f'>S
 
 L I E) RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLR5ITY 
 
 Of ILLI NOIS 
 
 8Z3 
 
 P73t 
 
 v.l
 
 TALES 
 
 OF WONDER, OF HUMOUR, 
 OF SENTIMENT; 
 
 ©riflinal antJ (Iran?lat€b. 
 BY 
 
 ANNE AND ANNABELLA PLUMPTRE^ 
 
 JN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 ZELIS, OR THE WAY TO BE HAPPY; 
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK; AND THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN^ 
 
 PUBLIC LIBRARY, CONDUIT STREET, HANOVER SQUARE. 
 
 1818.
 
 Printed ly R, and A, Taylor^ Shoe-lane,
 
 8^3 
 
 P7Bt 
 
 TALES 
 
 OF WONDER, OF HUMOUR, AND 
 OF SENTIMENT. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 Z E L I S: 
 
 "^ OR 
 
 WHICH IS THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. 
 
 ^* 
 
 ^^ 
 
 N 
 
 N 
 
 IVOL. I,
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/talesofwonderofh01plum
 
 TALES 
 
 OF WONDER, OF HUMOUR, AND 
 OF SENTIMENT, 
 
 Z E L I S: 
 AN INDIAN TALE. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 A reflection by icay of introduction to the 
 history. — Moderate wishes. — * Their 
 termination. — Instruction to youth, — 
 A death-bed. 
 
 Man is a strange assemblage of passions 
 and of reason. Passions, says the wise 
 man, are the diseases of the soul, reason 
 is the remedy for them. Since, then, for a 
 thousand acute di&eases we are possessed 
 of but one miserable remedy, can we be 
 ^^urprised to find so many incurable pa-
 
 4 ZELTS. 
 
 tieiits ? What avails that reason which was 
 given as our guide, when fate hurries us for- 
 wards ? — The lighted torch cannot prevent 
 the blind man^ falling down the precipice. 
 With this reflection the author begins a 
 whimsical histor}^, and having made it, he 
 enters upon his subject. 
 
 Nabul, now become gray-headed, had all 
 his life aimed at being considered a philoso- 
 pber : he conceived liimself to be a pro- 
 found reasoner, and to be very reasonable 
 in all his wishes and ideas. In the course 
 of a life of sixty years he had passed more 
 days in reflection than he had devoted mi- 
 nutes to action ; but the subject of his reflec- 
 tions was ahvays the same, On the way to be 
 happy. He was very moderate in his wishes, 
 since he desired only health, liberty, friends, 
 pleasures, and riches ; these he thought 
 were sufficient to make a reasonable man 
 happy; and by the constant exercise of his 
 reason he had formed his character after the 
 model which he conceived would be the 
 most likely to obtain what he so modestly
 
 ZELIS. a 
 
 desired. He was misanthropic, envious, 
 suspicious, a calumniator, a miser, jealous, 
 tiresome, and impertinent. Contrary to all 
 his calculations, he found that these amiable 
 qualities did not procure him the accom- 
 plishment of his wishes, but that he rather 
 became odious to society ; — as a just re- 
 prisal, society at length became odious to 
 him. 
 
 To hate and not be able to grumble, is 
 even a more cruel privation than to love 
 and not dare to confess the tender feeling 
 to the beloved object. Self-love sometimes 
 blinds, sometimes enlightens the mind. 
 Nabul perceived that he was shunned ; in- 
 deed his neighbours were sufficiently care- 
 ful to make him sensible of it ; — to console 
 himself for this disgrace, he resolved to seek 
 some object who should be his, entirely 
 his, and his alone; who should have no hu- 
 mour but what his sovereign pre-eminence 
 permitted it to have, who should have no 
 will of its own, but should be entirely obe- 
 dient to his. " \yiiat signifies it," he said,
 
 O ZEUS. 
 
 *' that I am shunned hy all the world, pro- 
 vided I am not left entirely alone ? I may 
 liave a mild, faithful, obliging companion, 
 we shall be every thing to each other, and 
 the rest of the universe will be indifferent 
 to us. 
 
 But of what nature should this compa- 
 nion be ? — He thought of a dog, a mon- 
 key, a parrot ; but brutes, he knew, spite of 
 his reasoning, would be liable sometnnes to 
 insist upon a will of their own, and at length 
 he could resolve on nothing so likely to 
 fulfil all his purposes as a wife. 
 
 A wife then he took ; — she was just fif- 
 teen years of age, since the younger she 
 was, according to his reasoning, the more 
 tractable she would be ; — she was pretty, 
 since to prefer ugliness to beauty formed no 
 part of his philosophy ; — m.ild and amiable 
 in her disposition as he concluded, since, 
 having seen her only tvvice before their 
 hands were joined, he had never known her 
 out of temper. 
 
 ^ year after their marriage she brought
 
 ZECIS. 7 
 
 liim a son ; this was the' beginning of his: 
 disappointments, — they were now three, this 
 was one too many. Soon after, she began 
 to show that she^ no less than a dog, a 
 monkey, or a parrot, would sometimes 
 claim a will of her own ; she fell in love 
 with a young man, tall, well-made, and 
 handsome, — for we must love something, — 
 and Nabul had early convinced her that it 
 was impossible to love him. Nabul soon 
 perceived this passion; he found that it did 
 not contribute towards his happiness ; he 
 shut up his wife, he tormented her by day 
 and by night to such a degree, that her love 
 for the handsome young man became every 
 day more and more ardent. Of this she 
 soon gave Nabul a convincing proof, by 
 breaking her prison and eloping with her 
 lover. 
 
 To such a kind of misfortune our philo- 
 sopher had always conceived the strongest 
 antipathy. He was the rather piqued at it, 
 since it obliged him to acknowledge that 
 rep. son had no power to control fate, or
 
 8 ZBLIS* 
 
 the will of a woman ; he rightly judged 
 that it would be difficult by any kind of rea- 
 soning whatever to repair the evil, and the 
 only thing to be done was, to prevent its re- 
 currence in future. He resolved then to think 
 no more of his wife, but to seclude himself 
 entirely from society ; and he chose for his 
 retreat a gloomy forest, where a cave was his 
 habitation and his infant son his sole com- 
 panion ; assured that under such an arrange- 
 ment there was no danger of his again being 
 annoyed with the intrusion of a third poison. 
 Here, persuading himself that an evil not 
 felt is no longer an evil, he occupied himself 
 solely with cursing human -kind, and teach- 
 ing his son the great art of reasoning from 
 which he had himself derived so much utility 
 and comfort. Zelis, for this was the name 
 he conferred upon the child, gave proofs of 
 a vigorous constitution both in body and 
 mind, since he was able to resist the tedium 
 of his father's lectures ; — at fifteen he had 
 sufficient docility to listen to them without 
 betraying any symptoms of impatience.
 
 ZEUS. 
 
 Tliough he did not perhaps yet reason so 
 far, he imbibed practical conviction that 
 it is better to yield for an instant to an 
 obstinate fool than to listen to him for 
 an hour : it is true thathedid not gain much 
 by this compliance, for the old man was 
 indefatigable in giving his lectures ; naju*- 
 length, from the force of habit and from 
 being constantly obliged to swallow the 
 same potion, he became nearly convinced of 
 the all-supremacy of reason. 
 
 Every thing in this world rnust come to 
 an end. After spending fifteen years in his 
 solitude and seclusion, Nabul began to feel 
 that he must soon cease to reason and to 
 instruct. Calling his son then to him, to 
 make him acquainted with his last will : — 
 *' I draw nigh, my son," he said, " to the 
 extremity of a long and uniformly unfor- 
 tunate life ; fly my example, but bear my 
 counsels always in mind, — this advice is the 
 sole legacy I have to bequeath you. You 
 were withdrawn by me from society at a 
 very early age, you must be restored to it,— 
 B 5
 
 10 ZELTS. 
 
 thus does your destiny ordain. Among all 
 tlie individuals of which society is com-, 
 posed, there is not one who does not run- 
 after a phantom which they call happi- 
 KESS ; no one however reaches it, — in the 
 imagination only is it realized, 'tis that 
 alone which believes in the enjoyment of it, 
 the reality is still far from him who pur- 
 sues it the most eagerly. There is an- 
 other idol worshipped equally by mankind, a 
 strange sort of deity which they call for- 
 tune, who bestows her favours according 
 to her caprices, never upon real merit. 
 While incense v/ithout measure is offered 
 to these two beings, reason is wholly neg- 
 lected, and yet that is the only real good ; 
 if it cannot make us positively happy, at 
 least it renders misfortunes supportable. 
 
 ** Those beings whom we call men, en- 
 tirely equal in their physical nature, are, 
 from the civil order established in society, 
 made to differ so essentially from each other, 
 that it is scarcely possible to conceive them 
 of the same species. Some are rich and
 
 ZELIS. 11 
 
 powerful ; they commonly create much mis- 
 chief in the world, because they have it in 
 their power to do a great deal of good ; — 
 they are feared, this satisfies them, they be- 
 lieve they are respected. Others, wanting 
 fortune, make themselves the slaves of the 
 GREAT in hopes of acquiring it ; they live 
 by the follies of those they court, and find 
 the land so productive, that they often raise 
 themseh^es upon their ruin: — 'tis this inex- 
 haustible fund which I wish you to culti- 
 vate ; if you can acquire the great art of 
 not being guilty of any follies yourself, and 
 of living by those which are committed by 
 others, you will soon, my son, be rich 
 enough. But my powers fail me ; you be- 
 gin to yaw^n, I die." And in a few minutes 
 after he breathed his last.
 
 12 2ELIS. 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 Projects on going into the world. -^A su- 
 pernatural appearance. — First sallying 
 forth of a ?iovice. — The hospitality of 
 an old woman. — Nocturnal visits. — A 
 hasty departure. 
 
 Zelis, thus left alone, with so large a 
 stock of reason and so few resources, found 
 himself a stranger in Nature. But from 
 his habits of reasoning he discovered fewer 
 evils in the world than they indicated re- 
 medies. Confidence is a sentiment natu- 
 ral to youth, fears for the future are the 
 effect of experience. Men, always painted 
 in the darkest colours by the deceased, pre- 
 sented themselves to his eyes under brighter 
 hues, society offered him resources, gave 
 him hope even of pleasures ; — he was de- 
 stitute of fortune, it is true, but that did not 
 injpress him with any gloomy ideas. *' No
 
 2ELIS. 13 
 
 man," said he, " has every thing he wishes, 
 and it is natural to desire what we have 
 not. I am abundantly stored with reason, 
 others are very deficient in it ; — I am poor, 
 others are too rich ; I shall find rich mad- 
 men enough, I will impart to them my 
 treasures, they in return will make me a 
 sharer in theirs, thus shall we mutually aid 
 each other ; and what happiness can be 
 greater than to arrive at fortune through 
 the diffusion of wisdom !" 
 
 Inflated with self-satisfaction at having 
 conceived a project so well reasoned, Zelis 
 burned with desire to find himself in the 
 midst of his fellow-creatures, and he pre- 
 pared to quit his solitude. At this mo- 
 ment a being appeared before him resplen- 
 dent with more than mortal lustre ; his 
 body, transparent as glass and sparkling 
 as the diamond, had no consistence. Zelis 
 started with affright. '' Fear nothing," said 
 the phantom. 
 
 " Tell me then who thou art ?" said Ze- 
 lis, all pale and trembling.
 
 14 ZEUS. 
 
 " I am thy Genius," said the spirit, " I 
 come to protect thee." 
 
 "Is it not possible to protect without 
 inspiring fear .^" 
 
 ** My errand is to enrich thee with my 
 gifts." 
 
 " How ? — can such a light and airy 
 being confer solid gifts ?" 
 
 ** Place confidence in me, believe the 
 gifts real, and you will soon succeed in per- 
 suading others of it ; ask of me only such 
 as you conceive will be the most useful." 
 
 " Without boasting," said Zelis, " I do 
 not believe myself destitute of judgement, I 
 may rely upon my reason." 
 
 '* If thou dost, thou wilt be guilty of a 
 thousand follies." 
 
 " Instruct me, then, what I ought to 
 ask, for I shall never finish were I to enu- 
 merate all the things of which I know the 
 names without having an idea of their na- 
 ture. I have heard repeatedly of virtue, 
 wisdom, expenejice, happiness, fortuTie, 
 passions, pleasur.es ; give me all these, or
 
 ZELIS. 15 
 
 choose yourself what you think will be best 
 for me ; you know that better than I do." 
 
 ** Learn," said the Genius, " to place 
 some bounds to thy desires ; this maxim 
 is one of my most precious gifts, it imparts 
 virtue, fortune, happiness. — Experience is 
 not to be found in deserts, I diffuse it by 
 insensible portions among mankind ; the 
 wise man collects and profits by it ; the 
 common mass of mortals cannot under- 
 stand it, and generally mistake prejudices 
 for it. Instruct yourself by their errors, 
 that you may learn to know the truth." 
 
 *' But this divine reason ? — what is to 
 become of that .^" 
 
 ** Use it, but always distrust it. — Go, 
 restore thyself to society ; the air of human- 
 kind which thou art about to breathe will 
 indicate to thee the abodes of men, will 
 guide thee among them." And so saying 
 the Genius was about to disappear. 
 
 " Stop," cried Zelis, '* do not abandon 
 me at the moment when I am most in need
 
 16 ZEUS. 
 
 of your aid ; deign to be the guide of my 
 first steps." 
 
 ** The most favoured of mortals never 
 behold me for more than an instant." 
 
 " Ah, why show yourself to disappear 
 again so soon !" 
 
 *' I came to enlighten thee." 
 ** And have only dazzled me." 
 " I do the same to almost all men, 
 though tliey do not all confess it with 
 equal honesty ; you merit a real proof of 
 my protection. The cave which has been 
 thy habitation incloses inmiense treasures; 
 search for them, learn to make use of them, 
 and deserve to see me again." So saying 
 he finally disappeared. 
 
 Zelis called after him for some time, but 
 in vain, nor could he recover from the agi- 
 tation into which he had been thrown by 
 the vision. Impatient to see men, and to 
 learn whether all that had passed was rea- 
 Hty or only delusion, he hastened to search 
 for the treasure. Nor were his researches
 
 ZELIS. 17 
 
 vain ; the treasures he found were equal to 
 the fortune of the most powerful monarch. 
 Zelis judged rightly that it would not be 
 prudent to expose the whole to the avarice 
 of mankind ; he therefore only carried with 
 liim as much as he supposed necessary ta 
 teach him the use and value of wealth, and 
 set off on his peregrinations without any 
 other guides than instinct and nature. 
 
 At the distance of only one day's jour- 
 ney from his desert, was a large town, and 
 that town was the capital of a mighty em» 
 pire. More occupied with his reflections 
 than with the length of the way, Zelis 
 found himself insensibly transported into 
 the midst of the town and its numerous in- 
 habitants. His wild air and rude garments 
 concealed sufficiently both his reason and 
 his wealth, no one would have supposed 
 him strongly endowed with either ; but 
 nothing could conceal his astonishment 
 and the perturbed state of his mind at the 
 sight of so many extraordinary and mi- 
 known objects. The more he endeavoured
 
 18 ZELFS^. 
 
 to assume a cold and tranquil air, the 
 more ridiculous he became ; every body 
 looked at him and laughed in his face. His 
 self-love was wounded, he remembered that 
 he was rich, and was disposed to treat them 
 with hau.ghtiness ; but his reason restrain- 
 ed him, he judged that they might not 
 perhaps respect him upon his own bare as- 
 sertions, or that they might abuse his con- 
 fidence, and it was better not to comraifc 
 himself too far» 
 
 Resolved, however, to find out what pre- 
 tensions in society his riches would give 
 him, he entered the house of a citizen, a man 
 somewhat advanced in years, who appeared 
 to have the air of a reasonable person, and 
 begged him earnestly to show him a rich 
 man. The citizen smiled. Zelis guessed 
 the cause, and said, " Pardon my question,. 
 I am a stranger and ignorant of mankind." 
 
 " There is no occasion to tell me that," 
 said the old man ; *' but to give you some 
 idea of what yovi ask, I need only say. Take 
 it into your wise head that a rich man is
 
 ZEtTS. 19 
 
 the thing upon earth which you resemble 
 the least." 
 
 Now Zelis, though his appearance was 
 wild and rugged, was yet handsome and well 
 made: — this circumstance did not escape the 
 wife of the old citizen, who was sitting by 
 his side, and who was the very opposite to 
 Zelis, for she was neither handsome, well- 
 made, nor young. " Zemroud," said she to 
 her husband, '* it is late]; this handsome 
 stranger appears quite a novice, tlie town 
 is not veiy safe for him, it were good in us 
 to oifer him an asylum." The old man 
 consented; and Zelis, in hopes of being in-- 
 structed, accepted their hospitality. 
 
 The family of his new hosts was com- 
 posed only of themselves and a daugh- 
 ter, a girl about fifteen, with a pretty face, 
 whose simple, artless, but animated appear- 
 ance bespoke at once innocence and the 
 ennui with which it is accompanied. *' Since 
 chance has brought us together," said Zem- 
 roud, " we must endeavour to entertain 
 each other; your conversation cannot be
 
 20 ZELW. 
 
 very instructive, but it raav be amui^ing. 
 Tell me, to begin, who you are, and what 
 you seek here r" 
 
 ** My itoTv,'^ said Zeiis, '' is not long; 
 my name and my country are of little inx- 
 portance to you ; I come to this town to 
 enjoy the advantages of society, and I bring 
 nothing with me. My father, devoted en- 
 tirely to reason, neglected fortune, and I re- 
 ceive no other inheritance from him but 
 his opinions." 
 
 " My friend,'' rephed the old man, "your 
 father must have been a madman, and you 
 appear a fool ; — know that society- furnishes 
 nothing for nothing. As for myself, I never 
 reasoned in my life, and have thriven all 
 the better for it ; I love money, I detest rea- 
 soners, — you see clearly that we cannot re- 
 main long together.'' 
 
 Zehs was Uke one thunderstruck. The 
 obUging old lady, whose eyes were constantly 
 fixed upon him, endeavoured by signs to 
 reassure him ; but tliis was a language which 
 he did not ven- well imderstand, and he
 
 ZEWS. 21 
 
 ^ feHia ined sad and thoughtful. The hour of 
 repose being arrived, he was conducted to 
 a clmnilKT, where alone and at liberty he 
 set himself la reason, endeavouring to solve 
 tke rnigtity problem, whether he ought ra- 
 ther to quarrel with himself or with man- 
 kind for the little respect and consideration 
 he had hitherto received from them. 
 
 He^ might undoubte^Hy liave continued to 
 reason for a long time without being able 
 ultimately to decide the question, but he 
 wa« suddenly interrupted b) the door of his 
 roi>m being opened gently, and with as lit- 
 tle noise as possible. The glimmering light 
 of a lamp showed him the features of his 
 aged hostess, who glided softly into the 
 chamber: he was alarmed; confidence was 
 not yet fully established between him and 
 the human j^pecies, and the countenance and 
 figure of the old lady were not particularly 
 calculated to promote confidence. 
 
 " '11« I, my dear angel," she said in a low 
 tone of voice, ** led hither by an earnest 
 dctfire to serve you. Why have you not
 
 22 ZELIS. 
 
 experience enough to feel the true value of 
 what love urges me to ? I saw the embarrass- 
 TTient into which you were thrown this even- 
 ing, and I was ready to die with concern. 
 Zemroud is austere, he is avaricious ; if he 
 believes you poor he will banish you hence, 
 but this I will never suffer; I bring you 
 money, and will retain you here. — You see," 
 added she, clasping his hand, "how much 
 I interest myself for you ; be not ungrateful, 
 I do not require much, and at your age gra- 
 titude costs so little." 
 
 **Iam not ungrateful," said Zelis, over- 
 whelmed with confusion, *'but I have no oc- 
 casion for your bounty. If the good-will of 
 mankind is to be bought, see I have gold 
 in plenty, — tell me then to what I may pre- 
 tend r 
 
 **0 heavens!" exclaimed the old lady, 
 *' am I then come too late ? — but such as 
 you never can want for any thing. Yet, 
 good dear stranger, do remember that the 
 wish to confer a benefit merits no less than 
 if the benefit were actually conferred."
 
 ZELIS. 23 
 
 ** I shall remember it," said Zelis, " and 
 be assured of my gratitude : but at present 
 excuse my giving proofs of it, and leave me, 
 I entreat, to my repose." 
 
 The old lady retired, though not very well 
 satisfied ; she had rather that the youth had 
 stood in need of her bounty, but there was 
 no help for the evil. Zelis immediately 
 betook himself again to reasoning, and after 
 a more agreeable fashion. He perceived, 
 at least he had now grounds to conjecture, of 
 how great value riches were, and their em- 
 •pire over the minds of men. '* I may then," 
 he said, " obtain friends and respect, I 
 have a right to spurn the contempt of citi- 
 zens and the advances of old women." — He 
 had perhaps pursued this chain of reasoning 
 further, but he was again interrupted by the 
 door being opened, if possible more softly 
 than before, when he recognised the daugh- 
 ter of his host, who with a trembling hesi- 
 tating air advanced towards him. 
 
 Little accustomed to adventures of this 
 kind, Zelis immediately concluded that she
 
 ^4 ZEUS. 
 
 was in som^ imminent danger; and hastily 
 running up to her, he was about to cry out 
 for help, if she had not silenced him by the 
 most expressive gestures that fear could in- 
 spire. Happily he -imderstood them, and 
 she threw herself half-dead into his arms, 
 ** May I not know," said Zelis with great 
 emotion, ** \Amt danger threatens you, and 
 of what assistance you stand in need .^" 
 
 ^* In the name of Heaven," said the terri- 
 iied maiden, ''-do not talk to nie of assist- 
 ance ; or let the assistance be all your own, 
 I know not what I do, or what I wish. I 
 have seen you, I was anxious to see you 
 -again, I am in an agitation siich as I never 
 before experienced, I feel a thousand things, 
 and I know not what I feel." 
 
 **Our situation is indeed very peculiar," 
 said Zelis : "I am myself agitated with the 
 strangest emotions, I would fain e3q)ress a 
 thousand ideas, and I know not what to say." 
 He was silent, he still clasped her tenderly 
 in his arms ; and how far, with nature as 
 their interpreter, they might have come to
 
 ZELIS. 25 
 
 understand each other at last, it is impossi- 
 ble to determine, had they not been inter- 
 rupted by the voice of the old woman, which 
 resounded through the whole house. At this 
 the affrighted daughter, darting away from 
 the arms of Zelis, disappeared in an instant 
 like a flash of lightning. 
 
 Zelis remained in the utmost confusion : 
 he thought he had been in a dream, and 
 was sorry that it was so soon over. The 
 sweet impression that remained of it pre- 
 vented him for some moments from reflect- 
 ing ; but habit soon resumed its empire, and 
 there no longer appeared to him any thing 
 extraordinarv in the adventure. "'Tis un- 
 doubtedly," said he, *' one of the customs 
 of the town to make these visits by night, 
 and probably the old man will come in his 
 turn and oflier me his services. These at- 
 tentions are rather troublesome, but they 
 show kindness and humanity; I wish, how- 
 ever, they were confined to the young.'' Sleep 
 surprised him in the midst of these reflec- 
 tions, and his repose was no more disturbed. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 ZELIS. 
 
 The next morning as soon as his eyes 
 were opened his host made his appearance, 
 accompanied by the whole family. His 
 manner was exceedingly changed, or rather 
 Zelis might have discovered that he was 
 himself exceedingly changed in the old 
 man's eyes, who now treated him with great 
 respect. The old woman seemed to avoid 
 his looks, and the yonng one with her head 
 cast down stole a glance at him from the 
 corner of her eye. 
 
 Zelis, astonished at so great a revolution, 
 set himself to find out the cause ; nor was 
 he long before he suspected it. His gold, 
 which was lying on the table, had caught 
 Zemroud's eyes, and he was impressed with 
 the utmost veneration for the possessor of 
 so much riches. " Aha," said Zelis to him- 
 self, ** this is a fortunate disco veiy ; but it 
 is too general : it is plain that gold attracts 
 respect, but I would know the gradations ; 
 we cannot, from the force of reason alone, 
 find out the customs of the world, nor un- 
 derstand the value of the attentions we re-
 
 celve, particularly the nocturnal visits. Let 
 us interrogate these good people, or rather 
 the old man alone ; let me call to mind the 
 counsels of my father, who recommended 
 to keep at a distance that frivolous sex from 
 whom nothing hut errors can be expected ; 
 'tis to man alone that the art of reasoning 
 belongs." 
 
 Zelis immediately made known his wishes 
 to be left alone with the old man, and the 
 two women retired. *'Zemroud," then he 
 said, ** I am a stranger, and I udsh to be 
 instructed: tell me, are we the same indivi- 
 duals to-day that we were yesterday ?'' 
 
 '' Noble sir," said the old man, ** do not 
 punish me for having so entirely mistaken 
 you; you are undoubtedly some great prince 
 concealed under that garb, and wish to amuse 
 yourself with our simplicity ; but a prince 
 disguised is so like any other man." 
 
 " Who then has revealed to you the 
 myster>' of my greatness .^" 
 
 " llie wealth that I see spread out there 
 on the table." 
 
 c2
 
 28 ZELIS. 
 
 **But this gold has not changed me; it 
 cannot give either virtue or talents." 
 
 " It gives every thing." 
 
 "A rich man then, cannot be a fool ?" 
 
 ** Why — why — indeed he may be some- 
 times ; but he is useful to us, and that is in 
 our eyes the first of virtues ; 'tis that which 
 guards us against contempt, and assures us 
 respect." 
 
 ''For instance: What degree of respect 
 is intended by the visits which I received 
 this night in your house ? — were they the 
 result of general custom, or were they meant 
 to show any particular respect.^" 
 
 The old man, not understanding him, 
 begged that he would explain himself. 
 ** Your wife," said Zelis, " came to me in 
 the night to offer me some services, and I 
 believe . . . ." 
 
 But he could proceed no further ; for at 
 the first word he uttered, Zemroud rushed 
 out of the chamber, while the neighbouring, 
 apartment resounded at the same moment 
 with cries, with shrieks, and with curses.
 
 ZELIS. '29 
 
 Zeiis would fain have appeased the storm, 
 but it was then only turned upon him, while 
 the torrent of invective poured out by his 
 hosts instructed him that he was the cause 
 of all. 
 
 " What does this mean ?" said he within 
 himself. *' Am I then such a fatal being — a 
 single word from me kindles all this tumult 
 and uproar! But no, let us accuse nothing 
 but the wickedness of these beings : — one 
 would have deceived my reason by his false 
 shows of respect, the other would have un- 
 dermined my virtue; — let us fly so many 
 vices combined against us. So saying, he 
 made his escape from the midst of the com- 
 batants, and throwing them a piece of gold 
 in recompense of the hospitality he had re- 
 ceived, quitted the house. 
 
 With Zemroudandhis wife avarice super- 
 seded the effects of anger ; they quitted him 
 to gather up the glittering testimony of his 
 liberality, following lihn with their thanks : 
 he, wholly disregarding them, made his way 
 from their abode with all possible expedition.
 
 30 
 
 ZEL 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A new vision of supernatural beings, 
 — Society defined. — Fresh instances of 
 conjugal fidelitjj. 
 
 The disturbed state of Zelis's mind pre- 
 vented for some time his distinguishing the 
 objects by which he was surrounded. On 
 the return of his faculties he was surprised 
 to find himself in a delightful garden, where 
 a great number of men richly habited, 
 and women dressed with the utmost taste, 
 were walking like himself. Dazzled with so 
 many brilliant objects, he tried to persuade 
 himself once more that he was in a deli- 
 cious dream ; but all his senses assured him 
 that every thing was reality. He applied 
 himself to reasoning upon what it might 
 all mean : — " These are not men, assured- 
 ly," said he; " they must be the deities who 
 protect the empire, or at least the protecting
 
 . ZEUS. 31 
 
 Genii of the worthy citizens ; — the charms 
 of their countenances, the gracefulness of 
 all their motions, the gaiety of their con- 
 versation — every thing announces their per- 
 fections and happiness ; every thing her$ 
 appears to me above human nature. How 
 happy should I be, if among this brilliant 
 crowd I could recognise my own Genius ! 
 But it cannot undoubtedly be the lot of a 
 vile mortal to be raised to a level with such 
 godlike beings !" 
 
 In proportion, however, as he contem- 
 plated these resplendent objects, the illu- 
 sion diminished : he thought that among 
 the number some were to be distinguished, 
 certainly not superior to human nature ; 
 he even thought he perceived some of the 
 divine women exceedingly disposed to hu- 
 manize themselves to the utmost' extent of 
 the word with the deities of the other sex ; 
 and his curiosity was soon as much excited 
 as his astonishment had been. He entered 
 a sequestered bower, flattering himself that 
 he might there find some human being
 
 92 ZELIS^. 
 
 sufficiently reasonable to make it worth hrs 
 while to engage him in conversation, A 
 man of about thirty years of age, simple in 
 his exterior and with a pleasing counte- 
 nance, was reposing on a bench at a little 
 distance. Zelis accosted him with trem- 
 bling and hesitation, and asked him some 
 questions, to which he received the most 
 polite and obliging answers. Emboldened 
 by this courtesy, he ventured to impart to 
 him his ignorance, his conjectures, and his 
 wishes for instruction. ** I cannot doubt,"- 
 said he, *'but that lam transported into 
 the abodes of the Genii ?'' 
 
 " You are only," answered the stranger, 
 *' in the Mai/ of Fools.'' 
 
 "But I once saw my own Genius ; he was 
 dazzling as the beings whom I now be- 
 hold." 
 
 ** I wish for your sake that he may be 
 somewhat more solid." 
 
 " How! these charming beings who 
 look, who move, who speak with so mucli 
 grace. . . ."
 
 ZELIS. 33 
 
 ** Are those who of all others think the 
 least." 
 
 " But there are some, surely, who are 
 reasonable ?" 
 
 " Very few, indeed : you may easily di- 
 stinguish them; they are the least splendidly" 
 dressed, they say little, and inspire the rest 
 with ennui r 
 
 '* What then must a man do to be held 
 in consideration in society?" 
 
 ** You ask me a question which requires 
 an explanation not to be given in a few 
 words." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake grant me that ex- 
 planation, though from the next moment 
 you should fly me for ever as having been 
 troublesome past endurance." 
 
 "I shall not fly you," said Nasses, (which 
 was the stranger's name) "but shall be happy 
 to instruct you if you will have the patience 
 to listen to me. — It is proper to begin by 
 defining the meaning of certain terms which 
 will be used, as a necessary preliminaiy to 
 fixing our ideas. The term society is 
 c 5
 
 34 ZELIS. 
 
 sometimes applied to a purely metaphysical 
 being, a connexion founded upon virtue, 
 formed by esteem, nourished by friendship, 
 of which reason is the soul, and the source 
 whence emanate all its pleasures. Society 
 of this nature is like the philosopher's stone ; 
 visionaries search for it, the simple believe 
 in it, but nobody finds it. The term so- 
 ciety is, however, more commonly applied 
 to connexions formed by chance, which 
 are either suddenly thrown down like an 
 edifice founded in the sand, or else moulder 
 away in detail. This latter forms the com- 
 mon run of society, and is the only one 
 which you must hope to find. The great 
 art of succeeding in it is to talk much and 
 reason little ; to think well of yourself and 
 slightingly of others ; to give importance to 
 trifles and to ridicule great talents ; to sa- 
 crifice reason to wit, virtue to prejudices, 
 and decorum to fashion." 
 
 *' What a horrible picture !" exclaimed 
 Zelis. " Why did I ever quit my solitude.^" 
 
 ** You are yet a mere novice/' said
 
 ZEUS. 35 
 
 Nasses : " wait only till you know this mon- 
 ster ; he is seductive, you will perhaps 
 think veiy differently of him. Your mind 
 will soon be formed to his ways, you will ob- 
 tain favours, you will meet with successes, 
 you will find crosses ; your age and person 
 assure me of all this." 
 
 "But in the mean time what will be 
 thought of me ?" 
 
 " You will be considered in the light of 
 rather an awkward monkey." 
 
 " Heaven forbid that my reason should 
 be prostituted to such a degree ! — This very 
 night I return to my forest." 
 
 ** Softly, softly ; your virtue interests, 
 your simplicity charms me, but your reason 
 makes you guilty of great folly. I will not 
 abandon you ; you are a sick person who 
 must be accustomed by degrees to the ne- 
 cessaiy remedies, and I hope my company 
 may not be disagreeable to you. I am one 
 of those visionaries who believe in reason- 
 able society : I have an amiable and virtuous 
 wife, and sensible friends ; my happiness is
 
 B6 2ELIS. 
 
 to love all these, and my folly to believe that 
 I am beloved by them. I have all the advan- 
 tages of opulence without pomp : — come 
 and share my pleasures, you may presence 
 your reason in acquiring a knowledge of the 
 world. AVe will remain together while you 
 continue such as you are at present; w4ien 
 you become like other people you shall fol- 
 low your own inclinations." 
 
 " Generous stranger," exclaimed Zelis, 
 *' what do I not owe you ! — ^^"ou offer me 
 more than I could dare to hope. AVhat 
 should I have done with my wealth without 
 experience ? — the most precious treasure I 
 have is your friendship." 
 
 It was now time to retire. Zelis followed 
 his new host into an elegant and commo- 
 dious palace, where Nasses presented him 
 to his wife. She appeared such as her hus- 
 band had described her, — handsome without 
 affectation, lively and animated without le- 
 vity ; her countenance bespoke the sweet- 
 ness of her character, and a tender afl'ec- 
 tion for her husband seemed to be the soul
 
 ZELIS. 37 
 
 of all her actions. Several friends were as- 
 sembled there, and Zells could never suffi- 
 ciently admire the charms of this little so- 
 ciety. Although it varied almost every 
 day, although it was often very brilliant, 
 wisdom and discretion always seemed to 
 preside in it, nor did he doubt but that in 
 the midbt of a corrupt city, reason and 
 FRIENDSHIP had chosen this house as their 
 asylum. 
 
 "■ You have deceived me," said he some- 
 times to Nasses ; " I find here all that reason 
 pointed out to me, and nothing of what 
 you described." 
 
 " I have not deceived you," answered 
 Nasses ; " but society seduces you, illusion 
 has at present the ascendancy over your soul. 
 I painted to you realities, you judge from 
 appearances, but you are so much the more 
 happy. Cherish so agreeable and necessary 
 an error ; and above all be content with an 
 outward show of friendship and of love, it 
 is rare that we gain any thing by sounding 
 either too deeply."
 
 38 ZELIS. 
 
 United to Nasses by the most sincere 
 friendship, Zehs felt for his wife a senti- 
 ment yet more tender, and was sometimes 
 astonished at it. In some moments his 
 reason was alarmed, but it soon resumed 
 its confidence: ** It is not," he said, "love 
 that I feel, since it is not in nature for a 
 man to love the wife of his friend : — a sex 
 so charming has a claim to more marked at- 
 tentions than we pay to each other ; but my 
 friend must always retain a real preference 
 in my heart. No, I am not in love ; at the 
 utmost 'tis nothing but a disposition to gal- 
 lantry that I feel in her presence : nay, what 
 ought to inspire me with the greater con- 
 fidence in this respect is, that this virtuous 
 wife knows my sentiments and is in no way 
 offended at them." 
 
 However, without being in love, he al- 
 ways thought as she did ; he felt all her plea- 
 sures, he was afflicted at her slightest pains ; 
 he existed only in her presence, in her ab- 
 sence he languished and died away. He 
 painted to her his sentiments, she listened
 
 ZELIS. 39 
 
 to them with pleasure. Any other had felt 
 that he loved, had seen that his love was 
 returned ; but when reason deceives, it is 
 so much the more dangerous, as there is no 
 idea of distrust. 
 
 One day finding her sad, he became sad 
 himself. In vain did he entreat her with 
 the most tender interest to impart the cause 
 of her chagrin ; in vain did he endeavour to 
 disperse it by all the most soothing atten^ 
 tions that reason and friendsiiip could in- 
 spire, — she still observed a profound silence, 
 only casting upon him from time to time 
 languishing regards which pierced his very 
 soul. He threw himself at her feet, pressing 
 her to answer him ; till at length he drew 
 from her the following confession, uttered 
 in a stifled voice and frequently interrupted 
 by sighs. 
 
 ** We are not always as discreet, nor al- 
 ways as happy as we appear to be : you 
 prate of my happiness, because, blind and 
 stupid as you are, you cannot see that this 
 happiness is but a chimera. Wealth is only
 
 40 ZELIS. 
 
 a misfortune when it does not give us what 
 we desire the most ; it does but serve then 
 to multiply our desires. The virtues and 
 the love of a husband whom we cannot love, 
 only become the greater source of torment. 
 Ah ! how can I love one whom I feel an ob- 
 stacle to my felicity ! You are yet unac- 
 quainted with the power of the passions : 
 there are two by which I am devoured, and 
 which nothing can extinguish. You know 
 that my sister is just married to a gi*andee 
 of the empire ; she is by no means my 
 equal either in beauty or talents, yet she is 
 about the court, she shares in the pleasures 
 of our august sovereign, while I am not per- 
 mitted even to approach his palace gates. 
 I cannot support this humiliation ; — I have 
 employed all my influence with Nasses to 
 engage him to raise me to an equal rank ; 
 he might do it, but he will not ; no prayers, 
 no entreaties can move him ; he sacrifices all 
 my wishes at the shrine of his cold-hearted 
 reason. This is, however, his least crime : 
 and, since I have confessed thus much to
 
 ZEL19. 41 
 
 thee, it will now cost me little to confess 
 the whole ; — I love thee with the extremest 
 ardour. Judge now whether thy friend is 
 not sufficiently culpable in my eyes : — ^I 
 breathe nothing but vengeance, and 'tis 
 thou who must assist me to accomplish it. 
 Nasses has often spoken in terms little re- 
 spectful of our laws and of our sovereign ; 
 it shall be my care to make his guilt known, 
 so can nothing save him from death ; — then 
 will I offer myself to thee : I shall know 
 how to raise myself to a rank equal to my 
 highest ambition, and your greatness will 
 go hand in hand with mine." 
 
 " O monster ! — O excess of horrors !" 
 cried Zelis, flying her hastily. " O un- 
 fortunate Nasses ! how cruel is thy fate, and 
 how little merited by thee ! — Can it be 
 that the mask of virtue but conceals trea- 
 sons so dark ! — and must I be destined to 
 disturb the peace of every house that I en- 
 ter ! — Let me fly this dangerous abode ; but 
 first draw my fiiend out of his present fatal
 
 42 
 
 2ELIS. 
 
 error ; — let me ensure the safety of a life 
 so precious." 
 
 Overwhelmed with the most heart-rend- 
 ing reflections, he hastened from her pre- 
 sence and shut himself up in his own apart- 
 ment. Nasses sent and invited him to join 
 some friends who were assembled at his 
 house. Still oppressed with his own gloomy 
 ideas, he saw with astonishment joy and 
 tranquillity reign among them. Never did 
 the wife of Nasses appear more cheerful and 
 happy, or more affectionate towards her 
 husband. Zelis passed a charming evening, 
 and was all the night occupied with reflec- 
 tions upon the incomprehensible falsehood 
 of women. 
 
 On the morrow he was altogether in a 
 state of uncertainty what he ought to do : — 
 the scene he had witnessed was so entirely 
 in contradiction with all he had heard, that 
 again he was doubtful whether the v/hole 
 was not a dream. Sometimes he thought 
 it was horrible to observe a silence which
 
 ZELIS. 43 
 
 seemed to place his friend's life in so much 
 danger ; sometimes it appeared to him cruel 
 to deprive his friend, by a communication 
 destitute of every appearance of truth, of a 
 state of happiness which he feit so sensibly. 
 In this conflict of doubt and hesitation he 
 resolved to delay awhile speaking to his 
 friend, lest in endeavouring to serve him 
 he might stab him to the heart. Several 
 days thus passed on. Zelis observed every 
 thing with the strictest attention ; he saw 
 nothing but the semblance of peace and 
 harmony around him ; of a tender affection 
 the charms of which seemed daily to in- 
 crease. He only avoided with the utmost 
 care being left alone with the wife of 
 Nasses. 
 
 One day she sent and desired to see him. 
 He was tempted to refuse her, but he loved ; 
 h*e reasoned, and hastened to serve his 
 friend. *' It is charming," said she when 
 she saw him, ** to have such a friend as 
 you ! — how is it that with so little experi- 
 ence you have so much discretion ? I have
 
 44 ZELIS. 
 
 put you to a severe trial ; it is time to re- 
 move the suspicions which you may have 
 conceived. Had you been more initiated 
 into the customs of the world, you would 
 immediately have seen to what a degree my 
 conduct falsified all that my tongue uttered : 
 I am afraid you are not sufficiently quick- 
 sighted, and I value your esteem highly." 
 
 " WTiat do I hear !" exclaimed Zelis: 
 ** how happy do you make me ! — It is not 
 true then that Nasses is odious to you, and 
 that I am .... " 
 
 " Hold," said she : '* the confession 
 would not be gallant." 
 
 " Pardon me ; — the happiness of my 
 friend interests me so deeply, that my rea- 
 son is wholly troubled." 
 
 " Tliis uneasiness is more obliging to 
 him than to me. ^'Miat I said to you wa^ 
 agreed upon between us ; we wanted omy 
 to prove your heart. But your reason need 
 not now be alarmed; we shall not see 
 Nasses to-day : the only thing which con- 
 soles me for his absence is, that he has left
 
 ZELIS. 45 
 
 so charming and faithful a friend to supply 
 his placed 
 
 Zelis, overwhelmed with joy, now enter- 
 ed upon a long and very animated conver- 
 sation with the wife of Nasses. They talked 
 of the friend who was ahsent ; they talked 
 of themselves, of the charms of friendship, 
 and the delights of love. A conversation 
 in which the heart has a greater share than 
 tlie mind, is dangerous between two per- 
 sons who love ; — would that a veil could be 
 thrown over the rest ! Zelis heard himself 
 praised for his virtue, his handsome coun- 
 tenance, the graces of his person, his fide- 
 lity to friendship, till his reason was in- 
 sensibly overshadowed by a thick mist ; he 
 forgot that a friend is but half ourselves, 
 he believed himself wholly Nasses, and did 
 in the end wholly supply his place.
 
 46 ZELTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The communication of a dreadful secret. — 
 The manner in ivhich it was received. — 
 A Court and Courtier ship. — Return to 
 solitude. — The change not lasting. 
 
 In a naturally virtuous mind which has 
 made a slight lapse from its integrity, re- 
 morse instantly follows the offence. The 
 intoxication of Zelis endured but for a mo- 
 ment, it was succeeded by a kind of stupid 
 astonishment. But what surprised him the 
 most was, to perceive the wife of his friend, 
 after fixing her eyes earnestly upon him for 
 some moments, burst into an immoderate 
 fit of laughter. ** Generous friend," she 
 said, ** when we are over-prodigal of our 
 reason, a very important crisis will some- 
 times occur on which it entirely fails us. 
 You have virtue in abundance, it is impos- 
 sible to corrupt you ; but you are new to the
 
 ZELIS. 47 
 
 world, you may easily be seduced. I loved 
 you, I told you so ; you would not listen to 
 nie — you forced me to become a seducer. 
 Cheer up, however, nor fear any tragic con- 
 ijequences ; your friend Nasses shall come 
 off cheaply, this one misfortune settles our 
 account ; he is not the only beloved hus- 
 band to whom such a thing has happened. 
 You have kept my secret, remember that 
 this is your own." 
 
 Such a harangue, far from tranquillizing 
 Zelis, only made him feel his fault more 
 deeply, since his virtue was wounded by it, 
 and his self-love humbled. He hastily quit- 
 ted this worthless woman, and shut himself 
 up in his chamber to reason. However 
 dissatisfied he was with himself, the con- 
 duct that he ought to observe tow^ards Nas- 
 ses embarrassed him much more : *' With 
 what face can I see him again ?'' said he : 
 ** shame will betray me: what can I say to 
 him ? — I was discreet in one instance, and I 
 was in the right ; to repeat a casual desul- 
 tory conversation and disturb his happiness
 
 48 ZELIS. 
 
 by the vagaries of a wife, would have been 
 a folly : but here we have facts ; his wife is 
 faithless to him, anci I share her crime — the 
 Gods be my witnesses it is not my fault, 
 but in his eyes I shall not be the less guilty. 
 Let me fly the sight of him for ever, but 
 let me preserve his esteem ; let him believe 
 me weak, without firmness of mind, with- 
 out experience ; but let him not think me a 
 traitor, a seducer. Let him detest me, let 
 him load me with reproaches, but let him 
 not be able to avoid pitying me, never let 
 him despise me." 
 
 To the murmurings of reason succeeded 
 a state amounting nearly to stupefaction. 
 Excess of remorse will produce the same 
 effect as the calm of a good conscience; and 
 in this state he was overtaken by a sound 
 sleep, which continued for a considerable 
 time. On awaking he was again torment- 
 ed in the same way by his reason. ''How 
 I pity my friend !" he said : "he loves his 
 wife, he is hated by her; he has confidence 
 in her^ and she abuses it. Who shall assure
 
 ZELIS. 49 
 
 me that I am the first person with whom 
 she has played this game ? Perhaps the 
 excess of his love only renders him ridicu- 
 lous and contemptible in her eyes ; — who 
 knows whether she may not realize her threats 
 and put his life in danger ? — ^He must be 
 roused from the error in which he slumbers ; 
 — in leaving him I must give him a last 
 proof of my friendship. I shall blush, I 
 know it well ; but my intentions have always 
 been pure, and Nasses shall judge them so 
 equally with myself." 
 
 The same sentiment which inspired Zelis 
 with this resolution, made him think the 
 execution of it a matter of the utmost ur- 
 gency. He sent to desire a secret interview 
 with Nasses. This friend came to him in- 
 stantly ; and finding him in the utmost trou- 
 ble and confusion, eagerly demanded the 
 cause. " My friend," he said, ** support 
 me, lest I sink under the weight of my af- 
 fliction : I must quit you, Nasses ; and quit- 
 ting you, must confess that I have been very 
 guilty towards you." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ZELIS. 
 
 *' How!" said Nasses, *' explain this tra- 
 gic exclamation. Have you burned my bouse, 
 stole my property, or seduced my wife ?" — 
 Zelis's confusion was increased tenfold. 
 **Nay," said bis friend, *'wbat am I to 
 think .'^ you do not answer." 
 
 "How can I. ^" said Zelis. "I have not 
 seduced your wife, but you are not therefore 
 the more happy or I the more innocent: — 
 nor is this all." 
 
 ^^For the love of Heaven spare me the 
 conclusion of this strange confidence ; I know 
 already but too much. But in the name 
 of all the Gods tell me, is it ignorance, or 
 is it malignity, that induces you to assassi- 
 nate me in this unaccountable way ? What 
 harm did your crime do me, if I had been 
 suffered to remain ignorant of it ? — ^and who 
 of all mankind but yourself would have 
 thought of imparting it to me ?'' 
 
 Zelis perceived, but too late, that his 
 reason had here again made him guilty of 
 a great folly. He fell at the feet of his 
 friend, and wept till the heart of Nasses was
 
 ZtLlS. Si 
 
 wholly melted at the state in which he saw 
 him ; while, feeling that the evil would not 
 admit of a remedy, he soon resolved on the 
 part he should take. " Rise, young man," 
 said he ; " the fault with which you reproach 
 yourself is the least part of the evil ; — I know 
 your heart, I know that you could never have 
 formed a project to wrong me — 'tis your sim- 
 plicity only which has led to the offence : if 
 I were to hate you for it, I should then be 
 unjust. Assure me only — for the frankness 
 of your heart makes me tremble for what 
 may have been done — assure me that you 
 have not made any one but myself the con- 
 fident of my wrongs. If this be so, remain 
 quietly with us ; you will assuredly hereafter 
 be more discreet ; if you are not, there iT" 
 an end of the matter." 
 
 Confounded at having in so short a time 
 been guilty of two such egregious pieces of 
 folly, Zelis protested that he could never 
 dare to appear again in his presence. 
 
 " You will then," said Nasses, '' take the 
 only method that remains to you of adding 
 d2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 lit INniC I IDDADU
 
 52 ZELIS. 
 
 to my affliction. Go ; I would not be guilty 
 of any violence towards you ; be happier else- 
 where; consider me always as among the 
 number of your friends ; but beware above 
 every thing of practising the same sincerity 
 another time." 
 
 Separated from Nasses, Zelis was for a 
 long time absorbed in his reflections. He 
 could not pardon his reason the ill-turn that 
 it had played him ; and running over all he 
 had lost by false reasoning, he thought the 
 best course to be adopted was to place him- 
 self in a situation where he would be the 
 least possible in the way of reasoning. He 
 hired a magnificent palace ; had all his wealth 
 transported thither; filled it with costly fur- 
 niture and slaves superbly clothed; and, as 
 the substitute for a friend, collected round 
 him a great number of acquaintance. He 
 had a thousand amiable qualities ; he spent 
 his money freely, and his house was the 
 abode of pleasure; it was frequented by all 
 persons in the empire who were most distin- 
 guished for their rank or their talents ; they
 
 ZEUS. 53 
 
 visited him first from curiosity and afterwards 
 attached themselves to him from taste. The 
 constant whirl of a life of amusement left 
 him no time to reason ; — every thing seemed 
 to succeed to his wishes. 
 
 His health was however in time Injured 
 by this perpetual round of pleasure : a fit of 
 vapours and of reason came on ; he reproach- 
 ed himself with an existence devoid of all 
 utility to his fellow-creatures or to his coun- 
 try. As a remedy, he sought to procure a 
 post at Court. The object was no sooner so- 
 licited than obtained; and for some days he 
 was wholly transported with his new digni- 
 ty. He soon, however, perceived that he 
 had lost his liberty, acquired enemies, and 
 was nursing discontents around him : he 
 regretted the time when he was free ; but 
 since he had taken duties upon himself, he 
 was resolved to discharge them faithfully, 
 without regard to his own private feelings 
 or to public opinion. 
 
 The virtue which he cherished in himself 
 rendered him clear-sighted to the vices of
 
 54 ZELIS. 
 
 others. Insincerity, flatteiy, meanness, self- 
 interest — the great virtues of a Court — ex 
 cited his warmest indignation. If he ex- 
 pressed himself to this effect to some of 
 the Great who were virtuous in appearance, 
 they laughed in his face. " Would you un- 
 dertake," said they, " the reform of human 
 nature .^ — ^leave men to be such as they are ; 
 be like them yourself if you would be wise." 
 ** How !" would he say sometimes, '* shall 
 I be vile enough to follow morals so degra- 
 ding .^ — Ah ! sovereigns are indeed unfortu- 
 nate, the mass of error by which they are 
 surrounded drives truth far from them ; 
 those from whom the best services might 
 be expected deceive them sometimes, for 
 they are themselves abused and deceived. 
 Kings and their ministers are virtuous at 
 heart, but a sort of fatality seems to op- 
 pose itself against their benevolence pro- 
 ducing its proper effect, and makes their 
 administration appear unjust. The num- 
 ber and the pressure of surrounding cir- 
 cumstances form an impenetrable veil, to
 
 ZELIS. 55 
 
 prevent their seeing and knowing the means 
 by which their wishes for the good of man- 
 kind may be accomphshed. Since it is 
 given me to be sensible of all these obsta- 
 cles, be it my care to remove them : truth 
 is sacred ; when it is harsh it displeases, I 
 will soften without disguising it." 
 
 Called to the ear of his sovereign, Zelis 
 however forgot his intention of softening 
 the harshness of truth, and, actuated only 
 by his zeal, used expressions the energy of 
 which appeared bitter and insulting to a 
 Prince. This latter, to punish his inso- 
 lence and make him feel how much he had 
 been wanting in the proper respect from a 
 subject to a sovereign, ejected him from his 
 employment, and banished him the Court. 
 The following day Zelis was informed 
 that a friend desired to speak with him. 
 *' I did not suppose that I had now a friend," 
 he said ; *' but show in this singular man." 
 The friend appeared : — it was Nasses. " Is 
 this an illusion ?'' said Zelis, astonished and 
 confounded : you call yourself my friend at
 
 06 ZELIS. 
 
 a moment when that appellation is a re- 
 proach to any man ; — yoii have then for- 
 gotten what I have done, and are ignorant 
 of what has happened to me ?" 
 
 *' I know of your disgrace/* said Nasses, 
 ** and 'tis that which brings me hither : you 
 once imparted to me information by which 
 you thought I should be benefited : — I come 
 now to console you when you stand in need 
 of consolation. You have passed more than 
 a year in splendour and greatness : I was 
 then much below you, and knew that my 
 company could be of no use ;-^your misfor- 
 tune rendei's us again equal ; resume my 
 friendship if you think it of any value, nor 
 longer reproach yourself with a fault for 
 which I have reason to thank you/' 
 
 ** No, no," exclaimed Zelis, " one cannot 
 be unfortunate when one possesses such a 
 friend. But tell me in what way I have me- 
 rited your gratitude." 
 
 *' 'Tis thus. You were not the only per- 
 son who had pleased the fancy of my wife ; 
 many is the mail who has equally shared
 
 ZELIS. 57 
 
 her favours, — my shame was the 'common 
 theme of public conversation ; I only was 
 ignorant of it, and I was regarded as a fool. 
 Vou first opened my eyes ; for that I am 
 much your debtor : my wife is now dead, 
 and there is an end of the matter. I would 
 not, however, advise you often to repeat 
 this mode of obliging; you may not always 
 find people equally grateful." 
 
 A long conversation now ensued between 
 the two friends, in which they tasted all the 
 sweets of the most sincere union of minds. 
 They swore to fly for ever, slaveiy, love, 
 grandeur, — to renounce entirely all inter- 
 course with the false sex ; to be always dis- 
 creet, and never to separate themselves from 
 each other. 
 
 In execution of this project Zelis ex- 
 changed his splendid palace for a neat and 
 modest house : luxury disappeared from- 
 around him, but it was replaced by conve- 
 nience. A small and select society of wise 
 men assembled there frequently, but no 
 woman was permitted to enter the doors. 
 d5
 
 58 ZELIS. 
 
 Zelis even proscribed scrupulously any pic- 
 tures in which this deceitful sex formed a 
 feature. — Thus he and Nasses led a life 
 truly philosophic, on the charms of which 
 they were incessantly entertaining each 
 other. 
 
 One evening being alone, they had for 
 some time dragged on a conversation into 
 which nothing but reason was admitted : 
 " What happiness it is," said Zelis, stretch- 
 ing himself on a sofa with an air of ex- 
 treme lassitude, — " what happiness it is, 
 thus tranquilly to enjoy the free use of our 
 reason, far from every object which might 
 in anyway disturb it!" 
 
 " Yes," said Nasses, giving a wide yawn, 
 ** it is charming indeed not to be obliged 
 to watch over ourselves. When the heart 
 is idle, the mind is in the greater vigour; 
 the ideas are sober and clear, and all our 
 reflections are inspired by wisdom. We 
 taste without alloy the pleasures of friend- 
 ship, and these are the only real pleasures 
 of life."
 
 ZELIS. 59 
 
 " I agree with you perfectly," said Zelis: 
 " it must be owned that we are indeed 
 happy. Yet, my friend, methinks you 
 yawn ?" 
 
 " 'Tis merely that for some time a sort 
 of languor has been creeping over me ; my 
 imagination has grown dull, my mind 
 heavy ; — have you not perceived it ?" 
 
 *' I would not observe upon it to you ; 
 but indeed it has occasioned me much un- 
 easiness." 
 
 *' And you, my excellent friend, methinks 
 in former times you were far more gay and 
 animated ?'' 
 
 ** Indeed I ^vas, — ^when your wife ....'* 
 
 ** Oh, do not, for the love of Heaven, 
 allude to her ! — mention not the name of a 
 woman ; — was not that the agreement be- 
 tween us ? Let us rather betake ourselves 
 to our repose ; tomorrow, perhaps, our in- 
 tellects may be less dull." 
 
 The next day Zelis, being alone and very 
 thoughtful, was interrupted in his solitude 
 by the entrance of Nasses : ** Po you know,"
 
 60 ZELISi 
 
 asked the latter, *' the young Amuie who 
 lives very near us, and who is so celebrated 
 for her wit and beauty ?" 
 
 " Oh, for the love of Heaven," said Ze- 
 lis smiling, *' do not talk of women; — was 
 not that the agreement between us ?" 
 
 Nasses was altogether confounded. '* Ah, 
 Mr. Philosopher," continued Zelis, " this 
 Amine is beautiful ; ^-^he has all the qualities 
 requisite to please, to seduce, and to de- 
 ceive ; if your mind be roused by her so- 
 ciety, be assured the moral man in you will 
 be laid asleep." 
 
 *' I know not," said Nasses, " that in 
 order to be v»^ise it is necessary to become 
 an absolute bear. I know better than you, 
 much better, the dangers of love ; but I 
 would fly the passion without renouncing 
 its pleasures. However lovely may be the 
 young Amine, it is possible to see her with- 
 out losing our reason, and I am very secure 
 from ever engaging myself beyond the 
 bounds that reason would allow. Hear me, 
 my friend, — reason is a very respectable
 
 ZEUS. 61 
 
 thing, but excess in every thing becomes a 
 vice. Since we have devoted ourselves to 
 it, we are no longer to be known ; we seem 
 wholly changed from our proper natures ; 
 we have ceased to be agreeable ; our gaiety 
 is entirely gone ; all our sentiments, even 
 to our very friendship, are become dull and 
 blunted; we are absolute statues, and should 
 soon be no longer fit for society, if any thing 
 should happen to make our return to it ne- 
 cessary. For myself, I have come to a de- 
 termination on the subject: I am to be in- 
 troduced this day to Amine, and I expect 
 that you will bear in mind our engagement 
 never to be separated.''^ 
 
 " No, no," said ZeUs, " it were better 
 that you see her alone, my company might 
 be injurious to your interests." 
 
 " That proposition rather savours of self- 
 love. If it is dangerous to see Amine, the 
 danger is much greater alone : — the reason 
 of two is much stronger than one, and 
 friendship will be the shield to secure our 
 hearts. It is not a complaisance which I
 
 62 ZELIS. 
 
 ask of you ; It is a service v/hich I require, 
 and for which you will be well rewarded." 
 
 ** Well then, since it must be so, — ^but 
 Heaven grant that we may not both be se- 
 verely punished for it !"
 
 ZELIS. 
 
 63 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Philosophy overturned. — A generous effort 
 of friendship . — The intoxication of love, 
 — A sudden reverse of fortune. — A cruel 
 sentence. 
 
 Amine was just twenty years of age. To 
 all the graces of youth she added the ad- 
 dress and artifice of maturer years ; — her 
 heart was full of levity, her mind of co- 
 quetry : in her were combined all the at- 
 tractive qualities and all the defects which 
 commonly turn the heads of the other sex. 
 What a dangerous person to philosophers 
 whose reason already began to reel! 
 
 Zelis and Nasses passed the whole day 
 at her house, and thought they had scarcely 
 been with her a minute. When they re- 
 tired, they walked home together without so 
 much as looking at each other, and sepa- 
 rated for the night without exchanging a
 
 64 ZELIS. 
 
 word. The next day they met unexpectedly 
 at the same place ; but they shook hands, 
 and were rejoiced at the meeting. In a 
 short time, however, meeting every day, they 
 ceased absolutely to see each other, or either 
 to notice that the other was present. This 
 state, when both seemed as if in a dream, 
 continued for a month. When they awoke 
 they found themselves together ttte-a-tcte : 
 both felt ashamed, and for some time were 
 silent ; at length their eyes met, and Nasses 
 laughed. 
 
 "In truth there is mighty cause to laugh," 
 said Zelis, extremely embarrassed : ** Was 
 I not right in saying that this^ Amine would 
 prove a source of misfortune to us both ^ 
 You adore her, and your love supersedes all 
 occasion for a friend ; but I for my part 
 have lost a friend, and have nothing left to 
 console me." 
 
 Nasses laughed much more heartily. 
 " To put you at your ease," said he, " I will 
 acknowledge my folly, — I love Amine much 
 more than I could have thought possible ;
 
 ZELIS. 65 
 
 I could not resist it, I was even on the point 
 of forgetting you. No\/ confess yourself in 
 your turn, and lay open to me the state of 
 your heart." 
 
 ** What ! do you believe . . . ." 
 
 ** Nay, nay, a little sincerity if you please. 
 Love is not among the number of secret 
 maladies, it cannot be concealed, and 'tis 
 therefore as well to make a candid avowal 
 of it." 
 
 " Well then, triumph in your work ;: — 
 you have made of me a wretched lover, a 
 faithless friend, a jealous rival, who would 
 detest you if he thought you happy. But 
 we are still in time to return from our deli- 
 rium ; I have reflected upon the fatal conse* 
 quences of it, and I swear to you, for both 
 our sakes, never to see her again." 
 
 '* In this oath," said Nasses coldly, " I 
 see the work of reason, which will be de- 
 stroyed this very day. Hear me ; — my 
 senses have for a moment gone astray ; I 
 have been in the wrong, but I know how to
 
 66 ZELIS. 
 
 confess and repair my fault. I can live very 
 happy without seeing Amine, I yield her up 
 to you, and v/ill never see her again. Rely 
 upon what I say ; I will not swear, for if I 
 were to seal my words with an oath, I should 
 be much more in danger of failing in the 
 performance." 
 
 ** What excess of generosity !" exclaim- 
 ed Zelis in a transport of joy. ** But it 
 is surely above nature .^" 
 
 '* Not so much as you might suppose. 
 I love, but I am not blind : I know Amine ; 
 she does not love me, while she has a fan- 
 cy for tliee, and I think thee but the more 
 to be pitied. I believe her to be false and 
 ambitious : thy riches, and the rank to 
 which thou raayst aspire, are I believe the 
 only objects which she loves in thee. She 
 is discreet by principle, frail by constitution : 
 you would be happy, and that happines will 
 cost you first your liberty, and in the end 
 your honour and peace of mind. This is 
 what I fear for you. Swear to me, then.
 
 ZELIS. 67 
 
 that if you see her again you will not forget 
 my advice, and will not make any engage- 
 ment with her without consulting me." 
 
 Zelis, intoxicated with his love, embraced 
 his friend a thousand times, swore a thou- 
 sand oaths, and flew to Amine to pave the 
 way for becoming a perjurer. The happi- 
 ness of a favoured^ lover cannot easily be 
 painted : he who deserves to feel it, thinks 
 only of feeling, not of describing it. Those 
 who have experienced it preserve a flatter- 
 ing recollection of the joy, but which can- 
 not in any way approach to the reality ; — 
 thus the weakness of the senses diminishes 
 the objects in proportion as they are re- 
 moved from them. To be able to recall per- 
 fectly pleasures experienced, would be to 
 enjoy them continually. 
 
 Zelis, delivered from a rival and from 
 the reasonings of a friend, was in that en- 
 chanting state of delirium when all that 
 love can offer the most seductive, all that 
 the art of a coquette can add to the tender- 
 ness of a mistress, was incessantly lavished
 
 68 ZELIS. 
 
 upon him; yet he was not contented. That 
 nothing, — that pleasure of a moment which 
 does not prove love, nay which often de- 
 stroys it, — \^'as wanting to him. He thought 
 himself the most unhappy of men ; and far 
 from feeling his love diminished, his un- 
 happiness but fettered him the more closely. 
 His reflections, always directed to the same 
 object, only led him more and more astray. 
 ** What a madman is this Nasses !" said he 
 within himself; " he preaches the charms 
 of liberty, yet counsels slavery: — to be free, 
 according to his ideas, one must cease to 
 be a man, love nothing, feel nothing, de- 
 sire little, and never enjoy ; renounce pre- 
 sent happiness from fear of reverses to 
 come, and make oneself an absolute au- 
 tomaton for fear of being unhappy. True 
 liberty is to enjoy what we desire — to be de- 
 prived of it is real slavery ; my reason re- 
 pels his counsels, but friendship requires 
 that I endeavour to convert him." 
 
 Full of his reason, and sure of the con- 
 sent of Amine, he hastened to his friend.
 
 ZELIS. 69 
 
 " I have resolved of myself," said be, " to 
 pursue a course to which no doubt you 
 would otherwise have counselled me. Grive 
 me your hand, my friend, and wish me joy; 
 Amine consents to make me happy, I am 
 to be her husband." 
 
 Nasses started back with surprise. His 
 impetuous friend overwhelmed him with a 
 torrent of reasons, anticipated his objections, 
 combated them, discussed, proved, and 
 thought he had persuaded. At length, quite 
 out of breath, the torrent ceased for a mo- 
 ment, and he stood mute and astonished 
 at the cold tranquillity with which Nasses 
 had listened. 
 
 After some time that friend said: — "The 
 matter of which you speak requires some 
 reflection : you have much occasion for my 
 counsel, but here \re are under restraint ; 
 let us go for some hours to my country- 
 house, there we shall be able to reason 
 better." Zelis consented: in an instant the 
 carriage was ready, and they departed. 
 
 The house of Nasses was in a eharming
 
 70 ZELIS. 
 
 sequestered spot, ornamented by the hand 
 of nature alone, inspiring a mild and gentle 
 kind of reverie, equally favourable to rea- 
 son and to LOVE. *' 'Tis here, my friend," 
 said the host, " that we have tasted a thou- 
 sand times the siveets of friendship, and 
 this spot have I chosen for performing the 
 duties of it. I will not talk with you to- 
 day, you are not in a state of mind to listen 
 to me, the idea of Amine occupies you en- 
 tirely, — remember what I said to you with 
 regard to her. See there before your eyes 
 the picture of my wife : a thousand objects 
 here will recall her to your remembrance ; 
 then will I talk reason to you — till then you 
 are my prisoner." 
 
 Zelis was beginning to remonstrate with 
 some bitterness. " No complainings," said 
 Nasses; " or if you are not capable of con- 
 taining yourself, go this instant, and forget 
 that you ever knew me : great evils require 
 strong remedies." Zelis, abashed by the 
 firmness of Nasses, burst into a torrent of 
 tears.
 
 ZEUS. 71 
 
 This true friend left him alone to his re- 
 flections, nor rejoined him till after several 
 hours of absence. He did not find him 
 changed ; he was in a state little short of 
 phrensy ; he groaned, and talked of nothing 
 but Amine. " When will you cease to 
 torment me ?'' said he to Nasses : " will you 
 at length learn to know the bounds set to 
 the rights of friendship ?" 
 
 *' Its rights, like its duties, are without 
 bounds, when the question is to render an 
 essential service. I do not act like a ty- 
 rant, I would be gentle and forbearing with 
 thee." 
 
 *' In the name of Heaven renounce the 
 mad project of healing me, or prove that 
 Amine is not worthy of my love." 
 
 *' That," said Nasses, " is only an adroit 
 turn to speak of her, and I ought to defer 
 an explanation which may increase your ma- 
 lady. But you excite my compassion : you 
 have two great misfortunes, my dear Zelis, 
 — little experience, and a great deal of good 
 opinion of yourself: you have pleased for
 
 72 ZEMS. 
 
 an instant, and you think you can please 
 for ever. But learn to know women better : 
 you have a rival, a man in an obscure sta- 
 tion and destitute of fortune ; to unite her- 
 self to him would be a degradation to 
 Amine, yet, sensible to pleasure without 
 being withheld by interest, she makes him 
 happy. The fact is certain — a son is the 
 fruit of this intercourse : Amine is tempted 
 by your riches, and flattered with the idea 
 of obtaining your hand, — she has been to 
 you inaccessible on other terms ; if you 
 were without fortune you would either be 
 happy or despised. One taste satisfied, am- 
 bition and avarice are now her leading pas- 
 sions ; — such is the true history of her love 
 and her virtue." 
 
 " Ah, spare me ! spare me !" cried Zelis. 
 " What black treason or what horrible ca- 
 lumny is this ? — Pardon, my friend, thy 
 faith is known to me, but I am too weak to 
 believe thee. In the present state of my 
 mind I can only see with my own eyes, I 
 cannot be cured of my unfortunate passion."
 
 ZELIS. 73 
 
 " Well then, you shall see with your own 
 eyes ; only swear to me to remain here till 
 I return to fetch you ; and this I will do the 
 moment that matters are ripe for it/' 
 
 Zelis swore ; and Nasses set off imme- 
 xliately for the town, leaving his friend in 
 a state to excite the utmost compassion,-— 
 Shame and horror, some remains of love 
 and hope, tortured him by turns : he swore 
 never to love again, then the next moment 
 deprecated the trial Nasses was to make, 
 and burned more ardently than ever to fetter 
 himself for life. Love next obtained the 
 entire ascendency, assuming the mask of 
 reason the better to deceive him. His com- 
 plaints were now all turned against himself : 
 *' What have I done ?" said he : ** who has 
 rendered me thus unjust ? — A single word, 
 ^ tale empty as the air, without a shadow 
 of proof, has made me suspect a charming 
 and virtuous woman ; I have believed every 
 thing, though totally against reason ; and 
 that upon the word only of a man who has 
 been my rival. And who can say that lie 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 ZELIS. 
 
 is not so still — that he does not still love the 
 enchanting Amine — that this may be only 
 the vengeance of an irritated lover? Even 
 though it should be true that Amine is false, 
 — ^u^hat authority have I over her conduct ? 
 what right had I to place a spy over her ac- 
 tions ? If her shame be real, I will make it 
 public ;>» — But no, Amine is virtuous, and I 
 shall merit only her indignation and con- i 
 tempt. Let me prevent this treason ; let 
 me hasten to her feet, and owning my weak- 
 ness let me render myself worthy of her 
 pardon." 
 
 Tormented with this idea Zelis could no 
 longer control his impatience : he set off 
 immediately, and arrived at his own house 
 in the middle of tlie night : — he found the 
 doors open, and his slaves absent. He called 
 in vain, no one an severed him. In the ut- 
 most uneasiness he flew to the place where 
 his treasures were locked up; they were 
 there no longer, nothing was to be seen but 
 marks of the violence by which they had 
 been taken away. Struck with astonish-
 
 ZELIS. 75 
 
 nient and penetrated with grief, he waited 
 with impatience the return of day : but it^ 
 first rays only confirmed to him the truth 
 of his calamity; his treasures were actually 
 gone, his friend absent, and his house de- 
 serted. 
 
 A man whom he knew accosted him> 
 and wdth a sneer began to console him for 
 his disaster, informing him that Nasses was 
 the traitor to whom he owed it ; that he had 
 seen him carry away the treasures and fly 
 with Amine. Zelis became outrageous at 
 hearing him talk thus; '* Defend thyself, 
 wretch!" he said: '' he who knows not how 
 to revenge an injured friend is unworthy of 
 that name." So saying he drew his scimi- 
 tar and gave the man a desperate wound in 
 the body. 
 
 He immediately hastened to Amine. She 
 liad just quitted the arms of sleep : he thought 
 all his woes at an end. Seeing his air of 
 confusion and agitation, she tenderly in- 
 quired into the cause: when he gave her the 
 recital of his misfortunes and the loss of his 
 E 2
 
 7^ 
 
 ZELIS. 
 
 wealth. He was interrupted in the midst 
 of his harangue — " ^\Tiat signifies this long 
 histoiy to me?" said she; *' and how can you 
 hope at present to inspire me with any in- 
 terest?" — Zelis was beginning to complain 
 of her unkindness : — " When we are in sor- 
 row, and destitute of wealth," she continued, 
 *' we ought at least to be just and keep our 
 distresses to ourselves, not go and tease 
 others with a nauseous detail of them." 
 At the same instant a person, a stranger 
 to him, appeared, and commanding him 
 haughtily to go about his business, had him 
 turned out of tiie house by the slaves. 
 
 Half dead with shame and grief Zelis 
 dragged himself alcng towards his house. 
 In the way he was joined by several of his 
 former friends, who, under the pretence of 
 deep interest in his wrongs and sorrows, re- 
 counted with gaiety all the most aggrava- 
 ting circumstances. From them he learnt 
 that Nasses had indeed carried away his trea- 
 sures ; that a declaration to this effect had 
 been made before the Cadi by a faithful
 
 2ELIS. 77 
 
 slave, and that the Cadi had in consequence 
 ordered a vigorous search to be made for 
 the thief. Zelis, as if struck by a stroke of 
 thunder, had yet presence of mind enough 
 hastily to quit his tormentors, and to fly to 
 the Cadi, either to justify his friend or to 
 solicit his pardon if he should prove really 
 guilty. 
 
 The Cadi had an affable air and a smiling 
 comitenance, but a heart of stone. He list- 
 ened tranquilly to Zelis, and then began to 
 interrogate him as a criminal. *' \^^iat sig- 
 nifies it," said he, *^* whether tlie man who 
 robbed you was your friend or not, — the 
 matter is, how came you by such treasures ?^* 
 
 " I am indebted to my protectuig Genius 
 for them," answered Zelis. 
 
 " You are not indebted to your probity 
 for them," said the judge, " that is veiy 
 certain. Tlie son of poor and obscure pa- 
 rents, and a bad citizen himself, could not 
 fairly be possessed of so much wealth. But 
 you have been in favour at Court, you held 
 an important post there ; these treasures are
 
 7fi ZELIS. 
 
 the Emperor's which you have stolen, they 
 are the blood of the people which you have 
 drained ; — this is the protecting Genius by 
 whom you have been enriched." 
 
 A man of an ordinary stamp would have 
 been little moved, or less overpowered with 
 these reproaches, — the heart of the man of 
 reason revolted against them. Zelis, indig- 
 nant, answered haughtily, that he had 
 nothing wherewith to reproach himself. 
 " Learn, however,'' said the Cadi, *' that no 
 man is innocent who fails in respect towards 
 me." Then turning to the people around, 
 *' Let him," said he, " instantly receive a 
 hundred lashes on the back." 
 
 At this moment the man who had been 
 wounded by Zelis came hastily into the 
 Court, crying out for redress. The judge 
 listened to his complaint. '^ So," said he, 
 wlien it was finished, " I am not now sur- 
 prised ; — Like loves like. It was not extrao - 
 dinary that one rogue should defend an- 
 other." Then turning to Zelis he said, 
 ^* Return thanks to the clemency of our gru-
 
 ZELISv 70 
 
 cioils sovereign that he only sentences you 
 through my voice to a sHght punishment ; 
 — you deserve death in torture, but I am le- 
 nient.'* He now turned once more to those 
 around him ; " When the wretch/* he 
 said, "has received the hundred lashes, let 
 him be carried to the island where our male- 
 factors are confined." Zelis was about to 
 remonstrate, but was forced away before it 
 was possible to utter a word.
 
 80 ZELIS, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A violent storm at sea. — Strange 7ms takes. 
 — j4 curious and interesting conversa- 
 tion. — An important trust conferred. 
 
 Excess of grief is said to render us insen- 
 sible : but this can only be in ills of the 
 mind. Zelis received the hundred lashes, 
 on his back with the utmost impatience and 
 indignation, cursing equally the gods, men, 
 women, justice, love, and friendship. At 
 night he was carried on-board a vessel, to 
 be conducted to the place of his exile : — here 
 he invoked the tempests to deliver him at 
 the same time from his executioners and his 
 sorrows. It seemed as if his prayers were 
 heard, for a dreadful storm arose which pre- 
 sented on every side the image of approach- 
 ing fate. The sailors, half dead with fear, 
 having struggled for a long time against the
 
 ZELIS. 81 
 
 waves, heard the prayers offered by Zelis 
 for their destruction; and persuaded that the 
 presence of so great a criminal drew down 
 the anger of Heaven upon them, threw him^ 
 overboard into the sea. He thanked the 
 gods for having sent him the death he 
 wished ; but he nevertheless buffeted the 
 \vaves with all his strength, and swam to- 
 wards the shore — liis fortune having occa- 
 sioned him to be cast into the sea at no great 
 distance from land. His feet soon touched 
 the bottom, and he walked on till he ar- 
 rived safe on terra firma^ where he laid 
 Aoww overwhelmed with sorrow and fatigue. 
 As the day began to dawn he had leisure 
 to reconnoitre the spot whither liis wayward 
 fate had conducted him. The aspect of 
 the country was wild ; no vestige of culture 
 nor of any human habitation was to be dis- 
 covered, and he thought himself cast upon 
 a desert island. He was going to return 
 thanks to Heaven for having restored him 
 to his primitive state, where, deprived indeed 
 of some transient pleasures, he should have 
 E 5
 
 82 ZELIS. 
 
 neither misfortunes nor perfidy to fear : but 
 he soon felt that he was famishing, and be- 
 gan to regret society, or at least the re- 
 sources which it offers. He sat down at 
 the foot of a tree quite exhausted, where 
 he soon fell fast asleep. On awaking he 
 was surprised to find himself surrounded by 
 several respectable-looking men, who evinced 
 the utmost astonishment and joy at seeing 
 bim. 
 
 Uncertain whether he ought to fly or to 
 supplicate them for relief, he endeavoured 
 to read in their eyes what might be expected 
 from them, when one of them addressed 
 him to the following eflect : "At last then, 
 young man, you are restored to our prayers 
 and wishes ; once more v^-e enjoy the delight 
 of seeing you among us." 
 
 '* Vv^ise stranger," said Zelis, interrupt- 
 ing him, " however obliging are these ex- 
 pressions, tell me for the love of Heaven 
 where I am, who you are, and what can 
 induce you to take so much interest in an 
 unfortunate outcast like me ? Pardon me.
 
 ZEUS. 83 
 
 but I have too much reason to complahi of 
 human-kind to place confidence Ughtly in 
 any man." 
 
 ** How," said the old man, *' do you pre- 
 tend not to know us ? — you, who lived so 
 long among us, and found so many charms 
 in our society ? Have you forgotten the be- 
 nefits conferred on you ? — can you forget 
 the amiable wife who still weeps your ab- 
 sence f 
 
 " Worthy old man," said Zelis, ** you 
 are assuredly under some great mistake ; I 
 have no wife, — and here I make a solemn 
 vow never to have one. If you knew the 
 turns I have been played by women, you 
 could not but approve my resolution. Dis- 
 pense with my speaking of men, — of them I 
 could say no less ill ; — and if you would, for 
 the first time in my life, confer a benefit 
 upon me, give me something to eat, since I 
 die with hunger." 
 
 He paused, considering the strangers at- 
 tentively, whose gestures plainly showed 
 that they regarded him as a madman. He
 
 84 ZELIs5. 
 
 was shocked : " For Heaven's sake," he 
 added, " a tiiice to these ill-placed raille- 
 ries ; — think that I am a stranger and un- 
 fortunate, that you ought to pity rather than 
 insult me." 
 
 ** Rather cease yourself," said another of 
 the company, ** a counterfeit so puerile. Our 
 fellow-citizens are too dear to us for any 
 mistake to be made ; — you are Salem whom 
 we loved so tenderly, and whom for a month 
 past we have sought in vain ; — recall your 
 senses if they have wandered; return to the 
 enchanting spot you have quitted ; console 
 that wife, so lovelv and so tender, whom 
 your absence has almost killed." 
 
 Zelis would fain have attempted further 
 explanation, but the strangers all loading 
 him with caresses surrounded him and forced 
 him to accompany them. As he walked 
 along in the midst of them — " In the name 
 of Heaven," he said, " hear me for an in- 
 stant: — I consent, if you will absolutely have 
 it so, to be your companion, your friend, 
 even your relation, — only do not talk to me
 
 2ELIS. 85 
 
 of a wife. On this article I can never vield 
 to any one, and I have reason sufficient for 
 it." 
 
 No one answering to this, he thouglit the 
 best way was to remain silent. The com- 
 pany soon arrived at a town, where the first 
 persons who perceived them immediately 
 exclaimed " It is Salem f^ and ran up ea- 
 gerly to embrace him. A crowd of people 
 soon assembled round him, every one of 
 whom accosted him as Salem, and embraced 
 him with expressions of great joy, conduct- 
 ing him at length in triumph to the palace 
 of the chief of the town . It was not with- 
 out some alarm that he found himself trans- 
 ported thither, thinking that he was again 
 to appear before a judge. One of his con- 
 ductors related his history pathetically to 
 the multitude, lamenting the little derange- 
 ment in his intellects which made him en- 
 tirely forget himself. The v/hole party pi- 
 tied him, but still persisted in maintaining 
 that he was Salem. 
 
 Zelis, unable to comprehend any thing
 
 86 ZELISr 
 
 of this adventure, resolved to make one 
 more attempt to undeceive the company : 
 "Venerable judge," said he, "and you, 
 honest citizens. Heaven forbid that I should 
 accuse so many wise men of being out of 
 their senses ; but oh ! I entreat, render me 
 the same justice. I am not that Salem 
 about whom you interest yourself so kindly, 
 in deed I am not; nor can I conceive what mo- 
 tive can urge you to persuade me that I am. 
 Only attend to the consequences if you will 
 force me to be Salem, and to take his wife ; 
 — Besides that you will incense the Gods by 
 making me break a solemn vow, Salem will 
 no doubt return, and will not be much de- 
 lighted to find his wife in the possession of 
 another ; — you yourselves too must be sorry 
 for it." 
 
 He was about to proceed further, when 
 the wife of Salem appeared in a mourning 
 garment and covered with a long veiL 
 She immediately recognized her husband, 
 and almost fainted with transport. Soon re- 
 covering herself, she §aid a thousand tender
 
 ZELIS. 87 
 
 and affecting things to him. — The judge 
 perceiving what passed, judiciously ima- 
 gined that the husband would not be deaf 
 to this language, but thought it woidd be 
 rendered more impressive by their being 
 left alone together. He therefore ordered 
 all the company out of the room, and fol- 
 lowed them himself. 
 
 " Indeed, madam," said Zelis, when 
 they were gone, "lean understand nothing 
 of all this. Every body will insist that I 
 am Salem; nay, you yourself appear to be- 
 lieve it : yet I can assure you that I am not 
 that person." 
 
 " I know it well, young stranger," an- 
 swered the lady. 
 
 At this avowal Zelis seemed to fall from 
 a mighty height. ** What do you find ex- 
 traordinary in this .^" she proceeded. — 
 ** Listen to me — If you have a soul of feel- 
 ing it must be moved ; if not, at least your 
 curiosity will be satisfied." 
 
 Zelis looked at her earnestly ; his coun- 
 tenance bespoke the most profound atten-
 
 88 2ELIS. 
 
 tion. '' I am," said she, *' daughter to one 
 of the wealthiest inhabitants of this city ; 
 the parents who educated me were virtu- 
 ous, and spared no pains to inspire me with 
 their sentiments. I will not boast too much 
 of having profited by their lessons ; I have, 
 like all other people, my virtues and my fail- 
 ings. These excellent parents I had the 
 misfortune to lose while I was yet at a very 
 early age : I wished only to pass the rest of 
 my life in deploring their loss, but this was 
 not permitted to me. A soul of excessive sen- 
 sibility is liable to a too frequent change of 
 the object of it : — ^The desire to administer 
 consolation to my sorrows soon drew a 
 number of our young citizens around me : 
 I was thought to be handsome, and conso- 
 lation laid the foundation of love. Many 
 of them contended for my hand : I was 
 pressed to make a choice ; I yielded, and 
 fixed upon Salem ; — he loved me, his rivals 
 sighed, but nobody could blame my choice, 
 I will not describe him to you, your adven- 
 ture proves how strongly you resemble him;
 
 ZELIS. 89 
 
 — you have the same countenance, undoubt- 
 edly the same virtues; in reminding me of 
 my loss, you almost make me doubt whether 
 it is real. 
 
 " For two years I was united to my hus- 
 band ; and if perfecthappiness was to be found 
 in love, ours would have been so. But my 
 felicity was soon interrupted. An evident 
 change appeared in Salem : I found him- 
 treat me first with indifference and then with 
 contempt. From my infancy I had a tender 
 friendship for a young relation who was very 
 beautiful, but no less virtuous ; this my 
 husband imputed to me as a crime : I never 
 saw him jealous, and could not doubt that 
 this extravagant kind of jealousy concealed 
 gome strange mystery. Too soon was it 
 explained to me : I discovered that he loved 
 a young beauty of the city. I ought per- 
 haps to have had sufficient strength of mind 
 to see without chagrin my husband happv 
 with another ; but that she would make 
 bim happy seemed out of all probability. 
 'N^irtue is more natural to the women of out
 
 90 ZELI9> 
 
 town than coquetry to those of the capital 
 of this great empire. I wished to spare Sa- 
 lem the torments of unsuccessful love : I 
 conceived besides that a sort of justice was 
 due to myself ; — I was in every respect far 
 superior to the new object of his fancy, and 
 I should have thought it a sort of treason 
 to my husband not to oppose a change by 
 which he would lose so much. I flattered 
 myself that I could bring him back to the 
 right path by all the most forcible arguments 
 that reason and tenderness could urge : buf 
 love is blind, and my hopes were deceived. 
 About a month ago Salem abandoned me, 
 carrying with him the young person he 
 loved, and embarked, intending to live with 
 her in some foreign clime. But it seemed 
 as if Heaven was resolved to punish his 
 treachery : his vessel was wrecked, and a 
 faithful slave whom I had commissioned to 
 follow his steps, only brought me the news, 
 of his destruction. 
 
 *' Although our laws do not positively 
 require a wife to die with her husband, ho-
 
 XELIS. i)l 
 
 nour and fashion would not permit me to 
 live with decency if this news were made 
 pubHc. Pressing interests have obhged me 
 hitherto to conceal the death of my hus- 
 band ; — indeed I had not absolutely lost all 
 hope that I might see him again, and it 
 would have been dreadful to die without a 
 positive necessity. Do not, however, think 
 that 'tis weakness of mind alone which 
 makes me cling to life. — ^Vhen you arrived 
 m these parts,, the general cry announced 
 the return of Salem : I followed the crowd 
 who accompanied you, and at first thought 
 indeed it was my husband that I saw. When 
 you rejected that title — ' Salem,' I said 
 within myself, * disckdms me ; ' and I thought 
 I should have died with grief. I soon, how- 
 ever, perceived my error; but I resolved still 
 to affect the same belief that possessed every 
 one else, persuaded that you would consent 
 to pass for my husband in order to save 
 what is most dear to me in the world." 
 
 " Madam," said Zelis, " I own that it is 
 terrible to let a young and beautiful woman
 
 92 ZELIS. 
 
 perish — above all, when nothing more is re" 
 quired to save her but to imagine oneself her 
 iiusband : But put yourself in my place — ^" 
 At these words the wife of Salem let her 
 veil fall off, and discovered a countenance 
 so interesting, such fine eyes, and so many 
 charms and graces, that Zelis quite con- 
 founded lost the power of speech. She pre- 
 sently reminded him that he had begun to 
 speak; when with some difficulty and em- 
 barrassment he thus resumed his story. 
 
 '* Image to yourself, madam, a wretck 
 betrayed and plundered by his friend ; de- 
 ceived and driven away indignantly by his 
 mistress ; reduced to hold all mankind in de- 
 testation ; — imagine all this, still you will 
 have but a faint idea of my misfortunes. 
 Judge then whether from the state of my 
 heart I am worthy of you : your story affects 
 me deeply; that strong resemblance which 
 has deceived every eye but your own, would 
 flatter me if that were possible. 'Every body 
 believes me your husband; perhaps you 
 would condescend to believe it yourself: it
 
 ZELIS. 03 
 
 would be enchanting to me to promote such 
 an ilhision, but the name of husband makes 
 ine tremble. I know how much I ought 
 to pity you : but cold pity is not made for 
 you, and I am not made for love. Yet — 
 you are about to die." Here his strength 
 failed him, his voice became tremulous, his 
 eyes were filled with tears : — he perceived his 
 confusion, and fearing to increase it remain- 
 ^d silent. 
 
 ^* Hitherto," said the lovely mourner, " I 
 have asked nothing of you : pity would flat- 
 ter me little, and beware of love ; you are 
 perhaps nearer to it than you imagine. It 
 has cosjt you much to speak to me — great ef- 
 forts are always a proof of weakness. I have 
 instructed you in my misfortunes, I am now 
 going to reveal to you my secrets. After 
 you have heard them you will be better able 
 to form your opinion of me. 
 
 " \A^ien I v.as first informed of Salem's 
 unhappy fate, my immediate in:ipulse was to 
 follow him to the other world: I thought no- 
 thing so dreadful as the idea of surviving him ;
 
 94 ZlELIS. 
 
 and that it was criminal to defer, even for 
 the shortest space, the moment that was to 
 re-unite us. But the ftrst emotions excited 
 hy so tragic an event having subsided, other 
 ideas interposed. I am young, I have yet 
 many friends left in the world ; above all, I 
 have a son, the only pledge of Salem's love. 
 What could my husband gain by my death ? 
 — it would be a source of deep affliction to 
 my friends; — who could make up to my 
 child the loss of his only surviving parent ? 
 — I must confess that these motives made 
 me wish to live. You will think perhaps that 
 my passions are strong and my reason weak 
 — you are mistaken : I could not be wholly 
 deaf to the voice of nature, but the voice of 
 honour still sounded more strongly in my 
 ears. It is the custom here not to survive 
 a husband — the wife v/ho does survive him 
 lives little respected : the loss of Salem I 
 knew could not always be concealed. I had 
 hitherto been the object of public esteem; I 
 could not bear the idea of losing that spot- ' 
 less reputation which had formed my hap-
 
 ZEUS. 95 
 
 piness. To fear death is a weakness, but 
 to live without honour is a meanness. 
 
 ** My resolution is then taken ; — and now 
 learn the service I would fain request of you. 
 I have mentioned my son ; I love him al- 
 most to adoration ; he loses every thing in 
 losing me : strangers may plunder his pro- 
 perty, his education may be neglected, 'tis 
 in your power to save him from these mis- 
 fortunes. You resemble his father too much 
 not to be virtuous ; — to you I confide this son 
 so dear to me, with all his wealth. You 
 v/ill soon hear of my death : pretend that you 
 are Salem, affect the utmost grief for my 
 loss ; you will be left in quiet possession of 
 all that belonged to my husband, excepting 
 her who was perhaps the cause of his mis- 
 fortune. 'Tis my part to free you from that 
 incumbrance, and you shall soon be freed. 
 Quit then this place with the precious trust 
 I leave with you, it will not be safe for 
 either to remain here. Swear to me that 
 you will faithfully perform all I ask. "When 
 you have taken this oath my mind will be at
 
 W ZEUS. 
 
 ease ; — ^live happier than Salem, and be more 
 faithful. I have but one word more to say : 
 You love me, I cannot doubt it; be assured 
 I am not unworthy of your love : but learn 
 at the same time that it is a weakness to 
 which you may again be subject, since you 
 have fallen into it now without knowing 
 me." 
 
 Zelis, once more intoxicated with love 
 and penetrated with admiration, threw him- 
 self at the feet of the charming stranger. He 
 seized her delicate hand, which he bathed 
 with his tears, " What are you thinking 
 of .'^" she cried: ** are these the sentiments I 
 required of you, or those which you offered 
 jne ? — Pity is less tender, virtue is more 
 tranquil — Rise, think of my son, and forget 
 me." — At these words she hastily quitted 
 his presence without allowing him time to 
 make anv answer.
 
 ZELIS. 
 
 97 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A violent internal conflict, — The life of a 
 lovely female saved. — An unexpected 
 arrival. — Strange mysteries explained, 
 — The true ivay to he happy at length 
 discovered. 
 
 Zelis remained in a situation not easily to 
 be described : he was in that deHrium of 
 love which belongs to the senses rather than 
 to the heart ; but which is only, therefore, the 
 more violent : his reason was troubled, but 
 it had not entirely forsaken him. Some- 
 times he pictured to himself this lovely 
 young creature expiring before his eyes ; 
 — jealous of Salem, he envied him a wife 
 whose tenderness was such as even to 
 follow him to the grave ; he was ready to 
 ftll the palace with cries that he was Sa- 
 lem, and to claim the occupation of his 
 place. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 ^8 
 
 ZELIS, 
 
 Sometimes a glimmering of reason would 
 resume the ascendancy, and suffer him to 
 ponder with some calmness on the singu- 
 larity of his adventure. *^ Am I then in 
 lave?" he said to himself: " And is it possi- 
 ble that any one can in an instant have made 
 me forget the solemn oaths I had sworn ? — 
 a beautiful face, the charms of a melodious 
 voice, a few tears artfully shed, a story 
 which has not the slightest shadow of pro- 
 bability, sentiments devoid even of common 
 sense ; — ^for, in short, though she may have 
 lost her husband, is it necessary therefore to 
 kill herself? or if she thought herself obliged 
 in honour to do that, there was no obligation 
 to seek him a successor. If excess of love 
 prompted her to follow her husband, would 
 she have deliberated upon it for a whole 
 month ? Resemblance, however strong, can- 
 not carry such mighty delusion with it: — this 
 woman will not kill herself ; she loves life ; 
 and perhaps the young relation of whom she 
 spoke.... there was reason enough, perhaps, 
 for her husband's jealousy. Ah ! if I could
 
 XELIS. 99 
 
 think that — but I have sworn to her most 
 fervently — yet if I could think — I might be- 
 come a perjurer ! Accept the place of Salem ! 
 — be like him deceived ! no, no ! " — and he 
 remained buried in profound thought* 
 
 The image of the enchanting stranger 
 had often intruded itself during this solilo- 
 t|uy : the transitions in the soul of Zelis from 
 love to reason, and from reason to love, were 
 rapid as the movements of the wind ; all 
 within him was tumult and commotion. 
 He was in this state when a slave opened 
 the door and put a note into his hand. He 
 opened it hastily, and at the first glance lost 
 the little reason he liad remaining. — *' You 
 may," thus ran the note, "acknowledge that 
 you are Salem without any apprehension on 
 account of your oaths. By the time you 
 receive this letter I shall be no more : a faith- 
 ful slave will conduct you to my house, and 
 will place in your hands my darling child 
 with his whole property ; he is unfortunate, 
 he wants a friend, and your heart is virtuous. 
 f2
 
 100 ZELIS. 
 
 Think that his mother inspired you with 
 love, and that she merited your esteem." 
 
 Zelis made the apartment in which he 
 was resound with the most pitiable cries and 
 groans ; he tore his hair, and reproached 
 himself with being the murderer of the most 
 amiable of women : he quitted the chamber 
 with impetuosity, and calling a slave to con- 
 duct him to the house of Salem, he ran, or 
 rather flew into the presence of the only ob- 
 ject which now occupied his soul. The 
 spectacle which here met his eyes would 
 have increased his anguish if it had not been 
 already at its acme. The wife of Salem was 
 still alive, but embracing her son and shed- 
 ding tears over him, while a poniard, lying 
 close by her, announced the dreadful sacri- 
 fise she was about to make ; her whole ap. 
 pearance displayed an emotion and disorder 
 inexpressibly interesting and affecting, nor 
 could any thing be more calculated wholly 
 to overturn a reason already so feeble and 
 reeling.
 
 ZELIS. 101 
 
 Penetrated with horror as Zelis had been 
 n^ith the idea of her death, he could not see 
 her alive without some slight degree of as- 
 tonishment ; — but love stifled every other 
 sentiment in its birth. ** I had resolved 
 never to see you more," she said, in a very 
 affecting tone of voice ; "I cannot tell what 
 unknown power has shaken my resolution ; 
 but I could not in dying refuse myself the 
 consolation of placing this darling child my- 
 self in your arms. Take then the precious 
 deposit ; it affords me some pleasure in my 
 last moments to testify my gratitude for all 
 the kindness he will receive from you." 
 
 Zelis, wholly beside himself, seizing the 
 poniard, threw it to a great distance from 
 the beautiful stranger, and falling at her 
 feet conjured her to live with all the ardour 
 that the most eager love could inspire. 
 Love, as every one knows, is very eloquent, 
 and the occasion was favourable ; yet for 
 some time he could not flatter himself that 
 he had prevailed. 
 
 The chief of the town, informed of the
 
 102 ZEUS. 
 
 hasty and troubled manner in which Zells 
 had left his house, arrived at this moment 
 followed by some of the elders. Zelis, en- 
 raptured, did not doubt but that this event 
 would prove decisive in his favour, and en- 
 able him finally to triumph over the strong 
 aversion to life professed by his beloved. 
 *' Come to my aid," he cried, " venerable 
 old man ; come, save the life of the most 
 charming and amiable of women, whom the 
 derangement of my reason had well-nigh 
 driven to the tomb. Yes, I am that unhappy 
 Salem so cherished among you, and so little 
 worthy of all the sweets he enjoyed in your 
 society. I have been lost to myself during 
 a paroxysm of delirium, and this beloved 
 wife will not now acknowledge me ; — come, 
 assure my happiness in commanding her to 
 live for a husband who henceforth never can 
 live but for her." 
 
 ** *Tis enough," said tlie old man em- 
 bracing him tenderly ; " your error is ac- 
 knowledged, all is repaired, and there can- 
 not now be occasion for my commands to
 
 ZELIS. 103 
 
 crown your happiness." — He then called 
 those who were with him to witness what 
 Salem had said, after which they had the 
 prudence to retire. 
 
 Once more left alone together ; " \^niat 
 have you done ?" exclaimed the lovely stran- 
 ger : *' Where are now your oaths ? and how 
 can you be assured that I shall approve your 
 zeal ? Think of the engagements you have 
 just taken upon you, and ask whether I 
 have authorised you to believe that I can 
 consent to them ? You bear, it is true, a 
 strong resemblance to Salem, so that every 
 eye may be deceived by it ; but a fond and 
 devoted heart can never give itself up to 
 this illusion : you will recall him incessantly 
 to my mind, and my tears must still daily 
 flow for him. What would you yourself 
 tliink if I could ever be brought to love you ? 
 — you have no claim even to my gratitude ; 
 I shall live in sorrow, ?jvl liow can you be 
 happy ? Tiiink of all the consequences of 
 your imprudence; on the folly of loving when
 
 104 ZELIS. 
 
 you do not know the person ; of fettering 
 yourself without knowing why, or for whom 
 — of the misery of loving without hope ; — 
 think, in short, that the delights of this 
 charming society cannot be shared by us, 
 that we must fly it, and hide ourselves for 
 ever from all mankind. — What, alas ! would, 
 become of me, if the moment should ar- 
 rive that our secret were discovered ?" 
 
 " Ah, madam," interrupted Zelis, " cease 
 to overwhelm me with the prospect of 
 evils which belong to your own imagina- 
 tion alone : the misfortune of not being be- 
 loved by you is the only one that can touch 
 me : perhaps I have been imprudent, — but 
 was it possible to reason, seeing you and 
 fearing for your life ? " 
 
 '' I .see," she replied, " that I shall be 
 obliged to pardon the excess of your zeal, 
 though mourning its effects. We cannot 
 too soon remove to a distance from this 
 spot : I have an estate remote from hence, 
 \ipon the sea-shore; accompany me thi-
 
 ZELIS. 105 
 
 ther, there shall I weep my misfortunes 
 — there will you learn to repent your rash- 
 ness." 
 
 Zelis departed with transport for the re- 
 treat proposed : he had preserved a life which 
 he considered as highly precious, and the 
 exultation of his soul was WTOught up to 
 enthusiasm. For her, in solitude, which is 
 always favourable to love, having constantly 
 before her eyes the exact image of a man 
 who had once been so dear to her, the man 
 to whom she owed her life, and whom she 
 saw loving her to excess, — all these things 
 combined would not permit her retaining 
 her indifference : she seemed to forget Sa- 
 lem, or to persuade herself that she had 
 never lost him. Zelis in time had reason 
 to believe himself really Salem; and imbibed 
 such exalted ideas of the happiness which 
 this wretched husband had once enjoyed, 
 that his only prayers to the gods were to 
 preserve him from the misery of ever seeing 
 Salem return. 
 
 One day walking alone upon the shore, 
 F 5
 
 106 ZELtS. 
 
 reflecting upon his happiness, and upon the 
 singular adventure which had given occa- 
 sion to it, he perceived a little bark which 
 struggled against the ruffled waves among 
 a cluster of dangerous rocks, and the de- 
 struction of which appeared for some time 
 inevitable. Moved with compassion he 
 hastenedwhither humanity called him : — the 
 bark, contrary to hope, resisted the perils 
 by which it was surrounded, but the crew 
 were wholly exhausted by the time they 
 reached the shore. "What was the surprise 
 of Zelis, when among these unfortunate 
 sufferers he recognized Nasses. Struck 
 with the recollection of his perfidy, and the 
 misfortunes of which it had been the cause, 
 the first movement of his soul was to push 
 him back into the waves which he had just 
 escaped ; in a moment after, however, his 
 better feelings revolted against such an idea: 
 "No, no," he cried within himself, ** Nasses 
 must be saved ; if he be as criminal as he 
 appears, the sight of me will be his sufficient 
 punishment/'
 
 ZELIS. 107 
 
 The strangers came up to him to Implore 
 his protection. " Heavens, what do I be- 
 hold !" exclaimed Nasses, throwing himself 
 upon his neck and pressing him warmly to 
 his bosom. 
 
 " You see your friend," said Zelis, " if 
 you can see him Vvithout a blush." 
 
 " Hold !" interrupted Nasses ; "an igno- 
 rant people who can see but the surface may 
 have accused me, — but could Zelis stoop 
 to suspect my faith ? Ordinary minds judge 
 by facts, and are commonly deceived; but 
 you ought to have known my heart." 
 
 *' Excess of misfortune," replied Zelis, 
 " may render a man unjust; but such injus- 
 tice is excusable. Tell me only by what 
 extraordinary chain of adventures I now be- 
 hold you here ? " 
 
 " My adventures," said Nasses, " from 
 beginning to end have arisen from one only 
 principle, — my friendship for you, and the 
 desire I had to serve you. When I quitted 
 you at my country-house, it was with a re- 
 solution to open your eyes and preserve your
 
 108 ZELIS. 
 
 liberty. Nothing but the strongest evidence 
 could dissipate the illusions of a love blind 
 as yours : but I knew Amine too well not to 
 be assured that she would furnish me with 
 this evidence. I removed your slaves from 
 your house under diiferent pretences ; I car- 
 ried away your treasures ; and carefully con- 
 cealing myself, only waited for the moment 
 when Amine, learning your misfortunes, 
 would take upon herself the task of unde- 
 ceiving you. No human reason could fore- 
 see the tragic events which led in a few 
 moments to your destruction. 
 
 *'A whole day having passed, sure of the 
 success of my scheme I hastened to your 
 house, to enjoy the return of your reason. — 
 Be candid in your judgement, and believe 
 that nothing could exceed my affliction, 
 when one of your slaves with showers of 
 tears apprised me of your deplorable fate. 
 There are certainly Heavenly Beings who 
 watch over our destinies ; and such preserved 
 my life, that it might be consecrated to 
 serving you, else I must have sunk under
 
 ZELIS. 109 
 
 the mortal grief with which I was seized. 
 Supported by these Beings, the powers, of 
 which grief would naturally have deprived 
 me, seemed rather increased ; I flew to the 
 Cadi for the purpose of defending your in- 
 nocence, and preventing the execution of 
 his barbarous sentence. Tliere, however, I 
 experienced nothing but insults, and was 
 informed, in terras the most taunting and 
 aggTavating, that you were already carried 
 off to your place of exile. 
 
 *' I hesitated not a moment on what was 
 to be done, but determined to follow and 
 cany you away from a place so unworthy of 
 you. Yet how great soever was my impa- 
 tience, I was compelled to wait the tedious 
 preparations of a voyage. At length the 
 bark being ready, I hastened to the wretched 
 and barren spot where I hoped to find you. 
 Alas ! I sought the miserable island over in 
 vain, no where were you to be found; I was 
 assured that no such person had ever landed 
 there: I had then no doubt but that your 
 vessel must have been wrecked at sea. I
 
 110 ZELIS. 
 
 thought I should have lost my reason, yet 1 
 knew not how wholly to relinquish hope: 
 I took a solemn oath to seek you all over the 
 universe, and never to rest till I had repaired 
 the evils of which I was the innocent cause. 
 From that day, steady to my engagements, 
 I have traversed seas, and examined every 
 spot where I believed human beings were 
 to be found. I will not repeat all the dan- 
 gers to which I have been exposed by the 
 inconstancy of the winds, the fuiy of the 
 waves, the treacher)^ and avarice of man- 
 kind ; my ardour only increased with the 
 obstacles I encountered, my courage seemed 
 to augment in proportion as hope was di- 
 minished. Chance or the gods have at 
 length conducted me hither ; you have pre- 
 served my life ; they have granted that I 
 should owe it to thee to make my happiness 
 complete. I have saved thy treasures, — I re- 
 store them to thee ; resume them with my 
 friendship, you must accept that as a part 
 of them, if you are not the most ungrateful 
 of men.
 
 ZEUS. 1 1 ! 
 
 ** You cannot suppose me so,'* said Ze- 
 lis, embracing him tenderly. *' But how will 
 it be possible for me to acquit myself of all 
 that I owe you ? These treasures are nothing 
 to me, — your friendship is every thing. My 
 lot is very much changed ; I may call it now 
 perfectly happy, since you are restored to 
 me. Come, share my happiness, and learn 
 the various circumstances of it ; and, that 
 all things may be equal between us, mayst 
 thou in thy turn prove agreeable to my 
 wife ! " 
 
 Zelis blushed in pronouncing the word 
 wife. — Nasses looked at him with astonish- 
 ment : *' How," said he, '* you have then 
 forgotten your friend, his counsels, and your 
 reason V 
 
 " Suspend thy judgement," said Zelis ; 
 *' you breathe in a new world, where women 
 are sincere and wives faithfid, or at least 
 have address enough always to appear so. 
 Chance threw my wife into my arms, I have 
 found happiness in yielding to sentiment, —
 
 H2 ZELIS. 
 
 while I followed reason, I was guilty of no- 
 thing but follies." 
 
 Zelis silenced his friend in talking of his 
 happiness, but he did not satisfy him. He 
 conducted him to his house, and presented 
 him to his wife : — Nasses found her charm- 
 ing, but he thought her therefore the more 
 dangerous. Soon, however, he learnt to do 
 her justice, and acknowledged that his friend 
 was perfectly happy, since he believed him- 
 self so. In effect, he enjoyed the pleasures of 
 love, of friendship, of freedom, of peace, and 
 of affluence, — what more was to be desired ! 
 
 One day Zelis being alone, his mind be- 
 ing perfectly tranquil and composed — -when 
 retracing in his memory past afflictions he 
 but experienced the higher enjoyment of his 
 present state, — at this moment his Genius 
 once more presented himself before him. 
 Alarmed, he exclaimed, " In the name of 
 Heaven do not come again to grant me thy 
 protection ! — leave me such as I am, your 
 goodness has been too fatal to me."
 
 ZEUS. Ilo 
 
 ^' Learn, proud mortal," said the phan- 
 tom, " not to confound thyself with those 
 superior intelligences that watch over the 
 universe. That which thou hast taken as 
 thy guide through the course of thy life, ta 
 which you gave the name of reason, was but 
 an assemblage of errors,-^it was thine own 
 work. In my hands thy destiny was placed ; 
 what thou hast thought the effect of chance, 
 was the result of my protection ; — judge 
 which has served thee best." 
 
 " But," said Zelis, " my reason would 
 not have brought these misfortunes upon 
 my head, if they had not formed a part of 
 the destiny thou hadst interwoven for me. — 
 Why didst thou introduce them .^" 
 
 ** Gold is not pure till it has been refined 
 by fire ; — adversity is necessaiy to render 
 man wise." 
 
 *' Great Genius, I must surely then be 
 the wisest of men ? " 
 
 " Not yet, since thou canst believe thy- 
 •^elf so." 
 
 *' In tlie name of Heaven do not make
 
 114 ZELIS. 
 
 any change in my situation ! I am wise 
 enough, and as happy as I wish to be." 
 
 " There are yet many things which thou 
 mayst enjoy, and which I come to offer 
 thee. I will revenge thee upon thine ene- 
 mies ; I Will punish the unworthy Amine, 
 and the unjust Cadi who condemned thee." 
 
 "What good can be derived from benefits 
 like these ? Let the avenging gods pu- 
 nish, if they will, crimes and perfidies ; — 
 to me it signifies little that Amine and this 
 cruel judge shall svrffer in their turns ; their 
 punishment cannot add to my happiness," 
 
 "At least you shall return to your country- 
 loaded with wealth and honours." 
 
 " Once more, powerful Genius, I entreat 
 that nothing in my fate maybe changed: my 
 wealth and honours are peace and friend- 
 ship, my true country is that in which I en* 
 joy these sweets." 
 
 " I am satisfied," said the phantom; "you 
 merit my blessings, since you know how to 
 refuse them. Enjoy thy felicity ; it shall 
 never more be interrupted, and shall extend
 
 ZELIS, 115 
 
 to all those whom you love. From this mo- 
 ment I take from thee the faculty of reason- 
 ing, and I confer on thee that of feeling." 
 
 " But why," asked Zelis, " is happiness 
 only placed at the end of a long course of 
 troubles and vexations ? "Wliy does that 
 reason which instructs us to seek it^ only 
 seem to make it constantly fly far from us .^" 
 
 " It is^" said the phantom, " that it leads 
 us to seek it where it is not to be found. If 
 ERROR did not always march side-by-side 
 with REASON, men would no longer be 
 mcnT — At these words the Genius disap- 
 peared : Zelis was satisfied that he had 
 found TRUE HAPPINESS, and pitied those 
 who are still wandering through en'oueous 
 paths in search of it.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK 
 
 OR 
 
 MY LAST STAY IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 A BURGUNDJAN TALE.
 
 119 
 
 THE AVEATHERCOCK 
 
 A BURGUXDIAN TALE. 
 
 CHAPTER r 
 
 Educatio7i, 
 
 Some matters of business, but of what 
 kind is perfectly unimportant for anybody to 
 know, since they concerned nobody but my- 
 self — Some matters of business obliged 
 me recently to spend several weeks in the 
 country, at the house of an uncle, by name 
 Primeheure, in the province of Burgundy. 
 The family consisted, at my arrival ; — 
 first, of my uncle, a cheerful hearty old 
 man, but excessively hasty and precipitate 
 in every thing he said and did j — secondly.
 
 120 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 his lady wife, my aunt, who had just that 
 moderate portion of wit and talents which 
 served to convince herself that she had an 
 infinite share of both ; — thirdly, mademoi- 
 selle Cecilia, their daughter, by far the most 
 agreeable piece of furniture in the house ; — 
 and fourthly, of Monsieur de St. Salvador, 
 one of the oddest and most whimsical of 
 animals ; who at the present moment, to the 
 misfortune of both, was the professed lover 
 of Cecilia. As this St. Salvador fills a very 
 important place in the history I am about to 
 relate, it is necessary before I proceed further 
 to give some little idea of his character. 
 
 Men — I cannot say by what original sin 
 or vice of constitution — are almost always 
 prone to do whatever is prohibited, and, vice 
 versa, to revolt against whatever is required 
 of them. This propensity was never a more 
 prominent feature in any character tl>an in 
 that of St. Salvador. At an early age he 
 was confided to the care of a very intelligent 
 man, who had been long engaged in the 
 education of young people, and who had
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 121 
 
 generally been fortunate in the credit he ac- 
 quired by the subsequent conduct of his pu- 
 pils. No sooner did this tutor perceive the 
 disposition of his new e/ci'^, than he trembled 
 for the consequences. Never had he made 
 use of any thing Hke preceptorial tyranny 
 in disciplining his pupils, nor would he em- 
 ploy it even in the case of St. Salvador ; he 
 rather adopted the method of bending to 
 his character, and leading him to do by in- 
 clination what he would never have been 
 compelled to do as a duty. He often gave 
 him advice, but never laid his commands 
 upon him ; sometimes he even forbade him 
 to do a thing, because he wished it done. 
 For the rest, St. Salvador had penetration 
 and good natural talents, so that he made 
 a considerable progress in his stiidies, and 
 with great ease to himself ; for as to giving 
 himself trouble, if he could not have got on 
 in his learning without that, he would never 
 have got on at all. 
 
 With .the acquirements and manners of a 
 pupil, St. Salvador entered the world when 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 he was only between sixteen and seventeen 
 years old. His tutor in taking leave of him 
 thought it proper to give him a last lesson, 
 and he addressed him thus : "I trust," said 
 he, " that I have inspired you with too high 
 a sense of honour and probity ever to fear 
 your descending to any meanness. But this 
 is not sufficient in society ; that requires us 
 to submit to certain rules of decorum, of 
 moderation, and of discretion, which, al- 
 though less essential than what are called 
 duties^ have not less influence over our for- 
 tune and happiness, over the esteem in 
 which we are generally held. This yoke 
 will perhaps appear harsh to your indepen- 
 dent spirit, but it will insensibly grow lighter ; 
 and provided you submit to it courageously, 
 will in the end be no longer burthensome. 
 Reflect that you are going to live among 
 men who have the same passions as your- 
 self, and the same right to gratify them ;— 
 reflect that they set bounds to them for the 
 good of yourself and others ; and that for 
 you to overstep these bounds is to be guilty
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 123 
 
 of a transgression against society, — that it 
 is to render yourself unworthy of the esteem 
 and respect of your fellow-citizens, — 'tis to 
 expose yourself to have the cup of life 
 strongly impregnated with a taste of the 
 bitter." 
 
 St. Salvador, though his spirit was un- 
 tractable, hud an upright mind : he felt all 
 the importance of such a lesson ; entered 
 perfectly into the views of his tutor; took a 
 firm resolution to follow in eveiy respect 
 advice so wise and discreet, and began to 
 meditate upon the mode of life which he 
 should embrace. He had a brother, who, 
 in virtue of the sublime quality of being the 
 eldest, had seized on all the property which 
 the younger ought to have shared, and St. 
 Salvador was left with a very moderate an- 
 nuity. Thinking that the Church might 
 repair the injustice of the Law, he put him- 
 self into the road to preferment with a little 
 land, and as much call to the vocation as 
 many others. It is not my part to discuss 
 the question, whether 'tis a \v^ise policy to 
 g2
 
 124 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 make the Church pay services rendered to 
 the profane world — I have only to observe 
 tTie fact that this is done very frequently. 
 Thus it was in the case of St. Salvador; 
 the command of an abbey was conferred 
 upon him, for no other reason than because 
 his brother had the command of a regi- 
 ment.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 125 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Libertine, 
 
 The Abbe St. Salvador was perpetually 
 meditating upon tlie last lesson he received 
 from his master ; and every day strengthened 
 the wise resolution he had formed never to 
 step beyond the bounds prescribed by his 
 situation. No sooner v/as he in full posses- 
 sion of his benefice, than he made the very 
 sensible reflection — that it would be neces- 
 sary to give way to some pleasures, else how 
 evince that moderation and decency in the 
 pursuit of them, which he resolved should 
 be adhered to with the utmost rigour .^ •^It 
 is impossible," said he Xo himself, " for any 
 one to be more amply furnished with maxims 
 of prudence and discretion than I am — my 
 head overflows v/ith tjiem ; nor do I beheve
 
 126 THE weathercock:. 
 
 that any one can entertain stronger and 
 more salutary moral principles than I do. 
 Let us then enter into the world ; let us see 
 what I have to contend v/ith, and make trial 
 of my strength." 
 
 St. Salvador began his course of experi- 
 ments by frequenting the theatres ; and as 
 he had good talents united with a lively and 
 ardent imagination, he soon became pas- 
 sionately fond of them ; he could never 
 cease to admire the superabundance of ge- 
 nius displayed both by the authors and act- 
 ors. One actress in particular so struck 
 his fancy, that by frequently seeing he be- 
 came quite enchanted with her. He got 
 introduced to her, merely for the sake of 
 telling her from time to time how much he 
 was charmed with her performances, of as- 
 suring her that he was one of her most zea- 
 lous admirers ; — this was, he said, but a tri- 
 bute due to her talents. The lady being a 
 model of reserve and discretion, played her 
 cards so well that the young Abbe soon he^
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 127 
 
 cair^e whclly devoted to her ; and in the end, 
 left to her the administration of at least two- 
 thirds of the revenues of his benefice. 
 
 This was a matter of -taste. St. Salvador 
 had not the same taste for play ; yet he 
 ])layed, for it was a thing which could not 
 be dispensed with in one who mingled at 
 all with the world ; he played however only 
 for small sums, and even this merely to fill 
 up such vacant moments as might occur in 
 the day. If occasionally he hazarded a some- 
 what larger stake, it was entirely through 
 condescension for those who could not be 
 interested in contending for trifles. I know 
 not by what fatality it happens, that when 
 once a man has indulged in high play, he 
 soon acquires a disgust for any thing within 
 the bounds of moderation ; as he who ad- 
 mits a taste for brandy, soon finds wine 
 poor and meagre. Thus it was with St. 
 Salvador : no long time passed over his 
 head before he was seized with all the fer- 
 vour of gambling. 
 
 He loved good company, although he was
 
 128 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 not always exceedingly select in the choice 
 of it : his table was well served, but without 
 extravagance and superfluity ; he had wines 
 of the best countries and the best vintages. 
 Not averse to the pleasures of the table, 
 without having any passion for them, he 
 gave himself up to them more or less, ac- 
 cording to the dispositions of his guests. 
 By degrees he acquired a stronger and a 
 stronger taste for them ; he indulged in long 
 sittings ; became one of the gre^itest connois- 
 seurs in wines throughout the country, and 
 was the most liberal in his consumption of 
 them. 
 
 Thus the moderate and almost philoso- 
 phic St. Salvador confined himself only to 
 three different sorts of excess — women, 
 wine, and play. He abandoned himself very 
 simply and naturally to circumstances, with- 
 out bestowing a thought on what he was 
 about ; and when at length he did begin to 
 reflect, he was exceedingly astonished to 
 find the kind of life that he led. But, en- 
 gaged in the pursuit of pleasure far beyond
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 129 
 
 wliat he could possibly foresee, he was not 
 long in discovering that he should never have 
 resolution to disengage himself, and he de- 
 termined not to v/aste his time in making 
 useless efforts to that effect. Always, how- 
 ever, deeply impressed v/ith the idea of what 
 his situation required of him, he applied 
 himself very seriously to saving appearances, 
 and throwing as nmch external show of de- 
 corum as possible into his conduct. 
 
 He prescribed it therefore as a solemn 
 duty, to cast a veil over all the liberties in 
 v/hich he indulged himself; and in yielding 
 to his taste for these pleasures, thought only 
 of choosing his associates in them with so 
 much discretion that he might rely upon their 
 secresy. But notwithstanding his prudence, 
 it commonly happened, by some strange 
 chance or other, that whenever he had been 
 engaged in any frolic, the next day the whole 
 history of it was public talk; and, as will 
 readily be believed, the circumstances were 
 always related with such additions and em- 
 g5
 
 130 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 bellishments as best suited the taste of the 
 narrator. 
 
 St. Salvador in the meantime, who sa- 
 tisfied himself that all was as he wished, 
 conducted himself in public with a decorum 
 which surprised all who knew him, and to- 
 wards which they evinced a respect and es- 
 teem not a little satisfactory to hhn. He 
 was in the right to endeavour to impose 
 upon the public, for he did not wish to bring 
 scandal upon himself; aivd the public v»ere 
 in the right to let him believe that he suc- 
 ceeded, since they had no desire to occasion 
 him chagrin and mortification.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 131 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TJie Devotee. 
 
 Our young Abbe was in this situation, — 
 his head full of wisdom and his conduct 
 full of folly, — when his elder brother, the co- 
 lonel, on a sudden made his exit out of 
 the world. Amid all his faults, St. Salvador 
 had a heart overflowing with sensibility, 
 and he was so struck with this event that 
 he was veiy near losing the moderate stock 
 of senses which he possessed. For awhile 
 he shut himself up entirely, and would 
 not see any body ; nor was it till after a 
 lapse of three months that his most intimate 
 friends could find the means of obtaining a 
 sight of liim. This done, however, they 
 soon succeeded in dispersing entirely the 
 grief which time had already begun to dimi- 
 nish. They endeavoured to instil into his 
 mind that he gave way beyond all reason to
 
 132 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 unavailing regrets, and to persuade lilm to 
 reappear among the world;, who saw with 
 astonishment such obstinate and useless 
 indulgence of his grief ; inviting him earn- 
 estly to gladden again with his presence 
 friends whose amusements languished now 
 that he no longer shared in them. 
 
 St. Salvador could not at length refuse 
 himself to the world, who so eagerly desired 
 him back among them, — to bis friends, who 
 sighed for him, and to pleasures which so- 
 licited him. " It is wished," said he, " that 
 I would return to society. I will return; 
 but let it be understood that I am not to be 
 under any kind of restraint : I must live 
 after my own fashion ; my fancies must have 
 their free course ; my ears must not be for 
 ever assailed with those eternal reproaches, 
 those eternal exhortations to decorum and 
 propiiety of conduct, which are so trouble- 
 some and so ennuyeiiwr — A few days after, 
 he resigned his benefice ; quitted the little he 
 had ever observed of the ecclesiastical vest- 
 ment 5 took a house, and furnished it con-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. ]?)?» 
 
 formably with the ideas he had conceived, 
 from thence casting an eye around him upon 
 all the pleasures in which he proposed to be 
 a partaker, the better to judge where his' 
 career should be commenced. 
 
 WHio would have thought it ? — he was 
 now no longer an Abbe, — pleasures were no 
 longer to be enjoyed by stealth and under 
 the veil of mystery ; the point of view in 
 which they were now seen was not favour- 
 able to them, they had lost their attrac- 
 tion. St. Salvador saw them such as they 
 really were, or such that they could no longer 
 touch his imagination ; the point of them 
 was blunted, since they could be enjoyed 
 freely ; they had lost every thing piquant 
 which they before presented ; — he was sur- 
 feited the moment he could taste them with- 
 out disguise. At first he thought that this 
 was only a momentary disgust, and would 
 soon pass away: — he found it an error, the 
 disgust instead of diminishing daily in- 
 creased. 
 
 Behold him then destitute of pleasures,
 
 134 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 destitute of habits, attached to nothing. 
 Never was he so mad as when he resolutely 
 determined to be wise, — never was he so 
 wise as when his fixed determination was to 
 be mad. After this fashion was his mind 
 constructed; and there are people enough 
 in the world who resemble him exactly : — 
 Heaven be pleased to take their reformation 
 upon itself — it is a task far beyond the power 
 of man. 
 
 As we have seen him a libertine ecclesi- 
 astic, ready to be pleased and amused with 
 every thing ; he is now to be presented 
 under the form of a sensible laic, wholly a 
 prey to enntn. Having more leisure than 
 ever to make reflections, he makes very 
 deep ones upon nature and the fatuity of ail 
 sensual pleasures ; concluding that there are 
 no other sources of enjoyment remaining 
 for him except in the pleasures of the mind, 
 the Sciences and the Fine-arts. 
 
 He was accordingly seized with a mighty 
 passion for painters, musicians, and cele- 
 brated artists of every kind ; for poets, phi-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 135 
 
 losophers, and literati. His reputation was 
 soon at its acme as an amateur and con- 
 mnsscur of the very first order ; above all, 
 as the warm protector of literature and the 
 arts and sciences in their various branches. 
 He was surrounded all day long with pic- 
 tures, sculptures, plans, designs, books, ma- 
 nuscripts, musical instruments : — one con- 
 sulted liim upon a tragedy, another upon a 
 romance, another upon some choice mor- 
 ceau in the way of scandal ; another on a 
 treatise upon morals. The latter were, of 
 all things that could be brought, the most 
 welcome to him, for morality was his parti- 
 cular forte — was what he particularly che- 
 rished ; he even wrote a little work himself 
 upon the subject, which was admired by 
 every body around him, but which very few 
 could be persuaded to purchase. 
 
 I know not how it happens, that the actual 
 quantum of delight found in the society of 
 such great men as those by whom St. Sal- 
 vador was now surrounded, does not always 
 answer to the idea formed of it. Amidst
 
 136 THE WEATITERCOCK. 
 
 this crowd of artists and literati, our patron 
 found a lamentable vacuum in his mind, 
 and was driven as usual to make a chain of 
 reflections upon the subject, to which there 
 seemed no end. " Where am I ?" said he, 
 *' and what will become of me ? — ^The plea- 
 sures of the senses passed away like a shadow, 
 the pleasures of the mind by which they were 
 succeeded have not been able to retain their 
 place — I feel a vacancy in my soul which 
 martyrizes me : — Well have I always been 
 told that the human heart is superior to all 
 such objects ; they may entrance it awhile, 
 but it can never be filled with them, it can 
 never be occupied by them permanently ; it 
 is framed for purer pleasures, for desires 
 more sublime ; — religion alone can bring it 
 true joy and content, every where else must 
 happiness be sought in vain. Open thine 
 eyes then, St. Salvador, acknowledge thy 
 errors, and direct thy steps to the right 
 path." 
 
 If St. Salvador was hasty in forming his 
 resolutions, he was not less so in carrying
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 137 
 
 them into execution. Behold him now as 
 eager a devotee as he had ever been a liber- 
 tine ; and he was equally well suited to being 
 the one as the other. His conversion made 
 a prodigious noise in the world : — some ho- 
 nest men were affected with it, and applaud- 
 ed him sincerely ; others, not less honest, 
 looked on and smiled. He had to encoun- 
 ter the sarcasms of his former friends, and 
 the epigrams of the poets to whom his pro- 
 tection was no longer extended. Some sen- 
 sible persons, who knew him well, were not 
 surprised, said nothing, but quietly waited 
 the end of the comedy.
 
 13S THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A great fault. 
 
 Six months were passed entirely in pious 
 exercises and meditations of which there 
 seemed no end ; St. Salvador was no longer 
 to be known for the same person. One 
 day returning from a pilgrimage in which 
 he had greatly edified all those who were 
 so fortunate as to hear him, and in which 
 his zeal and fervour had been the themes of 
 universal admiration, he happened to pass 
 near the house of a certain Signor Liber- 
 tini, who had been formerly one of his most 
 intimate associates. He was now far ad- 
 vanced in years, but continued the same 
 course of free living by habit, which he had 
 originally adopted froni taste. H^e exerted 
 his utmost to amuse himself with those 
 things in which he had formerly delighted, 
 and was for ever repeating That is charm-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 139 
 
 ing ! That in delic'wiis ! without being able 
 any longer to feel them so. His lank and 
 meagre body seemed to waste itself entirely 
 in length, and preserved substance in no- 
 thiui^ which it was possible for the pursuit 
 of pleasure to deprive of it: — it was like the 
 carcase of a fire-work which had been played 
 off the evening before. 
 
 St. Salvador arrived at the house of this 
 worn-out libertine about one o'clock at 
 noon ; he had fasted all day, and was some- 
 what hard pressed by hunger. A hearty 
 welcome was given him by his friend, who 
 was just going to dinner : St. Salvador was 
 eagerly invited to make one at table, and he 
 was not in circumstances to refuse the in- 
 vitation. Being Friday, the dishes were 
 partly maigre partly not so. The new guest 
 had for a long time adhered rigidly to the 
 abstinence which his character prescribed, 
 for he had never been tempted to deviate 
 from it. Nov/ behold, when tlie second 
 course v/as served, a brace of partridges, 
 than which nothing could look more invi-
 
 140 THE WEATHERCOCIs, 
 
 ting; — the season for them was but just 
 commenced ; they were the first St. Salvador 
 had seen ; he was particularly fond of them, 
 — and it was a day on which they were for- 
 bidden. Tliese, particular!}/ the last, were 
 motives irresistible. At the first glance cast 
 by him on the tempting spectacle he trem- 
 bled — ^Was it with joy ? — was it at the dan- 
 ger to which he saw himself exposed ? — I 
 cannot say. But he did tremble ; his eyes 
 were fixed upon the partridges, his mouth 
 was opened, and his hand raised towards the 
 fatal dish. Thus he remained for some mo- 
 ments in an exact equilibrium between the 
 sacred duties of abstinence and the solici- 
 tations of his appetite. 
 
 Libertini, who read exactly what was 
 passing in the mind of the devotee, took a 
 partridge upon his plate, cut off a piece has- 
 tily, which he had no sooner tasted than he 
 began to praise it eagerly. St. Salvador, 
 i>till in the same attitude, could not contain 
 himself: *' I will just take a morsel," he 
 jb'aid, " no bigger than a bean, which I will
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 141 
 
 only chew; I shall then teste without swal- 
 loudng it, and no harm will be dc'^e.'^ So 
 saying, he took a wing, and cutting off a 
 morsel put it into his mouth. By some 
 unlucky accident, however, in transferring it 
 from one side of the mouth to the other, 
 that he might not lose any of the pleasure 
 to be received from the mastication, it hap- 
 pened to mistake the road and slide down 
 his throat; whenitv/as received by the sto- 
 mach no less greedily than a stone falling 
 from the height of a hundred feet is swal- 
 lowed by the water. 
 
 *' The evil is done," said Libertini, hi- 
 ding with a veiy grave and solemn counte- 
 nance the desire he had to laugh immode- 
 rately — ** The evil is done ; 'tis perfectly im- 
 material now wlifither you stop or proceed. 
 The first mouthful is every thing ; and since 
 the abstinence is once broken, you may as 
 well finish the partridge." 
 
 ** Do you think so, indeed .^" said St. 
 Salvador : " shall I not be guilty of the sin
 
 142 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 of gluttony ? — Well then, since I have 
 gone so far I will e'en proceed, and Heaven 
 have compassion upon the weakness of hu- 
 man nature !" So saying, the whole par- 
 tridge was soon devoured.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 143 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Repentance, 
 
 Scarcely had our devotee completed his 
 offence, and finished the partridge, than he 
 looked back with horror upon the enormity 
 committed. He immediately took leave of 
 his friend, and returned home heartily cur- 
 sing Signor Libertini and all the partridges 
 on the earth. The next day early he has- 
 tened to his confessor. " I am," said he, 
 '* the most criminal of mankind, instruct 
 me, oh my father ! in what manner my 
 offences may be washed away." And with 
 that he related the terrible adventure of the 
 preceding day. 
 
 *' How !" said the Confessor, shuddering 
 with horror, " eat a partridge on a Friday! 
 If you had only told me that you had be- 
 trayed your best friend, or shamefully ca-
 
 144 th£ weathercock, 
 
 lumniated one of the worthiest of men, 1 
 should have known what course to pursue — 
 how the offence might be expiated — and 
 you should not have quitted me till you were 
 purified and clean as the apple of your eye. 
 But, oh monstrous ! you have eaten a par- 
 tridge on a Friday ! 'tis no longer in my 
 power to absolve you, my hands are wholly 
 paralysed : — you are in one of those re- 
 served cases over which my authority does 
 not extend; 'tis the Grand Penitentiary alone 
 who can raise you up from such a fall." 
 
 St. Salvador, more contrite than ever,^ 
 striking in a pitiless manner his breast, 
 went to seek the Grand Penitentiary.-^This 
 rigid judge treated him with all the severity 
 which so perilous an offence merited, and as 
 an atonement enjoined him to be very liberal 
 in distributing alms among the needy. 
 
 St. Salvador was by nature compassion- 
 ate, and had been accustomed, from the li- 
 berality of his disposition, to do what was 
 now enjoined him as a penance. But no 
 sooner was the dealing out his alms con-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 145 
 
 verted into a matter of duty, than it ceased 
 to be one of inclination. He now began to 
 calculate minutely upon what he was to give 
 XI way, — for though he wished to be liberal, he 
 would not be prodigal ; he thought it was 
 .proper to look well into these things, that his 
 bounty might not be misplaced. Among 
 the poor who applied for relief one was 
 young and able to work ; to give alms to him 
 would be to encourage idleness — another 
 asked with too peremptory a tone — the 
 wants of a third did not appear urgent — this 
 was too forward in asking, it was the re- 
 tiring poor who sought to struggle with their 
 wants that he wished to encourage, rather 
 than those who were loud in blazoning their 
 distresses. In short, he was from this mo- 
 ment so very wary in giving alms, that he 
 scarcely gave any. 
 
 Fearing, however, that his heart would 
 become hardened by so much prudence and 
 caution, he returned to the Grand Peniten- 
 tiary, stating the whole matter to him ex- 
 actly as it stood : — how that instead of his 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 alms being dealt out more liberally, as be 
 had sincerely intended tbey sbould be, be 
 found to bis great astonishment that he gave 
 away less and less every day; and he was 
 very apprehensive if it continued to be en- 
 joined him as a duty, he sbould end by never 
 giving away at all. "Well then," said the 
 Penitentiary, *' since this is the case, I en- 
 join you to attend regularly at all the ser- 
 mons preached in your parish : by this 
 means your heart may perhaps be softened 
 towards the unfortunate, and you may be 
 instructed in the duties of humanity." 
 
 This was not a very grievous punishment 
 to St. Salvador ; he loved sermons, and had 
 never failed in his attendance upon them. 
 *' If the Penitentiary thought this inflicting 
 a heavy penance upon me/' said he, " he is 
 very much mistaken : but be that as it may, 
 since it is enjoined, let it be my care not to 
 fail in it the smallest tittle." 
 
 The next day he was tormented with a 
 cruel head-ach, so that if he had been alto- 
 gether at his own disposal he should not
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 147 
 
 have gone to the sermon ; but since it must 
 be so, he went, though he was too much in- 
 disposed to be able to attend to what he 
 heard. The day after, he had some business 
 which would ill admit of delay ; but the ser- 
 mon must not be omitted, though the neg- 
 lecting his business would be productive of 
 serious inconvenience. Another day, the 
 orator prosed unmercifully, yet never said 
 any thing to the purpose ; and he was so 
 wearied that he took an utter aversion to the 
 whole preaching tribe. From that moment 
 he never heard a sermon that was endurable; 
 — sometimes the style was inflated, some- 
 times poor and meagre ; one while it was too 
 familiar, the next too concise ; then it was 
 too diftuse, too methodical, too confused ; 
 or else the preacher's voice v/as too thick, 
 or too sharp ; he spoke too slow, or too fast ; 
 he used too much or too little action, or his 
 action was affected, and not sufficiently va- 
 ried; in short, — our devotee never attended 
 a single preacher whom it was not an abso- 
 lute punishment to hear. At length, dis- 
 h2
 
 148 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 gusted beyond all endurance with seiinoiis, 
 he remained a whole month without going 
 to one, he could not even endure the sound 
 of the bell which summoned to attendance 
 upon them. 
 
 The Grand Penitentiary must then be ap- 
 plied to once more. — He, having heard the 
 case stated, surveyed the offender earnestly 
 from head to foot : " Indeed, worthy sir," 
 said he, ** it cannot be denied that you are 
 altogether incomprehensible. At this rate 
 it is wholly useless to lay my injunctions 
 upon you ; — how command a man who will 
 not submit to any control ? Heaven's 
 mercy is however abundant : — let us talk no 
 more of sins past, but try to make an ar- 
 rangement for the future. If there be any 
 thing to which you have a decided repug- 
 nance, inform me ; and if it be interdicted, 
 perhaps you may submit to the performance 
 of it." St. Salvador replied, there was one 
 thing he could mention ; that since the un- 
 happy Friday which had given occasion to 
 all this trouble, he had taken such an aver-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 149 
 
 sion to the house of Signor Libertini, that 
 he could not see it without experiencing a 
 sort of convulsive emotion ; and if he were 
 enjoined never to set foot there again, he 
 sliould doubtless obey with the strictest 
 punctuality. " Be it so then," said the Pe- 
 nitentiary : ** I enjoin you to abstain from 
 going thither. Adieu, remember your en- 
 gagement ; and above all things be sure that 
 you avoid approaching the fish-pond — the 
 pondf(yr carpT
 
 150 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A^civ emharrassments . 
 
 Welt, assured now that he should keep his 
 word, St. Salvador proceeded on his way, re- 
 flecting seriously upon what had passed with 
 the Penitentiary, particularly upon his last 
 words. Be sure above all things that you 
 avoid approaching the fish^oncL " I pro- 
 mised," said he within himself, " never to 
 go near Libertini's house, and he talks to 
 me of a pond which is four leagues from it 
 — what concern can the one have with the 
 other ? Either the good Penitentiary is 
 wholly deficient in acquaintance with the 
 geography of the country, or his injunction 
 must have proceeded from the most un- 
 bounded absence of mind. Well, no mat- 
 ter; the question now is to avoid Libertini's
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 151 
 
 h.ouse, and in that there will be no difficulty ; 
 — let us think of it no more. 
 
 St. Salvador's route homewards lay partly 
 along the foot of a hill upon the declivity of 
 v^'hich stood the forbidden mansion, and at 
 this part of the route was he just arrived 
 when the above reflections were made. He 
 now recollected some beautiful points of 
 view to be caught in ascending the hill, over 
 a fine plain covered with villas, plantations, 
 pastures, corn-fields, flocks, and herds, all 
 which could not be seen to advantage while 
 in the plain on a level with them : ascend 
 however only a small part of the hill, and 
 the whole rich scene was amply displayed. 
 Surely then no harm could accrue from en- 
 joying once more this fine cmtp d^csil, there 
 was no occasion to go near so high as the 
 house to enjoy the view ; — one more glance 
 may be taken, then never more shall the 
 spot occupy the least place in my thoughts* 
 In ascending the hill, St. Salvador took 
 the precaution of keeping his eyes fixed on 
 the ground, that not even a look might be
 
 152 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 directed to the house ; and when he arrived 
 at what he thought a sufficient height, he 
 turned round to enjoy the enchanting scene 
 presented. Never did it appear equally en- 
 chanting, never could he be wearied with 
 gazing and admiring ; he would go just a 
 few steps higher, where it would appear still 
 finer ; he mounted and mounted, till. Oh fa- 
 tal hour ! at length he found himself on the 
 very brink of the foYhidden fish-pond, of the 
 pond Jo?' carp ; nay worse, raising his eyes 
 he discovered, what till then he had never 
 noticed, that there was a fish-pond scarcely 
 twenty yards from the house of Libertini. 
 
 With his feet on the edge of the fata} 
 pond, with his eyes fixed on the fatal house, 
 he recalled to mind the words of the Peni- 
 tentiarv, and was struck with the impru- 
 dence into which he had been led by his cu- 
 riosity. Trembling at the danger incurred, 
 with his feet already in the air, and his arms- 
 extended forwards, he was about to run at 
 full speed down the hill : but alas ! he had 
 been seen and recognized by the owner of
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 153 
 
 the house, who was walking in the garden 
 accompanied by two male and two female 
 guests ; and no sooiier was the discovery 
 made, than Libertini hastening forwards, 
 stopped him at the very moment when he 
 was starting upon his race. He immedi- 
 ately began to reproach him that it was a 
 long time since he had seen him, expressed 
 the utmost pleasure in this interview, and 
 said, '* You come at a most fortunate mo- 
 ment ; these two lovely nymphs, and these 
 two friends, who are equally friends of yours, 
 are come to dine with me, — you must join 
 the party ; nor will you, I think, have cause 
 to complain of the chance that led you 
 among us." 
 
 St. Salvador would fain have excused 
 himself: Libertini insisted, nay even took 
 him by the arm and in some sort compelled 
 him to join the party : " Alas !" said he to 
 himself, " this is a most unfortunate ren- 
 counter, — but what is to be done ? I am 
 not master of myself, — I do not go, I am 
 H 5
 
 154 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 dragged along." Such were the reflections 
 lie made internally ; and he was on the point 
 of making one more effort to escape, when 
 he found himself within the gardens of Li- 
 bertini. Never did they appear so beauti- 
 ful ; — ^he ran over them hastily, he could not 
 admire them enough, he was in a perfect 
 ecstasy. 
 
 Yet once again, even at the moment when 
 the servant came to announce dinner being 
 ready, did his thoughts turn inwardly upon 
 what he was about. " I am surely born," 
 said he, ** under a most unlucky planet ; 
 never can I execute what I have determined 
 on, never can I accomplish what I have pro- 
 jected. Fortune seems occupied with no- 
 thing but to cross me in my designs. Who- 
 ever had told me this morning that I should 
 dine in Libertini's house I should have 
 said was a madman, and 'tis I myself that 
 am mad. I am in the mire, however, and 
 must scramble out of it as well as I can : it 
 would be profaning wisdom to think of
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 155 
 
 practising it here ; with the extravagant we 
 must be extravagant, but let us be as little 
 so as possible." 
 
 It ^^ as on a Friday, a day of ill omen to 
 St. Salvador. He sat down to dinner, where, 
 by a strange mistake of the cook, notwith- 
 standing the day, there was not a single 
 meagre dish. What was now to be done? 
 — " I will eat but of one dish," said St. Sal- 
 vador : — he made his choice, and ate of it 
 not very sparingly. Unfortunately there 
 came afterwards one of which he was par- 
 ticularly fond, and he suffered himself to 
 be over-persuaded to taste it. When he 
 had eaten of the second — " Nay, now," said 
 his host, " that you have broken through 
 your restraint, you may as well eat of half a 
 dozen ; there is no more offence in six than 
 in two." St. Salvador was convinced by 
 reasoning so soUd, and partook of almost 
 every dish upon the table. 
 
 The conversation after dinner became ex- 
 tremely animated, the wine sparkled in the 
 glasses, and altogether completed the over-
 
 156 THE WEATHERCOCK, 
 
 throw of St. Salvador's reason. TheheatecJ 
 spirits of the company broke forth in bons- 
 7nots, in bursts of laughter, and various noisy 
 expressions of delight, which by the con- 
 clusion of the dessert rose into licentious 
 epigrams, libertine songs, and the indul- 
 gence of some little freedoms with the two 
 lovely nymphs. Thus agreeably entertained, 
 the company did not leave the table till late 
 in the evening : — what passed during the 
 night I am wholly ignorant ; probably St. 
 Salvador himself did not know much about 
 the matter.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. ]57 
 
 CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 ^ sudden flight . 
 
 The next morning our transgressor after 
 some hours of troubled and agitated sleep, 
 still half stupified and enervated with the 
 re^^els of the preceding evening, descended 
 into the garden, that by inhaling the fresh 
 air he might breathe more freely. He had 
 not gone many steps before his ears were 
 saluted with the following sounds : — '^Howf 
 so soon near the fish-pond 9 — near the pond 
 for carp P" A stroke of thunder could not 
 have had a more powerful effect upon him : 
 — for a few moments he remained motion- 
 less ; then by degrees rallying his senses, 
 with his back bowed down, and his eyes bent 
 to the earth, he turned slowly, trembling in 
 every limb, towards the side whence the 
 voice came. There, to his utter amazement
 
 158 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 and confusion, he beheld the Grand Peni- 
 tentiary, who from the entrance of a neigh- 
 bouring bower, with his arms crossed over 
 his breast, contemplated him with looks of 
 compassion bordering on contempt. Some 
 business of importance had brought him to 
 Libertini's house ; and, though late, he found 
 he was too early for the host, so was passing 
 away the time till his rising, with a walk in 
 the garden. 
 
 To dart fonvards out of the fatal domain, 
 to scamper down the hill, to scour along the 
 plain as if pursued by a hobgoblin, — all this 
 was the affair but of a moment with St. 
 Salvador ; — he would gladly have flown to 
 the end of the world to get away from him- 
 self ; but his legs at length refused to carry 
 him any further, and almost breathless he 
 threw himself upon a turfy bank which was 
 at that moment presented to his eyes. 
 ** Cursed fish-pond !" he exclaimed, paus- 
 ing at every syllable to recover his breath, 
 ** wretched St. Salvador! — infernal Liber- 
 tjni ! — dangerous and seductive world !— •
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 159 
 
 I see it plainly, men are to me but as so 
 many stumbling-blocks ; I cannot go a sin- 
 gle step in society without being thrown 
 down by some one or other of them. I will 
 fly them, I will fly all mankind, I will hide 
 myself upon my own lands, I will immerse 
 mvself in a solitude so profound that no 
 one shall be able to penetrate into it, I will 
 bury myself in some wilderness ! " 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution he re- 
 tired to an estate which happened to lie in 
 the neighbourhood of my uncle, and here 
 he remained three months without seeing 
 any one. At the expiration of this term he 
 began to make some visits among his neigh- 
 bours, and Monsieur de la Primeheure hap- 
 pened to be one of those on whom this ho- 
 nour was conferred. Here he saw Cecilia, 
 was struck with her physiognomy, and had 
 not repeated his visit many times before he 
 was over-head-and-ears in love. Astonished 
 at these new feelings, he entered upon a 
 strict examination of them ; questioned him- 
 self whether or not they ought to be irt-
 
 160 ^ THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 dulged ; and balancing nicely the various' 
 p7'os and cons^ found that he certainly was 
 desperately in love, but that his passion was 
 so well- placed and so discreet that he had 
 every reason to congratulate himself upon it. 
 Has a man but a single ounce of imagina- 
 tion, love will soon increase it to a hundred 
 weight. A thousand projects of all possible 
 sorts and kindb now revolved in the head of 
 St. Salvador ; he formed a thousand pictures, 
 arranged exactly after the peculiar fancy of 
 the moment. Sometimes he would return 
 into the world with Cecilia, and make it his 
 delight to inspire her with a taste for the 
 town, to let her enjoy, even to satiety, those 
 varied and multiplied pleasures, of which, 
 living always in the country, she could not 
 have formed the most remote idea. Some- 
 times he preferred remaining at his estate ; 
 and, contented with no other society than 
 that of a wife of such extraordinary beauty 
 and merit, he would lead a holy life, far 
 from all the noise and tumult of the world, 
 from all the bickerings, the quarrellings and
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 161 
 
 disorders which prevail among mankind. 
 Sometimes he feared that his passion would 
 never find an equal return from Cecilia ; — 
 bat this, the most rational of all the ideas 
 which at present crowded upon his brain, 
 was that on which he dwelt the least. 
 
 In so disturbed a state of mind he sighed 
 at every moment, he cast from time to time 
 the most passionate looks upon Ceciha, and 
 hazarded occasionally certain tender phrases, 
 though unfortunately they wholly failed of. 
 producing the intended ejQfect.
 
 162 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A portrait of my cousin. 
 
 Cecilia, the object of St. Salvador's ten- 
 der assiduities, had not either in her man- 
 ners or conversation that fire, that vivacity, 
 which instantly charms ; but she possessed 
 abundantly that insinuating sweetness which 
 insensibly attaches. An old ecclesiastic, a 
 relation of Madame de la Primeheure's, had 
 undertaken the charge of her education. He 
 instructed her in the first four rules of arith- 
 metic, and she would by this time have had 
 the rule of tlnee at her fingers' ends, but 
 that unluckily her master was suddenly taken 
 off by the hand of death when she was just 
 entering upon it. He besides made her read 
 eveiy day the life of some one or other of the 
 Saints from Biba de AYira, and he was
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 163 
 
 continually recommending Maria Alacocque 
 as the model for her to imitate. 
 
 Independently of an education so well re- 
 gulated, Cecilia had one of the most excel- 
 lent hearts that ever inhabited the human 
 frame ; and this merit was discerned by se- 
 veral men of understanding who were ac- 
 quainted at the house, and who attached 
 themselves warn.ily to it, as will be seen 
 hereafter. Monsieur de la Primeheure had 
 united her with himself in conducting the do- 
 mestic oeconomy of his house. His depart- 
 ment included every thing without-doors; he 
 v/atched over his vineyards, his pastures, his 
 arable lands, — while the interior was award- 
 ed to Cecilia ; every thing from the garret 
 to the cellar was under her management, 
 and every thing was maintained by her in 
 the most exact order. Madame de la Prime- 
 heure was the self-appointed superintendant 
 of the whole, and wrangled first at the one> 
 then at the other, as often as she judged 
 the exercise of this talent necessary, which 
 was not unfi-equently.
 
 164 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 Cecilia had, besides, the direction of alf 
 Monsieur de la Prinieheure's charities, which 
 was by no means a sinecure office, and in 
 which she acquitted herself admirably. She 
 kept an exact account of the situation of all 
 her father's dependents, and knew perfectly 
 whose little household and property was in 
 a flourishing condition, and whose fortunes 
 were languishing and declining. Were the 
 fields of any ill-cultivated, she provided 
 against the straits this might occasion. 
 " The season advances apace," she would 
 say to one, ^' why is your field not yet sown ? 
 — but I see the reason ; the law expenses 
 you have been obliged reluctantly to incur 
 have wasted your substance — tomorrow I uill 
 send you a plough and a supply of corn." — 
 To another she would say, ** Your stock 
 of wood seems to get low, you are in danger 
 of passing a comfortless winter ; meet me 
 on such a day in my father's woods, and a 
 sufficient supply shall be allotted you." 
 
 Sometimes she would engage Monsieur 
 de la Primeheure to give portions of land
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 165 
 
 to such as she thought had not sufficient in 
 proportion to their famihes : " They will 
 live on the fruit of their labour," she said, 
 *' and the overplus will be remitted to you." 
 The lands thus bestowed were always those 
 which yielded him the most profit. In her 
 walks, under pretence of resting herself, she 
 would visit the cottages of the peasants and 
 enter into conversation with the inhabitants : 
 if she found that they were in want of any 
 thing, the next day it was sent to them. 
 Above all, her bounty was extended to those 
 whom she suspected to be desirous of con- 
 cealing their wants ; and such she always left 
 more delighted with the delicate manner in 
 which the favour was bestowed, than even 
 with the favour itself. 
 
 In this happy state of things the families 
 became much more numerous, and the lands 
 were much better cultivated than before ; 
 the whole canton assumed a smiling and 
 flourishing aspect, and the rector of the 
 parish was surprised that he was no longer 
 importuned for alms by the poor. In the 
 winter, shut up in their little habitations.
 
 166 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 they subsisted upon the savings of summer, 
 and spring dispersed them again over the 
 iieldsHke a swarm of bees. On festival days 
 the whole village was collected on the green, 
 and nothing could be more joyous than 
 these assemblies. Tlie old men amused them- 
 selves with the children — for in all things 
 it is the extremities that meet, — ^while the 
 young ones danced or joined in a variety of 
 ruml sports. Cecilia looked on at these ex- 
 hilarating spectacles with a delight which 
 only a heart like hers could feel, and ap- 
 plauded herself for all she had done to pro- 
 mote them. 
 
 Those even who were able to maintain 
 themselves on their little fortunes without 
 the assistance of Cecilia, did not regard her 
 with less love and respect. No repast was 
 ever given at which her health was not drunk 
 —the conversation always turned upon her. 
 Some compared her to an abundant dew 
 which moistens and refreshes the plains ; 
 others likened her to a streamlet which gives 
 life and verdure to the meadows that it wa- 
 ters : every one called her the Tutelary
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 167 
 
 Aiigcly and she had truly all the kindness 
 and beneficence of one. Her physiognomy 
 bespoke her character ; — it may easily be 
 judged, therefore, how much it must pre- 
 possess every one in her favour. She was 
 above the middle height, elegant and grace- 
 ful in her figure, her hair was nearly flaxen, 
 she had regular features, a delicate com- 
 plexion, but not such as to speak feebleness 
 of constitution ; blue eyes exceedingly ani- 
 mated, which only served to increase their 
 sweetness ; she was sufficiently plump to give 
 her features and limbs a pleasing roundness, 
 yet not such as to absorb or render them 
 clumsy ; the sound of her voice was har- 
 monious and interesting to the highest de- 
 gree, and in all her movements and actions 
 there was an air of candour and modesty 
 which could not fail to charm, while in her 
 conversation there was a vein of good sense 
 and natural sound judgement, that conveyed 
 the most favourable impression of her mind 
 and heart. — Such was Cecilia.
 
 1^8 THE WEATHEKCOCK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Ideas on different men and different modes 
 of life. 
 
 With the reader's permission I will now for 
 awhile leave Monsieur St. Salvador and his 
 amonrs, and introduce to his acquaintance 
 a man of a very different character, with 
 whom he will perhaps be less amused but 
 more pleased. 
 
 A few days after my arrival at my un- 
 cle's, we received a visit from a gentleman 
 in the neighbourhood, by name Monsieur 
 de Soulange. He was of a description of 
 persons who do not enjoy that kind of con- 
 sideration in society, formed on nice cal- 
 culations, and commonly accorded to wealth 
 or rank ; but he was every where received 
 with the flattering esteem which the heart
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 169 
 
 irresistibly pays to true merit. Quitting his 
 peaceable abode in the country, he had 
 passed several years amid the bustle of the 
 town ; but not being able to procure the 
 adoption of several projects of public utility 
 which he had formed, and having finally 
 abandoned all hope of success^ he retired, 
 without evincing either surprise or chagrin, 
 and returned to live upon his estate, where 
 he had now been a few months. Here^ re- 
 covered from the delusions he once che- 
 rished, of being able to persuade mankind 
 to let him render them important services; 
 contented to have acquired a thorough know- 
 ledge of his species — at least so far as con- 
 cerns persons in public life — and knowing, 
 not to concern himself any further with 
 them ; he occupied himself now much more 
 agreeably with Nature alone, in whom he 
 found a companion which afforded him an 
 inexhaustible store of useful instruction and 
 calm delight. 
 
 His visit at Monsieur de la Primeheure's 
 was short ; for evening was drawing on, and 
 
 VOL.1. I
 
 170 THE WEATHERtOCK. 
 
 he had some way to walk home. The Utile 
 I had seen of him made me desirous to see 
 much more, and I proposed accompanying 
 him for a part of his walk. Tlie weathei* 
 was beautiful and serene, nothing interposed 
 any obstacle to contemplating in their utmost 
 extent the fine views around us, and we 
 passed over a height which presented to us 
 a very widely spread horizon. The country 
 was fertile, consequently very populous ; 
 numbers of rural retreats were discernible, 
 some situated on the banks of little rivu- 
 lets, others upon the declivity of a little 
 hill, others scattered over the plain. 
 
 "WHiat I saw recalled to my mind many 
 other things which I had seen, many of 
 which I had only heard or read. My ima- 
 gination and my memory placed in an in- 
 stant before me innumerable towns, villages, 
 hamlets, forests, rivers, rocks, and moun^ 
 tains, and among them all swarms of men. 
 ** Every family of animals," said I to Sou- 
 lange, " has its chosen habitation, suited to 
 its nature and character; mankind alone
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK^ 171 
 
 have nothing fixed in this respect ; from the 
 most tumultuous city to the most remote 
 solitude, every where are men to be found. 
 Let us paint to ourselves deserts the least 
 calculated to be inhabited, — let us figure to 
 ourselves the most arid rocks, the most 
 rugged mountains, the most gloomy ca- 
 verns, — histor}^ and geography will show us 
 men who, having quarrelled with society,., 
 have passed their lives in climbing these 
 sterile mountains, these rugged rocks, or 
 concealed in the gloomy caverns, to abs- 
 tract themselves wholly from the rest of 
 their species, as if the object of all others 
 most adverse to man, was 7nan. This is 
 the excess of solitude ; — such excess is soft- 
 ened when we find men in a soil less un- 
 grateful, where wholesome plants shoot 
 forth, or where some delicious spring, issu- 
 ing from a rock, forms a little streamlet be- 
 low, and where the individuals, though 
 living separately, yet sometimes mingle in 
 society with each other. I would here air 
 lude principally to those retreats which the 
 I 2
 
 172 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 votaries of different religions have forjned 
 to themselves. Life is still further softened, 
 and is scarcely then to be called solitary^ 
 when we hold to society not by the tumul- 
 tuary but by the peaceful scenes which it 
 offers ; that is to say, when, occupying those 
 tranquil habitations with which the countiy 
 every where abounds, we live what is usually 
 denominated a rural life. There we do not 
 see gigantic projects of ambition vanishing 
 into smoke, vast fortunes scattered hither 
 and thither to all the winds of heaven ; we 
 are not presented with revolutions or over- 
 throws of families that astonish and con- 
 found : — things follow a steady and uniform 
 course, without any great, sudden, or violent 
 changes. Emerging from the state of still- 
 ness and repose commanded by winter. Na- 
 ture by the delights of the spring prepares the 
 way for the riches of summer and autumn. 
 The vigilant labourer obser\^es her efforts^ 
 and assists them ; he sows his corn, 
 and reaps his harvest ; he plants his herbs 
 and fruits, and gathers them ; nor are hia
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 173 
 
 cares and hopes ever frustrated, for they de- 
 pend not on man. How I love to see the 
 successive occupations of these simple peo- 
 ple, the profusion with which the earth re- 
 pays their labours, the peace which reigns 
 in their families ! — ^how this sight tranquil- 
 lizes my soul ! — with what a gladdened 
 heart do I forget all the littleness of the 
 great, and the follies of the wise ! — ^There 
 are other habitations, half town half-coun- 
 try, less tumultuous than the one, less 
 tranquil than the other. Some traces of 
 rural life are still to be found in them ; but 
 it begins to degenerate, and to be too bus- 
 tling. From this the gradations are many, 
 till tumult rises to its utmost acme in great 
 cities. In the extremity of solitude, men 
 seek to remove the furthest possible distance 
 from each other ; in great cities their aim 
 seems to be to concentrate themselves, to 
 nestle together the utmost that is in their 
 power : — their houses are squeezed as close 
 as possible, and the number of them is con- 
 stantly accumulating, stories are multiplied
 
 1/4 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 the one above the other, till they seem at 
 length to menace the skies; many towjis 
 unite and form themselves into one ; while 
 in the midst of such throngs of people 
 crowded together into so small a space, a 
 jarring of interests and conflict of passions 
 must arise which generates nothing but tu- 
 mult and confusion. Whence can proceed 
 such opposite tastes in men who are born 
 \nth the same portion of intellect, with the 
 same ardour for pleasure, the same averse- 
 ness to pain ? \A^hence is it that, consti- 
 tuted thus alike by the hand of Nature, one 
 finds his whole happiness in modes of life 
 from which another turns with disgust and 
 loathing ?'' 
 
 Soulange listened attentively. — *' If," said 
 he, ** you find reason to be astonished at the 
 different tastes of men in the choice of their 
 habitations, you surely cannot find less 
 ground of astonishment at the endless va- 
 riety to be seen in the nature and disposi- 
 tions of mankind. Among this variety thero 
 is a certain turn of mind which I would call
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 175 
 
 hnpetuosity . The impetuous man is in a 
 perpetual hurry and agitation in every pos- 
 sible way, and upon every possible occasion : 
 his eyes are never fixed upon any thing ; his 
 imagination is continually roving from ob- 
 ject to object; his heart is fearfully alive to 
 every possible emotion, but none is retained 
 there for a moment ; into whatever place he 
 goes, he has seen every thing in an instant ; 
 whatever question presents itself to his mind, 
 with one glance he has run through every 
 branch of it, and away he flies off to another. 
 — ^Very different is the case with that turn of 
 disposition to which I shall give the appel- 
 lation oi slowness, A man of this cast will 
 occupy himself from day to day, from week 
 to week, from month to month, nay from 
 year to year, with one only object, as if he 
 thought there was no other existing in the 
 world. Where his attention is once fixed, 
 there it remains ; he turns it, he twists it, he 
 contemplates it now on this side, now on 
 that, he penetrates to the very heart of it, 
 and seems never wearied. Few passions can
 
 176 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 obtain any influence over him ; but once 
 caught, he is in for a prodigious length of 
 time, perhaps for his whole life. If the im- 
 pet nous man have genius, he is at every in- 
 stant emitting some new flash of light, which 
 often serves no other purpose but to dazzle 
 for the moment; while with an equal portion 
 of genius the slow man emits the light 
 within by a process so gradual that its first 
 emanation is scarcely to be perceived, though 
 in the end it shines steadily all around. The 
 march of the one is ardent and fiery ; it is a 
 torrent which rushes down with tumult and 
 noise, that of the second is a majestic stream 
 which glides along in a solemn and even 
 course. But since the general tendency of 
 Nature is to keep itself far removed from ex- 
 cess, so we find few men that merge into 
 the utmost degree either of impet'Hosity or 
 slowness \ much the greater part move in a 
 middle course, in which however there are a 
 varietv- of shades, according as they ap- 
 proach the nearer to the one extremity or 
 the other. 'Tis to these shadings that the
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 177 
 
 endless variety observable in the march of 
 the human mind is to be referred.'* 
 
 ** I think I see whither you would go,'* 
 said I to Soulange. — ** After what I have 
 advanced and you have added, the relations 
 of the different habitations chosen by men 
 to the different turns of their minds present 
 themselves as a matter of course.** 
 
 ** You are in the right,*' said he : " In 
 the march of the human mind I have shown 
 a regular gradation from extreme impetuo- 
 sity to extreme slowness ; — in the choice of 
 their habitations you have shown a no less 
 regular progression from the extreme of so- 
 litude to the extreme of tumult. In soli- 
 tude, where there is little or no society, the 
 same objects are continually presenting 
 themselves, the passions slumber, all is si- 
 lence ; — ^this is the mode of life that suits 
 the slow man. In a populous town, the 
 noise and bustle of the world approaches to 
 chaos, the objects are incessantly changing^ 
 the passions are all in motion, every thing 
 around is in a state of agitation ; — this is 
 the life suited to the impetuous man. Place 
 i5
 
 irS tHE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 a slow man in the midst of tumult, he will 
 be like one who never eats but of a single 
 dish, and has thirty placed before him with- 
 out time being allowed to satisfy himself 
 with any of them ; — place an impetuous 
 man in solitude, he will be like one whose 
 appetite requires to be excited by variety, 
 and to whom but a single dish is allowed. 
 That rural life which holds the medium be- 
 tween extreme tumult and extreme solitude 
 is suited to persons who are temperate in 
 their habits, who keep on their lives in an 
 even course, and never approach either of the 
 extremities. In fine, the gradations which 
 you have observed in men's habitations, and 
 that which J have remarked in their minds, 
 are all in strict conformity the one with the 
 other ; every one will choose his abode in 
 such a way of life as best suits his disposi- 
 tion. In this choice, however, though of 
 the gi'eatest importance to their well-being, 
 men are unfortunately too often deceived. 
 Because they are not always aware what 
 their real dispositions are, they will not al- 
 ways listen to that still small voice of Na-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 179 
 
 ture'Which if attended to will never fail to 
 guide thein aright. To this are often op- 
 posed birth, particular connexions, and a 
 thousand adventitious circumstances which 
 struggle to retain us in modes and habits of 
 life perfectly foreign to our actual disposi- 
 tions. Thence conies it that happiness is 
 so rare, that complaints against the per- 
 verseness of Fate are so common. One has 
 flown to solitude from a momentary im- 
 pulse of deep devotion ; — another, from a 
 start of ambition foreign to his real nature, 
 has rushed into the vortex of public busi- 
 ness. — While the passion that has occa- 
 sioned either lasts, all is well ; but let that 
 subside, every thing begins to wear a new 
 face — what was once delightful becomes 
 v^holly insupportable. Before such engage- 
 ments are contracted, we should be very sure 
 whether the mode of life is really suited to 
 our nature, whether the passion that impels 
 us is likely to be lasting, or whether we are 
 not acting in direct opposition to our actual 
 and permanent character."
 
 180 THE WEATHERCOC FT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A speci7nen of the impetuous character. 
 
 Having made this little digression, in order 
 to introduce the character of Monsieur de 
 Soulange to the reader's acquaintance, I re- 
 turn now to the amours of Monsieur Julius 
 de St. Salvador and Mademoiselle Cecilia 
 de la Primeheure. 
 
 After a long examination of the question 
 whether Cecilia would or would not suit 
 him for a wife, St. Salvador determined in 
 the affirmative, wholly forgetting to make it 
 any part of the question whether he would 
 suit her for a husband. No sooner was this 
 determination made than it was imparted to 
 Monsieur de la Primeheure, and the hand 
 of the lady in marriage demanded in all due 
 form. Monsieur de la Primeheure — not 
 being one of those who observe exactly the
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 181 
 
 middle course between impetuosity and 
 slowness, but one who was hurried by his 
 disposition to the former extremity — caught 
 instantly and eagerly at the proposal, ex- 
 pressing the utmost delight at the prospect 
 opened to his daughter. Indeed if he had 
 not done so, it would have been the single 
 instance in which at the first glance of a 
 thing he was not highly delighted with it — 
 Such wae his character. In the course of his 
 life he had been successively an ecclesiastic, 
 in the magistracy, and in the military ser- 
 vice :■ — at his entrance upon each it was the 
 only situation in life suited to him, that 
 which alone could make him happy ; though 
 many days had not passed before he was as 
 much disgusted with it as he had at first 
 been delighted. After several other expe- 
 riments he finished by determining to be 
 nothing, and that was the only wise deter- 
 mination he ever made. 
 
 When it became a question for him to 
 marry, every girl he saw was at first sight 
 the most charming ever beheld, and he
 
 182 TKE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 could never be happy with any other ; but 
 from week to week some new choice was^ 
 nevertheless made. Madame de la Prlme- 
 heure, by some extraordinary chance, — per- 
 haps because she was the least pleasing of 
 any, — continued to please him for three 
 weeks, and at the expiration of that term 
 had the honour of being led by him to the 
 altar. He had formerly lived at Paris, and 
 could not then conceive how it was possible 
 for any one to live elsewhere ; — he took a 
 sudden disgust to the capital, and it became 
 matter of astonishment to him how any one 
 could endure living in a large city. He had 
 now for fifteen years inhabited his estate in 
 the country, where for two days after his 
 arrival he was in ecstasies ; — since that he 
 had been always about to leave it, yet al- 
 ways stayed there. His fortune was far be- 
 yond what his mode of living required, so 
 that in his circumstances he enjoyed an af- 
 fluence which more than once occasioned 
 him nu small ennui. For want of some- 
 thing to do, he occupied himself with farm-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 183 
 
 ing a part of his estate, in which being 
 always excessively bustUng, issuing direc- 
 tions one moment which were revoked the 
 next, he thought himself a man of vast bu- 
 siness and vast importance. The leisure 
 which he had from his rural occupations was 
 principally devote4 to reading the newspa- 
 pers, on which he made very profound com- 
 ments. The great hero of the moment, of 
 whatever country he might happen to be, 
 was always considered by him with the ut- 
 most veneration ; he even once gave a grand 
 entertainment in honour of a victory gained 
 by some member of the illustrious house of 
 the Grand Signor ; and were the same prince 
 to mount the throne of Constantinople, I 
 have no doubt that we should have fire- 
 works and a ball. 
 
 It was early in the morning and all the house 
 except himself were buried in profound sleep, 
 when he arose and took several turns round 
 his garden. The air, refreshed by the 
 moisture which an abundant fall of dew had 
 spread around, and perfumed by the odour
 
 184 THE WEATHERCOCK, 
 
 of a thousand flowers, would have soothed 
 the soul of any other than him«ielf into a de- 
 licious calm ; but, wholly occupied with the 
 marriage of his daughter to St. Salvador, 
 he regarded it not. After some hours spent 
 thus in deep meditation, he returned into 
 the house, and summoning Cecilia, led her 
 into a remote apartment. ** You know, my 
 darling," said he, *'with what tenderness I 
 have always loved you ; I have never ceased 
 to give you proofs of it, and I am about to 
 give you now a greater proof than all — I am 
 going to settle you in the world." 
 
 At these words CeciUa, who had left her 
 bed as fresh as a rose just expanded from its 
 bud, turned as pale as a lily, and started 
 some paces back. To this involuntary in- 
 fluence of the mind upon the body her fia- 
 ther paid no attention : ** You know St. 
 Salvador," said he, "he is the husband to 
 whom I destine you. He is rich far beyond 
 what we had any reason to hope; and though 
 he may be a good deal older than yourself, 
 he is not too old to be loved. Tliough not
 
 THE WEATHERCOCKr 185 
 
 handsome, there is nothing disagreeable in 
 his person, as you must allow ; and if he be 
 somewhat singular and capricious, you will 
 not mind that when you come to live toge- 
 ther : you have understanding and sweet- 
 ness of temper, and will be able to do what 
 you please with him. In fact, men of this 
 description always make the best husbands, 
 don*t you think so, darling ? — Yes, yes, I 
 know you do ; I would not upon any consi- 
 deration force your inclinations — I am too 
 kind a father for that ; but you are of a good 
 family, and you know what duty requires ► 
 Though you have no decided preference for 
 St. Salvador, nay though you may even have 
 some repugnance to him, yet I am sure now 
 you know what I wish, you will be obedient. 
 Do not think then of rejecting the hand he 
 offers, but consider him from this moment 
 as your future husband, and you will show 
 yourself a dutiful and affectionate child. 
 Go, darling ; this ready compliance with 
 your father was what I always expected of 
 you."
 
 186 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 Cecilia, thunderstruck, overpowered, 
 borne down by this torrent of rhetoric, 
 and wholly unable to utter a syllable in re- 
 ply, made a curtsy and retired. She had 
 not been gone many seconds before St. 
 Salvador entered. — '*Good morning, son-in 
 law," said Monsieur de la Primeheure : 
 '• Well, nothing can go on better than our 
 affairs ; I have been talking with my daugh- 
 ter, 'tis all entirely as I could wish, she did 
 not answer a single word.'* 
 
 *^ Not answer a single word .'^'* 
 ** Not one — and so much the better." 
 " So much the worse, I think. — What ! 
 a proposition of marriage made to her, and 
 she not answer a word ? Do you consider 
 that as a sign of consent ?" 
 
 " Aye, to be sure, of full consent. — Mon- 
 sieur St. Salvador, I know my daughter, I 
 know how she has been brought up ; and 
 though she should detest you, what I choose 
 shall be done." 
 
 " Detest me ! — the idea is certainly very 
 flattering."
 
 THE WEATriEllCOCK. 18/ 
 
 " It shall be, however, as I say. — But 
 between ourselves, I believe you have touched 
 the ghTs heart a little. I have not yet for- 
 got my young days, and how I was myself; 
 — she went out of the room very melan- 
 clioly, and I was always very melancholy 
 when I was in love." 
 
 " But, sir^ do you not see...." 
 
 " O yes, I see plain enough that you are 
 not veiy handsome, — but you are not ugly 
 neither ; I have seen many a worse-looking 
 man than you win a girl's heart ; — girls, you 
 know, are apt to be a little capricious." 
 
 "May be so. But tell me now, sir, have 
 you succeeded equally well with Madame 
 de la Primeheure .^ — has she given you as 
 satisfactor}^ proofs of her approbation of 
 me r 
 
 *' Do you think I would have endured any 
 contradiction .^" 
 
 *' Indeed, I do not ; — ^yet I would fain 
 know...." 
 
 '* The girl to be sure might have made 
 some objections, for 'tis she* that is to be
 
 188 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 married, and it does concern her a little— 
 But a wife, — I beg to know what business it 
 is of hers ?" 
 
 ^* She consents then ?" 
 , ** And if she does not, pray who is mas- 
 ter, she or I ?" 
 
 ** You, undoubtedly. But may I not ask 
 what she said ?" 
 
 ** Nothing, for she does not yet know 
 any thing about it. But when I do choose 
 to speak to her, be assured my will is hers." 
 
 ** Nothing can go on better than our 
 affairs — Good I The matter has not yet 
 been mentioned to the wife ; and when it 
 was imparted to the daughter she [left the 
 room melancholy, udthout saying a word. 
 Indeed this is a very prosperous aspect of 
 things." 
 
 "I tell you it is verj' prosperous ; for I am 
 determined upon the match, and you shall 
 see whether that's sufficient or not."
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 1-89 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mortal chagrins. 
 
 Cecilia, when she quitted her father, re- 
 tired hastily to her own apartment, where 
 she threw herself carelessly into a chair with 
 her eyes bent to the earth, and her extended 
 arms hanging by her side, left to their own 
 proper pendency, looking like a flower Ivhich 
 had just been borne down by an untimely 
 blast. She remained for some time in this 
 situation ; it resembled the shivering-fit 
 which precedes a violent attack of fever. To 
 the mortal paleness which had spread over 
 her whole countenance, succeeded a colour 
 somewhat more animated ; tears streamed 
 down her cheeks, her lips endeavoured to 
 pronounce some words, but they were broken 
 by sighs ; the only sounds she could utter 
 were Dinville, my dear Dinville ! and these
 
 190 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 were pronounced with the most affecting 
 tone of anguish and despair. — Our sympathy 
 has ahvays something of harshness mingled 
 with it ; and however my readers may pity 
 the situation of this afflicted fair-one, I will 
 venture to wager that there is not one among 
 them, at least among my male readers, who 
 would not have been delighted to occasion 
 similar trouble to so charming a bosom, to 
 draw like heart-dissolving tears down such 
 lovely cheeks. 
 
 But who then was this Dlnville, the happy 
 cause of so much affliction ? — Patience, 
 gentle reader, and you shall hear. 
 
 About two leagues from the mansion of 
 Monsieur de la Primeheure, lived in a se- 
 questered spot, neglected and almost un- 
 known to the world, an old gentleman, by 
 name Durieul. He had a son whom he 
 loved as well as himself, and a good deal of 
 money which he loved better than either. 
 We do sometimes see even very great men 
 extremely subject to the inroads of avarice, 
 the lowest and meanest of all vices. I do
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 191 
 
 not say this merely for the sake of morali- 
 zing, but that my readers may be the less 
 astonished when they hear that, notwith- 
 standing this glaring defect, Monsieur Du- 
 rieul was a man of good understanding and 
 of much information. Tlie time which was 
 not employed by him in counting over his 
 gold was devoted to reading, and he read 
 not without prolit. Above all things, he had 
 a happy talent at throwing such a varnish 
 over his conduct as justified it entirely to 
 himself, and gave it a sort of specious co- 
 louring, at least, to others. 
 
 " He who loves peace," he would say, 
 " must fly from tumult and live in solitude. 
 — See the inhabitants of great towns, — do 
 they not on those days which are conse- 
 crated to repose, shutting up their studies, 
 their laboratories, their offices, fly from them 
 and lose in solitude the recollection of their 
 respective businesses 1 What indeed is their 
 aim in giving themselves up to the occupa- 
 tions which engage so large a portion of 
 their time and thoughts ? — what, but that
 
 192 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 the remainder may be spent in their fields, 
 remote from these distracting cares, amid 
 rural ease and rural joys ? Happy he who 
 has it in his power to throw off care en- 
 tirely, and pass his whole life in an enviable 
 seclusion. For my part, I have made my 
 choice, and removed myself as much as pos- 
 sible from what is called the world. Unfor- 
 tunately I have not been able to detach my 
 son from it equally : what he knows, far 
 from exciting distaste, only makes him sigh 
 after it with the greater ardour ; His a head- 
 strong boy who engages without reason in 
 a long and perilous voyage. I love him 
 nevertheless, and will not sacrifice his best 
 interests, whatever he may do himself; I 
 will endeavour all I can to provide the re- 
 sources of which he may one day stand in 
 pressing need. These resources are not of 
 much variety, they are reducible to the one 
 object of money, vile indeed in itself, con- 
 temptible in my eyes, but very necessary to 
 him. It is the idol of mankind; and how- 
 ever sages may assert the contrary, I believe
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 193 
 
 they do right thus to reverence it : — if many 
 will do any thing to possess it, we must ac- 
 knowledge that does every thing for its pos- 
 sessor. I spare my son the fatigues and 
 chagrins which accompany the acquisition 
 of money, by saving it for him, and I know 
 not that I can give him a stronger proof of 
 my tenderness." — Such was Monsieur Du- 
 rieul's mode of reconciling to himself his 
 oeconomical disposition. With some people 
 it acquired him the character of a philoso- 
 pher, others thought he showed a foolish 
 fondness for his son ; the knowing ones, how- 
 ever, saw clearly how the matter stood. 
 
 Tlie name of his son was Dinville. Either 
 through tenderness, or from ceconomy, or 
 perhaps each motive might have its share of 
 influence, he had educated him himself. 
 Happily Dinville s heart was naturally so 
 formed that his father's example did not act 
 too forcibly upon him ; the sentiments he 
 derived from nature were of that elevated 
 cast which placed him quite out of the reach 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 194 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 of contagion. As to what regarded the mind, 
 he was in good hands, and under the tutor- 
 age of his father made a rapid progress in 
 those studies which are pursued with such 
 solemn and dehbcrate march in schools and 
 colleges. 
 
 Noble souls have an irresistible attraction, 
 which, in despite of every obstacle, will draw 
 them with more than mortal force towards 
 each other. As visits occasionally passed 
 between Monsieur de la Primeheure and 
 Monsieur Durieul, the souls of Cecilia and 
 Dinville coming thus within the sphere of 
 each other's attraction could not fail to be 
 influenced by it. From their earliest youth 
 they were knowii to each other — from their 
 earliest youth they loved each other ; the 
 fortunes of the two houses were nearly equal, 
 in rank they were nearly equal, and each 
 was only a child; so that there was nothing 
 disproportionate in such a marriage ; and for 
 awhile their growing inclination, which did 
 not escape notice, was suffered to have its
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 19o 
 
 free course ; indeed it were perhaps not too 
 much to say that it was even applauded and 
 encouraged. 
 
 Dinville at the proper age quitted the 
 paternal roof to pursue the study of rtie 
 law. In this situation he displayed a firm- 
 ness and discretion beyond his years : he 
 did not refuse pleasure in moderation, but 
 he never suffered himself to be decoyed into 
 libertinism ; and during those years which 
 arc fruitless and nugatory to most young 
 men, he added largely to his stock of know- 
 ledge and elegant acquisitions ; nor could 
 the studied graces of the women by whom 
 he was surrounded, ever make him forget 
 the natural and artless charms of Cecilia ; 
 — ^he returned at the end of three years more 
 passionately in love with her than ever. 
 
 So far every thing seemed to prosper with 
 the lovers : but a storm was gathering over 
 thdr heads which soon overshadowed pro- 
 spects so fair. The fortune of Monsieur Du- 
 rieul was augmented at least three-fourths 
 by an inheritance to which he very unex- 
 k2
 
 196 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 pectedly succeeded. This effected a total 
 change in all his ideas with regard to the 
 establishment of his son. He began to 
 intimate as much to the young man ; at first 
 by distant hints, sufficient, however, to alarm 
 love, ever on the watch, and, as ^vas very 
 natural, only to make the flame burn with 
 redoubled ardour. He afterwards proceeded 
 to explain himself more clearly, and the flame 
 constantly burned more and more fierce : 
 he concluded with declaring, that his hand 
 should sooner be cut off than ever set to a 
 consent to his marriage with Cecilia; and it 
 was no longer a flame only that burned in 
 the young man's bosom, it was a volcano 
 that raged within him. On the other hand 
 Monsieur de la Primeheure, indignant, at 
 the conduct of Monsieur Durieul, interdicted 
 with equal denunciations all communica- 
 tion between his daughter and ^Dinville ; 
 while Cecilia no sooner received this strict 
 command never to see her lover more, than 
 her affection for him increased a tliousand- 
 fold.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCrf. 197 
 
 From this time — while no pains were 
 spared by the fathers to keep their children 
 at an awful distance from each other — the 
 children were equally active in devising 
 means to elude the vigilance of their fathers. 
 They found means to catch a sight of each 
 other, and exchange significant glances; that 
 was something ; — to establish an interchange 
 of letters, that was more; — to have private 
 interviews, this was all they dared ask of 
 fortune. But these interviews were rare: 
 in the last, however, Dinville positively as- 
 sured Cecilia that he thought his father, who 
 was no stranger to the constancy of his at- 
 tachment, began to relax and become some- 
 what less averse to it. Perhaps he was mis- 
 taken ; but we can easily persuade ourselves 
 of what we wish ; and this was sufficient to 
 afford a dawn of consolation to the per- 
 secuted lovers. 
 
 Such was the situation of things when 
 St. Salvador took it into his head to fall in 
 Jove with Cecilia ; and Monsieur de la Prime-
 
 198 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 heure was not the less eager to catch at his 
 proposals, in the idea that it would mortify 
 Durieul to see her married to a man of his 
 wealth and distinction. With Cecilia it was 
 otherwise: the moment in which she thought 
 a glimmering of hope appeared that her be- 
 loved Dinville might be restored to her, was 
 tiot the most favourable that could be ima- 
 gined for listening to the addresses of an- 
 other suitor. Any subject will serve as the 
 foundation of a letter between lovers ; and 
 Cecilia, when her tears would permit her, 
 took up the pen and wrote thus to Dinville*: 
 
 *• Could you have believed it, Dinville ? I 
 have had the misfort^me to captivate St. 
 Salvador, He has explained his wishes to 
 my father, who has promised him my hand; 
 and perhaps my mother by this time may 
 no less have given her consent to the pro- 
 posal. Thus while we were beginning to 
 cherish the pleasing hope that we might ere 
 long see our parents reconciled, we thought
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. \W 
 
 not of the dreadful precipice which was ready 
 to open before us, and into which I am Ukely 
 to fall. I cannot see any one approach me 
 without trembling, for I fear lest he may 
 come to announce the consent of my mother 
 and the consummation of my wretchedness. 
 Let a sigh be given to the horrors of our 
 situation ; but check excess of grief, that we 
 may be the better enabled to turn the course 
 of the storm with which we are threatened. 
 Consider well by what we are surrounded, 
 and put every engine in motion ; — see my 
 father, see your own ; above all, see the kind 
 and prudent Soulange^ — see every body, and 
 by some means or other deliver me from 
 St. Salvador. It is with difficulty I write 
 this letter ; I tremble lest it may be the last 
 I can ever address to you. In writing I 
 batihe it with my tears ; you will mingle 
 yours with them in reading ; and though far 
 from you, my heart will feel the tender mo- 
 ment by the force of sympathy, — a power the 
 effects of which I have so often experienced.
 
 200 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 Fain would I see you, fain would I mingle 
 my sighs with yours ! — sad pleasure ! yet 
 one that I would prefer to the highest earthly 
 joy ofwhich you were not the object. Adieu^ 
 adieu!"
 
 mt WEATHERCOCK. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 The alarms of a lover. 
 
 I HAD promised Soulange to make him a 
 visit, and I kept my word. I found his house 
 not large nor spendidly furnished, neither 
 were his gardens spacious or curiously de- 
 corated ; but in every thing there was that 
 agreeable neatness and simplicity, the effect 
 of a true and philosophic taste, which never 
 fails to please, even to charm. 
 
 I had not been long arrived, and we were 
 walking about the garden, where I was warm 
 in my expressions of admiration at the order 
 in which every thing was kept by the master, 
 — for Soulange is himself his own head gar- 
 dener, — when we saw Dinville approach . He 
 came with a hasty step and downcast air ; 
 he seemed at once full of eagerness, of con- 
 sternation, of vivacity, and languor ; like a 
 man who has been struggling for a longtime 
 k5
 
 202 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 against a danger from which he has lost all 
 hope of escaping. 
 
 Without waiting for inquiries on the part 
 of Soulange into the cause of this extreme 
 agitation, he gave him, with a vast deal 
 of fire and very little order or arrangement, 
 the history of the amours of St. Salvador ; 
 of the eagerness of Monsieur de la Prime- 
 heure for the marriage, of the chagrins of 
 Cecilia, and the mortal alarms he was under 
 himself. He represented to him the influ- 
 ence which he (Soulange) might have in 
 this affair, and entreated him with all the 
 energy and supplication of a man who loves 
 to no common degree, to have compassion 
 upon them and to interest himself in their 
 behalf. 
 
 " I am more sensible than I can express," 
 said Soulange, " to the distress in which I 
 see you involved, and will neglect nothing 
 that may contribute towards relieving it, and 
 drawing you happily out of your embarrass- 
 ments ;— ^besure of every thing that depends 
 upon me."
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 203 
 
 ** I expected no less from your kindness 
 and humanity ; and since you will interest 
 yourself for us I begin to have hopes, I 
 dare promise myself every thing from your 
 prudence and discretion. Speak ! — tell me, 
 for Heaven's sake, what is best to be done 
 in circumstances so urgent.^" 
 
 ** Nothing at all." 
 
 " How ! nothing ? — sure you did not 
 understand me rightly." 
 
 ** *Tis because I understand you perfectly 
 that I recommend nothing to be done." 
 
 ** Are my misfortunes then such as 
 to be without resource ! — O miserable 
 Dinville ! I must lose Cecilia for ever ! 
 Cecilia, without whom I can never exist ! — 
 Cecilia!— O Cecilia!" 
 
 *' But who told you that you must lose 
 her for ever ? Listen to me. — Monsieur de 
 la Primeheure is seized with a prodigious 
 fancy for St. Salvador ; it would be useless 
 at this moment to say a word against him, 
 his being cured of his fancy must be the 
 work of time, nor will it be the work of a
 
 204 THE WEATHEKCOCK. 
 
 very long time. The case is not the same 
 with Madame de la Primeheiire ; I know 
 her well, and am sure that she cannot at 
 present endure St. Salvador. When she 
 shall be made acquainted with her husband's 
 intentions he will find an obstacle which he 
 does not expect ; and since, notwithstand- 
 ing his petulance, he is incapable of viola- 
 tingdecorum, he will assuredly never persist 
 in marrying his daughter without her mo- 
 ther s consent. Thus, you see, there is no 
 great danger of this marriage taking place." 
 
 ** But supposing Madame de la Prime- 
 heure, contrary to your opinion, should re- 
 gard St. Salvador with an eye of favour ?'' 
 
 " Suppose no such thing ; — she is not so 
 very hasty in regarding people with an eye 
 of favour." 
 
 ** And Monsieur de la Primeheure, if he 
 should take a fit of obstinacy, and insist ab- 
 solutely...." 
 
 " Depend upon it he will not ; he is very 
 , subject to fits of impetuosity, but not of obs- 
 tinacy."
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 205 
 
 '^ But if...." 
 
 ^* I tell you, no ifs. I do not condemn 
 your fears, but you give way to them unrea- 
 sonably. I know whom we have to deal with, 
 and if you will take my advice you will not 
 speak to any one, — neither to Monsieur de 
 la Primeheure, whose fit of love for St. Sal- 
 vador will soon be over ; nor to Madame de 
 la Primeheure, who is in no danger of a fit 
 of love for St. Salvador ; nor to your father, 
 who would never be the least moved by any 
 thing you could say. Remain quiet if you 
 can ; and to pass away the time, sigh as much 
 as you please in thinking of Cecilia, who 
 is deserving of all the love and all the sighs 
 that can be bestowed upon her, and who, spite 
 of the present scowling aspect of things, will 
 probably one day be yours ; — who, should 
 she be so, is every way likely to promote your 
 happiness, as you are to promote hers."
 
 206 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A game at matrimonial battledore and 
 shuttlecock. 
 
 DiNViLLE retired, not exceedingly pleased 
 with the sage counsels of Philosopher Sou- 
 lange. To be quiet was at that moment 
 the thing of all others the least congenial 
 to his feelings. He had good sense enough, 
 however, spite of the vast stock of love 
 which fired his bosom, to determine on 
 complying with the advice given, though 
 his fears of St. Salvador were by no means 
 allayed. For me, I passed the rest of the 
 day with my new acquaintance, in whose 
 conversation I found exquisite delight, with 
 an inexhaustible store of instruction, nor 
 did I quit him till very late. 
 
 While the above scene passed at the house 
 of Monsieur de Soulange, one of a different
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 207 
 
 kind had taken place at that of Monsieur 
 de la Prinieheure. He went to make a visit 
 to Madame de la Primeheure in her own 
 apartment, fully persuaded that nothing re- 
 mamed but to declare his intentions with 
 regard to Cecilia, and they would not ex- 
 perience the least opposition. ** My dear," 
 said he, '' a man whom I know thoroughly, 
 whom I highly esteem, for whom I have in- 
 deed a very particular regard, has asked our 
 Cecilia in marriage. When I have said all 
 this, I scarcely need name the person ; — you 
 must see at once whom I mean, — it is St. Sal- 
 vador. I thought there was no occasion to 
 hesitate a moment in accepting his propo- 
 sals, so every thing is arranged, and I have 
 no doubt that all will receive your imme- 
 diate sanction." 
 
 " And pray, Monsieur de la Primeheure, 
 what gives you that confidence ? I sup- 
 pose, however, that this determination, 
 though made somewhat hastily, is not made 
 lightly. Monsieur de la Primeheure does
 
 208 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 not trouble himself with long reflections 
 indeed, but they are very profound^ and as 
 a submissive wife I shall be expected no 
 doubt to subscribe to them at once. I must 
 beg leave notwithstanding to make a few 
 observations." 
 
 *' Observations as many as you please, 
 but no objections. I love observations ex- 
 ceedingly, but objections are by no means 
 to my taste." 
 
 ^' Marriage, Monsieur de la Primeheure, 
 is a very strange kind of thing." 
 
 '* I know that very well^ madam." 
 
 " Many circumstances must combine to 
 render a marriage happy. — In the first place; 
 as to family, it must be...." 
 
 ** The St. Salvador s are fully equal to the 
 Primeheures." 
 
 ** Secondly ; — as to fortune — they must 
 be...." 
 
 " St. Salvador has a better fortune than 
 my girl has any reason to expect." 
 
 * ' Thirdly ; as to character — ^you know. . . ."
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 209 
 
 "St. Salvador always had the best cha- 
 racter possible, and is now the most dis- 
 creet of men." 
 
 ** Fourthly ; as to age...." 
 
 " St. Salvador is in the very prime of life, 
 though perhaps somewhat older than Ce- 
 cilia." 
 
 '* Fifthly; on the side of,..." 
 
 " The devil take your sides. I tell you 
 I know St. Salvador well, and he is the man 
 of all others that will suit us for a son-in- 
 law." 
 
 '* From what I see, I must infer that 
 although Monsieur de la Primeheure likes 
 observations^ he does not like they should 
 be long. Well then, I will sum up mine 
 in few words : A young man, more than 
 fifty years old; rich, with his fortune ex- 
 tremely out at elbows ; discreet, with the 
 most wild and hair-brained head that can 
 exist — This young, rich, discreet lover asks 
 the hand of our daughter in marriage, which 
 her prudent father promises without a mo- 
 ment's hesitation. The wife of this pru^
 
 210 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 d€7it man, however, having a little nK)re 
 prudence in her head, declares she will 
 never give her consent to this marriage^ nor 
 ever receive Monsieur de St. Salvador as 
 her son-in-law." 
 
 ** There is some truth and some false- 
 hood in what you say. I am a prudent 
 man, that is true, — you are a more prudent 
 v.oman, that is false. As to St. Salvador, 
 you say he shall not be your son-in-law, I 
 say he shall; 'tis for the event to show which 
 of US right.'*
 
 THE WEATHERCOeK. 2 1 I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 More ideas on a rural life and ranU 
 ?nanners. 
 
 It will easily be believed that a scene like the 
 above left no little asperity in the minds both 
 of Monsieur and Madame de la Primeheure. 
 This leaven, fermenting more and more 
 every day, spread over the whole house a 
 tint of gloom and ill-humour which could 
 not render it particularly agreeable to any 
 guest ; it was in fact enough to make all 
 around ready to hang themselves with ennui. 
 After enduring it as well as I could for 
 some days, I resolved to give myself a little 
 respite ; and taking my gun and dog went 
 out, assured of passing my time more plea- 
 santly with these companions than with those 
 I left behind me. I v/as not very successful
 
 212 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 m making depredations upon the hares and 
 partridges ; but as some compensation, 
 towards evening I met with Soulange, who 
 had been out upon the same pursuit, in which 
 he had not been much more successful. 
 
 We sat ourselves down by the side of a 
 fountain, where, after quenching our thirst, 
 we entered into conversation ; when I, re- 
 curring to what had passed between us on 
 a former occasion respecting a rural life, 
 said : "It is commonly asserted that virtue 
 abounds much more in fields than in the 
 town. Astrsea, it is said, in quitting us pro- 
 fane mortals, left the last traces of her foot- 
 steps in the country. Is this idea well 
 founded ? — is there really more virtue in 
 rural life than elsewhere ? — are not men 
 much the same in every situation ?'* 
 
 " I have many times reflected upon this 
 subject," answered Soulange, ** and you 
 shall hear the result of my reflections. We 
 will begin, if you please, by taking a slight 
 review of the passions : — without these great 
 stimulants to action, men would soon fall
 
 TH2 WEATHERCOCK. 213 
 
 into a state of absolute torpor — uith them, 
 they are too apt to fall into disorder ; they 
 are necessar)- to prevent apathy, but we 
 bhould not sufter them to lead us into ex» 
 cess. The difficulty does not lie in the 
 danger of not being thus actuated — against 
 that, Nature has provided amply ; but to re- 
 sist being actuated by them too vehemently 
 is the height of wisdom. I observe that all 
 tlie philosophy of the ancients, all the pre- 
 cepts of the various religions that have ex- 
 isted in the world, all the maxims of sound 
 morality, have the srane tendency; — the aim 
 of all is to counteract the too great influ- 
 ence of the passions; and for this reason, 
 that there is always much greater cause to 
 apprehend their having too much than too 
 little power. This is no less for the advan- 
 tage of each indi^adual than of mankind at 
 large, since the foundation of all our hap- 
 piness is to be found in repose of mind. 
 In the town ever}^ object awakens the pas- 
 sions, policy nourishes them, example ex- 
 cites them. Wherever we cast our eyes we
 
 214 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 shall find that the germs of cupidity, of 
 every thing which mankind has been able 
 t6 devise most conducive to stirring the 
 heart and troubling the soul, is there united. 
 Man s fatal industry has even given birth to 
 passions which are not to be found in na- 
 ture, — as for instance the passion of gaming. 
 It is not thus in the countr}^ : — there every 
 thing which strikes the senses has a ten- 
 dency to lull them to repose. The air is 
 never troubled with the noises which assail 
 us in the town, with that confusion of 
 sounds inseparable from an assembled mul- 
 titude. Men of simple habits alone are to 
 be seen, who, with their bodies bent to the 
 earth which they cultivate, find all their de- 
 sires there concentrated. Every thing essen- 
 tial to life grows in silence around them, in 
 no part are the inventions of luxury dis- 
 played. And that no over- sudden change 
 may make too vivid an impression upon the 
 senses, even the flowers which enliven and 
 adorn our gardens and fields, assume and 
 lose their brilliance alike by almost iniper-
 
 TflE WEATHERCOCK. 215 
 
 ceplible shadings ; — the trees are clothed 
 with, and deprived of, their verdure almost 
 insensibly; and the water of the rivulet which 
 always flies before our eyes, yet always ap- 
 pears the same/* 
 
 " But," said I, " is not that retired life 
 which keeps us removed from all danger of 
 the passions being too strongly excited, to 
 be found in every place ? — is it not possible 
 to be a recluse even in the midst of a large 
 town ?'* 
 
 ** 'Tis true there are people who court this 
 kind of solitude ;— of these, some may be 
 distinguished as only partial solitaries^ some 
 as complete ones. The former occasionally 
 emerge, and run for awhile with the current 
 of the world, — the latter never quit their re- 
 treats : the former are like sick men attacked 
 with a periodical fever, when the fit takes 
 them they require much more dissipation 
 than another, — no persons run so eagerly 
 after tumultuous pleasures, they are more 
 attached than they can express to the town 
 and all its delights. — ^The other set of men.
 
 216 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 the complete solitai^ies, I pity from tny soul : 
 they have perpetually to resist a torreut ; and 
 in the midst of a tumult which they hate, 
 sigh incessantly for the joys of the countiy 
 which are out of their reach. With respect 
 to the question oi virtue, I call him virtuous 
 whom nothing is capable of turning aside 
 from the straight path of order and pro- 
 priety. From the moment when the first 
 dawnings of reason begin to illuminate the 
 heart of man, he plainly distinguishes this 
 path ; he sees clearly the value of an orderly 
 and regular course; and if he quits it,'tis that 
 he is led away by the passions. Where the 
 passions then are less likely to be roused, 
 virtue is more secure; it is therefore more 
 secure in the country than in a town, be- 
 cause there is much less in the country to 
 rouse the passions. I speak here of a real 
 rural country life; for it is possible to live in 
 the country, yet not observe a country life ; 
 and in proportion as the habits approach to- 
 wards those of the town, they tend to rouse 
 the passions, and lead to the disorders which
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 217 
 
 arise from them. Such is the corruption of 
 the human heart, that in the commerce of 
 the good with the wicked, the former are 
 more hkely to be perverted than the latter 
 corrected ; the one are much more attached 
 to vice than the other to virtue ; and the ef- 
 fect of unions being to form the parties into 
 a resemblance to each other, the virtuous 
 will be more likely to relax and assimilate 
 themselves to the vicious, than the vicious 
 to the virtuous." 
 
 " How !" I said, ** society corrupts man- 
 kind, yet, men are created for society ? — 
 how is the conduct of Nature to be justified 
 in this respect ?'' 
 
 " We have seen," replied Soulange," that 
 there are many shades between the solitude 
 of deserts whence society is wholly banished, 
 and living in great towns where society is 
 over-tumultuous. I do not conceive that 
 man was ever destined by nature for either 
 of these extremes. The solitude of deserts 
 rusts the soul — the tumult of towns dissi- 
 pates the mind. A country life, more sti- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 mulating than the one, more restrained than 
 the other, appears best calculated for pre- 
 serving the proper equilibrium ; though, if 
 we do not observe that exactly, it seems less 
 dangerous to incline towards the seclusion 
 of the desert than the dissipation of the 
 town." 
 
 " But surely if the passions in general 
 are, as you say, deadened in the country, 
 there is one which we must allow is more fed 
 and nourished by a country than by a town 
 life — I mean Love." 
 
 *' I ought indeed to have made that an 
 exception," answered Soulange: " that un- 
 doubtedly is as much promoted by a country 
 life as the others are repelled. This passion 
 however differs essentially in its nature from 
 all the others ; they exhibit nearly the same 
 forms, the same symptoms, wherever they 
 are found ; but I scarcely believe there ever 
 existed two men who loved exactly in the 
 same manner. Like water, which imbibes 
 the flavour of whatever soil it passes through, 
 love takes a strong tint from the character
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 219 
 
 of the heart in w'.iich it is found. There are 
 mild, languishing, animated, hasty, impe- 
 tuous lovers ; nay I believe I might aad sour 
 and bitter ones ; and all this the same in the 
 country as in towns. It may, I think, how- 
 ever in general be said, that in the country 
 the impressions it makes are stronger, more 
 tender, and more durable. It is evident 
 that I do not speak here of those violent 
 starts of tenderness which burst sometimes 
 from a heart the most agitated by other 
 passions, and the least calculated to feel that 
 of love ; — these are like a sudden and trans- 
 itory burst of the sun-beams through a 
 mass of clouds, when they strike for the mo- 
 ment with a more than usual heat, but va- 
 nish as suddenly as they had started forth : 
 — I speak of that constant, that uniform, 
 and permanent tenderness, which the other 
 passions cannot change, though by it those 
 passions are tempered. This is the child of 
 calm repose, and will accommodate itself 
 better to the languor of sorrow, than to the 
 l2
 
 220 THE WEATHERCOCK, 
 
 wild effusions of joy : — judge therefore how 
 muQh more hkely it is to expand itself in the 
 country, where every thing around breathes 
 calmness and tranquillity, than amid the 
 busy scenes of the town. It is said, and I 
 believe with reason, that we cannot love two 
 objects at the same time : it may I think be 
 said with equal truth, that we can never be 
 strongly actuated by two passions of any 
 kind at once. The human heart is suscep- 
 tible only of a certain quantity af emotion; 
 and in proportion as that is divided into se- 
 veral different channels, the main current 
 must be weakened; — love must therefore be 
 stronger in the country, where every other 
 passion is weakened. In towns, in fact, the 
 ties which bear the name of love are com- 
 monly formed from a similarity of tastes in 
 pleasure, in habits, in intrigues, or from 
 some such adventitious causes : these may 
 inspire those verses which pass so current in 
 society, more pretty than tender ; they may 
 prescribe those assiduities, those attentions
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 221 
 
 which are the parents and nurses of gal- 
 lantry ; they may imitate, they may copy, 
 they may give themselves out as the off- 
 spring of love, but they are not really so — 
 they have only assumed his mask."
 
 222 THE WEATHERCOCK, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Successes and cares. 
 
 A FEW days after I had the above conversa- 
 tion with my philosopher, a new scene was 
 acted at the house of Monsieur de la Prime- 
 heure, which must not be passed over. 
 
 St. Salvador was not long before he per- 
 ceived that Madame de la Primeheure was 
 the great obstacle to his success with Ce- 
 cilia, and he applied himself earnestly to 
 finding out the means of softening her dis- 
 like to the match. Nor did his cares appear 
 to be unavailing. This lady, who at the be- 
 ginning of their acquaintance could scarcely 
 even look at him with complacency, and 
 who never spoke of him but in terms of 
 bitter asperity, by degrees began to relax. 
 The first step went no further than listening- 
 with condescension when he ventured to ad-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 223 
 
 dress a remark to her ; next she graciously 
 vouchsafed an answer ; and at length en- 
 tered into regular conversations with him, 
 and showed him many little attentions, pro- 
 per from the mistress of the house to her 
 guest, but from which she had hitherto 
 granted herself a total dispensation. 
 
 The lover saw all this with delight, hail- 
 ing the change as a propitious omen for 
 his future success, and felicitated himself 
 the more as he felt assured that all was his 
 own work, that he possessed a talent at per- 
 suasion of which he had not previously any 
 idea. He might have spared these self- 
 congratulations and applauses ; the process 
 in the mind of Madame de la Primeheure 
 was veiy different from what he conceived. 
 That mind was cast in a mould so very op- 
 posite to her husband's, that whereas he was 
 always delighted with every thing at the out- 
 set and afterwards cooled, she on the con- 
 trary hated whatever was new, and only in 
 a length of time became reconciled to it.
 
 ^24 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 She had a singular tact at seizing on the 
 first glance all the imperfections of an ob- 
 ject, and them alone, so that she always be- 
 gan by disliking every body. In the sequel,, 
 discerning by degrees that they had some 
 good qualities, — and there are few persons 
 entirely without them, — she lost the idea of 
 the faults which had so much struck her at 
 first ; and magnifying the good as much as 
 she had originally magnified the bad, often 
 finished with liking people as unreasonably 
 as she liad at first disliked them. Thus it 
 happened with St. Salvador : — as her aver- 
 sion to him had been at first dealt out with- 
 out measure, so the aversion once overcome, 
 she now admired him as much beyond all 
 reasonable bounds. 
 
 He could not on his side but perceive how 
 far he gained every day on her good-will, 
 but he was not therefore the better satisfied. 
 In proportion as his difficulties seemed to 
 diminish, his ardour in the business began 
 to cool ; and no longer able to contend with
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 225 
 
 the impatience of his disposition, he resolved 
 that the affair should be brought to an im- 
 mediate conclusion one way or the other. 
 He sought out Madame de la Primeheure, 
 therefore, and made her a very long and 
 pathetic harangue upon his love and despair, 
 every word of which he might have spared. 
 ** Monsieur de St. Salvador," she replied, 
 *' we must know people thoroughly before 
 we can judge whether they are deserving of 
 our esteem ; there is so much slander and 
 ill- nature in the world, that it is very diffi- 
 cult to learn from others what we ought to 
 think of any one. I rtiust confess that I had 
 been strongly prejudiced against you, and 
 nothing but a thorough knowledge of your 
 worth could have removed those prejudices. 
 But believe me, I now feel for you all the 
 esteem which your extraordinaiy merit de- 
 serves ; and however I might once oppose 
 your wishes, I shall hereafter do all in my 
 power to promote them. My daughter is 
 too happy in having gained the heart of such 
 a man; my husband long ago gave his coni- 
 l5
 
 226 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 sent to the match, I now give mine; nothing- 
 therefore remains to retard it, and in a week 
 Ceciha shall be yoin-s." 
 
 St. Sa ^ ador was so overjoyed that he was 
 near falling into a swoon, and was deprived of 
 all power to thank Madame de la Prime- 
 heure ; he only uttered some broken and inco- 
 herent words, and left her scarcely knowing 
 where he was, or whither he was going. *' I 
 had no idea," she said, " how desperately he 
 was in love ! What a sudden change in his 
 countenance, what disorder in his whole 
 frame, — how powerless even to utter his 
 thanks ! My daughter is indeed a lucky 
 girl — how happy she must be with a husband 
 that loves to this excess 1 " 
 • Very different were the reflections which 
 now agitated the mind of St. Salvador.. 
 On leaving Madame de la Primeheure's 
 iipartment he hastened down to the garden^ 
 and rushing into a little bower threw him- 
 self upon a seat, where, with his elbows rested 
 on his knees, and his face hid within his 
 hands, he burst into the following soliloquy.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 227 
 
 ** Wretched St. Salvador ! " he exclaimed, 
 sighing bitterly, " thy doom is then sealed! 
 thou art to be married in a week — thy neck 
 must be bowed to the yoke. And how long 
 is it that thou hast been thus in love with 
 restraint ? — the most trifling tie, the least 
 engagement used to affright thee, and thou 
 art now running after a slavery which is to 
 end but with life. — What say I ? — running 
 after a slavery ! — art thou not a slave al- 
 ready ? — ^hast thou not asked, solicited, 
 urged, the consent which rivets thy chains 
 for ever ? — can a man of honour recede after 
 he has gone thus far ? — no, no, 'tis over 
 with thee, wretched St. Salvador, thou art 
 no longer free ! — O Cecilia ! — O liberty 1" 
 
 He rose up as he uttered the last words, 
 walked some paces with a hasty step, then 
 stopped, raised his eyes first to Heaven, af- 
 terwards cast them down again to the earth. 
 At length he rushed out of the garden, and 
 hastened forwards, seeing nothing, not know- 
 ing what he was doing, or whither he was 
 going, losing his head entirely, and perhaps 
 it was no very great loss.
 
 228 THE WEATHERCOCK, 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 A reconciliation scene. 
 
 Fate, which delights ever in contradictions, 
 in warming the heart of Madame de la 
 Primeheure towards the hero of my talcj 
 chose to refrigidate in equal proportion that 
 of her lord and master. Indeed, warmth 
 such as Monsieur de la Primeheure's,. inter- 
 esting and animating as it is in the ardour 
 of its first ebullition, can never, from the 
 nature of things, support itself long in equal 
 excess. Of its abatement the good man 
 himself soon became perfectly sensible r he 
 found that he had not the same esteem for 
 St. Salvador on a further acquaintance which 
 he had felt at first sight, indeed he wondered 
 much how he could ever have estimated him 
 so highly. He in consequence no longer 
 found his bosom inspired with the same ea- 
 gerness to have him for a son-in-law ; he
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 22^ 
 
 even began to reflect with astonishment at 
 himself that he could ever have thought of 
 such an alliance. 
 
 Fain would he have adopted some mea- 
 sures to break it off, — but what could then 
 be thought of him by his neighbours ? for 
 he had taken care, under the influence of 
 his former zeal, to proclaim his intentions 
 all round the country. Worse than all, how 
 was he to manage with Madame de la Prime- 
 heure ? — with what a malignant triumph 
 would she see him compelled to yield to her 
 opinion, — to own her in the right ! — Yet 
 might it not happen that by this conduct he 
 should acquire the reputation of a man that 
 makes very deep reflections — and might it 
 not be thought that it was by this means 
 the alteration in his sentiments was brought 
 about ? Oh no, the world is always dis- 
 posed to put the most ill-natured construc- 
 tion upon every thing, and would certainly 
 say that he had no resolution, but suffered 
 himself to be governed by his wife. — These 
 reasons, and many others of equal weighty
 
 230 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 held him for a long time in a cruel suspense ; 
 while, fretted and angered at finding him- 
 self thus perplexed, his distaste to St. Sal- 
 vador, the innocent cause of it, was the more 
 strongly confirmed. 
 
 At length, not being able to endure the 
 conflict any longer, he armed himself with 
 all the resolution he could summon to his 
 aid, and making a generous effort deter- 
 mined to waive his marital right, and sub- 
 mit to the imputation of con:ing over to his 
 wife's opinion, concluding that to remain 
 ever the same. In this temper of mind our 
 loving couple met — Madame dfe la Prime- 
 heure being no less desirous than her lord 
 to come to an explanation upon her change 
 of opinion, yet not liking much better than 
 he did to confess that she had been in the 
 wrong. Thus each having changed senti- 
 ments, believed they were now of the same 
 sentiments with the other ; — the only ques- 
 tion remaining was how to make the humi- 
 liating confession. 
 
 The lady first broke silence. ** I yield,"
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 231 
 
 she said, " my love, to my husband's senti- 
 ments, he shall see that I no longer resist 
 his wishes." 
 
 *' Indeed," he replied, with a loving em- 
 brace, " I am rejoiced that I think now like 
 my dear wife, and that we shall live toge- 
 ther henceforward in the utmost harmony 
 and good intelligence." 
 
 From this moment the ill-humour to- 
 wards each other ceased; — many little pleas- 
 ing attentions were exchanged, the coun- 
 tenances cleared up, and the whole house, 
 guided ever by the tone which the master 
 assumed, was again a scene of cheerfulnesss 
 and gaiety. Cecilia alone, who knew not 
 what had passed, was uneasy at the change 
 she perceived, nor could surmise what in- 
 ference was to be drawn from the revived 
 calm : she was not, like the rest, content to 
 enjoy the effect without inquiring, or caring, 
 about the cause ; her apprehensions would 
 not let her rest till she knew how far her 
 fate was involved in what she observed. — St. 
 Salvador too may be excepted, who was im-
 
 232 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 mei'sed in a deep melancholy, which he 
 sought in vain to conceal ; — marry he 
 must, as he thought, not a ray of hope 
 seemed to remain to him. 
 
 Monsieur de laPrimeheure was enchanted 
 with his wife ; — '' She has at bottom an ex- 
 cellent heart," he said; ** the moment I 
 evinced a disposition to reconciliation, she 
 was all kindness and affection, — yet 'twas I 
 was in the wrong ; — I can't think what 
 daemon could put it into my head to be so 
 besotted to this mad-brained St. Salvador." 
 
 Madame de la Primeheure was no less 
 satisfied with her husband: — " I ought 
 sooner to have yielded to his wishes, " said 
 she, " he was certainly in the right. St. Sal- 
 vador is the very man of all others to be de- 
 sired as a son-in-law,!'
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 23^ 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Profound reflections and reasonings. 
 
 Things were in this state when Soulangey 
 anxious about the turn which Dinville's af- 
 fairs were hkely to take, came himself to 
 procure information concerning them. He 
 was favoured with private interviews aUke 
 with Monsieur and Madame de la Prime - 
 heure and with Cecilia. What he learned in 
 his conferences with the two former gave him 
 a clear insight into all he wanted to know, 
 and enabled him when in private with Ce- 
 cilia, to assure her that she had nothing to 
 fear, that things were in a very prosperous 
 way ; he exhorted her therefore not to make 
 herself uneasy. 
 
 In the afternoon, Monsieur de la Prime- 
 heure invited his guest Soulange to take a 
 walk with him, and see hh garden and
 
 234 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 fields, with all his arrangements in hus- 
 bandry and horticulture. They went first 
 into the kitchen-garden, where was also the 
 principal stock of fruit-trees. They had not 
 proceeded many steps in it, when Monsieur 
 de la Primeheure stopped, and after appear- 
 ing for a few minutes lost in deep reflection, 
 thus began : ** Could you believe/' said he, 
 ** that though I make no pretensions to 
 being a philosopher, I sometimes think very 
 deeply ?''' 
 
 " I make no doubt of it; — But why do you 
 not think like other people .^'* 
 
 ** Think like other people ! — what do you 
 mean ? — I tell you my reflections are of a 
 depth that will astonish you. — ^Now do you 
 know that I have made a discovery in na- 
 ture which is of the utmost importance ; — 
 'tis no less than that all men and women, 
 great and small, masters and servants, 
 princes and subjects, of all countries and all 
 climates, are constantly from day to day 
 sinking into a state of degradation." 
 
 ** Hey ! — how ! — upon what is this terri-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 235 
 
 ble idea founded ? — what has led to this 
 melancholy discovery ?" 
 
 ** My cabbages ; — these very cabbages 
 which you have now before your eyes in thi* 
 square." 
 
 " How ? — these little abortive plants ?" 
 " Abortive ! — that's the very thing ! — 'tis 
 their being so degenerate, so abortive, that 
 has opened my eyes upon the degradation 
 of all the other productions of nature. 'Tis 
 not above ten years ago that the least of my 
 cabbages had a head four times as big as 
 my own ; and look at them now, the largest 
 is not bigger than my fist. Just the same 
 is the case with all my vegetables ; every 
 year they are more and more degenerated, 
 so that in another year or two I suppose they 
 will wholly disappear. My peach-trees also, 
 which form that great espalier you see in. 
 such an excellent aspect, languish and fade, 
 and yield no fruit; — my pear-trees* have, 
 plenty of wood, like a forest almost, but no 
 pears. — My fields are just the same, no grass 
 wortli mentioning in the pastures, not suffi-
 
 236 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 cient to feed half the sheep and herds they 
 once supported ; — no corn neither in my 
 granaries, the lands are perfectly sterile. Be- 
 sides, the same complaints are made all round 
 the neighbourhood, go where you will nothing 
 but lamentations upon the universal steri- 
 lity. Last year I had occasion to travel over 
 the greatest part of the kingdom, and where- 
 ever I went the case was the same ; either 
 the lands yielded little, or if the produc- 
 tions were ample in quantity they were of a 
 bad quality. The evil then is clearly gene- 
 ral, the degeneracy is universal, and the 
 source of it is certainly in the land, which is 
 exhausted; in the water and the air, which 
 daily lose a part of that nutritious spirit by 
 which every thing is reproduced. Nature 
 visibly grows old, and loses her fecundity 
 in proportion. Well may we conceive then 
 that the animals which are to be fed with 
 these degenerated productions, which are to 
 drink of these degenerated waters, which are 
 to breathe this not half pure air, must lose by 
 degrees their former vigorous constitutions;
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 237 
 
 and man being one of the animal creation, 
 must share in this degeneracy. Moreover, 
 since physical degradation nmst lead to mo- 
 ral degradation, can we be surprised that 
 probity is become so rare, that honour is no 
 more than empty show, that patriotism is 
 but a mere name, that the manners and 
 morals of mankind are perverted in every 
 way ? Here then we may amply account for 
 my cabbages being so diminutive, and man 
 so wicked. I could say a great deal more 
 upon this subject ; I could write a large book 
 upon it ; — ^but besides that I am not a great 
 writer, I don't see any good purpose it would 
 answer to announce these unwelcome ti- 
 dings to the world. Since every thing must 
 degenerate, it is better they should go on 
 their own way quietly, without people's 
 thinking of it, than set men to making me- 
 lancholy reflections upon their pitiable state, 
 when we cannot point out a remedy for it." 
 *' These may indeed be called grand ideas. 
 —But, my good sir, while your cabbages 
 and human nature at large are on the de-
 
 238 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 cline, you I think may be said to gain. Cer- 
 tainly on the score of philosophical reason- 
 ing I have not for a long time heard any 
 thing to be compared...." 
 
 ^' Aye, Monsieur Soulange, if I had been 
 born two centuries ago, who knows whether 
 I might not have been a second Plato ! But 
 I was not born till the year ninety-nine, and 
 therefore I am nothing but Monsieur de la 
 Primeheure." 
 
 *^ It certainly must be allowed that your 
 cabbages, your peach-trees, your pastures, 
 and your corn-fields, are such as you have 
 described them. As to the cause of this, 
 'tis quite another question ; if you are right in 
 that which you think you have discovered, I 
 can only say mankind are much to be pitied." 
 
 *' True, and I wish I may be deceived ; 
 but I cannot find any other." 
 
 "I suspect, however, that another may be 
 found. Plants love a change of soil; long 
 experience has shown that every thing of the 
 vegetable kind will degenerate, if those of 
 any one species are confined too long to the
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 239 
 
 same spot. You do not appear to pay atten- 
 tion to this maxim, Ever}^ year I see your 
 kitchen -garden distributed in the same man- 
 ner, — your cabbages in this square of ground^ 
 your carrots in that, without any change. 
 On the other side of the wall, where stand 
 your peach-trees, you have planted a row of 
 large limes which are now by many many 
 feet higher than the wall ; let them be cut 
 down to a level with it, they will no longer 
 shade the sun from your peach-trees, nor 
 will the peaches receive all the wet that drops 
 from them ; — how can you expect your pear- 
 trees to yield fruit, when you suffer such a 
 quantity of suckers to grow up round them 
 which drain all their sap ? Your lands too 
 have not been much better treated : As long 
 as I have known them, one field has been al- 
 ways grass, another always wheat, another 
 always barley ; — let these things be corrected, 
 let your carrots and cabbages for once 
 change places, your pastures be ploughed 
 up and sown with corn, while your corn- 
 fields arc sown with grass; root out those
 
 ^40 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 suckers from around your pear-trees, and 
 dry the ground about them well ; lop your 
 lime-trees, — and perhaps by next year you 
 will have no cause, my good friend, to la- 
 ment the degradation of nature^" 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" 
 
 ^* I have no doubt of it." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, my dear sir ; 
 you are a wonderful man indeed, and to- 
 morrow all these stunted cabbages shall be 
 pulled up and fresh ones planted in another 
 part of the garden." 
 
 ^' 'Tis much the same I think with the 
 moral state of man. We are plants th.at re- 
 quire to be cultivated with the same atten- 
 tion, — what do I say ? with far greater atten- 
 tion than is bestowed in cultivating the fruits 
 of the earth. When man seems to be dege- 
 nerate, it is not really from the degradation 
 of his nature, but it may fairly be inferred 
 that he has been neglected ; — men are, in the 
 hands of those that govern them, as are the 
 flocks and herds, the trees and plants, in 
 the hands of those by whom they are culti-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 241 
 
 vated. You will see probity, virtue, patriot- 
 ism, flourish j or you will be surrounded only 
 by bad citizens, according to the cares be- 
 stowed upon them. But let us leave men 
 and those by whom they are governed to 
 themselves, and occupy ourselves here in 
 the country only with our fields and gardens, 
 our vegetables, our fruits, and our har« 
 vests^" 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 CHAPTER XMII. 
 
 A fresh scene of discord. 
 
 Some days after the visit of Soulange, Mon- 
 sieur and Madame de la Primeheure came 
 accidentally to a full comprehension of each 
 other's sentiments on the subject of St. 
 Salvador, which unfortunately again occa- 
 sioned a little interruption to the cheerful- 
 ness and harmony so lately restored in the 
 house. 
 
 This explanation took place one after- 
 noon. Monsieur de la Primeheure hap- 
 pened to be more joyous than ordinary ; he 
 had sat for a long time at table, and had 
 indulged pretty freely in some excellent 
 Champagne, when going into the garden he 
 found Madame taking a solitary walk in a 
 little grove. He accosted her .• and soon 
 adverting to the affair of St. Salvador, " I
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 243 
 
 must confess," he said, ** that I am apt to 
 be a Httle too hasty in my decisions ; 'tis a 
 defect belonging to my nature, and cannot 
 be controlled : however, I am always ready 
 to retract when I see I am wrong. Isn't 
 it so, love ? — I am therefore the more 
 happy to have such a prudent wife, who by 
 a little opposition, which to be sure does 
 make me angry at the moment, yet often 
 prevents my doing what I might afterwards 
 sorely repent." 
 
 Madame de la Primeheure, fully impress^ 
 ed with the idea that her husband perfect- 
 ly understood the change in her sentiments, 
 and that she was a convert to his^ thought 
 he was now amusing himself with a little 
 railler}% at which she was not very well 
 pleased. " A truce to your joking, I en- 
 treat. Monsieur de la Primeheure," she said: 
 *' it is particularly ill-timed ; your wife has 
 yielded to your opinion, and rather deserves 
 to be complimented than turned into ridi- 
 cule." 
 
 *' I joke, love ? — no, no, I am sensible of 
 M 2
 
 244 THE WEATHERCOCK, 
 
 my faults ; — but, however, they are glvjen up 
 — we are now agreed, and I'm heartily glad 
 of it. The only thing that disturbs me is how 
 to get quit of the business : — but if you can 
 xigree to it, I should think the best way ivill 
 be to let it rest upon your continuing to dis^ 
 approve the match." 
 
 " Once again, Monsieur de la Prime- 
 heure, I beg no more of this jnisplaced rail- 
 lery ; in our present circumstances nothing 
 43an come witli ti \vorse grace." 
 
 '* My dear, dear love, you almost inake me 
 nm wild. Who is it jolves ? I beg to know. 
 — Can any thing be plainer than that, since 
 you are so decided in disapproving this 
 match,— though nothing appears of my sen- 
 timents being altered, — St. Salvador will at 
 length be tired of the opposition, and with- 
 draw of himself, without my honour being 
 in any way compromised, or my failing in 
 my engagements ?'' 
 
 ^* Monsieur de la Primeheure, pray ex- 
 plain yourself a little more clearly, for my 
 .dull brain I must confess is quite perplexed
 
 THE WKATHERCOCK. 245 
 
 ^y what I hear. Am I to understand that 
 your sentiments are really changed ? — that 
 you seriously wish to get rid of Monsieur de 
 St. Salvador?" 
 
 '* Certainly — The reasons you gave me, 
 love, were so satisfactor}', that — " 
 
 " A little unlucky to be sure, for it should 
 seem we are now as wide of the mark as be- 
 fore ; since to tell you the truth ray senti- 
 ments too are entirely changed ; — your rea- 
 sons, my love, were also very satisfactory, 
 and I am now decidedly of opinion that 
 Monsieur de St. Salvador is the man of all 
 others who will best suit us for a son-in- 
 law." 
 
 "What is it you say ? — ^you think thus 
 of a man whom six weeks ago you could 
 not endure in your sight !" 
 
 *^ How is this? — ^\'ou have so strong a 
 dislike to a man of whom not a month 
 ago you were passionately fond !" 
 
 **Lose sight so soon of all the bad quali- 
 ties that made you hold him in sovereign 
 contempt ?''
 
 246 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 ^' Lose sight in so short time of all those 
 rare qualities which made him so eveiy way 
 worthy of your esteem ?" 
 
 " Damnation ! — I did hope for a little 
 peace and quiet in coming-over to Madam's 
 opinions ; and the moment I've done that, 
 she chooses, out of mere perverseness, to 
 change 'em." 
 
 " I was in hopes we were going to live in 
 perfect harmony and concord : but it should 
 seem that Monsieur de la Primeheure sets 
 very little value upon his wife's compliance 
 with his humours," 
 
 " "Wlien I thought I had drawn myself 
 out of one plague, I find myself attacked by 
 a still greater. — Whither can I go ! — WHasit 
 can I do !" 
 
 " Nothing easier to be decided. You 
 have given your word to Monsieur de St. 
 Salvador, I have given mine. As a man of 
 honour you must keep your word, and Mon- 
 sieur de St. Salvador must be your son-in- 
 law." 
 
 '* Never ! — damme if he ever shall be!"
 
 THE \VEATHERCX)CK. 247 
 
 " Don't swear, Monsieur de la Prime- 
 heure. — You may do as you please; my de- 
 termination is made, and never will I con- 
 sent to Cecilia's being joined in wedlock 
 with any other man than Monsieur de St. 
 Salvador. — Adieu, my love; remember that 
 there are certain decorums which every gen- 
 tleman ought to observe, and that 'tis not 
 very like a gentleman to give your word and 
 then retract it."
 
 248 THi: WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Discord changed to concord. 
 
 Here then were my host and hostess more 
 at odds with each other than ever. The 
 effects of this renewed rupture were soon 
 visible throughout the house — all became 
 again gloom and taciturnity* Cecilia 
 brooded over her chagrins in secret ; Mon- 
 sieur de la Primeheure walked about his 
 garden making his reflections in private ; 
 Madame de la Primeheure amused herself 
 with scolding the servants because her hus- 
 band and daughter kept out of her reach ; 
 while St. Salvador, whose troubles were 
 greater than all, quitted the house upon 
 some trifling ill-framed pretence, and went 
 home to his own mansion, there to medi- 
 tate more at his ease upon the joys he ex- 
 pected in his change of situation. "What
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 249 
 
 remained for me to do ? — I found no enter- 
 tainment in staying amidst all this gloom 
 and discontent, and I went off to the house 
 of my philosopher, Soulange. 
 
 Here I passed ten as pleasant days as I 
 ever passed in my life. I found none of 
 those tumultuous pleasures which, making 
 us awhile forget ourselves and the lapse of 
 time, bring in the end satiety to the heart, 
 and leave the mind in a state of inanity at 
 least, if not of repentance ; but I tasted those 
 tranquil pleasures which make time glide on 
 insensibly, and which charm so much in 
 the recollection that we only wish our time 
 to be thus passed for ever. Soulange has 
 an excellent libraiy : this, with his gardens 
 and farm, and above all his charming and 
 instructive conversation, formed the sources 
 of our entertainment, while the sweet tran- 
 quillity in which I lived made the heavens 
 appear to me more serene than elsewhere, 
 and the sun more bright and gay. 
 
 During this time we heard no more of 
 St. Salvador and his amours. At length, 
 m5
 
 250 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 anxious to leani some tidings of them, we 
 paid a visit to the house of Monsieur de la 
 Primeheure. Here everything had assumed 
 a new aspect; all was joy and glee : Cecilia's 
 eyes sparkled with animation and delight ; 
 Monsieur de la Primeheure no longer walked 
 about his garden making his reflections : 
 but was busied in executing the several 
 transpositions recommended among his 
 plants and trees ; while Madame de la Prime- 
 heure, instead of scolding the servants, was 
 now wholly absorbed in issuing out orders, 
 with the utmost complacency beaming on 
 her countenance, for certain festivities which 
 were shortly to take place. 
 
 Whence had arisen this change ? — At- 
 tend, reader, and you shall hear. — I have 
 said that Dinville and Cecilia, after the 
 breach between their fathers, contrived 
 sometimes to have stolen interviews. These 
 took place at a farm belonging to Monsieur 
 de la Primeheure, about three miles from 
 his house, where hved a woman by name 
 Tlieresa, who had formerly ht^n nurse to
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 251 
 
 Cecilia, and was now maintained by her fa- 
 ther. She was, as is not uncommon with 
 people when they are advanced in years, 
 always veiy eloquent in her praises of past 
 times, only throwing in now and then such 
 deteriorating reflections upon the present, 
 as served to give a brighter colouring to the 
 picture. For the rest, she was very zealous 
 in her devotions, moderate in talking scan- 
 dal of her neighbours, and always evinced 
 the utmost compassion for the rubs and 
 crosses to which lovers are often subjected. — 
 Such an one was the person of all others to 
 favour the stolen meetings of our unfortu- 
 nate young couple. Here they used to con- 
 dole with each other upon the cruelty of 
 their fate ; exhort each other to constancy 
 and perseverance ; assure each other of their 
 unalterable love and fidelity ; — hope that 
 Monsieur and Madame de la Primeheure 
 might one day give up their partiality to 
 St. Salvador ; that the sentiments of Alon- 
 sieur Durieul might become more favour- 
 able ; — go through^ in short, all the course
 
 252 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 of hopes and fears, of protestations and ex- 
 hortations, which usually occupy the flying 
 moments of lovers in such a situation. 
 
 They were amusing themselves thus one 
 day, while I was philosophizing with Sou- 
 lange, when on a sudden the sound was 
 heard of a man on horseback coming full 
 gallop towards the house. Dinville turned 
 pale — Cecilia trembledwith apprehension — 
 while Theresa to calm them said, '* Stay 
 here ; leave me to manage the troublesome 
 intruder, and mind if I don't send him 
 away as wise as he came." So saying, she 
 shut the door of the little parlour where sat 
 the lovers, and opening that to the yard, 
 beheld a servant of Dinville's just alighted 
 from his horse. He asked with the utmost 
 eagerness and precipitation for his master,, 
 who Theresa peremptorily assured him was 
 not there. The man continued not the less 
 to say that he must see him that instant ; 
 when the good Theresa raising her voice 
 said, *' The man's mad, I believe : what 
 does he suppose his master can have to do
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 253 
 
 hfere?" — " I say that I must and will see 
 him,'' said the man. — " I say get you gone 
 for an impertinent pwppy," said Theresa^ 
 ** for into my house you shall not come." 
 — ** But I say I will come in," said the man ;. 
 ** for I know my master is here> and 1 must 
 see him — I want to tell him that his father 
 has fallen down in an apoplectic fit, and if 
 the whole must be let out at once, that he 's 
 dead." 
 
 At these words Dinville, who had over- 
 heard every syllable that passed, burst in- 
 voluntarily from his concealment, and with 
 his eyes fixed on the bearer of such .extra- 
 ordinary tidings, remained motionless for 
 some minutes ; then turning towards Ce- 
 cilia, who was no less agitated, threw him- 
 self at her feet ; and taking her hand which 
 he bathed with his tears, while sobs burst 
 from his almost overpowered heart, he kissed 
 it with ardour, rose up, pressed her tenderly 
 to his bosom, mounted the horse and rode 
 away without being able to utter a word. 
 
 Cecilia remained in an agitation of mind
 
 254 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 which may easier be imagined than described, 
 and which the generahty of mankind will 
 not think extraordinary^ though the good 
 Theresa could not wholly comprehend it. 
 An old man was dead — this was in the course 
 of Nature ; he had left his son at full liberty, 
 — this Theresa thought rather a matter for 
 rejoicing than tears, yet Cecilia wept. She 
 endeavoured to console her, by talking of the 
 happiness she would now experience as the 
 wife of Dinville; but Cecilia wept still. Tlie 
 nurse's patience being at length nearly ex- 
 hausted, she said in a somewhat impatient 
 tone, ** My dear lady, what can be the mat- 
 ter with you ? Since you have been ac- 
 quainted with this Monsieur St. Salvador, — 
 from whose clutches Heaven preserve you ! — 
 you have got such a habit of ciying, that 'tis 
 my belief you will never leave it off again. 
 For my part I can t think what 'tis you cry for 
 now; 'tis no such great matter to my think- 
 ing, to lose a cross old m.an who did nothing 
 but stand in the way of your being happy 
 with his son, I 'm as sorry as needs be for
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 255 
 
 Monsieur Durleurs death ; but for all that 
 I can't help being as glad as I ever was of 
 any thing in my life, that there's nothing 
 now to hinder yours and Monsieur Din- 
 ville*s happiness ; and if you think you have 
 lost any thing by it, only be so good as to 
 tell me what it is, that I may lament over 
 it with you." 
 
 " I have lost more than you think," an- 
 swered Cecilia. " Monsieur DurieuFs ob- 
 duracy would soon have been overcome by 
 his son's perseverance ; and I should have had 
 the pleasure — by my cares, my attentions, 
 my assiduities — of forcing him to acknow- 
 ledge that his son had not made an ill choice; 
 I should also have had the happiness of con- 
 tributing to the ease and comfort of one so 
 nearly connected with a man whom I love 
 more than all the world. This would have 
 given me a new claim on Dinville's affec- 
 tions ; and well as he loves me now, I should 
 have become a thousand times dearer to 
 him." 
 
 Theresa looked earnestly at Cecilia. This
 
 256 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 was refinement of reasoning into which sher 
 could not enter, any more than she coukf 
 perceive that, notwithstanduig her reason- 
 ings and her tears, joy was the prevaihng 
 sentiment in her young lady's heart. In this 
 state of mind that young lady returned 
 home ; nor did many days elapse before 
 Monsieur and Madame de la Primeheure 
 received a long letter from her lover, stating 
 the new turn his affairs had taken, and lay- 
 ing open all the sentiments of his heart. 
 This was followed by a visit the very next 
 day, in which he dwelt still more elaborately 
 upon the several topics on which his letter 
 had touched ; and with such success, that 
 husband and wife, wholly forgetting St. Sal- 
 vador, consented to his wishes without the 
 least hesitation. 
 
 Such was the history which Soulange and 
 I heard on our arrival. — " You cannot ima- 
 gine," said Monsieur de la Primeheure, 
 ** with what pleasure we give our daughter in 
 marriage to so worthy and excellent a man. 
 There is only one alloy to our happiness, in
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 257 
 
 a little embarrassment froPxi which we know 
 not how to extricate ourselves handsomely. 
 We had promised our daughter to Mon- 
 sieur de St. Salvador : — it was a great folly I 
 must confess ; but we had promised her, and. 
 I can't say that our hands are altogether 
 clean with regard to him. "What to do 
 upon the occasion I cannot tell." 
 
 *' Your delicacy is much to be commend- 
 ed," said Soulange ; ** and the uneasiness 
 you experience is of itself in a great degree 
 a vindication of your conduct. Let not- 
 that, however, interrupt your happiness ; you 
 may be perhaps extricated with greater faci- 
 lity than you suppose. What should you 
 say if I were to tell you that St. Salvador is 
 under no less embarrassment than your- 
 selves about this matter?" 
 
 ** How ! — you don't say so ? — My dear 
 Soulange, how you revive me ! — Oh, if you 
 could but manage the matter between us with 
 your usual discretion, we should be under an. 
 eternal obligation to you."
 
 258 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 ** I will undertake it most willingly; and 
 I am very much deceived if I shall not con- 
 fer an equal obligation on St. Salvador/' 
 
 Tlie next day the philosophic Soulange 
 paid his visit to the unphilosophic St. Sal- 
 vador. He found the latter in the most 
 gloomy apartment of his house, plunged in 
 the deepest melancholy, and poring over a 
 treatise on algebra, in hopes to take his 
 attention somewhat from the horrors of his 
 situation. The first compliments and salu- 
 tations having passed, St. Salvador assumed 
 a coldness of manner which made Soulange 
 immediately augur well of the termination 
 of his mission. They went out together to 
 take a turn in the garden till dinner should 
 be ready. ** What is the matter, St. Sal- 
 vador .^" said Soulange ; '' there is an air 
 of melancholy about you which surprises 
 me. Wh ! on the point of being mar- 
 ried to one of the most lovely and amiable 
 girls existing, you yet look as if you were 
 ready to hang yourself ! '*
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 259 
 
 " How ! — I — oh no, no, believe me ! — 
 I ready to hang myself, — no, no, I am quite 
 transported with joy." 
 
 " Then show it a little more. — But per- 
 haps the impatience you feel to have the af- 
 fair terminated, to be in possession of your 
 prize, makes you anxious and uneasy ?" 
 
 ** Nothing of all this, I can assure you." 
 
 *^ If it be not too inquisitive, I would fain 
 ask then what can occasion this appearance 
 of melancholy ? " 
 
 ** Is not marriage a very serious thing ? — 
 Would not any one, even the most wild 
 and thoughtless, be forced into reflection in 
 similar circumstances ? " 
 
 " True, marriage is a very serious thing: 
 but when we think of the object to whom 
 you are to be united, one should suppose 
 that your reflections could have nothing sad 
 attached to them ; on the contrary-, that they 
 must be most satisfactory. And though 
 it were otherwise, any reflections, however 
 just they may be, seem to come a little of 
 the latest, when every thing is arranged
 
 260 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 among the parties concerned, and you are 
 no longer at liberty^ — when the thing can< 
 not be revoked^" 
 
 " Ah, spare me T spare me ! — TVTiat plea- 
 sure can you derive from reminding me in^ 
 this overwhelming manner of my misfor- 
 tunes ? — I know it but too well, I am no 
 longer free, and that I must be even more- 
 shackled than I am now; that there is no^ 
 drawing my neck out of the yoke. But what 
 can a man of my age do with such a girl 
 as Ceerlia ? — \^^hat can such a girl as Ce- 
 cilia do with a man of my age ? — Instead of 
 thinking me to be envied^ why do you not 
 share in my affliction — why do you not 
 try to annul an engagement so dispropor- 
 tionate ?" 
 
 " If that be indeed your way of thinking,. 
 I do not suppose the thing will prove very 
 difficult. The moment the least hint of re- 
 pugnance to the marriage is shown on your 
 part, depend upon it that it will be taken, 
 as it ought to be, and that none of the par- 
 ties will think of you any more."
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 261 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! — that is not at all my 
 meaning. — Hint of repugnance ! — nay, my 
 dear sir, but you must understand the rules 
 of decorum better ; it must be done so as 
 not to give any offence either to Monsieur and 
 Madame de la Primeheure, or to Cecilia.*' 
 
 ** That k to say, they must be given to 
 understand, in a manner at which it is im- 
 possible they can take offence, that you re- 
 tract your word." 
 
 " Monsieur Soulange, observe that I do 
 not retract my word ; I wish it to be put 
 upon them to retract theirs." 
 
 *' ^nd under what pretence would you 
 have them induced to retract ? — Who shall 
 influence them to it P*^ 
 
 *' Listen to me, I^Jcnsieur Soulange, since 
 vou will force me to explain myself clearly. 
 You know that ev^iy one has his faults ; — 
 J know that I have mine as well as any other 
 man; — magnify them as much as you please, 
 in order to create a disgust in them towards 
 jne."
 
 262 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 " But once more, In what terms would 
 you have me explain the matter ?" 
 
 *' 'Tis cursed hard that you will force me 
 to speak ill of myself. — ^Tell them that I am 
 capricious — changeable — and never in the 
 same mind two days together. Say that 
 wearied with every thing by which I am sur- 
 rounded;, with every thing that belongs to 
 me — ^wearied with myself — I am always sigh- 
 ing to be in some bther place than where I 
 am — that I wish only for the society of those 
 who are at a distance from me — that I crave 
 only such things as I can never obtain. — 
 Say that I never loved any thing but what 
 was forbidden me; — say...." 
 
 " But surely you do not think all this of 
 yourself.^" 
 
 ** Yes, yes ; you may say it all ; nay, much 
 worse — and it will all be true." 
 
 " Well then, since you require it abso- 
 lutely, I will, to oblige you, say all possible 
 ill of you ; and say so much that you need 
 not doubt of my attaining the end you wish.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 263 
 
 For the rest, I am exceedingly astonished 
 that you should prefer an imaginary liberty 
 to the society of one of the most amiable 
 young women now in existence^ for such, 
 assuredly, is Cecilia." 
 
 " I have already observed, Monsieur de 
 Soulange, that every one has his faults, — 
 mine are such as I have painted them. I 
 have a quickness of feeling altogether in- 
 comprehensible — any idea of being shackled 
 is absolutely death tome. It is too late in life 
 to think of a reform ; and if I should attempt 
 one, I am perfectly assured I should never 
 succeed in it. Let us therefore drop the 
 subject and place ourselves at table, for the 
 dinner is waiting and I am now eager to be 
 at it. Since you have given hopes of get- 
 ting me fairly out of this scrape, I feel my 
 heart so light, my mind so perfectly at ease, 
 my spirits so dilated, that at no moment of 
 my life was I ever better disposed to be gay 
 and jovial." 
 
 They dined together : St. Salvador never 
 seemed more inspired with hilarity, never
 
 264 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 j^ppeared tio have a more beaity relish fot 
 his own good cheer. The wine flew about 
 l)riskly ; they drank bumpers to Cecilia's 
 health and happiness : St. Salvador was elo- 
 quent in his praises of her, and descanted 
 largely upon the transports in store for the 
 iinan who was to possess her.
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A Marriage and a Death, 
 
 SouLANGE on his return to the house of 
 Monsieur and Madame de la Primeheure 
 gave an account of his mission to the infi- 
 nite satisfaction of the parties concerned, 
 managing as well as he po&sibly could the 
 delicacy of St. Salvador. 
 
 All obstacles being thus removed, the 
 marriage of Dinville and Cecilia was fixed to 
 take place as soon as decorum would per* 
 mit after the death of so near a relation as a 
 father, and this was determined to be at the 
 expiration of three months. As hencefor- 
 ward the whole party concerned in these 
 memoirs, one only excepted, remained con- 
 tented and happy,'! have nothing more to re- 
 late concerning them. A state of peace 
 and tranquillity is a terrible thing to a his - 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 ^6 THE VVEATHERCOCX. 
 
 torian ; — and how can a tale-writer find any 
 thing worth narrating in a family united in 
 content and harmony ? Turn we therefore 
 to the only quarter where perfect satisfac- 
 tion was not established — to the self-banish- 
 ed lover of Cecilia. 
 
 It was not long after my charming cousin 
 became a bride, that St. Salvador fell, I 
 know not how, neither it seems did the phy- 
 sicians know how, into a state of decline. 
 Whether it was for love of Cecilia I pretend 
 not to determine; but thus m^uch is certain, 
 that from the moment when she had as- 
 sumed the name and title of Madame Din- 
 ville, she was more lovely, more amiable in 
 his eyes than before, and he never ceased to 
 lament the cruel fate which had separated 
 him from her. But whatever might be the 
 cause, he grew pale,, thin, and wan ; and 
 since for two months he chose to manage 
 himself entirely, — with what judgement may 
 easily be presumed — his disorder assumed 
 every day a more and more serious aspect. 
 A physician was at length called in, who
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 26? 
 
 moderately prescribed nothing more than 
 baths to strengthen him, potions to tran- 
 quillize him, and ptisans to sweeten the 
 blood ; interdicting at the same time wine, 
 liqueurs, ragouts, vegetables, and fruit. The 
 reader must by this time be sufficiently ac- 
 quainted with St. Salvador to judge how 
 exactly these prescriptions were followed. 
 
 Scarcely had the physician quitted him 
 than he entered upon the following train of 
 reflections: — ** Why should I submit to the 
 severe regimen prescribed me ? — Disgusted 
 with mankind, disgusted with the world it- 
 self, I pine away with the most consuming 
 melancholy. Is it by weighing what I ought 
 to eat, by drinking ptisans and water that 
 I shall find some sparks of that gaiety and 
 lightness of heart, by which I was formerly 
 distinguished, revive ? on the contrary, that 
 would be to banish them for ever. What 
 is so likely to thaw the ice within me as 
 wine, that generous wine, which I am pro- 
 liibited tasting ? No, no; my malady arises 
 n2
 
 ^68 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 from having been too abstemious ; — for the 
 future I will eat and drink more liberally." 
 
 The determination thus made was strictly 
 
 followed : for some time he had not cared 
 
 about wine, and scarcely drank any ; but now 
 
 that it was interdicted, he sought out the 
 
 best wines he could possibly get, and drank 
 
 of them copiously. In this way he went on 
 
 awhile, even finding his spirits somewhat 
 
 revived ; but the slow fever which had gained 
 
 possession of him was encouraged by it, and 
 
 in a few weeks the little substance that 
 
 remained in him was entirely consumed. 
 
 His health being now worse than ever, he 
 
 cursed the wine, and sent for three or four 
 
 physicians ; — it was three or four too many. 
 
 'He was closely interrogated by ""hem ; his 
 
 pulse and tongue were examined ; the whole 
 
 process of a meeting and consultation was 
 
 regidarly and duly gone through ; — and the 
 
 conclusion was, that theonlyhope remaining 
 
 for the patient was to live entirely upon milk. 
 
 '* Now why was not that sooner recom-
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 569 
 
 niended ?" said St. Salvador : '' I love milk 
 beyond all expression, and I shall for the fu- 
 ture overflow with health ; I have sometimes 
 from taste alone lived whole months toge- 
 ther upon it, and never wished for any thhig 
 else." 
 
 " So much the better," answered one of 
 the physicians; "what you say there is cf 
 great i:nportance. The extreme taste you 
 have for milk shows it to be a thing parti- 
 cularly suited to your constitution. Some 
 minutes ago I would scarcely have given a 
 stiver for your life, now I would be ready to 
 place a tontine upon it ; from this moment 
 you may consider your cure as certain. 
 Drink milk in the morning, drink it at noon, 
 drink it in the evening, drink whenever you 
 please ; and when you have drunk as much 
 as you please, drink more still." 
 
 The physicians being paid and dismissed, 
 *' Well, now," said St. Salvador, " I shall 
 iidherc strictly to my regimen, never deviate 
 from it in the slightest degree ; so indeed it 
 must be^ my life depends upon it. No more
 
 2/0 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 of those ragouts which I have loved so 
 much ; no more of that sparkUng Cham- 
 pagne which gave me such allow of spirits; 
 the first cup of milk tasted, I must think of 
 nothing else till my health is perfectly re- 
 stored. To-morrow then I begin ; — to-day 
 I may still eat any thing I please — so let us 
 be free of good cheer, since 'tis for the last 
 time ; — after to-day nothing but abstinence, 
 universal, eternal abstinence." 
 
 For that day then our sick-man gave him- 
 self up entirely to his taste for ragouts, 
 Champagne, and other delicacies of the ta- 
 ble, in which he found so much pleasure 
 that he thought there could be no harm in 
 delaying the milk diet only one day longer; 
 so the next day was devoted to like excesses. 
 Thus a whole week went on, and he had not 
 yet tasted a drop of milk of which he was so 
 lond, and from which so much benefit was 
 to be derived. 
 
 At the end of the week he was worse than 
 ever ; and towards noon on the seventh day 
 fell into a fainting-fit, in which he continued
 
 TPIE WEATHERCOCK. 2/1 
 
 two hoars : even then, though his senses re-^ 
 turned, his bodily powers were wholly ex- 
 liausted; it was phin that not even a milk 
 iliet could now save him. Some of the peo- 
 j)le about hastened to seek the minister of 
 the pia'ish, assured that the physicians' part 
 was wholly attui end, that nothing remained 
 but for the priest to perform his duties. 
 The minister arrived. He was a good simple 
 soul, whose benefice just sufficed to keep up 
 his church but moderately, and to furnish 
 his table well, while the fresh colour in his 
 cheeks and a somewhat ample share of em- 
 bonpoint showed that he had not, any more 
 than his parishioner St. Salvador, a great 
 aversion to the good things which a well- 
 furnished table offers. 
 
 When he cast bis eyes on the sick-man, 
 he saw plahily that the pious offices for 
 which he came would not admit of delay. 
 ** Indeed, Monsieur St. Salvador," he said, 
 *' you do not appear in good health, and if 
 you should not happen to be cured of your 
 malady you must die. Certainly, therefore.
 
 27'2 THE WEATHERCOCK. 
 
 confession would be proper, that you mav be 
 prepared for the worst. The evil-one is upon 
 the watch for yon : but be comforted, I hope 
 we may be able to secure you from his 
 grasp. What say you then .^— shall we 
 begin .^" 
 
 " Very readily: and mind, I don't want to 
 do the thing in private, Til confess myself 
 aloud and before the whole house. If it 
 does not assist my repentance, it will at 
 least increase my shame for my offences- — 
 Therefore listen. — In the first place, except- 
 ing in what concerns my honour, which is 
 quite untainted, I have never done any thing 
 I was ordered to do^ and always done what 
 was forbidden me ; — this is in few words the 
 gi'eat outline of my life, of which now, if 
 you please, I will give yon some details. As 
 xt child I never had any relish for fruit that 
 was given me, but I devoured with eager- 
 ness whatever I could steal. As a young 
 man I indulged in all sorts of libertinism, 
 because, being an abbe, my state required 
 strictness of life : — aftenvards quitting that
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 27.*^ 
 
 state I became devout, because I might then 
 have been a Ubertine without scandal. I^ 
 the heat of my devotion going one day to 
 dine with a friend, I ate a partridge, because 
 it was Friday. — Oh what a partridge was 
 tliat !" 
 
 *' You are then among those who are of 
 opinion that a partridge eats better on a Fri- 
 day than any other day in the week ? — | 
 know not whether this be a heresy, but I 
 am sure it is an error, for I have made the 
 experiment many a time. Beheve me, a 
 good partridge is ahvays good on whatever 
 day of the week it may be eaten." 
 
 ** I beheve it; but I am glad to find that 
 you have made the experiment as well as 
 myself. Yet this partridge was the occasion 
 of a chain of events which have hung by me 
 all the rest of my life — Ah that partridge ! 
 — But to proceed. I adored Cecilia...." 
 
 ** Adored was rather too much ; — to love 
 her was very natural, for she was a girl, and 
 is now a woman the most worthy to be loved 
 of any 1 know." 
 
 n5
 
 2/4 THE WEATHERCOCK, 
 
 ** I adored her so much that I was on the 
 point of becoming her husband ; but as 
 soon as I thought myself secure of her, I 
 loved her no longer." 
 
 '* That was rather premature ; people ge- 
 nerally wait till they are married before they 
 grow tired of the person they had loved." 
 
 ** And now she is married to another I 
 love her more than ever." 
 
 ** For shame I — love another man's wife! 
 — I hope at least you have no bad designs 
 upon her .^" 
 
 ** Alas! what views can a man have who 
 is dpng .^" 
 
 " And then...." 
 
 ** For a long time I have never given 
 away any thing in alms, nor ever attended a 
 sermon, because I was ordered to do both." 
 
 ** What is to be done .^ — some atonement 
 is required for so many heavy offences ; but 
 since you will never do any thing you are 
 ordered, to what purpose were my enjoining 
 a penance ? — what could I enjoin you .^" 
 
 ** Any thing you please ; since you see
 
 THE WEATHERCOCK. 275 
 
 plainly that not being able to confine my- 
 self in any thing, all injunctions are alike to 
 me. 
 
 " At least promise me sincerely that if 
 your health should be re-established — " 
 
 ** As to promising, Til promise any thing 
 you require with all my heart and soul, in- 
 tending fully when I make the promise to 
 keep it. But I know myself well, — 'twill all 
 be in vain." 
 
 ^' I never knew a man so difficult to be 
 dealt with." 
 
 At this point of the confession St. Salva- 
 dor fell again into a fainting-fit; and the mi- 
 nister seeing that no time was to be lost, gave 
 him absolution without further ceremony. 
 His senses did return again; but he was 
 weaker than ever, and expired in a few hours, 
 protesting that if he had lived he would 
 have entered upon the milk diet the very 
 next day.
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 A TALE OF ALSACE.
 
 279 
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR 
 
 A TALE OF ALSACE. 
 
 In a certain town in Alsace, during the 
 time of the seven-years war, lived two misers 
 of different sexes ; the one was known by 
 the name of Madame Barbara Alicia Kreut- 
 zer, the other by that of Mr. Philip Ambrose 
 Netterville. 
 
 The former had been the v^dfe of a sena- 
 tor, but at this period had been many years 
 a widow. Her lord survived his marriage 
 but a very short time ; — as to the cause of 
 his deatli the town was much divided in 
 opinion ; some holding that he was wrangled 
 out of the world by his fair partner, others 
 that he was starved by her ; all agreed that 
 it was to her he was indebted for being so
 
 280 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 early in life released from a world of cares. 
 In short she was — 
 
 *^ One of tho>e very few women whose life 
 
 Is less spent in eating than wrangling and strife." 
 
 Whether it was for her beauty or for the 
 amiable qualities of her mind that the 
 worthy senator made choice of her as his 
 help-mate, is not easilyto be determined. The 
 only thing certain is, that at the time when 
 the adventures now to be related took place, 
 and she was considerably past the prime of 
 life, her nose had acquired a remarkable re- 
 semblance to the beak of a falcon, and her 
 chin turned upwards towards it with so 
 graceful a curve, that they came nearly in 
 contact with each other. Her figure had 
 none of the roundness and plumpness of the 
 Medicean Venus ; it might indeed be said, 
 that if she had starved her loved lord, she 
 had certainly not fattened herself; her 
 form was the very abstract idea oi famine, 
 Mid by that appellation she was generally 
 distinguished among her fellow-citizens. 
 Her dress was in perfect unison with the
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 281 
 
 appearance of her person : the gown she 
 commonly wore had been in the family du- 
 ring three generations at least, as the fashion 
 of it and many a breach in its texture indis- 
 putably attested. An anti-graceful figure 
 of this description being well known as one 
 of those in which our Arch Enemy often car- 
 ries on his intrigues and cabals against man- 
 kind, she did not pass among the towns- 
 people without suspicion, if not of being 
 that very personage himself, at least of being 
 one of those attendants about his person: 
 commonly known by the name of hi« imps. 
 The house in which she lived favoured 
 this idea not a little. It was an old ruinous 
 castle on the town-v.alls, and appeared 
 much rather the abode of evil spirits than 
 of any thing human. One evil spirit was 
 undoubtedly her constant inmate — the dae- 
 mon of avarice ; and as he was her constant^ 
 he became at length nearly her sole, com- 
 panion. She had once let the greater part 
 of her house in lodgings ; till in the end, as 
 she would never be at the expense of repairs.
 
 ^85 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 the wind and thfe rain had obtained such 
 free ingress into every apartment that it was 
 impossible for any body but herself to in- 
 habit them. She then entered upon a nice 
 calculation, v/hether the loss incurred by 
 repairs would or would not be counterba- 
 lanced by the gain derived from letting the 
 apartments ; which question being deter- 
 mined in favour of suffering things to remain 
 as they were, she descended from a garret 
 where she had long dwelt, and which rather 
 more resembled an owFs nest than a human 
 habitation, into the first floor, where only 
 was one room tolerably defended against 
 the inroads of the elements. 
 
 Among many wise maxims and saws 
 which she cherished as her great rules of 
 life, a favourite one was that Whoever willbe 
 xvell served must serve themselves. In pur- 
 suance of this maxim she kept no servant. 
 Indeed another reason might be adduced for 
 her not having one, — that it was impossible 
 to find a servant who would live with her ; 
 even the mice and rats forsook the house.
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 283 
 
 after slie ceased to liave lodgers^ for want of 
 the means of siistiiining their existence any 
 hunger. The only corporeal being that now 
 inhabited the mansion, besides herself and 
 the spiders — who held their reign umiiolested 
 in every part of it — was a large black dog. 
 This member of her establishment served at 
 ail times as ^ faithful guard against thieves, 
 and in cold weather added to his other em- 
 ployments that of performing for her the 
 office of a warming-pan. 
 
 Such a guard and protector was indeed a 
 very necessary article in her household : she 
 had the reputation of possessing immense 
 riches, and without some defender might 
 have been extremely liable to the inroads of 
 nocturnal depredators. If a heart like hers 
 could be capable of attachment, she miglit 
 be said to be strongly attached to this ani- 
 mal : indeed, if similarity of disposition can 
 create attachment, there was every reason 
 for her regarding him with warm friendship, 
 since he was as determined a wrangler as 
 herself ; and having twice inflicted severe
 
 284 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 discipline on persons who came to the lioiise 
 at a later hour than he thought proper to 
 admit visitors, all who might otherwise have 
 been similarly disposed were now kept at an 
 awful distance. 
 
 The reputation for riches which she had 
 not unjustly acquired, proved to her in some 
 sort an actual source of wealth. The legacy- 
 hunters^ who always constitute a large de- 
 scription of persons in every tov/n, were all 
 assiduous in paying their court to her, send- 
 ing her little objects of regale for the table, 
 and other presents, so that she had never 
 occasion to diminish her own stores in sup- 
 plying the wants either of herself or her dog. 
 Not that the tributes she received in this 
 way were always consumed by her under the 
 form in whii'li they originally came to her 
 hands ; a fine capon for instance was a 
 dainty which neither Black Tom, — for that 
 was the appellation given to her companion, 
 in compliment to her deceased husband, 
 who bore the name of Thomas — neither 
 herself nor Black J'om having any relish for
 
 THE MAGIC DOI-LAR. 285 
 
 dainties, whatever she received in this way 
 was carried to market and exchanged for 
 food of a cheaper description ; and as she 
 took great care not to be over-reached in 
 her bargains, she commonly, besides sup- 
 plying her table, contributed something to- 
 wards the nomishment of her strong box. 
 
 She is a liumaging good kind of ivomart^ 
 would Mr. Philip Ambrose Netterville, with 
 others of like thrifty dispositions, say of her, 
 pulling off their hats and saluting her re- 
 spectfully whenever they met her in the 
 streets. Tlie rest of the inhabitants of the 
 tov/n were divided in their opinions con- 
 cerning her. Black Tom was by many con- 
 sidered as neither more nor less than the 
 arch-fiend himself under the form of a spa- 
 niel ; and a very general article of belief was 
 that the old lady was possessed of a Magic 
 Dollar, presented by Satan, as a love-token 
 when he first became her suitor, through 
 the influence of which she could increase 
 her wealth to any sum she chose. To these 
 opinions at least four-fifths of the inhabi-
 
 286 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 tants of the town subscribed : the only dif- 
 ference among them was,that some beheved 
 both articles firmly, and talked of them 
 freely ; while others, as firmly believing, yet 
 did not venture to talk upon the subject, al- 
 ways recollecting the old saying. Talk oj the 
 
 d and he's soon at your elbow. Some 
 
 again rejected that part of the creed which 
 taught that Black Tom was the arch-fiend 
 in disguise, but beheved firmly in the Magic 
 Dollar; others again believed in the dog*, 
 but rejected the Dollar. A few only, scarcely 
 a fifth part, perhaps not above a tenth or 
 twentieth — persons who could actually ven- 
 ture through a churchyard without fear at 
 the solemn hour of midnight — did not believe 
 either in the dollar or the dog ; they believed 
 in nothing but the covetous, querulous, and 
 in every way untractable disposition cf the 
 avaricious old woman. 
 
 Such was Madame Barbara Alicia Kreut- 
 zer. Her counterpart, Mr. Philip Ambrose 
 Netterville, as he called himself in all his 
 bonds, usurious contracts, dunning letters.
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 287 
 
 &c. &c. had from his earUest youth con- 
 ceived a high idea of the deUghts of Hving 
 in noble penury. He had not more of the 
 >leek phnnpness of the Apollo of Belvedere 
 in his figure, than his prototype had of the 
 ^ledicean Venus ; it would have been in- 
 deed a difficult matter for the nicest anato- 
 mist to determine which had the greater or 
 less portion of flesh upon their bones. The 
 skin of his forehead was drawn ver}^ tight 
 up over the ossified part of it by a scanty- 
 haired wig which sat very close to his head_, 
 and his small round eyes were by this means 
 rendered exceedingly prominent, while they, 
 standing on each side of a very crooked nose 
 and having in them much of the acuteness 
 of a hawk, always fooking after his prey^ 
 his countenance bore altogether a strong re- 
 semblance to that animal. Nor was this 
 resemblance lessened by his mouth being 
 constantly open, as if ready to snap at any 
 thing which came in his way. 
 
 While yet quite a child, some hard dollars 
 had been given him by his godfather as
 
 "288 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 playthings ; and of these he soon became 
 passionately fond — all other objects were as 
 nothing to his childish fancy in comparison 
 "wdth them. At a somewhat more advanced 
 period of life, no other play could delight 
 him but being merchants and bankers, and 
 getting a great deal of money. By the time 
 he was seven years old he could repeat his 
 tables of interest by heart very readily, with- 
 out making the most trifling mistake, though 
 in all other respects he was backward in his 
 reading and writing ; and when only in his 
 tenth year he had the address to frame a 
 lottery, by which nearly all the pocket-money 
 of his schoolfellows was transferred from 
 their purses into his strong box — for a 
 strong box he kept even at this early age. 
 Another mode adopted by him to get pos- 
 session of the little stores of his companions 
 was to borrow money of them under an en- 
 gagement to pay it at a fixed time with so 
 much interest; but when that time arrived 
 neither principal nor interest was forth- 
 coming ; and if pressed for payment by his
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 289 
 
 youthful creditors, he very coolly declared 
 himself a bankrupt. On the occasion of 
 his first declaration of bankruptcy, an ap- 
 peal was made by the sufferers to the jus- 
 tice of his father, who was a fat portly brewer 
 in the town. Having listened attentively to 
 the story, he turned it off* with a laugh at 
 the ingenuity of this only fruit of his mar- 
 riage, paying to the full both the principal 
 and the interest promised. Thus was laid 
 the foundation of a thousand evil habits in 
 the boy, which did not fail to shoot up with 
 the most luxuriant growth. 
 
 It was the father's earnest wish to see his 
 son a scholar ; but the only studies to which 
 the young man could ever settle his mind 
 were the arts of gaining and of saving 
 money ; so that when he arrived at the age 
 to be removed to the University, the mas- 
 ters were obliged to acknowledge him unfit 
 for it. Yet during this time he had pursued 
 his favourite studies with so much effect 
 that he had scraped together a very pretty 
 capital, and this he kept constantly increas- 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 ing, by lending it out on pledges at usurious 
 interest. Not long after he attained to 
 manhood, his father was found dead one 
 morning in his cellar, — and thus was Mr. 
 Philip Ambrose Netterville at an early age 
 left sole master of a very large property. 
 
 He immediately began his calculations 
 whether his capital could be turned to the 
 best account by continuing the brewery, or 
 by extending the plan he had already found 
 so profitable, of lending out his money at 
 enormous interest. Having clearly demon- 
 strated to himself that his gains in the latter 
 would, on a moderate computation, exceed 
 by a third the utmost possible profit to be 
 acquired by the former, the brewery was 
 sold very advantageously, and trafficking in 
 money became his only occupation. Having 
 a fortune that would enable him to live like 
 a nobleman^ he hired a small lodging in 
 an obscure part of the town, and there shut 
 himself up with his hoards, never stirring 
 but but when some business of saving or of 
 gain called him forth ; — since to walk out
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 291 
 
 for any other purpose was a waste of shoe- 
 leather. 
 
 Between this period and the completion 
 of his thirtieth year he was twice attacked 
 in a way that threatened to be very fatal to 
 him, — that is to say, he twice fell in love. 
 His prudence, however, rose superior even 
 to the attacks of this all-powerful passion, 
 and calculations of interest did what reflec- 
 tions of reason were scarcely ever known to 
 do, — deterred him from rushing headlong 
 into matrimony. He found that the ex- 
 penses of such an establishment as he must 
 have in the character of a husband, and pro- 
 bably a father, would be far greater than the 
 fortune of either of the ladies would pay, 
 though each had what is considered by the 
 world as a pretty fortune ; and that conse- 
 quently depredations such as he could not 
 bear to think of would be made upon his 
 own means : — avarice therefore triumphed 
 over love. To console himself, he calculated 
 what his annual expenses must have amount- 
 ed to, had he yielded to his inclinations, 
 o2
 
 292 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 which sum he put by every year in a sepa- 
 rate bag, calling it his love-hoard ; and the 
 pleasure he derived from seeing the accu- 
 mulation of this stock, proved to him a 
 source of greater joy than the joys of wed- 
 lock themselves. 
 
 Yet, since it is hopeless for a man wholly 
 to resist his fate, and since it was written in 
 the book of fate that Mr. Philip Ambrose 
 Netterville was not to pass through life with- 
 out making one sacrifice at the altar of 
 Hymeii ; he did at length find a woman 
 whom, on running over his darling calcu- 
 lations, and turning and twisting them in 
 every way, he thought he might venture to 
 make his wife without fear of injuring his 
 fortune. She was a virgin in the forty- 
 second year of her age, with a revenue 
 amounting to nearly double the sum he had 
 been accustomed to lay by in his love- 
 hoard ; so that here was a prospect of adding 
 even to his savings, notwithstanding the in- 
 crease of his expenses. Satisfied therefore 
 as to the prudence of his plan, he began
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 293 
 
 his siege in due form ; nor was the town 
 long ere it surrendered at discretion. The 
 hidy was always considered by her neigh- 
 bours as having continued in a state of vir- 
 ginity to this advanced period of life, very 
 much against her own inclination ; though 
 she seldom failed of entertaining every com- 
 pany wherein she mingled, with an account 
 of some one or other of the many cruelties 
 she had exercised towards mankind. It is 
 not our business to enter into an investiga- 
 tion how much or how little foundation 
 there might be for these details ; we have no 
 concern with any other of her lovers than 
 Mr. Philip Ambrose Netterville, and to- 
 wards him she certainly never evinced any 
 disposition to cruelty. At the very first 
 hint of his passion, she tenderly sighed and 
 blushed a soft consent ; and in three weeks 
 from the date of this hint became Madame 
 Netterville. 
 
 So far was well ; but in another respect 
 the matter was not quite so well. On the 
 blessings of the marriage-bed, on the olive-
 
 294 THE MAGIC DOULAR. 
 
 branches round about his table, the happy 
 husband had made no calculation ; he 
 thought that his vine being forty -two years 
 of age would be exempt from the produc- 
 tion of olive-branches^ and he never was 
 very anxious to see his table surrounded 
 by such productions. x\ias ! he found to 
 his cost, that though seldom bafHed in his 
 calculations, he had here fallen into an 
 error ; for exactly a year and a day after 
 their marriage he was presented by his fair 
 helpmate " ith a very fine little girl. The 
 lady, however, to make some atonement 
 for having misled him thus cruelly, in a few 
 days after her delivery released him from any 
 further expenses on her account, except her 
 funereal ones. 
 
 Nettervilie was not yet fully satisfied ; — 
 though released from the burthen of main- 
 taing a wife, that of providing for his new 
 charge would be scarcely less onerous. 
 Since it was impossible for him, in her in- 
 fant state, to attend upon her wholly him- 
 self ; he must for a few years at least be at
 
 THE xMAGIC DOLLAR. 295 
 
 the expense of a nurse. Indeed, the ex- 
 penses of educating a girl till she should be 
 fourteen or fifteen, an age at which he ex- 
 pected she would be able to maintain her- 
 self, — that is, to marry, — absolutely made 
 his hair stand-an-end. His only comfort was 
 that he would look out a rich son-in-law, 
 and make him reimburse if not the whole, 
 certainly a great part of the sums expended 
 in his daughters education. 
 
 Mother Nature, who had most truly and 
 literally been the means of giving existence 
 to the little Philippina, exerted herself all 
 in her power to make amends for the un- 
 toward circumstances under which she had 
 ushered her into the world. She endowed 
 her abundantly with personal charms, and 
 bestowed on her a most amiable disposi- 
 tion and a very sufficient portion of talents : 
 aided by these she grew up — notwithstand- 
 ing all the disadvantages of parental avarice, 
 which refused her every thing but the most 
 ordinar}' education — a gem of no common 
 value. From the moment that her awaken-
 
 296 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 ing reason made her sensible of her situa- 
 tion, she occupied herself in various kinds 
 of needle-work, by the sale of which she 
 gained the means of purchasing such arti- 
 cles of dress as her situation demanded, but 
 which her father's sordid habits denied ; to 
 these she added the procuring instruction 
 in some of the elegant accomplishments. 
 She always took care, however, to give him 
 some part of *her gains, as a security against 
 his ever raising any opposition to the prose- 
 cution of her plans. It was only thus, 
 through her own industry, that she was en- 
 abled to appear with credit in society, and to 
 frequent balls and concerts, for she was pas- 
 sionately fond both of music and dancing. 
 
 That a young woman of this description 
 should early attract the attention of the 
 young men was to be expected ; and from 
 the moment she began to appear in public, 
 many even among the most wealthy were 
 assjduous in their endeavours to obtain her 
 favour. These ventured to appear publicly 
 as her followers, considering themselves
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 297 
 
 from their own circumstances as entitled to 
 look up even to the daughter of the rich 
 Mr. Netterville. Others, less happy in their 
 fortunes, but not less enamoured, sighed at 
 an awful distance, but did not dare to think 
 of disclosing their passions. Philippina on 
 her side, who saw all the difficulties that 
 must attend upon her being disposed of in 
 marriage, was only anxious to keep her heart 
 disengaged ; — yet desirous to obtain the es- 
 teem of all, she behaved with a general 
 courtesy which she was careful should never 
 be construed into any encouragement to se- 
 rious addresses. Thus she after awhile ob- 
 tained the appellation of the little prude ; a 
 character which she was not sorry to learn 
 was unputed to her^ 
 
 But her time was to come, — she was not 
 ahvays to preserve her heart in this happy 
 state of apathy. There was in the town a 
 young advocate, by name Minehold, whom 
 she had met several times in public. The 
 first time he saw her he was attracted by her 
 personal charms ; and his admiration was 
 o5
 
 298 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 afterguards so irrevocably confirmed by her 
 amiable and unaffected manners and pleas- 
 ing conversation, that his heart was soon ir- 
 revocably lost ; nor did he attempt to resist 
 his growing passion, he gave himself up to 
 it without reserve. The gentle Philippina 
 on her side was not less deeply smitten. 
 Minehold had an excellent character, was 
 handsome in his person, agreeable in his 
 conversation, and above all an unwearied 
 dancer, which was a great recommendation 
 to the young lady. He had very good abi- 
 lities, and the progress he had made in his 
 profession was already such as to give assu- 
 rance of his rising in it to great eminence: 
 but alas ! for the present he had no private 
 fortune ; his professional gains were his sole 
 means of subsistence, — and could such a man 
 aspire to the hand of Philippina ! Where 
 was to be found the means of reimbursing 
 the expenses of her education which Netter- 
 ville expected before he would accept any 
 one as a son-in-law ! 
 
 Love, however, is aspiring ; and the lover
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 299 
 
 was unfortunately presented with so fair an 
 occasion for disclosing his passion to the ob- 
 ject of it, at a ball where they met, ^liat he 
 could restrain himself no longer; and the 
 whole secret of his heart was laid open. 
 Philippina, poor Philippina! was not in a 
 much better situation. She had found 
 the excellent young advocate so extremely 
 agreeable, that notwithstanding the indiffe- 
 rence she was desirous of maintaining, her 
 heart was insensibly wholly surrendered to 
 him ; and the expressive silence with which 
 she hstened to the ardent declaration of his 
 passion was to liim the most pleasing assu- 
 rance that he had not pleaded in vain. In 
 short, both parties were so transported, — the 
 one with having disclosed the important se- 
 cret, the other with the assurance tViat she 
 was beloved by the only man against whom 
 she had not been able to secure her heart, — 
 that they gave themselves up to the happi- 
 ness of the moment, and exchanged the 
 most ardent vows of unalterable fidelity and 
 constancy to each other ►
 
 300 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 But, the ball concluded, the intoxication 
 of these delicious moments passed, and the 
 lovers restored to their respective solitary 
 apartments, the fairy world of love vanished 
 before them ; while, instead of the pretty 
 fluttering Cupids which they had so lately 
 seen sporting gaily around, they found them- 
 selves encompassed only by the black dae- 
 mons of CarCy and were importuned during 
 the wliole night by a succession of sleeping 
 and waking dreams not of a nature very flat- 
 tering to the sentiments of their hearts. 
 The God of Love and the Goddess of Hope, 
 however, re-appeared to them again a few days 
 after at another ball, when they found the 
 means of entertaining each other in secret 
 and renewing the solemn vows they had ex- 
 changed. Nay, they went further ; for they 
 agreed that, since with prudent management 
 it was just possible for Minehold to main- 
 tain a wife upon his professional gains, the 
 matter might be mentioned to the lady's fa- 
 ther ; as he would be released from the ex- 
 pense of maintaining her, and no thought
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 301 
 
 would be entertained of asking for so much 
 as a shilling of portion. 
 
 The communication, however, it was 
 agreed, should not be made by the parties 
 themselves, but through the intervention of 
 a confidential friend, who, when requested 
 to undertake it, gladly engaged to open the 
 matter in proper form, and solicit of Mr. 
 Philip Ambrose Netterville the hand of his 
 daughter in marriage for Mr. Advocate 
 Minehold.- — ''He will succeed^' whispered 
 flattering Hope in the ears of the lovers; 
 while Love, still more ready at delusion, said 
 in stronger terms, " He must succeed r 
 
 Alas, poor lovers ! — ^had ye been content 
 with the sweet enjoyment of a secret tender 
 courtship which was already yours, ye might 
 long have maintained it undisturbed. But 
 love, I have said^ is aspiring ; and no sooner 
 was the aspiring thought entertained that 
 the father's consent to the union ye wished 
 might be obtained, and a resolution taken 
 to put the solidity of the foundation of that
 
 302 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 hope to the proof, than all your flattering 
 visions were dispersed in empty air. Upon 
 the first hint on .the subject given to the 
 stern father, he, without even entering upon 
 a calculation, peremptorily refused listening 
 to any thing of the kind, abusing the poor 
 advocate as a shameless beggar, and strictly 
 prohibiting his daughter's ever thinking of 
 going to a ball again. The grief and an- 
 guish which this cruel defeat of all their 
 hopes occasioned the young couple, height- 
 ened by the reflection that it was hurried on 
 by their own impatience, will be easily ima- 
 gined. The only consolation that now re- 
 mained to them was in that last refuge of 
 despairing lovers — a secret correspondence: 
 this was successfully carried on through the 
 intervention of the confidential friend and 
 an old woman who had formerly been nurse 
 to Philippina. 
 
 Leave we awhile these tender turtle-doves 
 to pour out their hearts to each other in soft 
 and melting complaints, and turn we once
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 303 
 
 more to an object of a less soft and tender 
 nature — to Madame Barbara Alicia Kreut- 
 zer. 
 
 The splendid, dazzling, meteor-like seven- 
 years war^ had now run through about the 
 half of its career, when a whole regiment of 
 the troops of the Germanic body were sent 
 to winter in the town where lived the amia- 
 ble pair whose adventures we are endeavour- 
 ing to immortalize. The town was small^ 
 and the regiment was large ; so that every 
 house was obliged to partake in the burthen 
 of having the soldiers quartered upon them. 
 It fell to the lot of Madame Barbara Alicia 
 to have the entertainment of a subaltern 
 officer, two common soldiers, and a drummer 
 forced upon her ; — what sort of entertain- 
 ment they received may easily be imagined. 
 
 In fact, what with the anxiety she expe- 
 rienced from the sums she found herself 
 daily compelled to disburse in supplies for 
 her new guests, of food, fuel, candles, and 
 straw for their beds, with something in ad- 
 dition to their ordinary fare for a Sunday
 
 304 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 dinner^ and her still greater anxiety lest 
 these formidable marauders should some 
 day take it into their heads to visit her 
 money chest, when even Black Tom might 
 not be able to defend it ; — what with these 
 anxieties, and the increasing inroads made 
 by the elements from the increasing dilapi- 
 dated state of her habitation^ she was actu- 
 ally thrown into a violent fit of sickness. A 
 doctor was sent for; but she soon found that 
 between his fees and the medicines and warm 
 clothing he ordered her, this was an indul- 
 gence far beyond her slender means to sup- 
 port, and in a week he was dismissed. The 
 legacy-hunters were now more assiduouj^ 
 than ever in paying their court, fully con- 
 vinced that the time was not far off when 
 they should reap the rich reward of their as- 
 siduities. They were right in so much as 
 that the period of her woes was arrived ; for 
 nowithstanding the dismissal of the doctor 
 on the tenth day from her seizure, she stole 
 silently and quietly out of the world, Black 
 Tom only being present to receive her last
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 305 
 
 sigh. Tiiey were wrong in expecting to re- 
 ceive the recompense of their attentions ; for 
 as she could not bear the idea of being se- 
 parated from her beloved stores, the thought 
 of making any bequest of them was too re- 
 volting ever to be harboured, and she died 
 leaving to the laws alone the disposal of 
 what she had accumulated. 
 
 How long a time might have elapsed be- 
 fore Black Tom thought proper to disclose 
 the secret of his mistress's decease it is im- 
 possible to determine ; but he was spared the 
 trouble of dispersing the usual circular no- 
 tice sent round to relations and friends upon 
 such an occasion, by the drummer entering 
 the room swearing and cursing most furi- 
 ously, the very day on which this affecting 
 circumstance took place, that coming home 
 at the usual dinner-hour he found not the 
 slightest preparations going fonvard for this 
 most important concern of our lives. Poor 
 Tom looked him very piteously in the face, 
 pointing to his mistress with whom he seem- 
 ed well aware all was not quite right. The
 
 306 THE MAGIC DOLiAr. 
 
 drummer was for a moment mute with 
 astonishment at beholding his hostess a life- 
 less corpse ; but being a very honest fellow, 
 though a little given to swearing and curs- 
 ing, he did not avail himself of the infor- 
 mation he had thus casually acquired, as he 
 certainly might have done, to secure to him- 
 self any part of her property now within his 
 reach. No, he hastened immediately to his 
 officer, to inform him of what had happened ; 
 while the latter, after ascending the staircase 
 to assure himself that what he had heard 
 was true, proceeded to give the necessary 
 information upon the subject to those whom 
 he conceived most interested in it. 
 
 These vvere two distant cousins, jovial gay 
 young iiien, who, though sensible that they 
 were her nearest relations, had never paid any 
 court to her, or even thought for a moment 
 of inheriting her vast wealth. To them, 
 however, nature and the laws now consigned 
 the first cares necessarv upon such an occa- 
 sion, — searching for a will and providing for 
 the old ladv's interment. Taking: with them
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 307 
 
 two Other persons, as witnesses that the 
 search was fairly conducted, ever)^ corner of 
 the ruined castle was ransacked, even to en- 
 dangering the lives of the searchers in visit- 
 ing parts which seemed at every moment 
 ready to fall over their heads. This search 
 being made, no Vvill could be found ; and it 
 remained only for the tw^o young cousins to 
 take possession of what the law awarded to 
 them. Willing to pay every possible re- 
 spect to the deceased, however little de- 
 sen'ed on her part, she was handsomely in- 
 terred without ridiculous ostentation, and 
 Black Tom was sent into the countr}^ to the 
 care of a worthy farmer and his wife, with a 
 pension for his support duringthe remainder 
 of his days, while a provision was made for 
 the officer, the soldiers, and the drummer, at 
 a public-house in the tov/n, that the v/retch- 
 ed falling mansion might be toUiily eva- 
 cuated. 
 
 For some time after the old lady's death 
 bitter murmurings and complainings were 
 heard about the town from the legacy-hunt-
 
 308 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 ers, who had experienced so severe a dis- 
 appointment. Nothing but epithets of the 
 wretched old hag^ the 7iiggardly scurvy old 
 ivitch, were now bestowed upon her, who had 
 formerly been designated as the poor good 
 old lady; and a grudging account was made 
 out of the money that had gone in paying 
 court to her, for which the ungrateful wretch 
 never made any return whatever. Some 
 even affected to believe that she had not 
 come fairly by her death, but that the cou- 
 sins had dealt with Black Tom, who, being 
 an agent of the evil-one, had wrung her 
 neck slily with his feet ; — and this they said 
 was the more probable, since Tom was the 
 only witness of her last moments. After 
 these complaints had been vented by some, 
 and the justice of them canvassed by others, 
 for three or four weeks, neither mistress nor 
 dog was thought of more. 
 
 A question now arose with the heirs, what 
 should, or could be done with the old ruined 
 castle. It was offered to sale; but for some 
 time no purchaser could be found ; the ma-
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 309 
 
 terials of which it was composed were in 
 biich a state of decay that they would not 
 even pay the expense of pulHng it down. 
 At length, however, a purchaser arose from 
 a quarter whence perhaps he might be the 
 least expected. 
 
 The only person who had shown the least 
 disposition to treat Madame Barbara Alicia's 
 memoiy with respect was Mr. Philip Am- 
 brose Netterville. He had always expressed 
 liimself in her lifetime with much deference 
 towards her ; — ** She is an excellent sav- 
 ing managing woman," he would say ; " a 
 worthy citizen of the Holy Roman Empire, a 
 deserving member of the great Germanic 
 body." At her death he began to calculate^ 
 from the reported amount of the property 
 she had left, and from what he knew of the 
 revenues that came into her possession at 
 the death of her husband, how much she 
 must have saved annually. Dividing the 
 property left by the number of years it had 
 been accumulating, he found that her sav- 
 ings must have been at least a thousand rix
 
 310 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 dollars every year, allowing for the accumu- 
 lation by interest and compound interest. 
 Now this was a sum so far beyond what her 
 ostensible revenues could possibly allow, 
 that his brain, ever at work, immediately 
 recurred to her reputed supernatural re- 
 sources in the Black Dog and the Magic 
 Dollar, For the dog, he could not believe 
 him any thing more than a real genuine 
 spaniel ; he could not persuade himself, 
 since his own merits must be equal to hers 
 in the eyes of the arch-fiend, that the latter 
 would have shown her such a decided pre- 
 ference, and wholly neglected him; no, as- 
 suredly his favours would have been more 
 equally divided, and he should have enjoy- 
 ed the patronage of one of his imps under 
 the form of a black cat, a monkey, or some- 
 thing of the kind. 
 
 The supernatural agency of the dog was 
 then wholly rejected — ^But ih^Magic Dollar! 
 — ^What was to be thought of the Magic 
 Dollar 9 Some unseen, unknown, source 
 of wealth she must have had ; and it was
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 311 
 
 scarcely ever that such ideas as that of the 
 Magic Dollar got into general circulation 
 without some foundation in fact. In any 
 case no harm would accrue from sifting the 
 heirs a little upon the matter^ and this might 
 be done rather with the appearance of joke 
 than of entertaining any serious belief in it. 
 From the moment that this idea got pos- 
 session of him, his brain was incessantly 
 at work upon it ; till at last he persuaded 
 himself firmly of the reality of tlie Magic 
 Dollar^ and burned with an irresistible de- 
 sire to obtain possession of it : he even de- 
 termined within himself, that since the heirs 
 were a couple of gay thoughtless young men 
 they might easily be wheedled out of it. 
 
 He began by asking them one day whe- 
 ther they had found any curious coins among 
 the stores of their deceased relation, since 
 it was always reported that she had many 
 which were very curious ; and as he was col- 
 lecting a cabinet of coins, he should be hap- 
 py to purchase what she had left, if they 
 would be wilHng to sell them. They an-
 
 312 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 swered that indeed they had not found any ; 
 not even the Magic Dollar^ they added 
 with a laugh, knowing the reports concern- 
 ing it which had been current in the town. 
 Mr. Philip Ambrose affected to join the 
 laugh, and said, as if jokingly ; " Nay, sup- 
 posing you had found it, no one could have 
 expected you to part with it again : though 
 you might have been scrupulously nice about 
 making use of any thing reputed of Satanic 
 origin, gratitude must have made you che- 
 rish it with care, considering the obligations 
 you owe to it." 
 
 The young men laughed again ; — " No, 
 by Heaven," they said, ** if the old lady had 
 such a thing she must have hid it, like a mag- 
 pie, in some hole or corner of her tumble- 
 down mansion, or buried it in the earth at 
 the bottom of her cellar, for nothing like it 
 could they ever find." A new dawn of light 
 here burst upon the mind of our old usurer. 
 The dollar had not been found, and it might 
 be concealed somewhere about the house : 
 indeed this was most probably the case,
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 313 
 
 since a careful old lady, like the deceased, 
 would hardly trust such a treasure in any 
 but some very secure spot, where no one 
 could have ready access, or where they could 
 not think of looking for any thing of value. 
 There was an easy and obvious mode of as- 
 certaining this ; — the house was upon sale, 
 it might be purchased for a trifle, and he 
 should have nothing to do but carefully to 
 examine it at his leisure. This was resolved 
 on : he proposed the purchase to the present 
 owners, oiiering the smallest sum for it 
 that he thought would be accepted ; and the 
 heirs, rejoiced to get the frail tenement off 
 their hands on almost any terms, eagerly 
 caught at the offer ; so that the bargain was 
 instantly concluded, and tlife. deed of trans- 
 fer drav/n up and signed by both parties. 
 
 Behold then Mr. Philip Ambrose Netter- 
 ville sole possessor of the mansion of his de- 
 ceased prototype ; and, as he trusted, of the 
 main source to which she owed her vast 
 wealth. The joke soon spread through the 
 town, of the motive which induced him to 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 314 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 part with even a small portion of his wealth 
 in a purchase which to reasonable people 
 seemed so unprofitable ; for the two young 
 men smoked the truth, and had no doubt 
 that what they had suggested was the oc- 
 casion of the old usurer's being so desirous 
 to get possession of such miserable dilapi- 
 dated premises. Such a joke was much too 
 good to keep it selfishly to themselves ; and 
 they amused their acquaintance with it in 
 the first instance, who circulating it still more 
 extensively, by the time the deeds were sign- 
 ed and possession given, the matter became 
 the general amuscnient of the town. 
 
 The new owner resolving not to be in 
 any way interrupted or impeded in his re- 
 searches, gave up the management of his 
 own dwelling for a week entirely to his 
 daughter, even at the hazard of her taking 
 advantage of his absence to admit her lover 
 as a visitor^ and went himself to his new 
 one, carrying with him a pickaxe, a spade, 
 and whatever other implements or tools ap- 
 peared necessary for the prosecution of his
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 315 
 
 r't^searches. He bes^an by examining the 
 room which the old lady inhabited for the 
 latter part of her life, and in which she 
 breathed her last, but nothing w^as to be 
 found ; he next proceeded to the garret in 
 which she had formerly lived, but met with 
 no better success : afterwards by degrees 
 every part was searched, not a hole or cranny 
 escaped — still to no purpose. At last he de- 
 scended to the cellar, where he dug up the 
 earth, looking and grubbing into every spade- 
 full as it was turned up — but all was equally 
 unproductive ; and he retired for the night 
 to a miserable bed with which he had fur- 
 nished the old lady's state apartment, ex- 
 ceedingly perplexed and disconcerted. He 
 had still no doubt that the dollar was some- 
 where about the house ; but the question 
 was, how to discover the place of its conceal- 
 ment. At first he thought of having the 
 house pulled down ; but so small an object 
 as a dollar might easily be lost among the 
 rubbish without its being perceived by any 
 body ; or the people \diom he must employ 
 p 2
 
 316 
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 in levelling the edifice with the ground, find- 
 ing the treasure, might conceal it : — the 
 house might then be pulled down in vain. 
 Some other scheme must be thought of; and 
 his busy thoughts soon began to direct them- 
 selves towards Black Tom. Though he 
 had hitherto wholly rejected the idea of his 
 being any thing more than a true, literal, 
 genuine member of the canine body, yet 
 he now began to question himself whether 
 there might not really be something of su- 
 pernatural agency about him ? — whether he 
 might not have been the dragon appointed 
 by the donor to guard the golden fleece, 
 — whether he consequently might not be in 
 possession of the secret where the dollar 
 was to be found ? Then another question 
 would arise, in what way he was to be derJt 
 with to draw the secret from him ? 
 
 The worthy gentleman sat upon the end 
 of his bed — for he had not provided himself 
 with any other seat — revolving these things 
 in his mind, and seriously thinking of en- 
 deavouring to open a negotiation the next
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 317 
 
 day for the purchase of Black Tom, till he 
 heard tlie clock of a neighbouring turret 
 sound the solemn hour of midnight. At this 
 awful moment his ears were suddenly as- 
 sailed with a violent noise like the rattling 
 of chains, and a stamping like that of the 
 feet of horses was heard in the long passage 
 leading to the chamber where he was: all 
 this v/as moreover accompanied by the 
 most fearful and melancholy bowlings and 
 groanings. Sounds so alarming were enough 
 to appal the stoutest heart ; and that of Mr. 
 Philip Ambrose Netterville palpitated with 
 terror to such a degree that it seemed ready 
 to burst through the case in which it was 
 inclosed. He had had the precaution to 
 bring with him a large padlock, with which 
 the door was made fast; — but what could the 
 strongest locks and bolts avail against the 
 intruders which he now expected every mo- 
 ment to burst into the room, and which 
 could not be of mortal mould .'^ He crossed 
 and blessed himself a thousand times^ falling 
 devoutly on his knees to implore the pro-
 
 318 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 tection of St. Ambrose, his patron saint. 
 Still the noises continued: he even thought 
 at intervals that he distinguished voices, and 
 heard his own name repeatedly pronounced, 
 combined with the words Magic Dollar i 
 and his fears suggested that a whole legion 
 of the agents of his Satanic majesty were 
 come in wrath to carry him away, because 
 he had conceived the arrogant project of 
 possessing a treasure never intended to bless 
 any other than his august predecessor in 
 the apartment : the howls he heard some- 
 times resembling those of a dog, he irn« 
 puted them to Black Tom, and had no 
 doubt that it would be his doom to be torn 
 to pieces by that hideous animal. 
 
 Still the noises continued. Yet, to his 
 astonishment, no attemptwas made to burst 
 into the chamber ; and his courage being 
 somewhat fortified by perceiving this, he 
 even thought for a moment, since they w^ould 
 not come to him, of opening the door 
 and presenting himself before them. In 
 thefirstplace^ however, he had no light; and
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 319 
 
 ill the next place, if he had one, a Httle more 
 reflection suggested that The better part of 
 valour ivas discretion ; — so he thought it 
 best to remain where he was. At length the 
 clock struck one : — in a moment the noises 
 ceased, all was silent as tlie grave. At 
 first this silence' seemed more awful than 
 even the late tumult, and he remained 
 unable to stir or lie down on his bed and 
 endeavour to sleep: but an hour having 
 passed, the clock striking two, and eveiy 
 thing being still quiet, he ventured to stretch 
 himself at his length, when he soon sunk 
 into repose, nor woke till the morning light 
 was shining full upon him. 
 
 His first impulse on awaking was to fly 
 from the diabolical mansion never rnore to 
 return, and to commence the rasure of the 
 building that very day. A little reflection, 
 however, effected a total change in his pur- 
 pose. That the noises he had heard pro- 
 ceeded from the Satanic legions employed 
 to guard the treasure, he had not the least 
 (loubt ; but it was also manifest tli^t the old
 
 320 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 lady his prototype must by some means or 
 other have conciliated the good will of these 
 beings, since she had never been molested 
 by them. Might it not therefore be pos- 
 sible for him to gain them over to his in- 
 terest, and accomplish his purpose through 
 their intervention ? After mature delibera- 
 tion, he resolved to watch at least one more 
 night in the house and see what was to be 
 done, taking every possible precaution 
 against the worst that might happen. 
 
 In the first place he provided himself 
 with two pieces of consecrated wax taper ; 
 these he pu: c.iased for a few sous from the 
 chorister of a neighbouring church, who 
 had made a small mistake and thrust them 
 into his own pocket when he was cleaning 
 the plate belonging to the altar, instead of 
 replacing them in the sacred candlesticks, 
 and with the sous he obtained from Mr. 
 Philip Ambrose Netterville he purchased 
 himself a very pleasant regale of fruit. In 
 the next place the usurer got a handsome 
 book of the Evening Prayer, on v.hich he set
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 321 
 
 a large glass of brandy ; — and lighting the 
 consecrated tapers as the first shades of 
 evening came on, he awaited the event with 
 alternate sensations of hope and fear, con- 
 tinuing incessantly in prayer to all the saints 
 of heaven for protection. 
 
 At length the hour of midnight arrived ; 
 and immediately commenced the same clank 
 of chains, the same howlings and groanings 
 as on the preceding night, but without the 
 tramping of horses. The usurer listened ; 
 lie rose to open the door, but stood trem- 
 bling and hesitating for some minutes, when 
 suddenly the noises ceased — a light foot 
 tripping past the door was distinctly heard, 
 and something was rolled along the passage 
 which sounded exceedingly like the roll of a 
 dollar. Such a sound made him erect his 
 ears earnestly : — Was it possible that this 
 was the very dollar, the object of his ardent 
 longing ; and might not these be indeed 
 good spirits sent for the sole purpose of 
 blessing him and crowning his wishes ? Still 
 the tripping continued, and the dollar rolled 
 p5
 
 322 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 on : — but still the usurer hesitated till the 
 clock struck one^ and all was quiet. 
 
 He was now angry with himself and mor- 
 tified that he had suffered such a golden op- 
 portunity to shp : he consequently resolved 
 the next night to banish every fear, and on 
 the first sound of the spirits to venture forth 
 from his lurking-place, and endeavour to 
 enter into a negotiation with them. Mid- 
 night arrived — ^Tlie bowlings and groanings 
 were no longer heard ; only the light step 
 of the spirit in the passage, — not as before 
 rolling the dollar up and down, but it was 
 thrown three or four times against the 
 chamber door, while the delighted Philip 
 thought he heard the spirit at the same time 
 fetch a deep sigh. — This was a hint not to 
 be mistaken ; there was now no doubt but 
 that the purpose of the visit was to put him 
 in possession of the much-wished-for prize. 
 
 Fortified with this assurance he took up 
 one of the consecrated tapers, when advan- 
 cing to the door he unlockedj the weighty 
 padlock; and pronouncing a solemn incan-
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 323 
 
 tation — such as is proper to intimidate an 
 evil spirit and encourage a good one — threw 
 the door wide open. — A figure now pre- 
 sented itself before him, standing leaning 
 with its back again ^t the wall of the passage, 
 directly opposite the chamber door, at which 
 the usurer gazed attentively, when soon he 
 recognised the exact figure and features of 
 the deceased Madame Barbara Alicia Kreut- 
 zer. He started back at first; — the full 
 moon shone directly upon her ghastly form- 
 less form, and displayed with their most 
 horrible effect her falcon-beaked nose, her 
 curved chin, and the antique dirty ragged 
 garment in which she was always attired. 
 Over it was now partially thrown the wind- 
 ing-sheet which wrapped her round in her 
 coffin, left however sufficiently open to show 
 the tattered robe beneath: — a more horrible 
 spectacle could hardly be imagined. 
 
 Netterville at his first recognition of the 
 terrific vision started back with horror, but 
 soon recovered his spirits, assured that he
 
 324 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 had now gone too far to recede, that he 
 must go on and brave the worst : — indeed 
 his terror was soon changed to transport, 
 when he saw evidently in the hand of the 
 ghost something bright and shining, having 
 the exact form and appearance of a dollar, 
 and which he could not doubt was the ob- 
 ject of his wishes. " Speak," he said, ad- 
 dressing the vision, "say what is it disturbs 
 you, spirit of the departed owner of this 
 castle r 
 
 ** This !" resounded a hoarse and hollow 
 voice, while a hand held the dollar up to 
 view. 
 
 " Your Magic Dollar, perhaps, — ^and you 
 wish to be released from it ?'' 
 
 "I do." 
 
 ** Give it then to me — place it upon the 
 ledge of the window by you, and I will take 
 It." 
 
 The ghost shook its head. 
 
 " I understand ; — you certainly cannot be 
 expected to give it for nothing, AVhat is it
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 325 
 
 you would require of me ? — Shall I have 
 twenty masses said for the repose of your 
 soul ?" 
 
 The ghost shook its head more eagerly 
 than before. 
 
 '' Do you mean that this were an idle and 
 useless expense ? — Well then, the money 
 shall be saved, and I will myself pray for you 
 every morning and evening." 
 
 The ghost shook its head still more vio- 
 lently, and stamped with its feet. 
 
 " Well then, only say what you desire." 
 
 " The strong chest with the three curi- 
 ous locks in which your money is kept." 
 
 " Ah, dear ghost ! blessed ghost ! do 
 not ask that ! — It is an inheritance in my 
 family, and I have sworn never to part with 
 it. Ask any thing else, be sure of my com- 
 pliance." 
 
 " Then I demand your soul !" 
 
 The usurer started. ** My soul ! — Hence, 
 away, horrible phantom — My soul! — never! 
 — never ! "
 
 326 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 *' As you please," said tlie ghost, turning 
 -away; " but be sure you will repent it." 
 
 " Stay, stay '."cried the usurer: ** Cannot 
 we arrange the matter in some other way ? 
 — I would fain come to a bargain." 
 
 '' Haste then^ — I scent the morning air 
 — it will soon he one o'clock, and I must be 
 gone. I have only one m.ore proposal to 
 make." 
 
 " Oh name it !'^ 
 
 *^ Give me your daughter." 
 
 ^* My daughter! — Oh Heavens, for what 
 purpose .^" 
 
 " To carry her away with me." 
 
 " But whither.^" 
 
 "That is not your concern." 
 
 ** Cruel, cruel vision ! — For all else I was 
 prepared — Ask any thing that is possible — 
 money, money — ask even a thousand dol- 
 lars, they are yours; I will pinch and scrape 
 for the rest of my life to replace them — But 
 my daughter ! — a father give up his child !" 
 
 " Fool ! — miser ! — miserable usurer! —
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 327 
 
 If I were not more easy to be dealt with, 
 more reasonable tban yourself, we should, 
 never come to a bargain. Now bear my 
 last word, Give yoiu* daughter in marriage 
 to Minehold the Advocate, and the dollar 
 is yours ; — hesitate but one moment, it is 
 lost for ever." 
 
 ** Must I then one way or other part u'ith 
 my daughter ? — better to the Advocate than 
 to thee. Give me the dollar then — she is his. 
 — But, understand, I cannot give her any 
 fortune." 
 
 " Has he ever required any.^" 
 
 " I own he has not, and if...." 
 
 ** No ifs, no reserves." 
 
 ** Well then, Minehold shall havePhillp- 
 pina, — And now give down the Dollar." 
 
 " Idiot! canst thou think thy word is to 
 be trusted ? — Go — let thy daughter be so- 
 lemnly betrothed tomorrow ; at night the 
 Dollar is yours, and I depart to my eternal 
 rest.:' 
 
 " But how am I to be sure thy word will 
 be kept ?"
 
 328 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 " Dost thou suppose ghosts have as little 
 faith as mankind ? — Know then we cannot 
 break our words if we would. Perform thy 
 part, be sure I shall not fail in mine." 
 
 *' Be it so : tomorrow Philippina is no 
 longer mine, but Minehold's — But then the 
 Magic Dollar !...." 
 
 ** Is wholly, solely yours. — Adieu — 
 adieu!" — At this instant the clock struck 
 one : a violent puff from the ghost blew out 
 the consecrated taper, and the vision was 
 seen no more. 
 
 Netterville half dead rushed hastily back 
 into his chamber, and by the light of the 
 remaining unextinguished taper locked him- 
 self fast in, looking anxiously around, as if 
 fearful that some half dozen ghosts or evil 
 spirits were still in pursuit of him. The 
 agitation of his mind between his reluctance 
 to comply wdth the engagement he had 
 made, and give his daughter to Minehold, 
 and his fear that if he failed in it the Dollar 
 was lost for ever, prevented his closing his 
 eyes the whole night. At the dawn of day
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 329 
 
 he quitted the castellated ruins ; and hasten- 
 ing to his own habitation, awoke his daugh- 
 ter and the maid by the storm of passion 
 into which he fell. After this effusion, be- 
 coming a httle more composed, " Be merry, 
 be merry, children," he exclaimed in a tone 
 which had much more in it of anger and 
 sorrow than of mirth: *' Be merry, — for 
 'this day shall Philippina be betrothed." 
 
 At the sound of the dreadful word be- 
 trothed the poor girl turned pale with terror, 
 not doubting that it was to some miserable 
 rich poor man like himself whom her father 
 had selected for a son-in-law. — " Betroth- 
 ed !" she said with a trembling faltering 
 accent, **' And to whom, my father .^" 
 
 " To whom T he replied — " to the beg- 
 gar Minehold, to be sure ; I see plainly that 
 you will never be easy without him: — 'tis a 
 dreadful plague to be a father ; but since 
 there's no help for it so let it be, and the 
 sooner the dirty job is got over the better. 
 Send for him then instantly, that I may finish
 
 330 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 the business, and not have my mind ha^ 
 rassed with it any longer-" 
 
 Philippina was for some moments dumb 
 with astonishment, it might be said also 
 with terror. That her father should thus' 
 have relented in a moment, but from some 
 horrible cause, to her unfathomable, seem- 
 ed to her agitated mind wholly out of the 
 question ; and she scarcely knew which way 
 to look or what to answer. " Send for him 
 instantly," repeated the stern father, '' lest 
 ^elay should change my purpose." 
 
 The affrighted maiden obeyed the man* 
 date, scarcely knowing whether she ought to 
 meet the approaching solemnity as one of 
 the happiest or most dreadful moments of 
 her existence. 
 
 Minehold flew upon the wings of love to 
 obey the delightful summons. Netterville 
 required him solemnly to renounce all 
 claims on Philippina^s maternal inheritance, 
 on dowry, or contribution towards their pre- 
 sent maintenance and establishment in the
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 331 
 
 world. To this he readily agreed ; saying also 
 that to save expense he would not require 
 any entertainments to be given at the wed- 
 ding. The old man, delighted, clasped him 
 in his arms, calling him his prudent oecono- 
 mical son-in-law, and declared his decided 
 opinion, that since he could entertain senti' 
 ments like these he would one day become 
 a rich man. A paper was immediately 
 drawn up stating these conditions,which was. 
 signed and sealed by both parties; and Phi- 
 lippina's hand was piaceci in Minehoicl*^, 
 accompanied by the paternal blessing and 
 prayers for the happiness of the young cou- 
 ple. The father then left them to pour out 
 the effusions of their hearts to each other in 
 private, and returned to his chamber of de* 
 lights and terrors, w^aiting the coming night 
 with the utmost impatience. 
 
 The midniglit clock was heard; the con« 
 secrated tapers were lighted, and the usurer 
 listened with the utmost attention to catch 
 the much-wished-for sounds. But alas ! no 
 sound was to be heard; all continued still
 
 33*2 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 and quiet. A quarter past twelve struck, then 
 half past,- — still not a sound was to be heard, 
 so much as the tramping of a mouse. Cruel 
 suspicions were now awakened in his breast: 
 he thought some scurvy trick had been 
 played him ; and in the extremity of his rage 
 he cursed the ghost, the newly-betrothed 
 couple, and above all he cursed his own 
 folly in suffering himself to be thus duped; 
 — when at length, as the hour of one ap- 
 proached, he distinctly heard a gentle tap 
 at the chamber door. Transported he seiz- 
 ed one of the candles and hastened into the 
 passage, when he saw Madame Barbara 
 Alicia's form standing before him. She was 
 nearly in her former costume ; only that she 
 had now a riding-hat upon her head, gloves 
 on her hands, and the flowing train of her 
 winding-sheet was tucked up. *' Mortal/' she 
 said, " I know that thou hast been faithful 
 to thy word — thou shall find me no less true 
 to mine. Behold me equipped for my last 
 journey, henceforward my spirit is at rest, 
 I visit this earth no more. Thou hast sighed
 
 THE MAGIC DODLAR. 6^0 
 
 to possess the treasure by which I was so 
 long and so steadily enriched; thou art the 
 only earthly being worthy to possess it — 
 Take it then, and farewell." 
 
 As the vision pronounced these last 
 words she pressed into the hand of the over- 
 joyed Netterville, who thought his every 
 wish now consummated, a something which 
 he immediately felt scorch it so violently 
 that he stamped with agony, and letting fall 
 both candle and dollar roared till he might 
 have been heard from one end of the town 
 to the other ; while the author of his cala- 
 mity, the ghost, had vanished, and was 
 seen no more. The usurer, groaning be- 
 tween the smart of the burn and the an- 
 guish of his mind, — since he was now firmly 
 persuaded that some diabolical trick had been 
 played him, — threw himself upon his bed, 
 though to rest was impossible. He cursed 
 alike the inhabitants both of this visible cor- 
 poreal world and of the immaterial spiritual 
 one, and vowed that the very next morning
 
 334 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 he would drViW up ii statement of his wrongs 
 to lay before the chief magistrate of the 
 town, demanding that the contract between 
 his daughter and her advocate should be 
 annulled. 
 
 Thus he lay till morning's dawn ; when he 
 was hastily quitting the chamber, vowing 
 that the ruins should not stand another day 
 the monument of his shame and misfor- 
 tune : But behold, on opening the door, at 
 iiis feet lay the dollar the source of his pre- 
 sent anguish, — the source, as he hoped, of 
 his future joy. Still, however, smarting 
 with the burn, he was afraid at once to take 
 it up ; he spit upon it to tiy v/hether it would 
 hiss ; and finding all quiet, ventured to 
 handle and examine it. He found it en- 
 £:raven all over with characters he did not 
 vmdefstand : he was therefore satisfied that 
 they were magical ones^ and that he actually 
 held the desired treasure in his hand. He 
 put it carefully in his pocket, and pursued 
 his way home with a heart full of content?
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 335 
 
 and a countenance expressive of such gaiety 
 and cheerfulness as the tender Phihppina 
 had never before witnessed. 
 
 A fomentation of white hUes and oil soon 
 healed the burn, and the Dollar was care- 
 fully deposited in a morocco case which he 
 had made on purpose for it ; it was then 
 locked up safe in his chest, while his heart 
 being now expanded beyond what could 
 have been conceived possible^ he ordered 
 a handsome entertainment to be prepared 
 for his daughter s marriage, which was com- 
 pleted in a week after. 
 
 The Dollar was now regularly visited eveiy 
 day to see how much it had produced ; but 
 the store in the iron chest was never found 
 augmented by so much as a ducat, and its 
 wonder-working quality came of course into 
 question. However, since on balancing his 
 accounts at the end of every month, Mr. 
 Philip Ambrose Netterville always found 
 that they were on the gaining side, he sa- 
 tisfied himself that this was owing to the 
 secret influence of his magic coin, though
 
 336 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 operating imperceptibly to him ; aiid it re- 
 sumed all its credit in his imagination. 
 Never did the belief in it quit him to his 
 dying day, nor could he ever sufficiently 
 felicitate himself upon the address he had 
 shown in getting it into his possession. 
 
 For the advocate and his beloved wife, 
 they had no less reason to bless the fancy 
 which had, as things turned out, effected 
 the completion of their happiness ; nor was 
 the affectionate Philippina ever in want of 
 the necessaries of life, or a competent share 
 of the luxuries usually attached to her situ- 
 ation, although her covetous father adhered 
 rigidly to the assurances given on her mar- 
 riage — that no assistance tov/ards the main- 
 tenances of herself and her husband was to 
 be expected from him. Nay, though every 
 year, nearly, brought^n addition to her fa- 
 mily, it was still the same, — no grandchild 
 could ever say that it had received the most 
 trifling present from grandpapa. 
 
 Tlie Magic Dollar could not, however, 
 save its possessor from the hands of death.
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 33/ 
 
 though it might contribute to the happiness 
 of his life. After six years possession, he 
 was gathered to his fathers, and the trea- 
 sure devolved to his daughter. On his 
 death-bed he summoned her into his pre- 
 sence, and now for the first time revealed 
 to any one the whole history and mysteiy of 
 this sacred relic. Philippina listened with 
 astonishment blended with compassion, for 
 she had no doubt that the whole story was a 
 flight of imagination from a mind delirious 
 at the approach of its last hour. She had 
 no sooner, however, seen her father's eyes 
 closed, than she imparted to her husband 
 what she had heard, adding some sensible 
 though perhaps not veiy novel remarks upon 
 the extraordinary wanderings into which the 
 fancy would often run under such circum- 
 stances. 
 
 How much was she surprised to learn 
 that this was no wandering of the fancy; to 
 receive from her husband the full and free 
 confession of the imposition which he had 
 suffered to be practised on her father'^ in 
 
 VOL, I. a
 
 338 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 
 
 order to obtain her hand ! He told her of 
 the conversation that had passed between 
 her father and the heirs of Madame Kreut- 
 zer upon the subject of the dollar, and then 
 proceeded thus : — " When I found that 
 the ruling passion of his mind had ob- 
 tained so strong an ascendancy over him, 
 as in any sort to permit the idea of the Ma- 
 gic Dollar to occupy it, I thought there 
 could be no great harm done to any one, in 
 turning it to my own advantage, so far as 
 to obtain possession of your hand ; resolved 
 that my attempts should be confined to that 
 alone, that not even the most trifling de- 
 mand should be made upon his fortune. I 
 in consequence imparted my views to the 
 officer who had been quartered in the house 
 while Madame Kreutzer was alive, and who 
 was an old friend of mine. He was a gay, 
 lively, volatile young spark, who loved fun 
 to his heart, and he told me to leave the 
 whole matter to his management, and he 
 would ensure me complete success. 
 
 ,^ You know^ my beloved Philippina,.
 
 THE MAGIC DOLLAR. 33^ 
 
 from the story told you by your father, the 
 whole process of the imposition. Suffice it 
 then to say, that the officer from knowing 
 the house could the better carry on his pro- 
 ject, and he engaged his companions, the 
 two soldiers and the drummer, who had 
 been quartered there with him, as assistants 
 in it. A mask was prepared exactly to re- 
 semble the deceased Madame Kreutzer, and 
 any rag-shop could furnish garments such 
 as she constantly wore. The attendants 
 carried with them the chains of the military 
 baggage waggons, which one of them rattled 
 while the others imitated the tramping of 
 horses ; and this could be done very effec- 
 tually by means of their boots, which had 
 iron rims round the soles." 
 
 Such was the history now detailed to Phi*- 
 lippina. She was disposed for the first time 
 in her life to feel a little angry with her 
 Minehold, and turned towards him with 
 the intention of giving him an angry look ; 
 but he prevented it by clasping her in his
 
 340 THE MAGIC DOLLAR, 
 
 arms, impressing an affectionate kiss on her 
 lips, which dispersed the gathering storm, 
 and all was in a moment forgiven and foi'- 
 -gotten. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Printed hy tiickard and Arth-f Tuylor^ Hhoi-lanef L'jndvn,
 
 rinf .m.^ OF ILLINOIS-URBAnT 
 
 3 0112 084217360 
 
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