore he began to cast in his mind what the mischief might be, which would not be told him; Hath any one, said he unto her, wronged you during my absence? hath any body conspired against your life? hath the hate which Roxelana bears me, carried her to seek the means to hurt you? would she have sacrificed you to her revenge, as she hath sacrificed Prince Mustapha to her rage? would they have forced you to change your Religion? hath Rustan plotted any thing against me? and (that which would be my last misery, and which I think cannot possibly be) is Soliman become my Rival, or mine Enemy? The Princess thereupon not able to retain her tears, put her hand before her eyes to conceal them from Ibrahim. Ah! Madam, said he unto her then, gently pulling down her arm, do you answer me with tears? can it be possible, that this Prince should hate me, or love you too much? leave me not long in pain, and I beseech you, Madam, express yourself more clearly. I would I could draw you out of it, answered the Princess still weeping, but since I cannot conceal that from you, which I have been commanded not to let you know, and that my tears have betrayed me, believe what they have told you, for it is but too true, and save me the labour of using any longer discourse to you on so strange a subject. What, cried out Jbrahim then, wholly transported with grief, doth Soliman love you! He hath told me so, replied she, and in such a manne●, as makes me look upon death as the only remedy that is left us to avoid his fury. After this, Jbrahim having in an instant exactly run over all that the Grand Signior had said to him, no longer doubted of his unhappiness, and in th●s certainty he said all that a just resentment could make one say in a like adventure. What, cried he out, this Prince, who is so great, so generous; who hath loved me so tenderly; and who hath seen me ready to die, because I was absent from the incomparable Isabel, will he ravish her from me for ever; and stab a dagger into the heart of a man, that hath hazarded his life for his glory, and that had committed this illustrious person to his protection! after this, said he to Isabel, I will no longer trust myself; I believe, Madam, that I can betray you; I believe that I can abandon you; and that I can be your enemy; since the greatest Prince of the earth hath been capable of violating the law of Nations, as well as natural equity; of betraying the friendship which he had promised me; of forgetting the services which I have done for him; of despising virtue; of not harkening to reason; and of blemishing his own glory with an unjust passion. But, Madam, added he, I am too blame myself, and I am the cause of your misery: for why should not I fear any thing from a Prince, who had dipped his hands in the blood of his son for an unjust love? he that had been capable of so cruel a thought, might easily forget the respect which he owed to your virtue; & I am not excusable for abandoning you. It is no time to speak of that which is past, said the Princess unto him, but to think of that which is to come. Ibrahim was not for all that in an estate to give counsel, for his mind was filled with so many several thoughts, as he scarcely understood what Isabel said unto him. He was possessed with grief, anger, and repentance; hatred and jealousy had also some place in his soul; nevertheless in the midst of his transports, and although the interest of Isabel prevailed over all others, yet had he loved Soliman so much, that there were some instants, wherein without considering Isabel, and without considering himself, he was afflicted for that this Prince had given this blemish to his life. But when as he surprised himself in this thought, he repent of it, as of a crime, and re-entered into his former fury. At length, after that Isabel and he had said all that their grief and affection could suggest, and that the Princess had related to Ibrahim all that she believed was necessary he should know, the better to advise on that which they had to do, they found that their reason was too much troubled, and they themselves too much interessed in the business in question, for to judge sound thereof. They resolved then to call unto this counsel, both their he and she friends; to the end that all of them together might seek out the means to avoid the mischief that menaced them. Isabel for that effect willed Emilia to call them, and the French Marquis taking this employment upon him, brought this fair troup a little after into the Princess chamber, who with tears in her eyes craved pardon of her dear friends, for having made a secret to them of a thing, which she would fain have concealed from herself; and then, having recounted the estate wherein she was with Soliman, she filled their hearts with grief, both for the interest which they had in her fortune, and for their own; knowing very well that their liberty depended on Ibrahim and Isabel, who being at odds themselves with Soliman, were not like to obtain that for others, which they could not obtain for themselves. This misery then being common, they all fell to think of what might be done. Some would have Ibrahim, without testifying any knowledge of this unjust love, pursue his first design, and demand his liberty of Soliman, because, said they, it may be that this Prince being ashamed of his fault, and incensed with Isabella's constancy, will grant him his request, and resolve to deprive himself of the sight of a man whom he can no longer look upon but with confusion, and of a person, whom it is impossible for him to conquer. But Ibrahim opposed this opinion; for whereas he knew Soliman full well, he was sure that love being once entered into his heart, would never go out of it again but with violence; and that he could not be capable of repenting, but when as the crimes which love made him commit, were far greater than his passion. Then it was propounded, that no resolution should be taken, till the eight days, which Soliman had given Isabel to make her answer in, were expired; because the sight of Ibrahim it might be had revived the friendship which he bore him, and had banished, or dimished the love which he carried to her. But if Ibrahim was opposite to the first advice that was given, the Princess said that she would never consent to this second: for in conclusion, said she, after that which Soliman hath spoken to me, there are but two remidies to be chosen, either death or flight. The last is the best, replied the Marquis, and if I may be believed, it shall be the only thing we will think of. This advise having been found the surest and the easiest, there was nothing more thought of, than of seeking out the means to execute it. It was not because Ibrahim did not upon the first apprehension of it follow this opinion with repugnancy, but because he was persuaded, that a Prince, who committed so great an infidelity against him, could not complain of him with reason for his going out of his Empire without his consent. In this thought he considered with the rest, which way they might draw themselves out of captivity; in the end the resolution was, that Ibrahim, being able to do what he would, should secretly assure himself of a vessel; and that until it was ready to part, he should see Soliman as often as possible he could, and take great care to keep him from suspecting that Isabel had spoken to him of his love to her. The rest of the day being spent in this sort, the next morning the Grand Visier having understood that there was a Christian Vessel which was to set sail the day ensuing, wrought in such manner as he absolutely assured himself of her; and without any bodies being ware of it, he caused a great many Christian slaves, which were newly delivered, to enter into her. After he had taken this order, he went to see Soliman again, but it was with so much repugnancy, as it fell out well for him that he did not see him; it being most certain, that whereas he was not accustomed to disguise his thoughts, it would have been impossible for him not to have testified somewhat of that which he had in his heart. When he arrived at the Seraglio, he was told that the Grand Signior was at the Sultana Queen's lodging; and whereas it was the only place in the outward Seraglio, where Ibrahim entered not, he returned to his Palace; and there as long as the day lasted, he received the visits of all the Bassas, Beglerbeis, and Sangiaes', that were at Constantinople. In the mean time Soliman was not without unquietness, he would willingly have had Ibrahim always with him, to keep him from being with Jsabella, and would willingly withal never have seen him, since he could not do so without being ashamed of his fault; and indeed it was out of this consideration that he was gone to the Sultanaes' lodging, that he might decline the sight of him. It was not because his mind was quieter in that place than in another; for he carried his torment in his heart. His love, Jsabellaes' constancy, and Jbrahims' return, possessed him with strange thoughts; and in the disorder wherein his soul was, he made wishes against his own glory, and would that Jbrahim had been beaten in Persia; that his Army had been defeated; and that with a lawafull pretext he could banish him from the Port, and retain Jsabella. It was not because he knew not that his designs were unjust, but it was because his passion was instead of reason to him, and made him deal in this sort. Roxelana on her side was not in a little pain; she saw Jsabella out of the Seraglio; and albeit the Slave, her confident, had assured her, that Soliman had not changed his mind for this Princess, yet she feared that seeing her no longer, and seeing Jbrahim, the love which he bore to Jsabella would diminish, and that his good will to the Bassa would reassume new forces. Howbeit she hoped that Jsabella would acquaint the Grand Visier with the love that the Sultan bore her; and that thereupon he would do something which might give him opportunity to ruin him. In this belief an hour after Jsabella was gone out of the Seraglio she sent to will Rustan that he should carefully observe all Jbrahims actions by the same Slave which before times had informed him of the Love that he carried to Jsabella. Rustan obeyed her so exactly, that what care soever the Grand Visier took to conceal his design, yet did he suspect it. First he understood that the Bassa had enquired, whether there were any Christian vessels in the Port that were to set sail in a few days, and that he had been told that one was to part the night following; he understood likewise by the Slave which was his confident, that after all strangers were gone from him, he went into the Princess' chamber, and that without heeding him he had said to her, that he came from receiving the last visits of his Courtiers. This man told him also, that the Italian Slave, in whom the Grand Visier greatly confided, seemed to be very busy; as indeed it was he, who had in charge to see that the vessel was made ready to set sail; and who by Jbrahims' order had provided all things necessary for their departure. Rustan having received this advice, just as it was night, let not for all that to go to the Seraglio, to advertise Roxelana of it; but whereas it was an unseasonable hour, he was constrained to give to a Capigibassi a Letter which he had written in case he could not speak with her. Roxelana had no sooner received it, but she went herself without further consulting to acquaint Soliman with what Rustan had certified; and whereas this Prince, blinded by his passion, sought but for a pretext to complain of Jbrahim, he harkened to her with a great deal of impatience, which Roxelana having observed, she made use of the occasion, and told him, how she had a long time known that Jbrahim favoured the Christians; that without doubt he had some hidden design, which could not be comprehended; and adding yet more to that which Rustan had written, she so wrought, that Soliman, to be cleared in the business, resolved to send to Jbrahims' Palace for him. And whereas there was no body about him whom he judged fit for it, Roxelana having propounded Rustan unto him, who she said was at the gate of the Seraglio, he consented thereunto; and having caused him to enter, the Sultan commanded him to go to Jbrahims' Palace, and will him to come presently to him. For Soliman doubted not, if it were true that he had caused a vessel to be made ready, but that it was for Jsabella, or for his friends; and that so, which soever it were, he should have (according to the mind he was in) a just occasion to ruin Jbrahim. But Rustan was not like to find him at home; for as soon as it was night, he had caused Jsabella, Sophronia, Hippolita, Leonida, Emilia, with the rest of their troup to go secretly out of his Palace; and he himself had got out after them through a door of his Garden, which was towards the Port, to embark himself in that vessel which he had made to be prepared, and whereof the Captain and the Pilot were absolutely his, by means of the money which he had caused to be given to them. Before his departure he had written a Letter to Soliman, and had left it with one of his servants, with order, that if any one came to ask for him from the Grand Signior, to deliver it unto him; so that Rustan arriving at his house, found him not. It was in vain that he enquired after him, and what care soever he took for it, he could learn no other, than that he was not in his Palace; that Jsabella, his friends, and her friends, were not there neither; and that he had left a Letter for the Grand Signior. Rustan having taken it, sent to the Port to learn whether any vessel had set sail, and then went in all haste to the Sultan, to acquaint him with Jbrahims' flight, and present him with the Letter which he had written to him; for he durst not conceal it, though gladly he would, because many had seen it delivered to him. My Lord, said he when he was come unto him, Jbrahim is no longer at Constantinople. This speech amazed Soliman; but when he knew that Jsabella was out of his power he felt a redoubling of love, jealousy, anger, hatred, despair, and fury. And when as Rustan had given him Jbrahims' Letter, he broke up the seal with violence, and not knowing whethe● he should read or tear it, he stood a pretty while without speaking; but at length carried by his curiosity, or rather by his passion, he opened it sighing, and found that it was thus.  
Ibrahims' Letter to Soliman.  
HEaven be my witness, whether I could not more easily resolve to quit my life, than go out of thy Empire, without taking leave of thy Higbness, were I not forced thereunto, both by an interest of honour, and by a sense of love. Thou knowest too well how exactly I have kept my word with thee, in coming to take my former chains upon me again, for thee to suspect I would commita fault lightly. I could in consideration of thy Highness, quit Isabel at Monaco, but I confess that I could not abandon her at Constantinople. In fine, my Lord, to excuse my fault, consider what love hath made thee do; this passion hath made thee forget the friendship which thou hadst promised me; it hath carried thee to hate me, it hath constrained thee to banish reason from thy soul, and no longer to remember, that this Ibrahim from whom thou wouldst take away his life, in taking Isabel from him, is the same who in times past quitted Isabel for the love of thee, and who would die with joy for thy service. Thou seest then, my Lord, to what this passion hath carried thee, in regard whereof excuse that which it compels me to do. I do not fly from Soliman, but from the passion which masters him; and without complaining of him, I accuse the beauty of Isabel; and I part away the unhappiest man that is, because I cannot do so without displeasing thy Highness.  
Justiniano.  
Soliman nothing moved with this Letter, tore it after he had read it; and the confusion which it brought to his soul, instead of begetting repentance, augmented his fury the more. Let this ingrateful wretch, said he to Rustan, be pursued, and let all that is possible be done to return him into my power. Roxelana entering hereupon into Soliman's chamber, from whence she had gone a little after Rustans' departure, and perceiving his mind to be in the terms wherein she had long desired to have it, provoked his anger yet more; and propounded unto him the employing of Rustan in the pursuit of Jbrahim: But that which she thought cunningly to do succeeded not with her; her intention was so to use the matter, as Rustan should not find Jbrahim: For whereas her interest was, that he should no longer have power, nor be longer at the Port, she feared if he should be brought back again, that she should not oblige Soliman to ruin him uttetly; and so he might return into grace again. Howbeit this design was not executed; for besides that she could not speak with Rustan in private, the Grand Signior so absolutely commanded him to bring him back Ibrahim and Jsabella, or never to return, as she was constrained to let him go without saying any thing to him. He went then in all haste to take a Galley to pursue him, because he had understood from him whom he had sent to the Port, that a Christian vessel had set sail by the Grand Viziers order a little before. He embarked himself then with all the speed that possibly he could; and not doubting but that he took the way of the Archipelago, he made his Pilot hold the same course. In the mean time Soliman was not without unquietness; the privation of a good which he ardently desired, made him regard it as a thing yet more precious; Isabel appeared to him more amiable than ever he had seen her; yea he believed that it may be he might one day have won her heart; and in this belief he was infinitely afflicted. He looked upon Jbrahim with hatred, and this Prince was so unjust, as no longer to remember either his merit, his courage, or the friendship he had born him; nor to consider him in this occasion but as his Rival, and as a man who had stolen a person from him, of whom he was infinitely amorous. In this unjust thought he termed him ingrateful, he called him ravisher, unfaithful, and perfidious; and thinking of nothing but how to find out means to ruin him, out of a sense of jealousy he said, Were I sure that I should never touch the heart of Jsabella, yet I shall always have this advantage, if they be brought back to me again, that I can separate them for ever; and I shall at leastwise have this satisfaction, that if Jsabelln be not mine, she shall never be any bodies else. Whilst Soliman was incensing his fury and his rage, Jsabella and tha● dear troup, which she loved so much, were already thinking of giving thanks to Heaven for their deliverance. For whereas they had embarked themselves at the beginning of the night, they believed that when their flight came the next day to be known, they should be then far enough off from being taken any more: So that Jsabellaes' mind was quiet enough; and the hope of being soon out of the Grand Signiors power, entertained her so agreeably, as fear had scarcely any place in her soul. Her friends began also to be no longer afraid of Soliman, and to be in doubt of nothing but Pirates and Tempests. Doria, Horatio, and Alphonso prepared themselves for all that might happen with constancy enough; the French Marquis began already to talk according to his accustomed humour; when as Justiniano, who was not so well assured of his good fortune, but that he had as much fear as hope, began to cry out that they were pursued, and that he saw a Galley which made towards them amain: Indeed he discovered Rustans' Galley, even as they were near to that straight where the two Castles of Sestos and Abydus are situated, which the Turks at this day call Dardanelli. Justiniano, having seen this Galley, turned himself to Jsabella, and asked her whether she would not permit him to die in defending her? Your death, said she unto him him, I may not endure; but that excepted, I will consent to any thing rather than to fall again into the hands of Soliman. After this discourse, Justiniano and his friends began to prepare themselves for defence; and though he had but few men, for to carry the business the more secretly he durst bring no more, yet were they not easy to be vanquished; for as well slaves as Merchants were sufficiently obliged to fight; and the others had not only their lives & liberties to defend, but their Sisters & their Mistresses too. On the other part Rustan knowing that this vessel was the same which he sought for, and fearing that the Christian slaves which were in his Galley would not row speedily enough, he promised them their liberty, if they employed all their force in this occasion, and that by their means he might stay Ibrahim; so that carried by this hope, and without enquiring whether those which they would take were Turks or Christians, they rowed with so much vigour, as in a little time his Galley was within Cannon shot of Ibrahims' Vessel. And to keep him from flying, he discharged a piece of Ordnance, to advertise them that were of the Guard in the Castles of Sestos and Abydos, that enemy's vessels were in that place. This device failed not to work the expected effect; for Ibrahim knowing that there were on both sides of this strait forty pieces of Ordnance planted even with the water, which without doubt would after this signal discharge upon him if he attempted to pass, found himself strangely troubled. For of one side he feared lest he should see Isabel carried away with a Canonshot; on the other, Rustans' violence was little less terrible to him; and in this unquietness he commanded his Pilot to do one thing, and by and by unsayed it again. Isabel would have had them expose themselves rather to the fury of the Cannon, than to fight with Rustan; but they were not long in an estate to choose what they had to do; for this Galley which pursued them having overtaken them, and spite of their utmost endeavours to the contrary having grappled herself to them, Ibrahim, followed by his friends, performed such things in this occasion, as surpassed the valour of the most illustrious Heroes. He wounded Rustan with his own hand; all those that presented themselves against him, fell presently dead, either at his feet, or into the Sea. All Rustans' soldiers fled from his encounter, and chose rather to set upon ten others, than defend themselves from him alone. In the mean time fresh succour came to Rustan; for they of the two Castles of Sestos and Abydos, hearing the piece which he had caused to be shot off, came in Frigates with a great number of soldiers to see what the matter was; and finding a Christian Vessel set upon by Turks, they never inquired further, but joined with them; and Ibrahim seeing his enemies redoubled, redoubled his courage too. One would have said that he had recovered new forces; he passed from one place to another in an instant; he maintained his own men, assaulted his enemies, and fight desperately, yet without losing his judgement, he might peradventure have wearied and vanquished them that assaulted him, had not Rustan, whilst he was busy in defending himself from fix which fought with him together, bethought him of a wile, which alone made him victor. He went with some soldiers to the Captain's , with his Scymitar in his hand, where the Princess and her dear friends, were more dead than alive, in attending the event of the fight. When first he entered, Isabel gave a great skriek; but this cruel man, without harkening to her complaints, drawing her with one hand, and holding his Scymitar in the other, pulled her to the Cabbin-door, and calling to Ibrahim, who turned his head that way, Resolve thyself, said he unto him, to render up thy arms, or if thou dost it not, to see the head of her I hold here taken from her shoulders. This dreadful speech made Ibrahim stop a little, during the which Jsabella without daunting, prayed him not to yield for to keep her from death, seeing she desired it. But Jbrahim being about to advance towards Rustan, and seeing him lift up his arm to strike Isabel, hold said he unto him, throwing down his arms, and tendering his hands to them that environed him; spare the life of this person, since I did not fight but to preserve it; set her free, and make me a slave; and if I may obtain this of thee, I will not complain of thy cruelty. Alas! cried Jsabella then, the laying of you in irons is not giving me liberty, nor is the putting your life in the power of your enemies, the preserving of mine! In the mean time Doria, Alphonso, Horatio, and the French Marquis were still endeavouring to do their uttermost; but Jbrahim fearing lest some outrage should be done to Jsabella, cried to them to render themselves, which they were constrained to do; for Jbrahim fight no longer, and being loaden with chains by Rustans' commandment, they had all the enemies upon them; so that fight how they could, number prevailed over valour, and Rustan made himself Master of the Vessel, and of the persons whom he sought for; and having forced them to pass into his Galley he returned to Constantinople. These infortunate ones had yet the consolation to make this voyage together without being separated; for Rustan, busied about stopping the blood which he lost at the wound he had received, had not the inhumanity to keep them from talking together. Jbrahim was likewise as well as Horatio, Alphonso, Doria, and the French Marquis, loaden with chains, which had been knocked off from some of those slaves, who had been the cause of their taking by rowing with such speed. Jsabella and her friends, being with them, and not able to secure them, augmented their torments yet more with the extreme affliction that appeared in them. Alas! said Jsabella to Jbrahim, if I were sure that death would be the greatest misery that can arrive unto me in the place whither we are going, I should easily comfort myself; yea and I should regard it as an happiness rather than a misfortune: but the cruelty of our enemies will not stay there; for whereas Soliman knows that I fear neither torments nor death, he will make me suffer in your person, and that makes up all my grief. Fear not for me, said Jbrahim unto her, but only think of preserving yourself: Soliman loves you, labour then to move his heart rather than to incense it, and be confident that death cannot be grievous to me, if I were assured of your life. No, no, answered Jsabella, this is not the way I mean to hold, and you would blame me without doubt if I should follow your counsel: I will die as well as you, and if my prayers can obtain any thing of Soliman, it shall be that we may die together. Augment not my torments, replied the Illustrious Bassa, and speak not of your death, if you will not have me advance mine; live, my dear Jsabella, and let me alone perish. I live, cried Jsabella? Ah! no, no, Jsabella knows not how to survive her glory, and Justiniano, which are the only things that can make her life agreeable, & without the which she will not preserve it. I may, added she, live unhappy, infortunate, laden with chains, exiled from my country, without means, and without liberty; but I cannot live without honour, and without Justiniano; so that if Soliman will ravish me of my glory, and bereave me of the only person that I love, I shall not waver between death and life; and I know what co●rse I am to take. Ah! too generous Isabel, cried Ibrahim then; why have I loved you, to cause you to fall into so many miseries? Why have I not always been your enemy, to keep you from having such cruel ones? But what say I, senseless man, continued he, I merit the torments which I suffer, if I can repent me of having loved you: No, Madam, I cannot do it; I would that my death might hinder yours, I would that I might endure all things for you, but I cannot wish that I could not adore you. That wish would be unjust, replied she, and would questionless do great wrong to our affection; which is not the cause of our misfo●tunes; it is two pure, and too innocent, to be punished for a crime: and the only thing which comforts me in our miseries, is the belief I am in, that we do not deserve them; and that Heaven sends them to us, rather to try our virtue, than to correct our faults. But added she, before we are separated (as without doubt we shall be) promise me, that what artifice soever our enemies may use to persuade you unto any thing to my disadvantage, you will never believe it. For hold it for most assured, that Isabel will die a thousand times, rather than do any thing unworthy of her virtue, and yours. Let me then have the satisfaction to hope, that the malice of our persecutors shall make you believe nothing to my prejudice. Ah! Madam, cried Ibrahim, it is for me to demand this favour of you; for whereas I have not rendered you so many marks of my affection, as I have received from your virtue, you may the more easily doubt of it. But believe, Madam, that I will die adoring you; and if the loss of my life may oblige Soliman to restore you to your liberty, as I purpose to beseech it of him, I shall die even with pleasure. Let us not separate our destinies, anfwered the Princess; either let us live together, or let us die together. After so sad a discourse, the excess of their affection forced them to hold their peace; and their displeasure being shut up in their heart, they felt it more vively than they did, whom as they eased themselves with their complaints. The unhappiness of the persons which were engaged in their misfortune afflicted them the more; and they saw all about them so many occasions of despair, as it might be said, that never was the virtue of a person put to so hard a trial. Hippolita, Sophronia, Emilia, and Leonida, were wholly dissolved into tears; Alphonso, Doria, Horatio, and the French Marquis, were also infinitely afflicted: and if Rustan could have been touched with any compassion, he had been doubtless with so lamentable an object. But far from having any humanity for another, he was cruel to himself; for though he were wounded, yet the desire which he had to destroy Ibrahim, and to finish a thing which he had so well begun, made him in stead of repairing to his house to look to his wound, to go directly to the Seraglio assoon as he arrived at Constantinople, and to behave himself so as if he had not been hurt at all. Presently upon his landing, he sent to advertise Soliman of his return, and of the success of his voyage. And whereas this Prince had increased his fury with his solitariness, he instantly commanded, that Ibrahim and Isabel should be brought into the Seraglio, and put into several places with a sure guard; and that all those which had followed them should be put likewise into another place. Never was so deplorable a thing seen, as the execution of this commandment; Isabel would not quit Ibrahim, he too would not abandon her; and though they had well enough foreseen that they should be separated, yet could they not for all that consent thereunto. Their friends likewise would not leave them, and if Soliman could have been a spectator of so sad a conversation, he might peradventure have been moved to pity. But at length Ibrahim and Isabel, being constrained to resolve for that which they could not avoid, took their farewell of each other, as persons that were never to see one another again; and following each other with their eyes as far as they could, they swore unto themselves to die loving one another as faithfully as they had mutually promised. After Rustan had conducted Ibrahim to one quarter of the Seraglio, caused Isabel to be carried to another, and their friends to a third, he went to Soliman, whose mind had never been quiet, since he knew the success of his voyage. For seeing Jbrahim and Jsabella in his hands, he scarcely knew what resolution to take; for in the estate wherein things were, he must destroy the Bassa, or render him his Mistress. Regarding him as the Lover of Jsabella, he desired his death; considering him as a fugitive, he sound it just; but remembering the affection which he had born him, he had much ado to resolve to destroy him. What shall I do, said he to himself, with this ingrateful creature, who after so many favours which he hath received from me, so many honours which I have conferred on him, so many marks which I have rendered him of my good will, goes out of my Empire without my leave? This perfidious man, cried he, should have considered methinks, how I had heretofore broken his chains to share my Empire with him, and how he to whom he owed his life and his liberty, aught to have obliged him to a more exact fidelity. But this wretch preferring the possession of a woman before the greatness wherein I had set him, and my friendship, quits and abandons me; and not content to steal a person from me whom I love, and without whom I cannot live, he gets him away it may be with intelligences that he hath in my Empire to make war upon me, and to recover from me that which he saith appertains unto him: But he was never of the Race of the Paleologues; And then, continued he, if he could persuade me to it, that would be yet a further reason to oblige me to destroy him. It behoves he should die out of reason of State, as I pretend he shall die out of reason of Love. If I regard him as a slave, I have power over his life, since every slave that breaks his irons deserves to lose it. If I regard him as my subject, he is worthy of death for going out of my Empire without my consent. If I regard him as a Christian, I cannot hate him enough; and if I consider him as an Enemy-Prince, it behoves he should die, that the end of his life may make an end of settling my Throne to my successors. Soliman having, as it seemed to him, settled his resolution firmly enough, felt some rest in his mind. Howbeit suddenly some beam of light coming to him again, he was ashamed of his own thoughts; yet would he not oppose them, but rather sought how he might fortify them; nevertheless there was one thing that retained his fury for a while: Suppose, said he, that I resolve to destroy Jbrahim; that he be already punished for his ingratitude and perfidiousness; that the end of his life hath ended the love which he bears to Jsabella; let us see after this, whether in thinking to do ourselves service, we do not hurt ourselves: For can she love a Prince, who bereaves her of the person that is dearest to her in the world? But can she, continued he, love any other than Ibrahim, as long as he is living? No, no, said he raising his voice, it behoves he should die; and I shall always have this consolation, that if she love not me, she shall at leastwise love nothing in the world. But (cried he again, after he had continued a while without speaking) he whom I will destroy, is the same Jbrahim who hath done me such important service, and whom I have so much loved; howbeit, continued he, it is Jsabellaes' Lover; it is a fugitive slave; it is a revolted subject; it is a Prince my enemy; or it may be an impostor. In such like thoughts as these was the Grand Signior, when as Rustan came to him, who out of his malice carried him to further violence against Jbrahim, by forging matters, which he affirmed he had heard him speak against him. Presently thereupon Roxelana entered, who, making as if she did not know, that there was any interest of love in the hatred which Soliman bore to Jbrahim, spoke not but of the good of the State, and of the glory of the Empire. She represented to Soliman, how mightily he had always protected the Christians in all occasions that had been presented; as indeed she lied not. But although the most part of those things were done by Soliman's consent in the favour of Jbrahim, yet was this Prince so unjust, as to hearken to this accusation, as if he had been acquainted with new crimes. After than that this wicked woman had made him resolve to put Jbrahim to death, she told him moreover, that if hast were not made to take away his life, the people undoubtedly would rise to save him; for, said she, out of the design which he h●th had to usurp the Empire, he hath always taken great care to make himself to be beloved of them. Soliman seeing himself upon the point of absolutely resolving the matter, felt a new combat in his heart; love, hatred, jealousy, friendship, shame, and glory, did their last and uttermost endeavour to vanquish one another; but at length virtue was surmounted in this occasion by the wickedness of Roxalana and Rustan: And Soliman consented that without further delay he should go and execute this fatal sentence, which their hatred, rather than he, pronounced against the illustrious Jbrahim. Away he went with a great deal of speed, for fear lest the Sultan should alter his mind. Nevertheless not daring wholly to fall in the usual form, he sent for Jbrahim to come to supper; and this perfidious wretch, who feared a revolt, kept all that were in the Seraglio from going forth. In the mean time Jbrahim being set at table as the rest, Rustan in the midst of the meal presented him with a robe of black velvet, which was an undoubted mark, that the end of this fatal feast should be the end of his life: For after this manner is the news of death denounced to persons of quality, that are to lose their lives in the Seraglio. Jbrahim seeing his ruin certain, received this robe for all that with a great deal of constancy. And whereas it was presented to him by Rustan, because no body else would tender him this strange present; I receive it, said he unto him, without fearing the death which it presageth, and without being any whit surprised therewith, knowing full well that it is a dependence of the charge which I have possessed, and that few Grand Viziers have died otherways: But I receive it with grief, because it blemisheth the glory of a Prince whom I have loved, and for that it is offered to me by the hand of Rustan. This ceremony much afflicted all them that saw it; yet did not Ibrahim rise till the time which custom requires in such like occasions was passed; nor forbear talking to some Officers of the Empire, which were at this fatal supper by Rustans' order in the grand Signiors name; for he feared if they should have gone forth, and acquainted the people, that Ibrahim was going to be put to death, they would have risen before he had been executed. And truly this design was not amiss; for whereas Ibrahim was infinitely beloved, their eyes were all bedewed with tears, and certainly had they had arms, they would have attempted to succour him, or at leastwise would have lost themselves with him. Never was there a more deplorable feast than this same; none that were present at it did eat any thing; they seemed all to be condemned to death; and Ibrahim only testified by the tranquillity of his countenance, and by his constancy, that he was in case to comfort the rest. Four mutes, which were to strangle him, stood before him, with each of them a black silk bowstring in his hand, which was to serve for that deadly office. Now though this object possessed all those that considered it, with terror and pity, Ibrahim seemed no more sensible of fear, than Rustan was of compassion. This Illustrious Bassa was seen with an admirable tranquillity, and with a constancy without affectation; he endured his misery without murmuring; he beheld the tears of others, without shedding any; and if any sign of sadness appeared in his face, the interest of Isabel alone was the cause of it; & indeed this thought made him suffer very much. The regret of being separated from her; the uncertainty of what should become of her after his death, which was scarcely irksome unto him, but for the grief which Isabel would take at it, replenished him with heavy thoughts. Whilst he was in this estate; whilst he attended the time of his execution; and whilst he was preparing to entreat some of them that were about him, to say something to Soliman for the preservation of Isabel, the Sultan was not without unquietness; Roxelana, who had still remained with him, had not only kept his mind from inclining to compassion, but contrarily had so incensed it, as he many times seemed to be very impatient, for that he could not receive news of Ibrahims' death. Nevertheless he had no sooner had such a like thought, but straightway he was of another opinion: He would have a thing, and he would not have it; and in this incertainty his imagination represented unto him all Jbrahims whole life. He sought not for all that to remember the friendship which he had born him, and the marks which he had given him of it, but to hate him the more. This ingrateful man, said he, could not resolve to comply with a Prince, who would have given him his daughter in marriage; who would have allied himself to him; and who, besides yielding up his Throne to him, hath done all things for him. This remembrance wrought a strange effect in Soliman; he suddenly changed colour, & after he had mused a little, as it were to call something to his memory, he cried out with strange precipitation, to have Rustan fetched back again, and looking about him, the matter is at an end, said he, wholly transported with fury; I cannot destroy mine enemy; he must live, since I have sworn it; let one go with all speed, said he, to some of his attendants, and revoke the sentence which I have given; but no delay must be made, for otherwise I shall draw the heavy wrath of heaven upon my head. Roxelana, surprised with this discourse, would have kept them from obeying the grand Signior, until she knew from whence this mutation came. But having commanded a second time, that one should go & do that which he had ordained, she was compelled to consent unto it. What so sudden a change, said she unto him, is arrived in thy Highness' mind? is it possible that Soliman, whom I have heard an hundred times say, that repentance is a weakness, whereof he was not capable, should at length be possessed with it at this present? No, said Soliman to her, I do not repent, but contrariwise that I may not repent, and that I may keep my word, I am carried to that which I do. The Sultana having obliged him to explain himself more clearly, he informed her, how as he was labouring to remember the obligations wherein Ibrahim was engaged to him, to the end he might detest his ingratitude so much the more, his memory had represented unto him, how he would once have given him the Sultana Asteria to wife, & how at the same time, & on the same day, to secure Ibrahim from the fear which he seemed to have of the change of his fortune, he had sworn to him by Alla, that as long as he lived he should not die a violent death. After this, said he to her, Never ask me what hath made me alter my mind: I do not repent, I would still have Jbrahim destroyed, but being unable to put him to death without violating violating my Oath; I must no longer think of it; mine Enemy must live; I must not be revenged; and all this is, because I myself have tied the hand, which should strike a dagger into his heart.  
The Sultana, who was not so scrupulous as Soliman, nor made so exact a profession of keeping her word, did what she could to persuade him not to keep his. No, said he unto her, I may not fail in it; and had I promised my Empire and my Liberty, I should descend from my Throne, and put on the Irons myself which I was to wear. Ibrahim must live, since I have promised it; I have sworn by ALLA, and that is to say all that can be said. I should draw down the wrath of Heaven upon me; and I should do that which I have never done, if I should do otherwise. I have observed all that ever I have promised in my life, even without an Oath; having then sworn so solemnly, I may by no means break it. I should destroy mine enemy, but thereby I should bring one into my heart, that would persecute me eternally; and repentance, which is a motion unknown to me, would without doubt find place in my Soul. At length after a long contestation, Roxelana persuaded Soliman, to take the advice of the Muphti, who she knew was absolutely hers, as having gotten him the place which he held during Ibrahim's absence. And albeit Soliman did not think that this man could find out any thing that would satisfy him, yet he sent for him. When he was come, and that Roxelana, in propounding the matter unto him, had dextrously signified to him that she desired the death of Ibrahim; this man, who naturally had wit, malice, and cunning, was nevertheless sufficiently troubled to answer precisely unto that which was demanded of him for the contenting of Roxelana. He said then that this affair was not to be spoken of precipitously; and having required an hours time to think of it, after he had caused Soliman to repeat unto him the very same words, which he had before-time used to Ibrahim, he fell deeply a musing: But he was not long in searching out that which he did not think to find; My Lord, said he to Soliman, the Prophet, whom we worship, hath no doubt inspired me with that which I am going to tell thy Highness, that thou mayst be able to punish him whom thou wouldst destroy. And when as Soliman had asked him how he thought to perform that which he said, he obliged him to repeat once more unto him the promise which he had made to Ibrahim. I remember it but too well, answered the Sultan, and lo the very words which I spoke. Remember (said I unto him) how I swear unto thee by ALLA, that as long as Soliman lives, thou shalt not die a violent death. This sufficeth, replied the Muphti, for, my Lord, to express my thought to thy Highness; is it not true, that the promise, which thou hast made to Ibrahim, is a thing which cannot secure him but only during thy life? and is it not certain, that thy Successors should not be obliged to preserve him? It being so, my Lord, said he unto him, it will not be hard for me to content thee. For thy Highness having promised Ibrahim, that he shall not die a violent death, as long as Soliman lives; if I can make it appear to thee, that there are every day some hours, wherein Soliman doth not live, it will appear to thee by the same reason, that during the said time Ibrahim may die, without breaking of thy Highness' word.  
The Sultan hearing him speak thus, believed that this man knew not very well what he would say; but the other nothing daunted, and speaking to him with as much confidence, as if he had been inspired from Heaven; My Lord, said he unto him, it is a matter whereof no body is ignorant, that Sleep is called the brother of Death by all Nations, and in all Languages; and truly it is not without cause that he is termed so, it being certain, that a man which is asleep cannot with reason be said to be living, since we see that he is deprived of all the functions of a reasonable life, which alone is the life of man: I confess indeed how in that estate he still enjoys the life of plants, but not that of man, which consists not but in the use of Reason, whereof he is wholly bereft in that estate. Sleep equals Kings and Shepherds as well as Death, the stupid and the witty, the happy and the unhappy, good men and bad; and there is no difference seen between them, but that sleep is a short death, and death an eternal sleep. Wherefore it being evident, that a man asleep cannot (to speak reasonably) be said to be living, I conclude from thence, that thy Highness, without breaking thy word, may take away Ibrahim's life when as sleep hath throughly benumbed thy sense and Reason. Roxelana failed not to approve of this advice, and maintained that he had spoken judiciously. But for Soliman, he yielded not with so much facility; he made many objections to the Muphti, whereunto he still answered, with as much cunning as wickedness.  
Thus, although this Prince had a very piercing wit in all other things, yet the desire which he had to make away Ibrahim, persuaded him that the Muphti had Reason; and that he might put the grand Visier to death when he was asl●ep. For, this wicked man said to him, thy Highness hath not absolutely promised him, not to put him to death, but only, that he should not die a violent death, as long as Soliman lives, and Soliman shall not live, when as the Bassa shall die. This design being concluded, it was resolved, that they should tarry till night was come for the executing of it. For whereas sleep is not a voluntary act, they thought it requisite to attend till the time of sleep was come.  
In the mean season Ibrahim had been brought back to the place which served him for a prison, not knowing whether grace would be showed him, or whether his execution was but deferred. This incertainty was almost as displeasing, as the assurance of an approaching death had been grievous to him; yet did he not ask any thing that regarded himself directly, but only enquired after Isabel, who on her part was not without a world of grief. She had understood, that Ibrahim had been lead to a place, where oftentimes the grand Viziers had been deprived of their lives, and that made her to be as much afflicted, as if she had already seen him breathe out his last. It may be, said she, that now whilst I am speaking Justiniano is defending himself against his Executioners; it may be he is yielding up his last breath, and is thinking of me once for all. Ah! if it be so, cried she, I beseech Heaven at leastwise to spare me the affliction that I may not hear of his loss, and by my death to keep me from the grief of lamenting his. Howbeit I fear, said she, that my prayers will not be heard, and that Soliman's cruelty will let me live to persecute me: But let him arm his Executioners, let him invent torments, I will complain no more after this sorrow; he that shall acquaint me with the loss of Justiniaeno, shall render me insensible to all others. Alas! what say I? added she, it seems in hearing me speak, that I will conserve my life after he shall be deprived of his; no, no, Isabel will not survive Justiniano; and that which the rage of Soliman will not do, grief alone shall execute: Let this unjust Prince do what he will, I hope, that I shall get out of his power, by getting out of my life; Heaven is interessed in the prayer which I make unto it; I beg this grace of it to preserve mine innocence; and if my despair be a fault, I hope it will pardon it in regard of the greatness of my misfortune, of the purity of my affection, and of mine own weakness.  
In this deplorable estate, Isabel having understood, that Ibrahim had been brought back to his quarter, hope began again to find some place in her Soul; and she believed that Soliman having desired to see him, had peradventure been moved to compassion: Sophronia, Hippolita, Leonida, Emilia, and the rest of their Troop, which were in another place, had the same hope, hearing what had passed: But the matter went otherwise; for as soon as night was come, Rustan, who wholly governed this deadly ceremony, went himself a second time to fetch Ibrahim by the Grand Signior's Command. He led him then into the same Hall, where formerly he had been; and having left him in the company of four mutes, which were to strangle him, as soon as Soliman was asleep, he returned to this Prince, who had at that time no greater a longing then to make away Ibrahim. As for him, although he did not fear death, and was exceeding peaceable, yet had his Soul great agitations. Ah, said he to himself, I shall never see Isabel more I and I shall not only be deprived of her sight, but I shall abandon her to the violence of a Prince, who I believed had been her Protector: and who it may be, provoked by her virtue, will take away her life, as well as mine; for since Soliman can consent to my death, he may well sign hers. Alas, continued he, to what an estate am I reduced! If I wish that she should live, I make wishes against her glory; I consent to the exposing of her to the rigour of a violent and amorous Prince. I cannot wish her her life, without doing her wrong; and then again, not only I cannot desire her death, but I cannot so much as think of it, without a despair that is not to be parelled. If this Prince, who is my Rival, could be her husband, I would make vows against myself, and I love Isabel so much, as to be willing to save her life with the loss of all my felicity. But as the case stands, she cannot be his, not only without infidelity, not only without infamy, but with an horrible crime. Alas! added he, if it were not so, my loss should not be without comfort; loving me as she doth, she would live without pleasure, but also without shame. She would bewail my death without other interest then that of conserving my memory; and fear having no place in her heart, the grief alone of having lost me would wholly possess her Soul. If I died, added he, in defending Isabel; if the loss of my life could restore her to her liberty, I should be happy, and I should think my fortune worthy of envy. But I die to leave her in the power of her enemy; I die without serving her, and without delivering her; nay I die without bidding her farewell.  
Hereat Ibrahim redoubled his grief, and his mind seeking for new occasions to torment him, he was taken with a remorse of Conscience for having so long a time worn a Turkish habit. He was persuaded that the misery whereinto he was fallen was a punishment for this dissembling. He thought he had been ill counselled, and though his intention had been pure, and that he had not done it but out of a design to serve Christendom, to whom it had been very profitable, and that his faith had never been shaken, yet he believed notwithstanding that he was faulty. This reflection made him lift up his spirit to Heaven; crave pardon for his levity; repent him of his misdeeds; and then pray that Isabella's innocency might not be involved in the chastisement of his crime.  
The last thing that yet afflicted Ibrahim was, that in his misfortune he could not find any that would tell the Sultan that which he had resolved to request of him in the favour of Isabel, for Rustan had taken order to the contrary. He had also by the power of Roxelana kept every body from going out of the Seraglio, after Ibrahim was entered into it; so that although it was known in Constantinople, that there was some great disorder between Soliman and Ibrahim, yet the people did not suspect, that the Sultan could hate him with so much violence; for if they had been of that opinion, loving Ibrahim as they did, they would without doubt have set fire on the Seraglio, rather than not have succoured him.  
In the mean time Rustan being returned to Soliman, whose mind was full of nothing but deadly thoughts, this Prince, to satisfy that fantastic scruple, which obliged him not to believe the death of Ibrahim to be unjust, but because he had promised him, that he should not die as long as he lived, commanded him to keep at his bed's head, and to be sure not to go to put Ibrahim to death, till he was fast asleep. After this order given, Soliman laid him down with an intention (if one may be permitted to speak so) as it were to summon sleep with silence and quietness. He did what he could to divert his mind from all kind of objects; to the end that ceasing to think, he might the more easily let himself be vanquished by this invisible Enemy, who always surmounts those more easily which resist him, than those which seek him.  
The Sultan, being thus recollected within himself, remained a while with so much tranquillity in appearance, as Rustan believed that he was asleep, and that he might go and put Ibrahim to death; But he had scarcely made one step, when as this Prince rising up in his bed, Stay, said he unto him, I am not asleep; and I will not have thee part from hence, till thou art certain I am so. Rustan, not daring to contradict the Grand Signior, and fearing to make him more awake than he was, if he talked longer to him, only promised him not to offer any more to go out of his chamber, till he was well assured that he could hear nothing. After this Soliman did yet all that he could to sleep; howbeit he had no sooner closed his eyes, but his unquietness augmented; he was vexed that he could not be master of his thoughts, and that that which he did to provoke sleep, was that which awakened him the more. He turned him on one side, and then on the other, and yet was not able to find any rest. One might have said that he met with thorns every where; that the change of place redoubled his unquietness; and when of purpose he forbore from speaking, and complaining aloud, his sighs gave Rustan but too many signs that he was not asleep. Soliman's impatience growing stronger, he thought if he walked a while, that it may be he should become drowsy with weariness: He got out of his bed then, and walking sometimes with violence, and sometimes with less precipitation, it might have been said, that he was the cause of as much unquietness to Rustan, as he felt himself, to see that he gave him not the means to execute the desires of the cruel Roxelana. He stood still many times, and then began again to walk faster than he had done. Afterwards he leaned down in one place, and then in another, scarcely knowing what he did, nor what he would do. When as he had walked a long time, and that through weariness he had laid himself down again upon his bed, he found yet less disposition to sleep then before; for his agitation having dissipated some vapours, which peradventure might have lulled his Reason, and charmed his displeasure, he no sooner had a mind to close his eyes, but his imagination represented things yet more lively unto him; And whereas a long time before he had had none but violent passions, such then too were all his thoughts. How unhappy am I, said he to himself! I find an impossibility in all that I desire; the least things are forbidden me; even sleep, which all my Subjects enjoy, is to me a prohibited good; that which I do to get it, is that which deprives me of it; and though I change place, yet still is it all one with me; surely I must be separated from myself, if I will find the rest which I seek for. In fine, I am more an enemy to myself, than Ibrahim is, yea and I am more unhappy than he.  
After his unquietness had made him change place an hundred times, Rustan, seeing day approach, would have persuaded him not to amuse himself about this scruple, and to permit him to go and strangle Ibrahim with his own hands, to punish him, said he, for the unquietness which he gives thy Highness: But Soliman spoke unto him with so much fury, as he was constrained to hold his peace. This cruel motion of Rustan's, struck this Prince with horror, and whereas it is a way to compassion, leaning on a table, which was near to his bed, his imagination insensibly presented him with other objects. He saw Isabel all in tears for the death of Ibrahim; yea it represented to him the deplorable estate wherein he was; he remembered the time when he was his Slave; and that glorious day, wherein loaden with chains he had saved him his Empire and his life: And comparing it with that wherein he was then, he could not choose but be moved at it. After this, the sight of Rustan brought to his memory all the miseries of his house, and all the violences which he had done by his, and Roxelana's counsel. The death of Mustapha, that of Sarraida, of her son, of Gianger, the forcible carrying away of Axiamira, her imprisonment, the War of Persia, the things which Ibrahim had performed therein, the death of Zelebis, and many other such like things, which filled his mind with so many deadly ideas, as the love which he bore to Isabel began to be too weak to dissipate them. He felt some repugnancy in his heart for that which he did; and his Reason being suddenly untangled, What do I, said he to himself, senseless that I am, not to consider, that the impossibility which I find to destroy a disarmed man, whom I hold in my hands, who is loaden with irons, and who is without defence in the midst of his Executioners, is without doubt a sign that Heaven protects him. For if it were not so, I had destroyed him ere this; I had not promised him so long ago that I would not put him to death; I had not remembered it so precisely; this Artifice, which they have found out for me to be revenged, had succeeded; I had slept, and Ibrahim had been dead. But I see plainly, as I have said, that Heaven guards him, and that it will not let me be revenged. But alas! said he still to himself, for what crime, for what injury, for what outrage will I be revenged? No, no, continued he, Ibrahim is not guilty, and I alone am the offender; for I own all things to him, and he owes nothing to me. It is true, that he would have gone out of my Empire without my leave, but it was to save his Mistress; and this generous man, who might have overthrown all my State, to secure himself, and to be revenged of the infidelity which I have used to him, was contented to fly away like a simple Slave. Let us hearken to Reason which speaks to us; let us hearken to the voice of the Prophet who holds our hand; and let us hearken no longer to this unjust love that possesseth us.  
Here Soliman could not retain his tears, and the love which he bore to Isabel made him, that he still found some difficulty in resolving to be deprived of her: But Rustan's endevoring once more to carry him to violence made him incline wholly to Virtue's side. No, no, said he unto him, base as thou art, I will commit no more crimes by thy counsel; the Prophet, who guards me, will keep me from dipping my hands in the blood of Ibrahim; and if I am to shed any, it must be theirs, who blemish my glory with their pernicious counsels. Rustan, hearing Soliman speak in this manner, thought that he had lost his Reason; for whereas nothing new had happened, he could not comprehend, how in so short a time so great a change should arrive unto him. But he knew not, that they, which have virtuous inclinations, and which are not wicked but by a violent passion, or the counsel of others, have need but of a moment to carry them to that which is good. Their Reason is no sooner cleared, but they find a mighty succour in themselves; and so soon as they have a will to fight, the victory is certainly theirs. Soliman gave an illustrious example of this verity in this occasion; it being most sure, that never was there a greater or more sudden change made, then that which was made in his Soul. He charged Rustan not to go out of his chamber, and commanded another to go and fetch Ibrahim and Isabel to him, who little thought what Virtue was doing for their advantage. This Prince nevertheless had great unquietness still; he seemed uncertain in his resolutions; and during the agitations of his Soul, he cried out sometimes, O Heaven! must Ibrahim be destroyed? then suddenly checking himself; but also, said he, can I resolve to lose Isabel? After this, he sat him down on four Cushions, and hiding his face with both his hands, leaning on a table, as it were the better to think of that which he would resolve of, Rustan remained in strange pain.  
In the mean time Ibrahim could not comprehend, for what reason they made him attend so long for his death. He feared lest some violence should be done to Isabel; he doubted lest they should be so cruel as to put her to death before his eyes; and in this pain, death no doubt would have been a remedy unto him, had not the thought of never seeing Isabel again rendered it more grievous to him, for that consideration, then for the loss of his life. The disorders of his Soul for all that appeared not in his face; and one would hardly have believed in looking on him, that he did think he should die every minute. Isabel, on her part, was not without trouble; for having understood, that they came to fetch Ibrahim, she certainly believed that he was lost, and was already preparing to follow him, when as they, who had order to go for her, entered all into her chamber. As soon as she saw them, and that they had told her how they had order to carry her before Soliman; if it be to put me to death in his presence, answered she, I will give him thanks: But acquaint me at leastwise, whether Ibrahim be living, and whether we shall die together or no. These men, not knowing Soliman's intentions, durst scarce answer her; only they assured her that she should see the grand Visier very suddenly, as indeed they led her into the Hall where he was, attending the time of his execution. There were seen about him his Guards weeping, and four Mutes that were to strangle him, and that having in their hands Bow strings of black silk for that purpose, seemed also to have some compassion of him.  
This doleful object having touched the heart of Isabel, she could not forbear giving a great skriek: Alas, said she, how do I repent me of my wish! and how much more supportable had it been for me to die alone, then to die with you? Ibrahim seeing and hearing her speak thus; What, Madam, said he unto her, will they attempt upon your life? Ah! no, no, continued he, turning him to those that environed him, it is a thing I shall never endure: when they shall meddle with none but me, I will tender my neck to them without resistance; but if they attempt any thing on this Princess, I protest that I will strangle him with mine own hands that shall offer any outrage to her. This is not that which I will have, answered she; defend not my life, if they attempt upon yours, since they are to be inseparable. I have not wished to live, but only that I may not see you die. As they would have continued speaking, they that came for them told them, that they had nothing else in charge but to carry them before the Grand Signior. Let us go then, said the Princess to him, let us go my dear Justiniano; I repent me of my weakness, and since I must die, provided that I die in your presence, I shall be glad that we may die together: Let us go then and beg for death of Soliman as a grace. Ah! Madam, cried the illustrious Bassa, speak not of your death, if you will not have me die in despair. Let us go, Madam, let us go rather to beg your liberty of Soliman, and obtain of him that the loss of my life may be the price of it. I will not have it without you, answered she, wherefore persist not in wishing to save me.  
In the mean time they arrived at Soliman's Chamber, whom they found still leaning on a Table, and in a posture, that they could not see his face. As soon as they were there, Ibrahim and Isabel cast themselves at his feet: My Lord, said the Princess, if I may obtain the grace of thee, that I may die with Justiniano, I will not complain of thy Highness; but contrarily I will praise thy justice. I am guilty, my Lord, and of an horrible crime against thee I have made thee despise the friendship which thou barest to Justiniano; I have made thee abandon Reason; I have put a stain on thy life; I have blemished thy glory; I have troubled thy rest; and I have constrained the greatest Prince of the Earth to oppose all his inclinations, which carry him to virtue, for to follow an unjust passion. Thou plainly seest, my Lord, that wrath ought to have a more just foundation in thy soul, than this Love, which afflicts thee, and persecutes me. Change thy passion in my favour, but in such sort, that as I have been the object of thy love, so I may be likewise of thy hate. Think of revenging thyself on the true cause of thy unquietness; think of destroying, and not of gaining me; the last is impossible, and the other is very easy for thee. It is not because, if my tears could move thee, I can yet assure thee that hate should have a place in my soul: For know, my Lord, that even Justiniano, from whom thou wilt take away, both his honour, his life, and my person, which is as dear to him as both the other, yet cannot hate thee. I have seen it in his eyes, I have known it by his discourse; he complains of fortune; he accuses that which thy Highness calls beauty in me; he names that weakness, which another would name injustice; in fine, my Lord, being ready to die innocently by thy directions and command, yet am I well assured, that he will die without hatred; and that even in dying, he will make vows to obtain of Heaven an advantageous change for thee. Judge after this, whether thou oughtest to refuse me the grace that I may die, and that he may be saved, since I am guilty and he is innocent.  
My Lord, said Justiniano interrupting her, hearken not to the virtuous Isabel, but to admire the greatness of her courage, and suffer not thyself to be persuaded to that which she desires of thee. I will not stand to examine whether I am culpable, or whether I am not, since to be hated of thee, is to be so; but, my Lord, I will only tell thee, that if the sentence of my death shall be pronounced by thy mouth, I will not murmur at it. I confess my weakness to thee, my Lord; I cannot yet believe, but that all that which I have seen since my return, is an enchantment, and not a truth. For how can it be imagined, that great Soliman, who hath loved me so tenderly, and given me so glorious marks thereof, can be carried at this present to such unjust designs? That with the same hand, wherewith he broke my chains, and put the reins of his Empire into mine, he can put about my neck the string which is to strangle me. Doth thy Highness no longer remember the thoughts which thou hadst, at such time as, seeing me ready to enter into the grave, rather than displease thee with craving my liberty of thee, thou resolvedst to have the incomparable Isabel be brought away by force. Was it then, my Lord, out of a design to ravish her from me, to persecute her, to blemish thy glory, and to take away my life, in having unjust thoughts for her? Think not, my Lord, of the services I have done thee, but of those which I purposed to do thee; yet think not of them, my Lord, for to pardon me, but think of them to save Isabel. Restore her to her liberty, make not me the cause of her undoing, send her back into her Country, and after that put me to death here. But grant me at leastwise the grace to pronounce my sentence unto me; for I confess to thee once more, that I doubt whether it be possible, that thou shouldst be the same Soliman which hath so dearly loved me.  
It is in vain for you to desire, said Isabel, that we should be separated; that thought is unjust, and does wrong to our affection; it is a motion whereof I repent me, and whereof you ought to repent you. Beg then of Soliman, that we may die, or that we may live together; for provided he will grant us this, I will attend his sentence, without grief, and without unquietness. You shall live, said Soliman then to her, discovering his face, which he had all bathed with tears; you shall live, generous Princess, Ibrahim's virtue hath surmounted me. Approach, said he unto him, and if it be so that thou dost not hate me still, believe for a certain, that the goodwill which I have born thee is recovering its place in my Soul: Repentance, which was a motion unknown to me, chases the love of Isabel from it, therein to re-establish my friendship to Ibrahim; I feel it coming, my Reason reassumes its use; I see my injustice and my violence with confusion; I see the virtue of Isabel, and no longer see her beauty; she strikes me with admiration, and no longer strikes me with love; I wish I could imitate her generosity, and no longer desire the possession of her. In fine, said he to Ibrahim, know, that of all the marks of affection, that which thou receivest from me at this present, is without doubt the greatest: and to give no bounds to it, and to make thee see, that knowing my fault, I will punish it, and to keep myself from falling into it a second time, I do not only give thee thy life, which I would have unjustly taken from thee, but I do also give thee thy liberty, as well as that of the incomparable Isabel.  
Oh! my Lord, cried Ibrahim, I hear the voice of Soliman; they which spoke to me from him have betrayed his true thoughts. No, continued Ibrahim, let us speak no more of this doleful adventure, but as of a fable; and without th●nking of that which is past, suffer me only to give thee thanks for thy clemency. As for me, added Isabel, who eternally remembers benefits, and very easily forgets injuries; if it be so, that great Soliman hath vanquished himself, I promise thy Highness to make vows as long as I live for thy glory.  
Doubt not of that which I say, replied Soliman, and the better to assure you thereof, I permit you, said he unto her with a voice interrupted with sighs, to go out of my Empire when you please: I should also be generous enough to share it with Ibrahim, to whom it appertains more justly then to me, if I could infuse into the hearts of my subjects the thoughts which are in mine.  
During this discourse Rustan was in a strange unquietness; and when as he believed that Soliman had his mind busied, and did not think of him, he would have slipped out of the Chamber, to go and advertise Roxelana of that which was doing: But Soliman perceiving it, Stay, said he unto him, infamous wretch; and then he commanded him to be turned out of the Seraglio, without permitting him to speak to any body; and charged him with a great deal of fury never to show himself more before him. After this, he sent for the virtuous Achmat, and the Sultana Asteria. It is by these two persons, said he to Ibrahim, that I will be counselled, to know what way we may take, that Justiniano may cease to be Ibrahim, without making a noise amongst the people, which might prejudice my State: For as for myself, continued he sighing, it is so little a while since my Reason hath recovered its place, as I dare not yet rely upon it. Ibrahim, whom we will call most commonly hereafter Justiniano, answered the Grand Signior with as much generosity as joy; for whereas he had exceedingly loved this Prince, how great soever that was which he felt, to see Isabel escaped from so great a danger, yet was he not a little gl●d also to see in Soliman the marks of his ancient virtue again.  
In the mean time, after that the Sultan had acquainted the sage Achmat, and the generous Asteria with the business in question, in such terms, as well declared the repentance of his soul; and after they had commended the resolution he was in, and mightily confirmed him in the design which he had to restore Justiniano and Isabel to their liberty; Achmat, who never knew of Justiniano's disguising till then, counselled, since the matter was so far advanced, that the people should be made to believe, how the Grand Signior had put Ibrahim to death, upon some discovery that he had held intelligence with the Emperor Charles, and favoured the Christians in all things; yea and that some letters too should be forged, which should be said he had been made to confess, by which means the matter would easily be credited, because it was true that every one knew, how the illustrious Bassa had always protected the Christians. He said moreover, that if the business was not carried in that sort, it would be impossible to find out a plausible pretext to keep the people from suspecting some trick in the absence of Ibrahim, which might produce dangerous consequences.  
Th●s advice being approved of, yet because Justiniano and Isabel could not be sent away towards Genova presently, it was thought requisite to have them secretly conveyed to Pera, and there to remain concealed with those Greek Priests, whom Justiniano had so much favoured, until such time as a vessel could be made ready for them. This farewell could not be taken without shedding of a world of tears; Soliman craved pardon of Justiniano and Isabel, who after they had answered him with tenderness and submission, and assured him that they would forget what was past, desired him he would be pleased to give their friends their liberty, which the Sultan having granted them, they were sent for and conducted along with them to Pera. The Sultana Asteria and Isabel said to one another all that a most strict friendship could make two generous persons say in such like encounters. And the prudent Achmat, charging himself with the conduct of Justiniano and his Mistress, conveyed them with all their Troop aboard a Bark, which carried them to Pera. Soliman could not for all that see Isabel part, without following her with his eyes, nor could he see Ibrahim go away without forgetting Isabel; it being most certain, that never was there a truer repentance, then that of this great Prince.  
In the mean time to make it be believed that Ibrahim was dead, a black Standart was set up before the gate of his Palace: Achmat, fearing a sedition, put all the Janissaries into arms, and gave them to understand, that Ibrahim was a Traitor, that he had gone about to overthrow the Empire, and that his death had been absolutely necessary for the preservation of the State. He shown them also certain forged Letters, to give the more credit to that which he said; But whatsoever he could say, no sooner was the black Standart seen before the gate of his Palace, but all the people began to murmur; There was nothing but weeping and crying all over Constantinople.  
Those Janissaries that had been the best persuaded, left not for all that to be exceedingly afflicted; for he was so universally beloved, as there was not any body which did not lament and commend him. Some said, that Roxelana without doubt was the cause of this mischief; and that she still remembered, how he had been the Protector of Prince Mustapha. Some cried out to have at leastwise the body of their Defender given unto them; others, that his Executioners might be delivered into their hands; and all of them together agreed in the belief, that Soliman had lost the force of his Empire, and the support of his State.  
During this tumult, Rustan passing through a street, the people, who had understood by some that had been in the Seraglio, how it was he which had been made use of for this deadly Ceremony, and that he had put Ibrahim to death, fell upon him with so many imprecations, and with such fury, as they tore him in a thousand pieces. From thence they went to his Palace, to set it on fire; but at length the prudent Achmat, having appeased this sedition, returned to the Seraglio, where he found that Heaven had made an end of revenging Justiniano on his enemies. For Roxelana having understood that he was not dead, and that Rustan had been torn in pieces by the people, this fierce and proud spirit, was so sensibly touched with spite for that she could not exercise all her whole fury, that after she had continued three hours together without speaking a word, she died for very rage and madness; and Justiniano had the satisfaction to know, that he was lamented of all the world, and that the only persons which could rejoice at his death had been punished for their injustices.  
In the mean time Achmat by Soliman's Command caused the same Christian Vessel to be made ready, which Justiniano had formerly used to get from Constantinople; and in one night he sent aboard her all the riches of Ibrahim's Palace, and a great deal more, which he was constrained to accept of against his inclination. The Sultan wrote also with his own hand to the illustrious Bassa, and again assured him of his repentance and affection, whereunto Justiniano and Isabel answered with a great deal of generosity. The death of Roxelana touched Soliman less, than it would have done at any other time. For as he could not but remember that she had been the object of his affection; so could he not, but much more remember, that she had been the cause of all his misfortunes, and of all his crimes, and that she would have carried him to put to death the only man of the world whom most he loved.  
This feigned death of Ibrahim was carried with so much address by the prudent Achmat, that every body believed it to be so; and that is it which hath made Paulus Jovius, and all those which have spoken of the reign of Soliman, to say, that the grand Visier perished in that sort; but indeed the matter past as I have delivered it: For a Greek Caloyer, who had this History from Justiniano's and Isabella's own mouth, left a relation thereof, which is come even unto us.  
In the mean time, three days after the feigned death of Ibrahim, the true Justiniano, Isabel, Sophronia, Hippolita, Emilia, Leonida, Horatio, Alphonso, Doria, the French Marquis, and a number of Christian Slaves, whose liberty Justiniano had obtained, embarked themselves one night, and set sail for Genova, without fear of other enemies, than the winds and the Seas; but Fortune had made too much trial of their virtue, for to inflict new disasters on them; and indeed she was so  unto them, that never was there a more prosperous Navigation heard of.  
During this Voyage, th●se illustrious persons had no other entertainment, then to talk of the dangers which they had avoided. And whereas Justiniano and Isabel had promised that they would be inseparable in their felicity, as they had been in their unhappiness; that Horatio and Hippolita had done the like; that Sophronia and Doria had sworn never to quit one another; and that Alphonso and Leonida following the others example had taken the same resolution; it fell out that only the French Marquis and Emilia remained without matching together, yea and that would never match with any. For one day as this fair company were talking together in the Captain's , Leonida having demanded of the French Marquis laughing, what end he propounded to ●●mself in the affection, which he bore to Emilia? No other, answered ●e, but that of lo●ing her as long as my inclination shall carry me thereunto. I am of the s●me mind, replied Emilia, and I could never without aversion behold a man, who of my 〈…〉 become my Master, or at leastwise mine Equal. O, cried the Marquis, how 〈…〉 for this humour! for to speak freely, and acquaint you with a secret, which I have never told to a●y body; know, that the true cause of my inconstancy hath been the fear of marriage: I ha●e always been so afraid of engaging myself therein, as to avoid the occasions of it, I have use● to change Mistress often. But if I can obtain of Emilia, that she will not oblige me to be her husband's, I will be eternally her Slave. All the company than burst out a laughing, and belee●ing that their discourse was nothing but sport, every one fe●l to pressing of Emilia, that s●e would make him become constant, in not marrying him. Whereupon the Marquis and she made a Satire against marriage, wherein on either part they said very pleasant things. ●nd for a conclusion, that which was believed to be but jesting, proved to be their true thought; and they took as much care to promise one another that they would never marry, as ●e others took to obtain of their Mistresses, that as soon as they should come to Genova, the● would render their fortunes inseparable, as indeed they did. The wind having been extremely  to them, they arrived in a few days at Monaco; where the Princess was rece●ved of her Subjects with as much astonishment as joy. The brute of their return being presently got to Genova, the chief of the Senate came thither to visit them.  
These illustrious persons concealed ●o much of their adventures, as they thought was not fit to be spoken of; and having been entreated by their friends, that they would after so many mis●ortunes celebrated the ceremony ●f their nuptials at Genova; Isabel yielded thereunto with blushing: for which effect they parted away the next day, and shortly after the Marriages of Justiniano and Isabel, of Horatio and Hippolita, of Doria and Sophronia, and of Alphonso and Leonida, were solemnised with all possible magnificences. The French Marquis and Emilia promised anew an inviolable friendship to one another, with an oath that neither of them would ever marry: and during certain days there were nothing but Balls, running at the Ring, and public Feasts. After which Justiniano and Isabel being reentered into the possession of all that belonged unto them, they were conducted with a great deal of state to Monaco; where they lived with as much satisfaction, they had had mishaps; Justiniano esteeming himself more happy in the possession of I● lla, then if he had reconquered the Empire of his Fathers. But by a revolution which ●monly arrives in all things, it is come to pass, that the Principality of Monaco is return 〈◊〉 ●nto a branch of the House of the Grimaldi's, which possesseth it at this day, under the protection of Spain; nothing remaining of Justiniano but the memory of his glorious actions; which certainly are great and famous enough, to oblige Posterity never to lose the remembrance of THE ILLUSTRIOUS BASSA.