UN'VEl. 'T OF 
 
 in r -, Library 
 
 AT URE ANA CHAMPAIGN 
 '^ BOOKSTACKS
 
 CLOUDESLEY: 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "CALEB WILLIAMS." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY, 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1830.
 
 PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR, 
 Ri;D LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 The following tale is built upon a fact 
 that occurred about the middle of the 
 
 (Ti last century. I have changed the per- 
 sonages, and endeavoured to clothe the 
 
 cj story with the colours of the imagina- 
 tion^. 
 
 I -^ 
 
 f^ * It is but just that the reader should be inforni- 
 5 ed, that a novel has been already written on this 
 theme, and printed in the year 1743, under the title 
 — of " Memoirs of an Unfortunate Young Nobleman, 
 SI Returned from a Thirteen Years' Slavery in Ame- 
 
 275B14
 
 IV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 When I wrote Caleb Williams, I con- 
 sidered it as in some measure a para- 
 phrase on the story of Bluebeard by 
 Charles Perrault. The present publica- 
 tion may in the same sense be denomi- 
 nated a paraphrase on the old ballad of 
 the Children in the Wood. 
 
 January 30, 1830. 
 
 Tip S* rj^rj Ivo fjiev yeveal fxepoTTiov avdpwiriov 
 'E00/a0', 01 oi Trpoadev &fxa rpa.(f>€y ^S' eykvovTO 
 'Ev IIvXa; rjyaQeri' ert ^e rpiTaroicri fier^ey. 
 
 Ilias, Lib. I, ver. 250.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I FEEL inclined in the following eight 
 or ten pages^ to attempt to illustrate a 
 proposition which has been stated before, 
 but which has not yet perhaps received 
 so full an explanation as might be given 
 to it. 
 
 History — the history of masses of men 
 — may be regarded under two points of 
 view — as it relates to the vicissitudes of 
 nations, their rise and fall, their progress 
 in refinement and corruption, their litera- 
 b2
 
 Tl PREFACfT. 
 
 ture, their habits and customs, their philo- 
 sophy and their religion, in a word, all 
 that belongs to men in the aggregate — • 
 and as it relates to the conduct of those 
 who occupy a considerable place in the 
 scene. Of all and each of the former we 
 may undoubtedly attain to some know- 
 ledge ; but of the character of individuals 
 almost nothing. 
 
 It is under the latter of these heads, 
 that, however paradoxical it may seem, 
 fictitious history is more true and to be 
 depended upon, when it has the fortune 
 to be executed by a masterly hand, than 
 that which is to be drawn from state- 
 papers, documents, and letters written by 
 those who were actually engaged in the 
 scene. 
 
 I do not say this to dissuade my fellow- 
 men from the study of what we call reed
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 human characters. We cannot, if we 
 would, refrain from speculating on the 
 motives, and endeavouring to penetrate 
 into the inmost thoughts of Cromwel 
 and Hampden, of Burleigh and Elizabeth, 
 of Cicero and Caesar. And, since this will 
 infallibly be done in some manner, it is 
 certainly desirable that profound and inge- 
 nious persons should employ their leisure 
 upon these problems, that what will be 
 done well or otherwise, may be done in 
 the way which shall be most skilful. 
 
 But, when all is ended, individual history 
 and biography are merely guesses in the 
 dark. The writer collects his information 
 of what the great men on the theatre of 
 the world are reported to have said and 
 done, and then endeavours with his best 
 sagacity to find out the explanation, to 
 hit on that thread, woven through the 
 bs
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 whole contexture of the piece, which being 
 discovered, we are told, 
 
 no prodigies remain, 
 Comets are regular, and "Wharton plain. 
 
 But man is a more complex machine, than 
 is " dreamed of in our philosophy :" and it 
 is probable that the skill of no moral ana- 
 tomist has yet been consummate enough 
 fully to solve the obscurities of any one 
 of the great worthies of ancient or modern 
 times. A thousand incongruities are to 
 be found in the characters which we 
 seem best to understand; the same man 
 often appears to be not the same, but dif- 
 ferent ; and the explanations which are 
 furnished by a Tacitus or a Machiavel, will 
 not fit all his actions. It may be affirm- 
 ed without a paradox, that no man tho- 
 roughly understands himself: how then 
 is it to be expected, that the historian.
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 who looks at him through a narrow aper- 
 ture, and sees but a small part of his 
 thoughts^ his words and his actions^ should 
 arrive at a sounder result ? 
 
 When I have studied a historical cha- 
 racter with the most patient research, I 
 can only make an approximation to the 
 estimating it truly, and often not that. 
 The most shewy virtues are frequently 
 not those which would best abide the 
 heat of temptation, or the severity of 
 adverse fortune. Many men stand out to 
 the eye of their fellows for better, and 
 many^ for worse than they are. The 
 folds of the human heart, the endless in- 
 termixture of motive with motive, and the 
 difficulty of assigning which of these had 
 the greatest effect in producing a given 
 action, the desire each man has to stand 
 well with his neighbours, and well with
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 himself, all render the attempt to pass a 
 sound judgment upon the characters of 
 men to a great degree impossible. 
 
 Analysis is in this respect a science 
 more commensurate to human faculties 
 than synthesis. When the creator of 
 the world of imagination, the poet, or the 
 writer of fiction, introduces his ideal per- 
 sonage to the public, he enters upon the 
 task with a preconception of the qualities 
 that belong to this being, the principle of 
 his actions, and its necessary concomi- 
 tants. He has thus two advantages : in 
 the first place, his express office is to 
 draw just conclusions from assigned pre- 
 mises, a task of no extraordinary diffi- 
 culty : and secondly, while he endeavours 
 to aid those conclusions by consulting 
 the oracle in his bosom, the suggestions 
 of his own heart, instructed as he is be-
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 sides by converse with the world, and a 
 careful survey of the encounters that 
 present themselves to his observation, he 
 is much less liable to be cribbed and 
 cabined in by those unlooked-for pheno- 
 mena, which, in the history of an indivi- 
 dual, seem to have a malicious pleasure 
 in thrusting themselves forward to sub- 
 vert our best digested theories. In this 
 sense then it is infallibly true, that ficti- 
 tious history, when it is the work of a 
 competent hand, is more to be depended 
 upon, and comprises more of the science 
 of man, than whatever can be exhibited 
 by the historian, 
 
 long and dark, 
 Drawn from the musty rolls of Noah's ark. 
 
 In the drama it is a difterent thing. 
 Whatever is offered there, must be ex- 
 pected to be sketches scarcely half made
 
 Xll PREFACE. 
 
 up, and human passions and character 
 distorted, to fit a plot, and chime in with , 
 an abrupt and violent catastrophe. But 
 the writer of fictitious history has leisure 
 to ripen his materials, and draw out his 
 results one by one, even as they grow up 
 and unfold themselves in the " seven 
 ages" of man. He is not confined, like 
 the dramatist, to put down the words that 
 his characters shall utter. He accom- 
 panies the language made use of by them 
 with his comments, and explains the 
 inmost thoughts that pass in the bosom 
 of the upright man and the perverse. 
 This is his peculiar and enviable prero- 
 gative. — Among dramatists Shakespear 
 is the exception. His conceptions are 
 drawn from the profoundest abysses of 
 thought; they seem to be supplied to 
 him by the plastic principle to which the
 
 PREFACE. XIU 
 
 universe is indebted for its harmonies ; 
 and he had therefore comparatively little 
 need^ like inferior artists, to proceed step 
 by step in unfolding the seeds of cha- 
 racter, and to watch with timid and 
 cautious observation the modes in which 
 they expand themselves, and the peculi- 
 arities by which they are divided. 
 
 Add to which, the characters of the 
 drama, such as they are ordinarily found, 
 are abstractions, or rather diagrams, and 
 not pictures ; the finishing and the reality 
 are wanting. It is as if the shadows and 
 first hints of men, drawn by a novice, 
 walked out of their frames, before the 
 substance and filling out of a man were 
 added to give them reality; or as if the 
 figures of Prometheus were made to act 
 their parts on earth, without waiting till
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 the fire from heaven came to inform them 
 with a living soul. 
 
 They mock our eyes with air. 
 These are black vesper's pageants. With a thought 
 The rack dislimns them, makes them indistinct 
 As water is in water *. 
 
 * A few of our dramatists, contemporaries of Shake- 
 spear, are in a considerable degree to be exempted from 
 this censure.
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The story which I now take up the pen to re- 
 late, derives no interest from myself. I was born 
 in the middle, or I might rather say, the humbler 
 walks of society, and should probably, as far as 
 relates to my own rank and that of my parents, 
 and to any intrinsic qualities I possess, have been 
 born and die, like the herbage of the field, which 
 to-day is, and to-morrow falls under the scythe 
 of the great mower, who cuts down whole fields 
 of the common growth of the soil at his pleasure. 
 But, though insignificant in myself, and uncha- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 racterised by those vehement passions or that 
 inordinate ambition, which places some men on 
 the roll of the distinguished, and perpetuates 
 their memory to honour or to shame, it has been 
 my lot to be connected with persons whose story 
 has a more substantial claim on the curiosity of 
 mankind. It is their adventures, and not my 
 own, that I am about to relate. 
 
 My father was the curate of Epworth in the 
 isle of Axholme, where he reared a family of 
 children with such advantages in point of edu- 
 cation, as his small means enabled him to bestow. 
 His name was Meadows ; and I was myself, who 
 was called after my father William, his sole male 
 progeny that reached years of maturity. He dis- 
 covered in me a sound understanding and a tract- 
 able disposition, and therefore resolved to impart 
 to me such rudiments of learning as he himself 
 possessed. I read with him the works of Virgil, 
 some odes of Horace, and a considerable portion
 
 I. CLOUDESLEY. 3 
 
 of the Greek Testament. He could have wished 
 that, after himself, I should have become a teacher 
 of the gospel agreeably to the mode of the church 
 of England ; but to accomplish this far exceeded 
 his powers. Even the slender advantages I might 
 have derived from being introduced on the stage 
 of the world under his protection I was deprived 
 of, as he died when I was in the fifteenth year 
 of my age. 
 
 I was always greatly devoted to the admiration 
 of such wonders of nature and art as placed them- 
 selves before my sight; and even the obscure 
 corner of the world where I was bred, was not 
 destitute of such objects. Not far from Ep worth 
 existed the remains of a monastery of Carthu- 
 sians, called the Priory in the Wood. And, 
 when I went sometimes farther from home to 
 visit my mother's relations at Barton, where is 
 the noted horse-ferry to Hull, six miles over the 
 Humber, I delighted to spend hours together 
 B 2
 
 4 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 in wild reveries and romantic imaginations, as 
 I saw and heard the dashing of the waters of 
 this magnificent river. 
 
 It was more than a century before, that the 
 three sons of lord Sheffield of Butterwicke had 
 been drowned in passing this river, at a ferry 
 farther from the mouth at which it empties itself 
 into the sea. But the nearness of the geography 
 of the scene counterbalanced with me the di- 
 stance of time at which the event had occurred. 
 They were all young men. The eldest was al- 
 ready married ; and the son of that marriage 
 afterwards succeeded to the family honours. 
 There was something singularly melancholy and 
 striking in so sweeping a catastrophe. I seldom 
 resorted to the shore of the river without the 
 event recurring to my memory. And, especially 
 when the winds were high, the tempest rose, and 
 black and threatening clouds were hurrying 
 along the sky in a December evening, I seemed
 
 I. CLOUDESLEY. 5 
 
 to myself to see their faces indistinctly discovered 
 from time to time in the atmosphere : they ap- 
 peared even in the dawn of opening life, just as 
 they had been in the hour that they perished. 
 At other times I heard wailings and shrieks in 
 the wind, which I interpreted as the voice of the 
 genius of the stream, mourning for the dishonour 
 that befel her in that fatal hour. 
 
 My father died when I was still young. My 
 mother — the widow of a curate with myself and 
 three daughters must necessarily be poor — 
 could think of no better way of disposing of me 
 than by sending me to sea, availing herself of 
 her connections with persons engaged in the 
 maritime profession. I was accordingly placed 
 under a captain, bound for Archangel in Russia, 
 
 The life of a sailor was ill-suited to all the 
 previous habits of my mind. My father had 
 given me some taste for classical studies. As I 
 had always pursued such matters of learning as
 
 6 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 he placed before me without any associate of my 
 own age, my turn of thinking became contem- 
 plative and visionary. The communications of 
 my father were essentially kind and affectionate ; 
 but the difference of our ages, and the authority 
 at once of a parent and an instructor, did not 
 operate to invite me to communicativeness in re- 
 turn. My thoughts were my own ; they seemed 
 to me a peculiar and darling possession ; and I 
 did not like to have them blown upon with the 
 breath, and invaded and disordered with the 
 comments, of another. I grew reserved, and, 
 which is a part of the same feature of character, 
 self-conceited and opinionated. As I had no ha- 
 bitual companion of my own age, I was in one 
 respect so much the freer in my motions, my 
 exercises, my rambles, and still more especially 
 in my reveries. 
 
 The contrast was great between the life I have 
 just described, and that of a mariner. An es-
 
 I. CLOUDESLEY. 7 
 
 seritial ch«iracter of my new destination, was hard 
 labour, and that of the coarsest and most ignoble 
 sort. 1 had not a moment that I could call my 
 own. I was placed incessantly under the com- 
 mands of others, and those commands, so far as 
 I was able to judge,- frequently capricious and 
 unmeaning. They were softened by no gentle- 
 ness and conciliation. The captain, his mate, 
 and their sailors, who, as their junior, perpe- 
 tually assumed to control me, were as hard as 
 the planks on which they trod. 
 
 The condition in which I was placed had a 
 very painful effect upon me. I loved the green 
 earth and the trees and the hills of my native 
 country. I even called to mind the land-clouds 
 of Axholme, so light, so airy, so undulating, — 
 so different from those of the northern seas I 
 was now destined to traverse. I hated the very 
 sight of the barren ocean, and its eternal rest- 
 lessness and unquiet. I pined in thought. I was
 
 8 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 like what I have seen described of the Swiss, 
 when far removed from their country ; I felt that 
 nothing but the sight and the tread of my natal 
 soil could restore me to myself. I fell into a dis- 
 ease similar to that which sailors call a calenture. 
 In my paroxysm I imagined I saw on the sur- 
 face of the ocean meadows, enamelled with dai- 
 sies and flowers of a thousand hues, and trees 
 that waved their mighty branches to the wind ; 
 and I could with difficulty restrain myself from 
 plunging over the vessel's side, and desperately 
 seeking those lovely, transporting objects, which 
 I so vividly saw. 
 
 In a word, long before we reached the port to 
 which we were bound, I became totally incapa- 
 ble of the employment to which I was destined, 
 a mere incumbrance to the crew. The captain 
 resolved to rid himself of me. He found a fa- 
 mily in narrow circumstances at Archangel, who, 
 in consideration of a sum of money he deposited
 
 I. CLOUDESLEY. 9 
 
 in their hands, were willing to watch over my 
 recovery from the state of extreme debility into 
 which I was plunged. The father of this family 
 was an Englishman, who, like myself, had been 
 discharged from a vessel on account of sickness ; 
 but who, being settled ^t Archangel, had married 
 a Russian woman, and, through her connections, 
 and various occupations he found in the place, 
 seemed willing to pass the remainder of his life 
 in that country. 
 
 There was certainly nothing very exhilarating 
 in the situation in which I was now placed ; a 
 stranger, in an inhospitable climate, among a 
 barbarous race, with no one I knew but my un- 
 fettered host and his wife, and with no prospect 
 before me beyond the means of subsistence for 
 a few weeks, which my captain had taken care to 
 supply. Yet my dismission from the loathsome 
 prison in which I had been confined, would have 
 made any place of abode on land a paradise to 
 b5
 
 10 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 me. I took my leave of the captain and my fellow- 
 sailors with the greatest pleasure. I stretched 
 a point, though by no means in a condition to 
 take such a freedom with myself, to repair to 
 the pier, to see the vessel cleared out, and under 
 weigh for England. And, from the moment of 
 this glad event, my health continually improved. 
 For a short time, during my illness, my host 
 generously confined his attention to whatever 
 might renovate my vigour, and improve my 
 health. He conducted himself towards me, as 
 if there were no such thing as the future, and 
 the small supply left in his hands for my use 
 would last for ever. But, in proportion as I 
 became more capable of conversation and rea- 
 soning, he examined me indirectly as to what I 
 had learned, and what talent or skill I possessed 
 that might be applied to my future subsistence. 
 In this respect every thing appeared sufficiently 
 gloomy. I was cast in a land of ^barbarians,
 
 I. 
 
 CLOUDESLEY. H 
 
 where all the arts of life were yet in their in- 
 fancy. I had learned no trade, and had no skill 
 in any of those crafts which are most in request 
 in such a state of society. My landlord frankly 
 confessed to me the anxiety he felt on my ac- 
 count. 
 
 One day he came home with an air of unusual 
 cheerfulness. He said, something had suggested 
 itself to him, which he thought might be turned 
 to my advantage. Peter the Great at this time 
 sat on the throne of Russia. It is unnecessary 
 to mention with what earnestness he applied all 
 his thoughts to the improvement of his domi- 
 nions. He laid the first foundations of the city 
 of Petersburgh in 1703. After the victory of 
 Pultowa in 1709, by means of which his great 
 rival, Charles the Twelfth, was reduced to the 
 condition of a fugitive, he became fixed in the 
 idea of rendering this place the capital of his 
 empire. He founded in it a castle, a palace,
 
 12 CLOUDESLEY. CHr 
 
 and a metropolitan church, which was destined 
 to receive the remains of all the future sove- 
 reigns of Russia. He made a grand naval ar- 
 senal at Cronstadt. And, lastly, he founded an 
 academy for the improvement of science, and an 
 university for the education of the more gifted 
 or more fortunate youth of his dominions. As 
 Russia was at this time plunged in a state of the 
 profoundest ignorance, the emperor could dis- 
 cover no other means for its improvement in 
 either science or literature, than the inviting 
 such foreigners from all quarters as should be 
 best able to assist him in his projects. My host 
 had just learned that a commissioner had arrived 
 at Archangel, for the purpose of discovering 
 such persons as might be of use in the new in- 
 stitution. 
 
 My qualifications were of the simplest sort, 
 ai)d in no other country than Russia would have 
 been held of the slightest value. I had read a
 
 I. CLOUDESLEY. 13 
 
 few of the Latin authors, and had mastered the 
 first rudiments of Greek. I had never been at 
 any school; and of consequence my acquaint- 
 ance with the principles of these languages was 
 slovenly and imperfect. But, such as it was, it 
 was not without its estimation in the sixtieth 
 degree of north latitude, and the thirtieth of 
 longitude. In a word, I was introduced to the 
 emissary of the czar. My origin, as a native of 
 one of the more civilized countries of Europe, 
 was of eminent service to me. The progress of 
 my acquaintance with the humanities was as- 
 certained ; and I was immediately engaged as a 
 sort of assistant to initiate youth in the study of 
 these languages. I therefore set out, with the 
 commissioner and two or three other persons, 
 whom, in pursuance of his instructions, he had 
 enlisted in his train, from Archangel to Peters- 
 burgh.
 
 14 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 I HAVE met with few things in the course of my 
 existence more striking, than my first approach 
 to this new-created metropolis. It lies on the 
 river Neva, which takes its rise from the lake La- 
 doga, and discharges itself from three mouths 
 into the gulph of Finland, the eastern branch 
 of the Baltic sea. The city stands on three or four 
 islands, formed by these streams ; and the sub- 
 urbs extend into the provinces of Carelia on the 
 north, and Ingria on the south. The area on
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 15 
 
 which it is placed was, a short time before, no- 
 thing but a vast morass, with no other buildings 
 upon it than a few fishermen's huts. It was the 
 mighty genius of the czar, that prompted him to 
 remove his residence and the seat of empire from 
 Moscow, which had been the abode of his an- 
 cestors for centuries, and was in the centre of 
 his European dominions, and fix it on the west- 
 ern extremity, and on a spot so undesirable to 
 all vulgar observation. But it is this act, that 
 promises to place Russia among the foremost 
 of European powers, and open to her a career 
 among the nations of the civilised world, to 
 which it is difficult for the boldest spirit of 
 prediction to assign any limits. 
 
 When I reached the metropolis, it had been 
 founded only ten or twelve years; but it had 
 already made great progress, and wore the ap- 
 pearance of a city. Peter had built a formidable 
 castle, well supplied with all the means of de-
 
 16 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 fence, and a magnificent cathedral. He was 
 wholly careless about his personal accommo- 
 dations, and resided for a considerable time in a 
 small wooden house, which many of his officers 
 would have disdained to occupy. At the same 
 time, in the true spirit of a despot, he compelled 
 his principal nobility to erect themselves houses 
 in his capital; and, after a few years, having 
 changed his plan, and determined that, not Pe- 
 tersburgh island, but BasiFs island to the west, 
 should be the site of the main buildings of the 
 cit}^, they were obliged once again to desert the 
 stone edifices that had been erected, and begin 
 afresh on the spot which had now been chosen. 
 
 I had scarcely arrived at Petersburgh, when 
 this great man, the founder of this wonderful 
 city, the creator of a mighty empire, died. He 
 was in the vigour of life, not having yet com- 
 pleted the fifty-third year of his age : happy for 
 himself, having known nothing of the ebb of
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 17 
 
 human life, or the infirmities of declining years ; 
 unhappy for his country, since every year of his 
 existence added something to the civilization of 
 Russia, and to his vast schemes for her future 
 prosperity. He was indeed an extraordinary 
 creature, aiming always at something vast, 
 shrinking from no privations, deterred by no 
 opposition of labour or difficulty. Meanwhile, 
 conquering all outward difficulties, he was never 
 able to conquer himself. The high priest of all 
 civilization, he was himself a barbarian. He 
 was subject to the most violent excesses of rage, 
 which took from him all power of self-control. 
 At these seasons his servants and his ministers 
 underwent severe personal chastisements from 
 his own hands ; and the fit frequently terminated 
 in a species of epilepsy, which for a time de- 
 prived him of sense. He was cruel and re- 
 morseless in the punishments he inflicted on 
 those whom he regarded as delinquents, and
 
 18 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 even occasionally made himself sport from being 
 the executioner of his own sanguinary judg- 
 ments. 
 
 I witnessed his funeral. Nothing could ex- 
 ceed the impression of this exhibition. He was 
 buried in the midst of the city he had raised on 
 the waves of the sea, and in the empire which 
 he had first joined to the mighty confederacy 
 of the civilized world. The solemnity was con- 
 ducted under the direction of his widow, a 
 woman whom for her talents he had raised from 
 the lowest ranks of society, and made the part- 
 ner of his throne ; who adored his person, and 
 shared in all his plans; and who by his own 
 appointment became his successor, because in 
 her he could best trust that, when he was dead, 
 the immortal part of him would survive. His 
 principal minister was MenzikofF, whose appear- 
 ance and physiognomy had first caught his at- 
 tention, standing, as a boy, near the gate of the
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 19 
 
 imperial residence, selling pastry. The minister 
 did credit to the discernment of the master. 
 He was a great general, and, like Peter, devoted 
 to the cause of science and art. The year be- 
 fore his death, the czar caused his consort to be 
 publicly crowned, an act which was understood 
 as designating her to the succession in case of 
 his decease. Subsequently there arose a mis- 
 understanding ; and it was conceived that the 
 emperor had changed his design : but Menzi- 
 koff, whose mistress Catherine had been before 
 she attracted the notice of Peter, embraced her 
 cause, and secured her elevation. 
 
 Catherine had passed her early years in the 
 utmost obscurity; and it is understood had 
 never acquired the arts of reading and writing. 
 But she possessed the most valuable endow- 
 ments, an unparalleled sweetness of temper, and 
 great courage. It is well known, that by her 
 presence of mind she saved Peter and his army
 
 20 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 on the banks of the Pruth ; and the czar never 
 ventured upon his most sanguinary executions, 
 but when Catherine happened to be absent. 
 During her short reign however the adminis- 
 tration of government was almost entirely in the 
 hands of MenzikofF. She early fell into a de- 
 cline, and in little more than two years followed 
 her husband to the tomb, being in the twenty- 
 ninth year of her age. This event occurred in 
 the year 1727. 
 
 Catherine had borne to the czar several chil- 
 dren. The males died in their infancy; but 
 she had two daughters, Anne and Elizabeth, 
 whom she tenderly loved. The eldest of these 
 she designed for her successor. But the ascen- 
 dancy of Menzikoff was too absolute ; and he 
 compelled her to give her voice for Peter the 
 Second, grandson to the czar by a former mar- 
 riage. By an edict of the late emperor it was 
 decreed, that the sovereign in possession should
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 21 
 
 in all cases have the power to name the suc- 
 cessor. MenzikofF fixed on the young prince in 
 preference, being a -minor, only twelve years old 
 at the death of Catherine. He believed himself 
 so firmly seated at the head of affairs, as to en- 
 able him, under the name of the infant, to ex- 
 ercise all the powers of a sovereign. 
 
 The first step, taken by Menzikoff at the 
 commencement of the new reign, was to dissolve 
 the council of regency, and to lodge the czar 
 within his own palace. By studied affronts he 
 compelled the princess Anne, and her husband 
 the duke of Holstein, to withdraw out of Russia. 
 Satisfied that the power of government was en- 
 tirely in his hands, he paid little attention to 
 conciliate the good will of the youthful sovereign. 
 But his confidence proved his ruin. 
 
 Menzikoff was taken ill ; and the Dolgo- 
 roukis, one of them a counsellor of state, an- 
 other engaged in the education, and attendant
 
 22 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 on the person of the czar, took advantage of his 
 absence, to deprive him of his authority. Alarm- 
 ed at this intelligence, MenzikofF hastened to his 
 post; but, when he arrived, he found that the 
 Dolgoroukis had carried off the young prince 
 to PeterhofF, a delightful retreat on the coast of 
 Ingria, the summer-residence of the czars. He 
 followed them, and was again disappointed ; his 
 prize had escaped. He then conceived that the 
 best project he could adopt, was to make suit- 
 able arrangements for the solemn entrance of the 
 czar into his capital ; believing that, under cover 
 of that solemnity, he should not fail again to get 
 possession of his person ; but, while he was en- 
 gaged in these preparations, he was arrested, his 
 property confiscated, and himself sent into exile, 
 to one of the most northerly and inclement re- 
 gions of Siberia. 
 
 Here MenzikoflP shewed that he was some- 
 thing more than the mere child of the caprice
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 23 
 
 of fortune. His wife, overcome with the sad re- 
 verse, did not live to reach the place of their 
 exile. The government allotted to this proud 
 man, who had for years lived in the possession 
 of every possible magnificence and splendour, a 
 pittance of about forty shillings per diem for his 
 subsistence. MenzikofF however conformed him- 
 self to his circumstances, worked with his own 
 hands, and founded a church with a portion of 
 his mcome. His spirit was unsubdued ; his se- 
 renity and self-respect seemingly unshaken : but 
 the change was too great for his animal force ; 
 and he died in about two years from the com- 
 mencement of his exile. 
 
 The Dolgoroukis were now apparently at the 
 pinnacle of prosperity and power. The daughter 
 of the younger Dolgorouki, sub-governor to the 
 czar, was contracted by him in marriage to his 
 master ; and they directed all measures, and dis- 
 posed of all offices at their pleasure. But finally
 
 24 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 they experienced a reverse more stupendous than 
 that of MenzikofF. The young czar was seized 
 with the small pox, and died in the fifteenth year 
 of his age, and in the beginning of the year 1730. 
 The first thought of the elder Dolgorouki ap- 
 pears to have been, to place his own kinswoman, 
 the contracted wife of the czar on the throne ; 
 and he was even accused of forging a will for him 
 to this effect. He speedily found however, that 
 his authority was by no means sufficient for this 
 purpose. He therefore changed his plan, and 
 looked round among the members of the royal 
 family for a suitable successor. The duchess of 
 Holstein had died just before the emperor, and 
 had left a son, one year old. Dolgorouki how- 
 ever had fears from the character and popularity 
 of his father, the duke, if he had been called to 
 the succession. He accordingly fixed upon 
 Anne, duchess dowager of Courland, daughter 
 to the elder brother of Peter the Great. He
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 25 
 
 believed he should be able to limit her preroga- 
 tives as he pleased. He assembled the council 
 of which he was a member, and there digested a 
 convention to be tendered to the. duchess, which 
 would in effect have stripped her of all authority, 
 and have vested the government exclusively in 
 the present ministers and the council. The elder 
 Dolgorouki and two principal officers of state 
 hastened to Mittau, the capital of Courland, to 
 announce to the duchess her nomination, and 
 obtain her signature to the conditions pre- 
 scribed. 
 
 But all his schemes proved abortive. The 
 Dolgoroukis had a majority in the council, 
 which consisted of seven persons. But Golofkin, 
 the chancellor, Osternian, the vice-chancellor, 
 and Jagousinski, another member of the council, 
 who had been an especial favourite with Peter 
 the Great, entered into a conspiracy against 
 them. They dispatched a secret messenger 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 to Mittau, who had the start of the deputies, 
 to advise the duchess implicitly to subscribe 
 to whatever was required, promising that in 
 the sequel they would free her from the shackles 
 that were imposed on her. 
 
 Anne complied with this advice, and set off 
 for Moscow, where the court at present resided. 
 In concert with her secret counsellors, she in- 
 trigued with the Russian nobility, painted to 
 them in the strongest language the despotism of 
 the Dolgoroukis, and incited them to demand 
 the setting aside the convention. A public 
 assembly of the grandees of Russia was then 
 convoked, at which the empress was invited to 
 appear. The nobility represented to her the 
 unpopularity of the terms to which she had sub- 
 scribed at Mittau. She commanded the chan- 
 cellor to produce the document, and to demand 
 the sentiments of the assembly respecting it, 
 article by article. They were each of them con-
 
 II. 
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 27 
 
 demned in succession. The empress then took 
 the document into her own hands, complained 
 that she had been deceived respecting the wishes 
 of her subjects when she set her hand to it, and 
 tore it to pieces, declaring that she would hence- 
 forth rule alone, conformably to the ancient 
 usages of Russia. 
 
 Anne was forty years of age at the period of 
 her accession. She had been married to the 
 duke of Courland in 1710, and in the following 
 year became a widow. The sovereignty of 
 Courland was then conferred on her by the 
 states of the country. She certainly experienced 
 great kindness from her uncle, Peter the Great, 
 her father having died when she was six years 
 old. He had made this match for her; and, as 
 she was well informed and highly accomplished, 
 it is reasonable that we should impute these ad- 
 vantages in the same quarter. She had great 
 courage, and was free from all affectation. She 
 c2
 
 28 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 must have been indebted for many of her good 
 qualities to nature, as she derived others from 
 education. She had a visible repugnance to 
 stateliness and reserve, at the same time that 
 the grace of her manner was such as to prevent 
 those about her from forgetting her dignity. She 
 had a voice peculiarly pleasing, and her smile 
 vvas beautiful. Her temper was humane; she 
 had great sensibility ; and was often observed to 
 shed tears, when a melancholy story was related 
 to her. 
 
 She had had a favourite for years before she 
 quitted Courland, John Ernest Biren, who af- 
 terwards became her principal minister, when 
 she was seated on the throne of Russia. He 
 was of plebeian extraction, and, in point of abi- 
 lities at least, did honour to the judiciousness of 
 her selection. No scandal ever attached itself 
 to this favouritism ; his mistress brought about 
 his marriage into one of the noble families of
 
 11. CLOUDESLEY. 2^ 
 
 Courland. The empress was governed by him 
 in almost every thing, because she had full con- 
 fidence in his judgment and integrity; and, 
 though a thousand cabals were formed against 
 him, they never had power to shake the stea- 
 diness of her predilection. 
 
 There was a glaring contrast between the 
 manners of the empress and her favourite. She 
 was herself refined, polished and humane. Biren 
 on the contrary had a strong understanding and 
 much sincerity ; but he could never conquer the 
 original ruggedness of his nature. He was de- 
 voured with ambition ; and, the higher he rose 
 in station and power, the less control did he ex- 
 ercise over the ferocity of his disposition. He 
 was liable to extraordinary bursts of passion ; 
 and, where he entertained resentment or hate, 
 he scrupled no means of gratifying his spleen. 
 He is computed in the course of his admini- 
 stration to have sent no fewer than twenty thou-
 
 30 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 sand victims to Siberia. Occasionally he seemed 
 almost to delight in shedding blood under the 
 forms of justice. The contentions between him 
 and his mistress on this subject were said at 
 times to afford a singular spectacle ; she intreat- 
 ing, often with tears, that he would remit of his 
 severity, in this case and another ; and he in- 
 sisting that the measures he adopted were indis- 
 pensible, and protesting that he could no longer 
 pretend to conduct the affairs of the empire, if 
 justice was not permitted to take its course. 
 Yet this same man was frank, easy and familiar 
 with those to whom he conceived a partiality. 
 He w^as a warm friend, but a remorseless enemy: 
 add to which, he was somewhat dangerous in 
 the former character, since he easily conceived 
 offence where he thought himself unworthily 
 treated, and then scrupled no means of punish- 
 ing the man in whom he regarded himself as 
 having been deceived.
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 31 
 
 For two years after the accession of Anne to 
 the throne of Russia, Biren seemed scrupulously 
 to abstain from interfering in political matters, 
 leaving state-affairs to the three ministers above- 
 mentioned, who constituted what was called the 
 cabinet. But in all this there was somewhat of 
 delusion. Biren had a mind capable of com- 
 prehending the greatest things. During his re- 
 sidence in Courland he found nothing of a po- 
 litical nature that took hold of his spirit. Cour- 
 land was but a mimic sovereignty ; and her 
 foreign connections the fit occupation for an in- 
 tellectual dwarf. But, when his mistress suc- 
 ceeded to the extensive dominions of Russia, 
 this was quite a different matter. He became 
 aware that here was a theatre in which great 
 good might be effected, and great glory ac- 
 quired. He resolved to confine himself no more 
 to the narrow field of a drawing-room, but to
 
 32 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 become, what in his heart he felt himself capa- 
 ble of being, a great minister. 
 
 Having fixed his determination, he for the 
 first two years exhibited no symptoms of what 
 he designed. He rather strikingly kept aloof 
 from politics, and appeared only the minister 
 of his mistress's pleasures. But he devoted 
 every hour that he could call his own to the 
 study and contemplation of that, which to vul- 
 gar observation he most avoided. He studied 
 history in secret ; he surrounded himself with 
 maps, charts, and elevations. He disdained no 
 means of improvement; he called about him 
 privately all persons who he believed could as- 
 sist his researches. He read books of travels ; 
 he enquired into ancient and modern times ; he 
 examined the courts of princes, as far as this 
 could be effected by reading or conversation, 
 and made himself familiar with foreign nations,
 
 II. CLOUDESLEY. 33 
 
 their strength, their revenues, and their disci- 
 pline. At the end of two years he came forth 
 with the result of his labours ; and, from this 
 time forward, he may be considered as in effect 
 the sole minister of the empress. 
 
 The result was, that the reign of Anne was 
 glorious, and that she produced an impression 
 on foreign states, hitherto unknown in the an- 
 nals of Russia. The court of Vienna in parti- 
 cular felt her importance ; and, in concert with 
 that power, she placed a king of her own chusing 
 on the throne of Poland. No sooner was this 
 .effected, than she declared war against the 
 Turks. In this contention the success of her 
 arms was memorable; and she was thought at 
 one time to threaten Constantinople itself. At 
 the same time that all this was doing, the Rus- 
 sian empire was improving in all other respects. 
 The army, under the administration of Biren, 
 assisted by the admirable talents of Count Mu- 
 c 5
 
 34 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 nich, was greatly improved in prowess and dis- 
 cipline. Meanwhile the commerce of the coun- 
 try was increased, and all her internal institu- 
 tions and establishments received their due 
 share of encouragement. 
 
 While Biren thus watched over the interests 
 of the Russian empire, he was not inattentive to 
 his own. Immediately on the accession of Anne 
 he was made great chamberlain, a count, and 
 knight of St. Andrew, the highest order of 
 knighthood in the empire. In 1736 Ferdinand, 
 uncle to the late duke of Courland the husband 
 of Anne, to whom the succession of the duchy 
 was conceived properly to belong, though the 
 power of Russia turned it aside from its course, 
 died. Anne seized this occasion to impart 
 additional elevation to her favourite ; and she, 
 who had already given a king to Poland, did 
 not doubt of her power to confer this princi- 
 pality. Accordingly Biren, at tliis occurrence,
 
 II. 
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 35 
 
 was raised to the dignity of duke of Courland, 
 and thus became enrolled in the catalogue of 
 
 the sovereign princes of Europe. To return 
 
 from this seeming digression, to the narration 
 of my own affairs.
 
 36 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Old as 1 am, for ladies' love unfit, 
 The power of beauty, I remember yet. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 In the university of Petersburgh my situation 
 was humble. The professors were men in the 
 meridian of life, and who had already acquired 
 for themselves some reputation in France, Ger- 
 many or Poland, the countries from which they 
 came. I was the only Englishman, and, bring- 
 ing with me a certificate from neither Oxford 
 nor Cambridge, was looked down upon with
 
 III. CLOUDESLEY. 37 
 
 a sort of supercilious contempt. The office of 
 instructing others had the effect of giving per- 
 spicuity to my own ideas, and arrangement to 
 the principles with which I was acquainted. 
 The attempt to explain things to my pupils, 
 required of me in each instance that I should 
 first explain them to myself. Being cast by the 
 effect of hazard upon this species of occupa- 
 tion, I resolved to do my utmost to improve my- 
 self in those branches of learning which I was 
 called on to teach. I applied to the professors 
 in each of these departments, and intreated them 
 to have the kindness to further my progress. 
 But, in every application without exception, I 
 met with a repulse. It was not their business 
 to instruct those who pretended to be instruc- 
 tors themselves. They desired to keep up the 
 line of distinction between a professor, and a raw 
 and half-informed pedagogue. They had each 
 of them countrymen or friends, whom they aimed
 
 38 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 to place over my head, or by thrusting me out 
 to get nominated in my stead. Every day, in- 
 stead of advancing in my career, I seemed to 
 myself to be losing ground. Though I was not 
 ambitious, I grew dissatisfied under this con- 
 viction. I continued for years in my humble 
 situation in the university, and every day became 
 more disturbed with the wish that it was changed. 
 Industry and application have been understood 
 to lead to advancement ; but here the order of 
 nature seemed to be inverted to depress me. 
 As the university increased in character and po- 
 pularity, my situation in it became daily more 
 insignificant. 
 
 By this time Biren was become all-powerful 
 in the court of Russia. He looked into every 
 thing ; he examined, every thing with his own 
 eyes. Though not occupying any one of the 
 great offices of state, he kept a bureau de mmistre, 
 just as if he had been president of the finances,
 
 in. CLOUDESLEY. 39 
 
 or one of the imperial secretaries. He had a 
 multitude of clerks, perpetually occupied in 
 translating documents, and preparing memorials 
 and instructions, under his own eye. About 
 this time he conceived the idea, that he stood in 
 need of a clerk familiarly acquainted with the 
 English tongue. I was mentioned to him. He 
 sent for me ; and, being satisfied with my ap- 
 pearance, acquisitions, and intelligence, imme- 
 diately took me into his pay. 
 
 I was highly gratified with this change. I 
 had become heartily tired of the university, its 
 cold, formal and imperious professors, and the 
 monotony, which had occupied me for years, of 
 initiating the dull and sluggish Russians in the 
 rudiments of classical knowiledge. My pupils 
 had, most of them, the stature of men, without 
 the apprehension of a southern school-boy. 
 Their very aspect w^as spoiled with the accession 
 of a load of superfluous and unanimated flesh.
 
 40 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 which had never been subtilised and made 
 flexible to the impulses of intellect. 
 
 In my new situation 1 had no unfrequent op- 
 portunities of communication with the favourite 
 himself; and I looked upon him as belonging to 
 a more gifted class of human beings. Whatever 
 might be his defects in the eye of one who had 
 observed the varied and wonderful scenes of 
 active civilised life, I had never seen such a man. 
 The versatility of his mind and the quickness of 
 his comprehension were truly astonishing. He 
 always communicated his directions with mar- 
 vellous clearness and in the most concise terms, 
 yet without obscurity. As has been already 
 mentioned, the natural promptings of his mind 
 were those of the utmost sincerity. Haughty 
 and overbearing as he was to those whom he 
 regarded as his enemies, and who appeared to 
 stand in the way of his purposes and his will, to 
 me, whose function it was to serve and oblige
 
 III. CLOUDESLEY. 41 
 
 him, he was always easy and familiar, and 
 seemed scarcely to recollect the vast distance 
 there was between us. There was no need that 
 he should remind me of it; there was no fear 
 that I should presume upon his kindness. 
 
 One thing that was gratifying to my inexpe- 
 rienced mind was, that we, clerks in office, were 
 permitted to go to court on great public days, 
 to swell the train of our superiors. I was as well 
 acquainted with the countenances and carriage 
 of the empress, the princess Elizabeth, daughter 
 to Peter the Great, and afterwards empress, and 
 the princess Anne, niece to the reigning sove- 
 reign, and who appeared destined to succeed 
 her, as I was with those of my companions and 
 equals. 
 
 Even my fellow-clerks in office and their con- 
 nections constituted a species of society, that 
 was as gratifying as it was new to me. We for 
 the most part considered each other as equals,
 
 42 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 and felt ourselves free and unrestrained in our 
 mutual intercourse. We were animated with 
 the gaiety of youth, and had to a certain degree 
 that warmth of heart, which characterises un- 
 corrupted man, not yet hardened and rendered 
 suspicious by the practice of the world. This 
 was a perfect contrast to the life I had led for 
 several years in the university. There I saw 
 only the professors, who regarded me as of an 
 inferior order of the creation, and who found a 
 cold and sullen gratification in making me feel 
 all my littleness, or the raw youths I had to in- 
 struct, whom my occupation induced to consider 
 as the enemy of their pleasures, and who shrunk 
 from familiarity with me as sedulously on that 
 score, as the professors did from supercilious 
 insolence and contempt. 
 
 Among the young men I daily saw in the 
 course of my present occupations, a particular 
 attachment speedily grew up between me and a
 
 III. CLOUDESLEY. 43 
 
 clerk of the name of Alexis ScherbatofF. He 
 was in some sense connected in the ties of kin- 
 dred with the favourite himself. His mother 
 was the half sister of Biren, being born of the 
 same father by another wife. Madame Scher- 
 batofF, as I shall now call her, had offended 
 Biren by a marriage which he considered as 
 degrading. He had therefore refused all inter- 
 course with her for years, and had even done 
 various ill offices underhand to her husband, 
 crossing him in his views of life. After a mar- 
 riage of some years however Scherbatoff died, 
 leaving the partner of his days a widow, with 
 two children, a son and a daughter. As he had 
 been misuccessful in all his views for an esta- 
 blishment, he left her in very narrow circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Biren, in the midst of all his sternness and 
 disdain, was a man not altogether of an unge- 
 nerous disposition. Or, at least, the cause which
 
 44 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 had produced his hostile feelings towards ma- 
 dame ScherbatofF being removed, his pride for- 
 bade his suffering her and her young ones to 
 sink into destitution. He procured from the 
 empress a small pension for the widow; and 
 when the son became of an age to be useful, he 
 placed him, as has already been said, at a desk 
 in his bureau. 
 
 This however was in a very small degree ad- 
 vantageous to the young man. The kindness 
 and courtesy of Biren were great ; but, where- 
 ever he had conceived displeasure, it may be 
 doubted whether in any instance he wholly dis- 
 missed the feeling of hostility from his bosom. 
 Alexis ScherbatofF was destined deeply to feel 
 this. There was not a young man in our office, 
 that by his intelligence and industry was more 
 fully entitled to encouragement. As being re- 
 lated to the favourite, he probably thought that 
 in a twofold sense he had a right to expect this.
 
 III. CLOUDESLEY. 45 
 
 But he experienced the very contrary. Biren 
 always regarded him with a severe and a frown- 
 ing aspect. He seemed on all occasions to view 
 him as the representative of his father, destined 
 to remind this arrogant and ambitious man of 
 the affront which in his opinion had been put 
 upon him. He never accosted Alexis but with 
 peculiar sternness. He appeared to take delight 
 in withering the blossoms of his youth. He 
 was perpetually putting upon him one slight or 
 another. He was forward to shew a preference 
 to any other member of our corps, rather than 
 to him. 
 
 Alexis was a youth of high spirit, and could not 
 patiently endure the treatment he experienced. 
 Had he been no way related to the favourite, 
 the case would have been different. It would 
 have appeared only that he was discountenanced, 
 because, for some capricious motive or other, he 
 did not take the fancy of his employer. But, as
 
 46 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 it was, the neglect that was dealt out to him had 
 a peculiar sting, and made the light-hearted and 
 unfeeling among his associates regard him as a 
 person, that they also might consider as out of 
 suits with fortune. He tried, by every means 
 that could be practised by an ingenuous spirit, 
 to mitigate the unkindness of Biren ; but in vain. 
 Failing in this, his next thought was to launch 
 into some new scheme of life, where he should not 
 be met, as now, with a determined and systema- 
 tical discouragement at everj^ turn. But no one 
 dared help him in this. In Russia every one 
 was servile to the prosperous and the great, and 
 dared not thwart or dispute with their decrees. 
 There, at that desk, Biren had placed his ne- 
 phew; and, without an intimation from him, no 
 one would venture to appear in an attempt to 
 change his fate. The temper of Alexis was 
 soured, and his very heart pressed down, with 
 the consciousness that all his ^vishes were fruit-
 
 III. CLOUDESLEY. 47 
 
 less, and that, the more he struggled, he was 
 but the more sensibly to feel the chains that 
 bound him. — I only pitied his fate, and became 
 the more warmly attached to his society. 
 
 He had however one consolation ; and, the 
 more forlorn he felt himself, the more he hugged 
 that to his bosom. His sister Isabella had a 
 confidential friend and playmate from infancy, 
 a girl of the same age as herself, Helena Lu- 
 dolfski. They were in a manner inseparable ; 
 and when Helena was not at the house of ma- 
 dame Scherbatoff, Isabella was almost sure to 
 be at the residence of her friend. Helena was 
 of a tender and sympathetic disposition ; and, 
 when she saw the young and handsome Alexis, 
 apparently labouring under severe depression, 
 she exerted herself to the utmost of her power 
 to console him. She gradually became the 
 chosen confident of all his vexations and sorrows. 
 Her father also liked the young man, and ap-
 
 48 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 peared to think of him as the person he wished 
 for his son-in-law. He was related to the fa- 
 vourite of the empress; that to the father of 
 Helena was a great recommendation. 
 
 But Ludolfski was in an eminent degree a 
 worldly-minded man. After a time he learned 
 that Biren was far from being a friend to his 
 nephew, but rather appeared upon all occasions 
 desirous to keep him down. Those who fa- 
 voured Alexis were sure to find sooner or later 
 that that was not the way to win the favour of 
 the man in power. Ludolfski was not slow to 
 perceive this ; and he was then as forward to 
 discourage the pretensions of the young Scher- 
 batoffi as he had before been to promote them. 
 He forbade him his house, and enjoined his 
 daughter henceforth to regard him as a stranger. 
 At the earnest intreaty of Helena, backed with 
 a solemn promise that she would not use this 
 indulgence to bring about stolen interviews with
 
 III. CLOUDESLEY. 49 
 
 Alexis, he allowed her to persist in friendly 
 communications with Isabella. Helena was a 
 being of an ingenuous mind, and who had no 
 conception of the art of promising one thing to 
 her parent, that she might avail herself of his 
 indulgence to do the very opposite to that which 
 she promised. She therefore persisted in it, and 
 kept her resolution, that she would not see Alexis 
 clandestinely. 
 
 This was a thunderstroke to the young man, 
 and he complained of it in the most pathetic 
 terms to me and his sister. He said, that he 
 had suffered the pangs of martyrdom from the 
 severe and constant state of discountenance in 
 which he was kept by his uncle, the empress's 
 favourite. All that had remained to him, " to 
 make the nauseous draught of life go down," 
 was love, the favour of the enchanting Helena, 
 who, when the rest of the world frowned upon 
 him, still kept him from despair by her fascina- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 ting smiles, and by the ravishing tones of her 
 heart-thrilling voice. This alone inspired him 
 with courage. This made him feel that there 
 vi^as something still worth living for, and breath- 
 ed into him a certain self-esteem, since the being 
 who was in his apprehension the first and the 
 purest of created natures, rejoiced in his joys, 
 and fully sympathised in all his woes. 
 
 Meanwhile his sister was still admitted to 
 visit and correspond with Helena ; and through 
 her he endeavoured to keep up his interest in 
 the heart of her he loved. Helena was rigorous 
 in keeping her faith to her father : she would 
 neither see Alexis, nor correspond with him. 
 But this, she protested to Isabella, was the 
 limits of her filial obedience. Her father had 
 at first encouraged their mutual attachment ; it 
 had grown up under his protection and en- 
 couragement; Ludolfski had now changed his 
 mind ; but she did not find herself capable of
 
 III. CLOUDESLEY. 51 
 
 a like instability; nor did she think her duty 
 required so much at her hands. She solemnly 
 assured Isabella, that her heart was wholly and 
 unalterably vowed to Alexis; she desired pa- 
 tiently to wait the course of time and events ; 
 she trusted that, when Ludolfski saw that 
 her attachment to her first love could never be 
 altered, his fatherly affection would at length 
 plead effectually in their favour ; but she pro- 
 tested, let that be as it might, that she would 
 never give her hand to another. 
 
 Ludolfski saw that, if Biren treated his ne- 
 phew in a stern and unkind manner, I on the 
 contrary was much favoured and distinguished 
 by this illustrious minister. He would therefore 
 most willingly, if it had been in his power, have 
 transferred his daughter's affections from Alexis 
 to me. Nothing meanwhile could be more alien 
 to the whole tenour of my thoughts. I had been 
 privy to their course of love, from first to last : 
 d2
 
 62 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 in the frequent occasions in which Alexis and 
 I had wandered together on the banks of the 
 Neva, he could talk of nothing but the beauty 
 and the admirable qualities of his Helena ; and 
 I, seeing that scarcely any thing else could have 
 the power to sustain him under the sense of the 
 perpetual injustice of his uncle, was forward to 
 encourage him to expatiate on these to him so 
 delightful topics. As I was free to visit his mis- 
 tress whenever I pleased, and was even often 
 invited by her father, I made use of all the op- 
 portunities which were thus given me, not to 
 try my own fortune with her, but, whenever I 
 could, to stimulate her attachment to my friend, 
 and to carry tender messages from one to the 
 
 other. 
 
 By this course of proceeding I recommended 
 
 myself greatly both to Alexis and his sister. 
 
 About this time it happened that the young 
 
 man was dispatched by his uncle on a particular
 
 Ill, CLOUDESLEY. 53 
 
 mission to Moscow ; and, being once there, was 
 detained by various accidents much beyond the 
 time that was originally contemplated. During 
 this absence I and Isabella were his principal 
 correspondents. From various causes it so fell 
 out, that my letters were much more frequent 
 than those of his sister. I therefore conversed 
 again and again with Helena respecting his 
 merits, the hitegrity of his disposition, and the 
 sensibility and tenderness of his heart. But I 
 conversed much oftener with Isabella. I was 
 aware of the projects of Ludolfski for uniting 
 me and his daughter; and I was the more chary 
 of my visits, that I might give no encouragement 
 to a scheme that might prove a fruitful source 
 of disquiet to these virtuous lovers. I also felt 
 that Isabella would be a much more powerful 
 pleader for her brother than I could expect to 
 be, and that Helena would open her heart in a 
 more unreserved tone to one of her own sex.
 
 54 CLOUDESLEY. CH, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 My own situation was peculiar ; and it was not 
 long before I experienced the effects of it. The 
 talk of Isabella and myself was all of love. We 
 were both of us most anxious to bring about 
 the union of this enamoured youth and his mis- 
 tress. We spoke of the enviable delights which 
 sprung from the sympathy of two hearts de- 
 voted to each other, of the hopes, the fears, 
 the anxieties, the agonies, that grew out of an 
 ardent attachment. The tones of our voice
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 55 
 
 adapted themselves to the topics of which we 
 discoursed; and, as we expatiated on the en- 
 amoured feelings of the one party or the other, 
 we unconsciously adopted their language, and 
 mimicked their gestures, and were for the mo- 
 ment the very persons we so earnestly repre- 
 sented. 
 
 There was something more rarefied and re- 
 fined in what passed in our breasts, than would 
 have been the case with Alexis and Helena, if 
 they had sat and walked together at the very 
 time and on the spot where Isabella and I did. 
 Love is a disinterested passion, for the true lover 
 would not fail to sacrifice his gratification, and 
 in extreme cases his hfe, rather than be the 
 cause or the witness of serious calamity inflicted 
 on the object of his affections. Yet the parties 
 themselves are ordinarily pursuing their own in- 
 terests, and seeking their own enjoyments ; ancL 
 they cannot but know it. But our talk and our
 
 56 CLOUDESLEY. CH, 
 
 thoughts were detached from these narrow con- 
 siderations. We were conscious that the object 
 we aimed at was the happiness, the consumma- 
 tion of the wishes of another ; and there was a 
 nobleness, a conscious pride, in this situation, 
 which could have held no part in the intercourse 
 of Alexis and his Helena, 
 
 When I gazed on the countenance, and looked 
 into the eyes of Isabella, I saw in her all that 
 I had painted to myself of an angel, a celestial 
 missionary watching over the fortunes of a mor- 
 tal (her brother), void of any meaner feeling 
 than that of fully discharging the office that be- 
 longed to his godlike nature. The lambent fire 
 that played in those eyes had no alloy of any 
 tiling gross or of a frailer sort. It was wholly 
 unearthly. I smiled as I observed the generous 
 earnestness of her purposes; and, when she 
 saw my smile, she smiled upon me graciously 
 in return.
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 67 
 
 It was then that I first observed so distinctly, 
 how much, yet how sweet and chastised a fire 
 there was in her look, when our eyes met each 
 other. Her complexion was the most purely 
 transparent, that in all the years of my life I ever 
 beheld. Every grace, and every winning attrac- 
 tion played about her lips. She was somewhat 
 above the middle stature. Her limbs were ta- 
 pered by the hands of the God of love. Her 
 bosom, when it heaved with the earnestness with 
 which she expressed her deep interest for the 
 peace of her brother, its quick and honest pants, 
 that knew no thought of diffidence or shame, — 
 it was irresistible. I was subdued in a moment. 
 Oh, Isabella, how could I so long be insensi- 
 ble to your charms ? Or, when we were sepa- 
 rated from each other in the sequel, as separated 
 we were, how could I have survived for a mo- 
 ment? 
 
 Unconsciously, and by insensible degrees, I 
 D 5
 
 58 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 changed my topic of conversation. I expressed 
 my wonder, that I, who was some years older 
 than Alexis, had never yet become a victim to 
 the charms of the sex. I observed, that I 
 should be difficult and fastidious in my choice, 
 as might naturally be expected, having outlived 
 the heedlessness, " the morn and liquid dew," 
 of youth. I undertook to describe what sort of 
 a person it must be to please me. I entered 
 liberally and copiously into the subject. As was 
 natural, in the eagerness with which I poured 
 out my discourse, I sometimes ran myself out 
 of breath, and was compelled to pause. I then 
 looked in Isabella*s eyes, and drew from thence 
 vigour to proceed, and thoughts on which to 
 expatiate. 
 
 As I went forward in the portrait of my ima- 
 ginary mistress, it became more and more pal- 
 pable that it was Isabella herself that sat for the 
 picture. In proportion as I became aware of
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 59 
 
 this, I pleased myself slyly with describing little 
 turns, minute gestures, and peculiar inflections 
 of voice, that could be drawn from no other 
 source. I described the individual temper of 
 Isabella, the peculiar ways in which her inge- 
 nuousness displayed itself, and the very in- 
 firmities, which, tinged as they were with virtue, 
 and the sensitiveness of an honour that had 
 never known a cloud, rendered her in my eyes 
 the more irresistible. In some instances I had 
 seen an air of graveness come over her, as I 
 unconsciously expressed myself with less re- 
 serve than she approved. It was as if one veil 
 of the thinnest gauze spread itself after another, 
 the first wholly unperceived, till at length the 
 entire visage, divine as it was, became darkened. 
 The offence was venial; and, when I had 
 once detected myself, and forwardly confessed 
 my error, the smile came back, and the prospect 
 grew ravishingly bright. All this, point by
 
 60 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 point, was comprehended in the portrait I 
 made. 
 
 Isabella's remarks were intermixed with mine. 
 She sometimes objected, that I was fastidious, 
 that I demanded too much, and that my notions 
 w^ere particular and strange. I answered her, 
 and defended myself. I grew warm ; but it was 
 not the warmth of contention, but of panegyric 
 upon the supposed imaginary being I drew. 
 My warmth however was not that of mere rap* 
 ture and rhapsody ; it expressed itself in a melt- 
 ing tone, which indicated a real object. 
 
 Isabella at length detected me. But it was 
 late, and with a slowness of apprehension, that 
 most feelingly disclosed the unaffected modesty 
 of her nature. While I discoursed liberally 
 and eloquently of beauty, of grace, and of ex- 
 cellence, she could scarcely bring herself to sus- 
 pect that all this was meant of the fascinating 
 creature that sat before me. As I went on, a
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 61 
 
 particular trait of which I spoke unveiled the 
 whole. She blushed, the sudden crimson that 
 overspread her cheeks unequivocally shewed 
 that she had seized my meaning. 
 
 She answered me with averted eyes. Oh, 
 Meadows, she said reproachfully, what is this 
 you are doing? We were talking of the mis- 
 haps and adverse fortune of my brother. How 
 came the subject to be changed ? You have 
 taken a most unfair advantage of the occasion 
 that presented itself. 
 
 I asserted my innocence. When I had 
 started the question of my particular tastes, and 
 of what I regarded as perfections in a woman, 
 I was actuated by no sinister purpose. I did 
 not begin with the thought of her. It was in 
 proportion as I became animated, and in the 
 warmth of my soul wandered from one excel- 
 lence to another, that I discovered the source 
 from which my notions were drawn. I pro-
 
 62 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 tested that the discovery came upon me as a 
 surprise, and was as new to me as it was to her, 
 with this only difference, that it came to me a 
 few minutes sooner. 
 
 In a word, I obtained my pardon, and made 
 my peace. I observed that I could not be sorry 
 for what had passed, since upon it I earnestly 
 hoped might be built the happiness of all my fu- 
 ture life. It was fortunate, that we had com- 
 menced with talking of loves not our own, inas- 
 much as by that circumstance we had been en- 
 couraged to express ourselves more freely, and 
 had become better acquainted with each other's 
 modes of thinking, feelings, and — ^might I add — 
 each other's hearts, than we could have been by 
 any other means. I protested, that I had never 
 seen any thing so lovely in human shape as her- 
 self. In every conversation I had had with her 
 since the departure of her brother, I had become 
 more and more struck with the generosity of
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 63 
 
 her sentiments and the purity of her heart. I 
 pressed my suit, and professed my everlasting 
 attachment. I was not ungraciously received ; 
 and we made as much progress in mutual con- 
 fidence and good understanding, as could be 
 expected to arise in a first conversation upon so 
 grave and momentous a question. 
 
 I v/ithdrew from our conference in raptures. 
 It was a beautiful summer-evening when we 
 parted. The moon was just rising out of the 
 peaceful bosom of the ocean. I paced along 
 upon the banks of the Neva, light and elastic as 
 if I had been floating on the breeze. I felt my- 
 self a new creature. Oh, Meadows, I said to 
 myself, what a life hast thou hitherto passed ! 
 It has been all an incoherent and unsatisfactory 
 dream. I had belonged to nobody. I had 
 pleased myself with the image of friendship ; I 
 had attached myself to Alexis. But, oh, what 
 a difference ! It is only in woman, woman
 
 64 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 ]ovely and affectionate, that the dawn and en- 
 thusiasm of opening life finds itself satisfied. I 
 am no longer solitary. I am conscious that, 
 under the roof I have just quitted, I have some- 
 thing laid up in store, dearer to me, a thousand 
 times more valued, than my worthless self. Or 
 rather I feel that I am not wholly worthless, 
 since I am dear to, selected from all other can- 
 didates and rivals for her favour, by the most 
 excellent of womankind. May no ill-fortune 
 ever come between us ! May the present kind- 
 ness and distinction with which we regard each 
 other, attend us uninterrupted through life, and 
 follow us to a late and a peaceful grave ! 
 
 I had no sooner reached my lodgings, than 
 an urgent message was delivered to me from my 
 employer, requiring to see me without a mo- 
 ment's delay. I hastened to the presence of 
 Biren. He received me with a severe and a 
 menacing countenance.
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 65 
 
 Where do you come from ? said he. Why 
 did not you attend me sooner ? 
 
 Meadows, he continued, I trust you are not 
 now to learn my character, and the principles 
 of my conduct. I cannot be a friend by halves. 
 I give myself wholly either for good or for evil, 
 to raise or to crush. But, in him I favour, I 
 require obedience, and a spirit that shall even 
 anticipate and outrun whatever I desire. 
 
 I took you up, sir, the outcast of a college, 
 slighted there, and valued by nobody. I have 
 preferred you to my own kindred. I have de- 
 signed considerable things for you. I have not 
 intended that you should stop where you are ; 
 but to raise you to a higher step, and yet a 
 higher. But, as I am bounteous and liberal to 
 those I love, so I shall be found destructive and 
 withering as a pestilence to those who oflfend me. 
 
 Attend ! I expect from those I favour, that 
 they shall watch my looks, and copy out all I
 
 66 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 think. If you purpose to belong to me, all my 
 friends must be your friends, and all my foes 
 your foes. I will not be thwarted. You must 
 be true to me as my shadow. 
 
 You know the Scherbatoffs. In the vulgar 
 sense of the world, they belong to me, and are 
 said to partake of my blood. Blood is nothing. 
 It is the mind, the adherence of the soul, that 
 I require. Madame Scherbatoff gave herself 
 away contrary to my liking, in defiance of my 
 prohibition. The young Scherbatoffs are the 
 offspring of that accursed union. They are the 
 born, the predestined, objects of my hate. I 
 have taken care that they should not perish 
 with hunger ; if I had not, I should have been 
 reflected on by the spiritless world, by all those 
 who are not endowed like me with souls of fire. 
 But I hate them the more for this my extorted 
 condescension. 
 
 I speak once ; but I speak no more : that is
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 67 
 
 my nature. You have seen these ScherbatofFs. 
 You made yourself familiar with the son. You 
 have visited, repeatedly and lately visited, his 
 mother and his sister. This must be put an 
 end to, and instantly. Never again enter their 
 doors, never hold the slightest communication 
 by word or by letter with them. Do this at 
 your peril. If you disobey, or but wish to dis- 
 obey, you shall for ever curse the hour that 
 brought you into existence. 
 
 Having said thus much, with an unaltered 
 countenance, and disdaining to be replied to, he 
 waved his hand for me to leave him. 
 
 What was the state of my mind, when I quit- 
 ted the minister's cabinet ! A more unfortunate 
 contrast could not be imagined, than that be- 
 tween the new-springing sentiments of love in 
 my hitherto untried soul, and the harsh and fe- 
 rocious mandates that had been poured into my 
 ears.
 
 68 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 . My first feeling was to dash the favours of 
 Biren to the earth, and bid him defiance. It 
 was with difficulty I so far commanded myself 
 as to withdraw from his presence in silence, 
 
 I was no sooner alone, than I presently felt 
 that to defy the minister was to part with Isa- 
 bella for ever. What could resist his omnipo- 
 tence ! In some countries perhaps such a thing 
 might be attempted. But in Russia the knout, 
 the gallies, a perpetual dungeon, and the halter, 
 waited but the motion of his finger. In any 
 case, which I dreaded more than all the rest, I 
 should never see Isabella again ! 
 
 My soul was torn with conflicting emotions. 
 Openly to have defied the minister would have 
 been frenzy. But what should I do ? The 
 thing I dreaded most was to bring down evil 
 on the idol of my soul. Comparatively I feared 
 nothing for myself. But would the ferocity of 
 this savage stop at me ?
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 69 
 
 At one time I resolved to return to his closet, 
 and pour out my whole soul before him. In- 
 famous as he was for his cruelty, there must be 
 a corner in his bosom that was penetrable to 
 human feelings. I would tell him how dear to 
 me, beyond all power of words, was the passion 
 that had newly sprung up within me. I would 
 lay before him the sentiment of love in two 
 young and inexperienced hearts, as the most 
 innocent, the most blameless, the most beauti- 
 ful thing, that the globe of earth had to boast. 
 Whom could we injure ? If the union which 
 beyond all things I desired were displeasing to 
 him, I would take Isabella from Russia, I would 
 take her to my own country, I would retire with 
 her to any part of the world he should dictate. 
 I felt as if the God of love had touched my lips 
 with his charmed rod, and I could pour out 
 such strains as it could not be in mortal bosom 
 to resist. I was mad — but my tide of madness
 
 70 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 did not swell so high, as to carry me back to 
 the closet of Biren. 
 
 I retired to my bed ; but not to rest. The 
 night was eternal: and more busy thoughts, 
 more wild and distracting visions, seemed to be 
 crowded into those few hours, than had occu- 
 pied my life before. At length the morning 
 dawned ; and with it came the cruel necessity, 
 that I should return to my desk in a sort of 
 gallery annexed to Biren's palace. How I got 
 through my task I cannot tell. I must have 
 committed a thousand blunders ; my pen moved 
 mechanically over the blank that was placed 
 before me ; my thoughts refused all commerce 
 with the implement that was between my 
 fingers. 
 
 I no sooner left my office, than I resolved 
 that at least 1 would not go to Isabella. By so 
 doing I might draw down calamity upon her I 
 loved best. I would do nothing rashly. If I
 
 IV. CLOUDESLEY. 71 
 
 could prevail on her to be mine, I would plan 
 the mode in which it was to be effected with 
 the whole power of my understanding ; and that 
 which my soul elected should rise triumphant 
 over the will of any other man. 
 
 I turned down a street the most opposite to 
 the quarter in which she lived. I passed rapidly 
 along; I could not stop myself; it seemed as if 
 change of scene was essential to my existence. 
 But what may appear most extraordinary, my 
 steps however devious still brought me to the 
 quarter I had most resolved to avoid. I passed 
 through streets I had scarcely ever seen; I 
 knew not whither they pointed ; still the result 
 was the same. At last, weary and tired, I 
 entered the court in which the habitation of 
 Isabella was situated. 
 
 She was shocked at the sight of me. I was 
 as much altered, she told me, as if I had risen 
 from a fit of sickness, which had lasted me for
 
 72 CLOUDESLEY. • CH. 
 
 months. My eyes rolled frightfully ; I appear- 
 ed like a man possessed. 
 
 What is the matter ? she cried. What has 
 happened to you ? Have you just escaped from 
 the dagger of an assassin ? 
 
 Nothing has happened, I replied. Where 
 am I? 
 
 Do you not know me? said Isabella. You 
 were here yesterday. Do you know any thing 
 ill of Alexis? 
 
 No, no, no. Let me depart ! I did not in- 
 tend to come here. I have something to say to 
 you : but it must not be now. You shall hear 
 of me soon, very soon. Do not be alarmed ! 
 Let me go ! You do not deserve to be dis- 
 turbed; least of all by me, from whom you 
 have merited more than worlds can repay. 
 Soon, very soon, you shall know all. 
 
 I left her abruptly, and in disorder. She 
 never heard of me more.
 
 CLOUDESLEY 73 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I AGAIN wandered the streets for hours. As I 
 approached my lodgings, I found myself sud- 
 denly stopped by one, who seized me by the 
 arm. I turned to see who it was, and perceived 
 one of my fellow-clerks. I had given him a few 
 lessons in the English tongue. He was homely, 
 and in no way prepossessing in his appearance. 
 He had no brightness of talent ; but he had a 
 sound heart. He was a person of simple inte- 
 grity, of few words, never making any profes- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 sions of service, but upon all occasions conduct- 
 ing himself well in situations that challenged his 
 aid. He had by no means taken my fancy; 
 but I had taken his. And he wore well; the 
 good opinion he acquired from others, he re- 
 tained for ever. He had an honest desire to im- 
 prove himself; I had lent myself to his wishes ; 
 and he was grateful. 
 
 StephanofF (that was his name) said to me. 
 You must not go home : there are men that lie 
 in wait for you : come with me. He then told 
 me that he had accidentally overheard Biren 
 giving his orders to three or four officers of 
 justice to apprehend me without fail, to repair 
 to my lodgings, and, if I were not there, to 
 wait, and by no means return without having 
 done his bidding. Stephanoff added, that he 
 knew not in what way I had incurred the dis- 
 pleasure of our employer, but he perceived by 
 Biren's manner that he was greatly exasperated.
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 76 
 
 He observed, that I must have remarked as 
 well as he, that the character of Biren was ex- 
 ceedingly altered. He was no longer the same 
 man ; whoever awakened his resentment was 
 infallibly devoted to destruction; he delighted 
 in cruelty and blood ; all his talk in these moods 
 was of the fiercest and most dreadful punish- 
 ments ; the mildest fate that could be hoped for 
 by the object of his wrath, was to be consigned 
 to a dungeon from which he should never come 
 out, and should be heard of no more. 
 
 A few days only had elapsed since the ex- 
 ecution of the Dolgoroukis. Biren had been 
 made duke of Courland in June 1737. To 
 many persons this elevation might appear not 
 to be much : it was otherwise in his eyes. He 
 had been for years the all-powerful minister of 
 the vast dominions of Russia : the empress had 
 been known to be once and again imploring at 
 his feet. Still he was but a subject ; he was in 
 E 2
 
 76 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Strictness no more than an officer of the royal 
 houshold. When his mistress had first raised 
 him from plebeian rank to be a noble of Cour- 
 land, the nobility of the duchy had refused to 
 recognise him as a brother. Now he was past 
 all contradiction the sovereign of an independ- 
 ent principality. He could make peace and 
 war; he could raise taxes: he entered into trea- 
 ties, offensive and defensive, with the kings of 
 Europe. What his own duchy wanted in in- 
 fluence and weight, it mattered not: he could 
 throw the empire of Muscovy in Europe and 
 Asia into the scale at his pleasure. Before, 
 agreeably to the etiquette of courts, he stood in 
 the presence of the empress, in token of infe- 
 riority. Now he and his duchess were entitled 
 to sit with her as a symbol of equality. 
 
 To a truly good and uncorrupt nature eleva- 
 tion of rank gives additional grace. A subject 
 in one stage of precedence, to a subject in anr
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 77 
 
 Other, may think he has occasion to resort to 
 artificial modes, to maintain his superiority, and 
 to keep the insolence of pretenders at a becom- 
 ing distance. But a sovereign prince is placed 
 at his ease in that respect. He may be as free 
 and familiar as he pleases without danger, pro- 
 vided there is nothing actually degrading, and 
 that invites contempt in the manner of his fami- 
 liarity. A sovereign should be always gentle 
 and humane, still distributing courtesies and 
 encouragement and protection and forgiveness. 
 It is a very old remark, that prosperity is 
 emphatically the furnace that tries men's souls. 
 Ordinary mortals at least are curbed and made 
 tame by the laws, and a fear of the consequences 
 that may follow on their ill actions. Why does 
 this man not seize on the splendid prize that 
 lies in his path, on a property adapted to his 
 desires, and that with all his heart he covets ? 
 Why does another not waylay and stab the
 
 78 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 enemy, against whom his malicious passions 
 and his furious resentments rise up in arms? 
 The poet has said, " All men would be cow- 
 ards, if they durst." It would be more true to 
 say, that the majority of men, men of vulgar 
 souls and undisciplined passions, would be free- 
 booters and sanguinary bravoes, if they durst. 
 It is the first step, that costs the most. When 
 a man has surrounded himself with a certain 
 number of bleeding carcases, the victims of his 
 rage, he finds himself so deep in blood, so fleshed 
 with slaughter, that his very remorse can only 
 be stilled by fresher murders. 
 
 An ill man in prosperity, is like the adder 
 restored to life by the bright and cheering 
 beams of the sun. Till that sun came, he lay 
 in a torpid state ; it was difficult to say that he 
 lived. By and by he opens his eyes, and his 
 scales are by degrees set in motion. Anon he 
 rears his head, and shoots out his forked tongue,
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 79 
 
 and sends forth terrific hisses, and shines in his 
 tremendous brilliancy of colours, and flies this 
 way and that, and seems to be every where in 
 a moment. No one is any longer safe from his 
 venom. Even so it was with Biren. 
 
 The Dolgoroukis had been eight years in dis- 
 grace at the commencement of the year 1 738. 
 Some had been sent to Siberia; some impri- 
 soned in Russian fortresses ; some only exiled 
 to their estates. The family was numerous and 
 powerful ; at its head were two brothers, field- 
 marshal Dolgorouki, and Wasili, or Basil, one 
 of the seven members of the council of state, 
 which ruled Russia at the death of Peter the 
 Second. It was Basil, that made his kinsman, 
 Alexis Gregoriewitz, sub-governor to the minor 
 emperor. This appointment introduced Iwan, 
 the son of Alexis, into familiar intercourse with 
 Peter ; and the striking partiality and friendship 
 which the young prince conceived for Iwan
 
 80 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 formed the main link that supported the autho- 
 rity of the Dolgoroukis, which perhaps would 
 never have been dissolved during the life-time 
 of his master. 
 
 It happened toward the close of the year 
 1737, from some secret influence which I could 
 never explain, that Sergius Dolgorouki, who 
 had formerly served as ambassador to several 
 of the northern courts, was called from the 
 place of his exile to Petersburgh, with the de- 
 clared intention of being sent by the empress 
 as her representative to the court of London. 
 He arrived at the capital ; and the preparations 
 for his mission were in the utmost activity. 
 
 This event raised all the fury of Biren. By 
 one word from his lips he might no doubt have 
 cancelled the appointment, and sent back Ser- 
 gius to the obscurity in which he had so long 
 languished. But this did not satisfy the new- 
 made duke of Comiand. He resolved to bring
 
 y, CLOUDESLEY. 81 
 
 about a signal catastrophe, which should make 
 every man in the empire dread to move in any 
 business that it w^as known he would dislike, 
 and might operate as a warning to the empress 
 herself. 
 
 He drew all the Dolgoroukis from the place 
 of their exile, or of their imprisonment. He 
 arrested those, who had been simply banished 
 to their estates. He assembled all the males of 
 the family, who had arrived- at years of discre- 
 tion, in the great state-prison of Petersburgh. 
 He revived the accusation of a will that had 
 been forged for the minor emperor. No one 
 had seen this will. Dispassionate men did not 
 believe that it ever existed. No matter : wit- 
 nesses were produced; all the forms of law 
 were gone through ; and seven principal mem- 
 bers of the Dolgorouki family were condemned 
 to die. The field-marshal only escaped, though 
 the head of his house, because he had never.' 
 
 e5
 
 82 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 dipped in any intrigues, and because he was of 
 an unenterprising temper from which nothing 
 was to be feared. 
 
 Prince Basil Dolgorouki, who had been the 
 man to move that the present empress should 
 be called to the throne, and who had gone to 
 Mittau to announce to her her accession, and 
 Iwan, the inseparable companion of the im- 
 perial stripling, and whose sister Peter had 
 espoused, were broken on the wheel in the 
 grand square of Petersburgh, in the sight of 
 many thousands of spectators. They had lived, 
 during the period of their prosperity, in the 
 midst of every possible indulgence. Hundreds 
 of men of the highest rank in Russia had at- 
 tended their levees, watched every glance of 
 their eye, hung upon every accent of their lips, 
 and worshipped their very shadow. These men, 
 one of them twenty-six years of age, the other 
 near seventy, were brought out on a public
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 8S 
 
 stage, stripped of their garments by the hands 
 of the executioner, tied with strong cords to 
 the fatal instrument, and died amidst the most 
 excruciating and protracted torments. It is 
 hardly possible for any one to have his bones 
 broken, one by one, through every limb, and 
 to be dumb. The cries of their agony pierced 
 the air, and ran through the marrow of every 
 spectator. At length they received the final 
 stroke ; and they suffered no more. All Russia, 
 bony, and rigid, and unimpressible as for the 
 most part were the majority of its inhabitants, 
 trembled with horror. Those who were not 
 eye-witnesses of the tragedy, could not believe 
 that it had been acted. Death in this fearful 
 and ignominious form is usually reserved for 
 offenders of the basest class ; and, when the 
 noble and great are condemned to die, there is 
 always some decorum that is observed in their 
 concluding scene. — The other five of the Dol-
 
 84 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 goroukis who had received sentence, suffered 
 death, but not in this form. 
 
 I took the advice of Stephanoff, and resolved 
 to return, if possible, to my native country. I 
 know I shall be censured for my pusillanimity. 
 Who, I shall be asked, that was truly in love, 
 would matter being broken on the wheel ? 
 
 I ruminated, but certainly not in cold blood, 
 upon the situation in which I was placed. Biren 
 seemed to me to be at present under a sangui- 
 nary paroxysm. When a man has bathed his 
 hands in blood, he often appears to be impelled 
 by an irresistible necessity to proceed. It is 
 only by new and further atrocities, that he 
 hopes to extinguish in himself the recollection 
 of those he has perpetrated. The fence of mo- 
 desty and moderation with which every man is 
 at first surrounded, is broken down in him; 
 his character for humanity is destroyed. What 
 check therefore can you any longer rely upon,
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 85 
 
 against his indulging in the worst excesses ? If 
 I cannot be loved, such a man is apt to say to 
 himself, at least I have one resource left, — I 
 will be feared. 
 
 Biren must have received, either from some 
 disciplined spy, or from some officious tale- 
 bearer, the intelligence that, immediately after 
 his denunciations to the contrary, I had re- 
 paired to the residence of the ScherbatoiFs. He 
 was now in no mood to be trifled with. If I 
 defied him, he resolved that I should not defy 
 him with impunity. It would be vain to attempt 
 to appease him by any explanations. It was 
 even certain that I should never again be ad- 
 mitted into his presence. 
 
 StephanofF, who passionately interested him- 
 self in my safety, told me, that it had fortu- 
 nately so happened, that he had spent the pre- 
 ceding evening with the mate of a vessel bound 
 from Petersburgh to Amsterdam. It had been
 
 86 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 a meeting between the mate, himself a Swede, 
 and several of his friends, for the purpose of 
 leave-taking on his quitting the Russian capital. 
 The vessel M'as to sail immediately; the wind 
 was fair; and he did not doubt to prevail on his 
 friend to favour my passage. It was fortunate 
 for me that I was an Englishman. If I had been 
 a Russian, several formalities would have been 
 necessary, and obstacles might have presented 
 themselves. StephanofF drew from his girdle a 
 purse of fifty rix-dollars, which he pressed me 
 to accept. I had a considerably larger sum in 
 my lodgings, and therefore made no hesitation. 
 I gave him the key of my escritoire; and he 
 undertook after having paid himself, to remit 
 the remainder to me, on the first advice from 
 me where I could be addressed. Every thing 
 turned out auspiciously; we met with the of- 
 ficer; I was introduced by him to the captain ; 
 and we were under sail in a few hours. I ar-
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 87 
 
 rived without accident at Amsterdam; from 
 thence I took my passage for London, and from 
 London to Hull. 
 
 All clue to my disappearance was by this 
 means cut off. It was as if the earth had sud- 
 denly yawned under my feet, and taken me in. 
 Stephanoff had immediately passed to my lodg- 
 ings, and, with the key with which I had fur- 
 nished him, had gone to my escritoire, and 
 taken away my money, leaving every thing else 
 as he had found it. The officers of justice who 
 lay in wait for me, had an exact description of 
 my person, and therefore suffered Stephanoff to 
 pass without molestation. Their cue was to be 
 silent, and create no alarm, till the moment 
 came that they could at once pounce upon their 
 prey. I was tall ; he was short. I was fair ; 
 he was of a muddy and thick complexion. My 
 eyes were quick, roving and alive ; there was no 
 fire in his ; they were like those of a fish ; he
 
 88 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 was almost purblind. I lodged in a house di» 
 vided into many apartments, and connected by 
 a common staircase. 
 
 If I had been a great state-criminal, Biren 
 would no doubt have made further inquisition 
 respecting me. It is likely he might by some 
 means have traced StephanofF as the last visitor 
 of my chambers. The torture is a mighty in- 
 strument in Russia for laying open secrets. It 
 is true, that it often draws from the unhappy 
 wretch upon whom its force is tried, gross fals- 
 hoods and lying accusation. But it also has a 
 chance of extorting facts. Stephanoff, my ge- 
 nerous, my disinterested friend, would have 
 fallen a victim to the tyrant. Biren also might 
 have directed his inquiries against Isabella and 
 her mother. 
 
 But I was not a state-criminal. Biren had 
 suddenly been rendered my enemy, because my. 
 heedless vivacity had caused me to wound his
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 89 
 
 pride. In all other respects I was utterly insig- 
 nificant. If he had caught me in his toils, ex- 
 asperated as he was, he no doubt would have 
 made me a memorable example of his vengeance. 
 But I had suddenly disappeared from the soil of 
 Russia, even as if a mighty chemical explosion 
 had dispersed all the atoms of my frame, so that 
 no where was there so much as a vestige left, to 
 prove that I had ever existed. In this case the 
 fury that had been awakened in the breast of 
 Biren was in a short time calmed ; and the per- 
 petual demands of the great affairs of Russia 
 upon his attention, speedily turned his thoughts 
 into a different channel. 
 
 For myself, the recollection of Isabella had 
 left a scar, a deep, trenched gash in my heart. 
 Biren might forget; but I could not forget. 
 Our acquaintance had not been long ; the love- 
 scene between us but one. But it was the single 
 instance in which that deep vein of sensibility
 
 90 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 had been opened in my heart. And to the 
 latest hour of my existence it will live in my re- 
 collection. It made another man of me. Till 
 then I had been totally ignorant of the deep and 
 intense interest of which our human nature is 
 susceptible on that side. I have but one pattern 
 of female loveliness painted in the camera obscura 
 of my bosom. The most refined moments of 
 my existence, the sequestered and consecrated 
 privacy of my thoughts, are full of Isabella. I 
 see her in the airy motions of her light figure ; 
 I see her in the lustre and transparency of her 
 complexion, in the liquid sweetness of her eyes, 
 ill her maiden modesty, in the various expres- 
 sion of her lips, which told her thoughts ere 
 her tongue had time to utter them, and in the 
 unrivalled melody and sensibility of her voice. 
 At such times she speaks to me, and I answer 
 her; my soul melts away within me. Then 
 comes the dreadful recollection, It is all over
 
 V. CLOUDESLEY. 91 
 
 now : I shall never, never see her again : it is 
 to me as if she had passed to the regions of the 
 dead. Happy in some respects it would have 
 been for me, if it had been so. The dead are for 
 ever sunk in one uninterrupted repose. They 
 know no cares, nor sorrows. But Isabella is to 
 me as a blooming and lovely infant, whom the 
 mother has by some mischance irrecoverably 
 lost. Where, cries the sorrowing parent, is he 
 even now? What privations may he suffer? 
 What injustice and cruelty may be exercised 
 upon him ? The whole world of imagination 
 is open before her, to build up millions of scenes 
 of despair to her soul at leisure. Oh, how much 
 less tormenting would it have proved to see him 
 dead at her feet ! 
 
 How earnest was my desire, to go back to 
 Russia, and dare all the fury of my omnipotent 
 adversary ! The thought was hopeless. For 
 nearly three years, till the death of the empress
 
 92 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Anne and a short time after, Biren reigned in 
 Russia without a rival ; and, before the expira- 
 tion of that period, circumstances had occurred, 
 which made it impossible for me to gratify this, 
 the first passion of my soul.
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 93 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I HAD now been absent from my country six- 
 teen years. I had gone out in the flush of 
 youth, in the period most fitted for adventure. 
 I had passed the whole of that period in deep 
 obscurity, having gained nothing but experi- 
 ence, and a small portion of what is called 
 knowledge of the world. When I had got to- 
 gether the whole of what I was worth, I found 
 myself the possessor of one hundred pounds. I 
 was in the situation of Adam, when he was ex-
 
 94 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 pelled out of paradise. I knew no one; I be- 
 longed to no one. The soil of England was be- 
 fore me, where to chuse my place of rest. I 
 might wander as I pleased, uncontroled by any 
 foe, unaided by any friend. 
 
 This is not exactly true. The forlornest 
 creature that lives, especially if he returns, as I 
 did, to the place of his birth, finds some one 
 that knows him (though, God knows, with in- 
 difference enough), and can scarcely fail to find 
 some one that is bound to him by the ties of 
 kindred. My mother was dead ; one, and one 
 only, of my three sisters, was married. The 
 others had removed to the market-town of Bar- 
 ton on the Humber, the birth-place of their 
 mother, where they united their efforts in the 
 conduct of a day-school for young children. 
 
 The husband of my married sister was a man 
 of the name of Stirling, who maintained himself 
 by the cultivation of a few acres of ground
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 96 
 
 about two miles out of Epworth, on the road to 
 Glandford Bridge. He rented this little por- 
 tion of land from earl Danvers of Axholme, 
 whose residence was at Mil wood Park in th€ 
 parish of Owston. I was received kindly by 
 my brother-in-law and my sister, and was in- 
 vited by them to remain a short time under 
 their roof, till I had determined on some plan 
 to which to dedicate my future life. I accepted 
 the overture. 
 
 I gladly devoted a few days to the revisiting 
 the well known scenes of my childhood and 
 youth* The ruins of the Priory in the Wood, 
 the banks and the magnificent waters of the 
 Humber, were inexpressibly interesting to me. 
 I delighted to view the house in which my 
 father had lived, and the meadows which had 
 been the scene of my boyish sports. A new 
 set of children now drove the flying hoop, and 
 hurled the bounding ball. They were as eager
 
 96 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 in their games, as ever I and my companions 
 had been. Their voices sounded fresh in my 
 ears ; and their squabbles were as zealous and 
 impatient, as those of any of the children vi^hich 
 had gone before them in the same busy scene. 
 
 What a different creature had I returned to 
 these rural haunts, from what I was when I left 
 them ! I had then been the most ignorant and 
 inexperienced of mortals. I had scarcely seen 
 a town larger than that in which I was born, or 
 a scene more solemn and impressive than our 
 parish-church on a Sunday. I had now visited 
 ports and havens and cities and courts. I had 
 seen the pomp of an imperial train, and been in 
 almost daily intercourse with the statesman, the 
 duke of Courland, who by his judgment and 
 his Jiat ruled the vast area of Russia. My 
 mind had been gradually unfolded by the scenes 
 through which I had passed. My eyes had 
 been familiar with objects of royal splendour,
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY, 97 
 
 and I had witnessed the baleful operation of 
 tyranny, oppression and cruelty. 
 
 Farewel, I exclaimed to myself, to these scenes 
 of ostentation and turbulence ! I am contented 
 to pass the rest of my life in the plainest manner 
 and in the utmost obscurity, satisfied if I can 
 eat the bread of peace, and spend my days 
 without crime. Without industry however it 
 was impossible I could subsist; and I revolved 
 in my mind a variety of plans, by which I could 
 best hope to obtain that moderate competence 
 that was all to which my wishes aspired. 
 
 Before I had determined however upon any 
 mode of disposing of myself, to our great sur- 
 prise a message was one day brought to the 
 farm, that lord Danvers desired to see me at 
 the manor-house. I should have observed be- 
 fore, that I had been in the practice of writing 
 letters to my family two or three times a year : 
 and, as these letters came from so remote a 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 country, described scenes scarcely ever heard of 
 in Lincolnshire, and were composed with a cer- 
 tain degree of reflection and scholarship, they 
 were regularly shewn to the steward, and in the 
 last year past had in some way got to the notice 
 of his lordship himself. 
 
 I had no sooner received this notice, than I 
 became eager to enquire into the character and 
 habits of the person from whom it came. He 
 was little known in the neighbourhood, having 
 only succeeded to the title in the preceding 
 year upon the death of a distant relation. His 
 father had been created an Irish peer by the 
 title of lord Alton, of Alton in the county of 
 Cork, being the younger son of an earl Dan- 
 vers in the reign of Charles the Second ; and 
 the Altons had constantly resided since that 
 period upon their estates in Ireland. The pre- 
 sent lord had succeeded to the Irish title upon 
 the death of his brother twenty years before ;
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 99 
 
 but it was only one year, since, on the failure 
 of the elder branch, he had taken the title of 
 earl Danvers, and fixed himself at the seat of 
 his ancestors in the isle of Axholme. His fa- 
 mily consisted only of himself and one son, he 
 having buried his lady and several children be- 
 fore he succeeded to the English title. 
 
 With respect to his habits I was informed 
 that he lived in an almost uninterrupted soli- 
 tude. He kept up the establishment of a noble- 
 man, and had many servants ; but he associated 
 as little as possible with his equals, and had 
 even small intercourse with his tenants. His 
 disposition was decidedly of a melancholy cast ; 
 but he was understood to be a person of great 
 humanity. 
 
 This was nearly all I could learn respecting 
 
 the nobleman, who had sent to desire I would 
 
 wait upon him ; but I did not find in this any 
 
 thing strong enough to induce me to decline his 
 
 F 2
 
 100 CLOUDESLEV. CH. 
 
 summons. I therefore repaired to the Park the 
 next morning. The mansion had been origi- 
 nally built by a baron Mowbray in the reign of 
 Edward the First, but had since that time un- 
 dergone the most extensive alterations and im- 
 provements. It however still retained its an- 
 cient Gothic appearance. The park was well- 
 stocked with deer ; and a long avenue of trees 
 led up to the principal entrance. The windows 
 in many parts resembled those of a cathedral ; 
 and the hall was spacious. An ample staircase 
 of stone led to the upper apartments ; and 
 every thing was suitable to the residence of 
 one of the ancient barons of England *. 
 
 I was addressed to Mr. O'Reiley, the steward, 
 whom his lordship had brought from Ireland, 
 
 * The peerage and honours of the family of Mowbray 
 ceased in the year 1475. Since that time the property 
 they possessed jn the isle of Axholme passed through the
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 101 
 
 and by him was introduced to his master. He 
 reminded me beforehand, of lord Danvers's so- 
 litary and sequestered habits. He informed me, 
 that his lordship, then captain Herbert, to- 
 
 hands of various proprietors. The mansion, which had 
 long been in ruins, is thus described by Abraham De la 
 Pry me, an indefatigable collector of topographical infor- 
 mation. 
 
 " It was a great and most stately building of many sto- 
 ries high, all of huge, squared stones, and wholly built 
 upon vaults and arches, under which I passed a great way. 
 All was huge stone staircases, huge pillars, long entries, 
 with doors on each side leading into opposite rooms. I 
 remember the dining-room also : it was at the end of one 
 of the entries. In it were large oak tables. It was lighted 
 with great church windows, much beautified by painted 
 glass. The outside of the house was ornamented with 
 semi-arches jetting from the walls, borne by channeled 
 columns ; and the top was covered with lead. The doors 
 were huge and strong, and ascended up by a great number 
 of steps ; and places were made through the turrets to 
 defend the house. The whole was compassed with a huge 
 moat, still remaining. There were the fairest orchards 
 and gardens I ever saw. But now none of these things are 
 remaining; for, about ten years since, being in a ruinous 
 state, the whole was pulled down, and a less hou«e 
 erected on its site,"
 
 102 jCLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 gether with lord Alton, his elder brother, had 
 served under prince Eugene in his campaigns 
 against the Turks, shortly after which lord 
 Alton had lost his life in a duel in Germany, 
 and the captain, who had succeeded to the Irish 
 title by the death of his brother, had immedi- 
 ately returned home to his estates in that king- 
 dom. His character had at all times been grave, 
 and his mind prone to sad and melancholy re- 
 flections. He had however endeavoured to con- 
 quer this infirmity. He had married : his wife 
 was beautiful, accomplished, amiable and pa- 
 tient : his marriage had been blessed with a fa- 
 mily of children. Still under all changes his 
 melancholy pursued him. And, when he lost 
 his lady, and one by one his children had died, 
 save this only son, it had gone still harder with 
 him. 
 
 While O'Reiley was engaged in relating to 
 me these particulars, the library-bell rung, and
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 103 
 
 I was called for. I found lord Danvers seated 
 at a table, which was covered with books and 
 papers. He appeared to be about fifty years of 
 age; and his hair was beginning to be grey. 
 He had the air of a soldier, of a man who had 
 been exposed to the influence of different cli- 
 mates, and had known the toils and hardships 
 of war. His figure was graceful, and his person 
 noble and imposing. He had an impressive 
 countenance, in which the characters of care 
 and anxiety were plainly discernible. His eye 
 was quick, restless, watchful and suspicious. It 
 was obvious to observe in him the tokens of a 
 mind ill at ease within itself. 
 
 O'Reiley having introduced me, lord Danvers 
 beckoned to him to withdraw. He made me sit 
 down in his presence. He told me that he had 
 read my letters from Russia, and from thence 
 had been led to form a favourable opinion of
 
 104 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 my understanding and dispositions. As 1 had 
 very lately returned to England, he judged it 
 likely that I had not yet engaged in any pursuit 
 or plan of life. 
 
 I bowed assent to the suggestion. 
 
 Lord Danvers was pleased to say, that he 
 found himself in want of a person of superior 
 intelligence, whom he might employ in certain 
 affairs, to which he felt that servants, even of 
 the better class, were not entirely competent. 
 Perhaps, he added, I had higher views. The 
 affairs in which, if I were willing, he should be 
 happy to employ me, the rewards he could be- 
 stow, and the prospects he could hold out to 
 me, might be beneath my ambition. He con- 
 jured me to speak frankly to these points. 
 
 I assured his lordship that ambition formed 
 no part of my character. My views had always 
 been humble; my destination of the ordinary
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 105 
 
 class ; and what I had seen of courts and minis- 
 ters inspired me with no inclination to engage 
 further in that career. 
 
 Lord Dan vers proceeded. He told me that 
 he had considerable estates in Ireland, beside 
 those to which he had lately succeeded in En- 
 gland. He had brought over with him his Irish 
 steward to whose personal services he had been 
 accustomed ; and there were consequently some 
 matters in Ireland that would require a careful 
 and enlightened attention. He would wish to 
 send me over, but only for a short time. Having 
 arranged them, I should return, and there were 
 various concerns of one sort or another, that he 
 should recommend to my care. 
 
 He then mentioned to me some particulars 
 of his Irish estates, gave me a list of his tenants 
 in that country, and of the various terms upon 
 which they occupied his lands. He referred 
 me to O'Reiley for a more minute detail, and 
 F 5
 
 106 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 added that, when I had gone over the matter 
 with the steward, he should speak with me of 
 other circumstances on which he should give 
 me his directions. 
 
 I was delighted with this commencement. I 
 found in his lordship condescension with dig- 
 nity. That he should thus immediately have 
 conceived a favourable opinion of me, afforded 
 me no common gratification. I was charmed 
 with the idea of being settled in my own country 
 to my heart's content. I had no relish for the 
 perilous paths of life, but wished to pass through 
 the world, unknowing and unknown, in mode- 
 rate competence and entire obscurity. 
 
 Lord Danvers desired me to narrate to him 
 the different scenes I had witnessed in Russia. 
 He said, he also had passed some years in fo- 
 reign countries, though in a very different cli- 
 mate. Encouraged by his courtesy, I entered 
 more fully into circumstances than I should
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 107 
 
 Otherwise have done. He questioned me par- 
 ticularly as to my feelings on each incident as it 
 occurred, and the principles of my conduct. I 
 could see that he was studying my character, 
 for what occupations I was most qualified, and 
 to what extent I was worthy of his confidence. 
 
 But, though his lordship interested himself 
 in my narrative, occasionally started very trying 
 questions, and was earnestly bent upon weigh- 
 ing my answers, I observed that he could not 
 yield an unvarying attention to what I related. 
 There was something passing in his own bosom, 
 that would not be put off or eluded. A sudden 
 cloud would spread itself, over his countenance, 
 his looks told of the desperation that seemed to 
 dwell in his heart, his eyes rapidly changed 
 from an expression of fixed attention to a wild 
 and portentous stare, he rose from his chair, 
 paced the apartment with tumultuous strides, 
 and clasped his hands with an air of the deepest
 
 108 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 affliction. I was overwhelmed with astonish- 
 ment and pity. Yet it was incumbent on me not 
 to appear to notice what I saw. 
 
 Several days passed between us in this sort 
 of communication. I had my apartment as- 
 signed me, and soon understood the situation 
 in which I was placed at Milwood Park, not 
 being classed with the servants, but being al- 
 ways at his lordship's command. I sat at the 
 same table with O'Reiley, the steward, and a 
 respectable female, whose situation was that of 
 housekeeper. I studied the particulars of his 
 lordship's Irish estates, enquired of O'Reiley as 
 to points which I did not immediately compre- 
 hend, and obtained from him the information I 
 required. 
 
 A member of the family whom I saw occa- 
 sionally every day, was the youth I have men- 
 tioned, lord Bardsley, earl Danvers's son and 
 heir. He was about eleven years of age, finely
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 109 
 
 formed and agile, with sparkling eyes and flow- 
 ing hair, an ingenuous disposition, and all the 
 promise of a superior understanding. His voice 
 was of a very striking quality, clear, penetrating, 
 melodious, and under the guidance of a frank- 
 ness and good nature well fitted to conciliate 
 the kindness and sympathy of every one who 
 heard it. It was easy to perceive that he was his 
 father's doating-piece. Lord Danvers seemed 
 to live but for this child. When he came into 
 his father's presence, then and then only, at that 
 moment, I appeared to myself to see lord Dan- 
 vers without a cloud, such a man, as his under- 
 standing, his station in society, and his many 
 advantages led one to expect him to be. Yet, 
 strange to say, this lighting up of his eyes at the 
 approach of his son was but the sunshine of an 
 instant. He embraced him with tenderness and 
 fervour. Then a sort of convulsive sensation 
 would come over the father. He would put his
 
 110 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 son gently from him, would turn away his head, 
 — a shuddering seized his frame, and his eyes 
 would fill with a passion of tears. It appeared 
 indeed as if the lovely boy was not destined 
 long to continue in this mortal existence. There 
 was a hectic colour in his cheek, that was of 
 evil omen, and his frame seemed almost too 
 frail and unearthly, .to allow that we should ex- 
 pect him to reach to years of manhood. Was 
 it from an anticipation of his shortness of life, 
 or was it from some other and more secret 
 cause, that I was to explain the painful sensa- 
 tions which always apparently came over lord 
 Danvers, when the delight of their first meeting 
 had subsided? 
 
 I had now been some weeks a resident at 
 Milwood Park. Preparations were made for 
 my journey to Ireland; and I expected every 
 day to have my final instructions. One morn- 
 ing I attended his lordship in the library,
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. Ill 
 
 thinking perhaps that I should receive orders 
 to set out the next day. 
 
 I do not intend, said lord Danvers, that you 
 should travel vi^estward, I rather propose that 
 you should go to the continent. 
 
 I have known you, Meadows, now for more 
 than a month. I have studied your character, 
 and have determined to rely upon you. The 
 question of sending you to Ireland, and the 
 particulars connected with it, were necessary to 
 enable me to get thus far. 
 
 I have a commission of the most trying na- 
 ture to impart; and it was incumbent on me to 
 find an individual adequate to the undertaking. 
 I wanted a person in the full vigour and morn- 
 ing of life, a person that could encounter fatigue; 
 and not be daunted with hardships ; a person 
 that had too much clearness of head to allow 
 himself to be deceived, and that, having under- 
 taken to sift a material business to the bottom,
 
 1 12 CLOUDESLEY. CH, 
 
 might be depended upon, that he would not, 
 while he had life, desert the enterprise. I have 
 found that person in you. 
 
 Meadows, I now know you sufficiently to 
 know that you are altogether free. You dare 
 not return to Russia; and you have no con- 
 nections in any other part of the world that have 
 the power to shackle you. Are you willing to 
 engage in the service upon which I am desirous 
 to employ you? 
 
 I replied, that I had such confidence in his 
 lordship's honour, as to be persuaded that he 
 would not employ me in any business that was 
 unfit for an honest man to undertake. And, 
 with that restriction, I could promise that 1 
 yfould be deterred by no difficulties, but would 
 discharge the task he should impose on me to 
 the utmost of my power. 
 
 As to my honour, answered lord Danvers, 
 we will say nothing about that. You see me
 
 VI. CLOUDESLEY. 113 
 
 as I am. No man brings an accusation against 
 me ; and the individual whose character is un- 
 impeached, is entitled to a certain degree of 
 credit. ' 
 
 It is necessary however that we should be 
 accurate in these preliminaries. I expect that, 
 when once you engage with me, you should not 
 draw back. I am about to unfold to you the 
 inmost secrets of my soul. I have a tale to 
 relate, the particulars of which are wholly un- 
 known to any man on English ground, and, so 
 far as I am aware, to only one other person exist- 
 ing on earth. I will not confide in you by halves. 
 If I do not disclose to you the whole of my story, 
 my crimes, — I cannot expect that you will serve 
 me to the extent I require to be served. 
 
 I listened to all that his lordship said with 
 astonishment. I had some moments of hesita- 
 tion. My curiosity was vehemently excited. I 
 had no objection to travel or fatigue. I felt
 
 114 CLOUDESLEY, 
 
 CH. 
 
 flattered by the compliment which the commis- 
 sion about to be unfolded paid by implication 
 to my understanding. 
 
 Lord Dan vers will not require of me the 
 perpetration of a crime ? 
 
 I think not. All that I prescribe to you is 
 of a passive sort. My wish is, that you should 
 find a certain person whom I will describe to 
 you. When you have found him, I require 
 that you should not, in consequence of the dis- 
 covery you shall have made, do any injury to 
 me, nor shall you leave the person in question, 
 at worst, in a less eligible situation than you 
 find him. 
 
 Proceed, my lord. I am prepared to hear, 
 and willing to subscribe to the conditions you 
 have laid down. 
 
 I am afraid lord Danvers complimented me 
 beyond my deserts, when he spoke of me as so 
 peculiarly qualified for his purposes. But men
 
 VI. 
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 115 
 
 must work with such tools as they have. When 
 we have a task of extreme difficulty, and that 
 requires the most extraordinary qualifications, 
 to impose, where are we to find the man ? It 
 is in this case, as in what may be called the 
 most important affair of human life, marriage. 
 If we are in love, we deceive ourselves; we 
 ascribe to the favoured she the most unparal- 
 leled and super-human excellencies. But, if 
 we enter into the engagement deliberately and 
 in cool blood, we well know that it is a com- 
 promise. The creature that our exalted ima- 
 gination has figured to us, does not exist on the 
 face of the earth. Of those that do exist, only 
 a small number are accessible to us, or are such 
 as we have the smallest chance to win to favour 
 our addresses. We contentedly give up some 
 of the qualifications we should have desired in 
 the partner of our life, and accept of such as 
 are within our reach.
 
 116 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 It may also be supposed, that lord Danvers 
 commended me beyond the merits he knew to 
 exist in me, as well knowing the power of praise. 
 Nothing more forcibly stimulates men to extra- 
 ordinary performances, than that others should 
 take for granted their undoubted competence. 
 
 The preliminaries having advanced thus far, 
 lord Danvers came to a pause. He hesitated ; 
 the colour forsook his cheeks ; the perspiration 
 stood upon his brow ; he struggled with him- 
 self; he worked himself up to the task he had 
 resolved to perform.
 
 VII. 
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 1 1 7 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I HAD a brother. That brother was killed in 
 a duel in Germany, whither he had gone to 
 serve against the Turks. He was one year 
 older than myself. 
 
 I have been judged a handsome man, of a 
 noble and prepossessing air. But, oh, what 
 was I in comparison with my brother! His 
 figure was moulded by the Graces. His smooth 
 and ample forehead was the abode in which 
 majesty sat enthroned. His voice was music. 
 In all things he eclipsed me.
 
 118 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 But for many aggravated circumstances which 
 kindled the pernicious spark in my bosom, I 
 believe I should not have been envious. My 
 brother surpassed me in intellectual powers. 
 He was of a clearer and quicker apprehension. 
 He had an ardent thirst for knowledge. His 
 temper was mild ; and his courage was high. 
 We were perpetual companions. He was born 
 to an ample patrimony ; I could expect nothing, 
 but the slender pittance of a younger brother's 
 fortune. 
 
 My father and mother directed all their at- 
 tention to the welfare and advantage of their 
 eldest son. I was seldom judged worthy to be 
 made the subject of a smile, a caress, the small- 
 est encouragement. I seemed only to stand in 
 the way, to be a being that had intruded him- 
 self into a world where he was not wanted. 
 Or, to speak more accurately, I was scarcely 
 ever an object of notice ; my parents never, but
 
 VII. CLOUDESLEY. 119 
 
 when they could not avoid it, so much as re- 
 collected that there was such a being in ex- 
 istence. 
 
 Meanwhile my brother was a subject of per- 
 petual solicitude. Every gratification that could 
 be procured, was copiously showered upon him. 
 If his little finger ached, the whole house was 
 set in commotion. My parents scarcely ever 
 condescended to ask how I did. My cheek 
 might be blanched, my eyes glazed with indis- 
 position ; I was left to get well as I could. If 
 any pleasure was in view, if any party of amuse- 
 ment was proposed, Arthur, the favourite Ar- 
 thur, was sure to be included, and a reason was 
 almost always found why I could not make one. 
 Wherefore was all this ? He was the heir. 
 
 In such cases I was left in the care of ser- 
 vants. They are almost sure to teach a child 
 the worst lessons. Ah, master Richard, they 
 would say, what a fine thing it is to be the
 
 120 CLOUDESLEY. » CH. 
 
 eldest ! Your brother will have the whole es- 
 tate ; he will be called, my lord ; this house and 
 the house in Dublin will be his. But, I am 
 sure, I do not know what they will do with you. 
 I suppose they will make a parson of you. You 
 may be your brother*s chaplain 
 
 I withdrew into corners, and ruminated on 
 these things. There were twelve months and a 
 few days between the age of me and my bro- 
 ther. I studied the same lessons, I was taught 
 the same accomplishments: my parents were 
 not unjust to me in that. I made consider- 
 able proficiency. I was comparatively slow 
 of apprehension ; all that I learned cost me- 
 considerable labour; but I was indefatigable. 
 To Arthur every thing seemed to be intuition. 
 It was almost impossible to tell when and how 
 he learned any thing. But his exhibitions, 
 which cost him nothing, were lauded to the 
 skies ; he was pronounced a prodigy ; while I
 
 Vir. CLOUDESLEY. 121 
 
 at best came off without blame, and our tutor, 
 who took his tone from our parents, seemed 
 ahnost sorry that I did so well. 
 
 I reflected much on this. Twelve months 
 my elder ! Oh, what virtue is there in twelve 
 months ! Arthur is destined for the whole term 
 of his life to splendour ; I to obscurity. It . 
 seemed as if we were born of different castes. 
 He was to be the lord of palaces ; I was to be 
 launched in life at the expence of two or three 
 thousand pounds, or to languish out my exist- 
 ence on an annuity of a few hundreds ; and even 
 that reluctantly torn from the vast heaps, which 
 were carefully laid up for this exclusive fa- 
 vourite of my parents and of fortune. 
 
 It happened at the age of fourteen that my 
 brother was seized with an alarming illness. 
 Physicians poured in in plenty. The family, 
 though in the hottest period of summer, was 
 suddenly removed to Dubhn, for the benefit of 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 better advice. In spite of every exertion that 
 was made, Arthur grew worse. He appeared 
 to be in extremity. He was given over. At 
 length however, the strength of his constitution 
 conquered the attack, and he recovered. 
 
 This event occasioned me many reflections. 
 At first, when he was only pronounced to be in 
 danger, and we prepared to set out for Dublin 
 to take advantage of superior skill, my thoughts 
 were of an antisocial order. I said to myself, 
 Then perhaps, after all my sufferings and mor- 
 tifications, I shall be the heir. I shall be My 
 Lord, the master of thousands, possessor of this 
 country-seat, and of the house in Dublin, a 
 member of the Irish house of lords, and in no 
 remote prospect to an English peerage. My 
 bosom was lightened with the thought. I said 
 to myself, I hope my brother will die ! 
 
 But, when we came to Dublin, and Arthur lay 
 at the extremity, I had far different thoughts.
 
 VII. CLOUDESLEY. 123 
 
 Death is a thing, the sight and the approach of 
 which sobers every man. I requested to be 
 permitted to visit my brother's bed-side, and 
 my request was granted. I had not seen him 
 for nearly a week. Oh, how he was altered I 
 His cheeks were colourless; his flesh was wasted 
 away. Arthur, my dear Arthur ! I said, how 
 do you find yourself? Richard, he replied, is 
 it you ? Where have you been ? I have not 
 seen you so long. I think I am dying. But I 
 shall always love you. We have never quar- 
 reled. God bless you ! Give me your hand, 
 my lad ! — And he pressed it. His hand felt 
 clammy and cold. 
 
 From this moment I was an altered being. 
 I felt my heart relieved as of an atrocious 
 crime. I retired into a corner, and prayed 
 most fervently for my brother's recovery. My 
 parents had been unkind to me ; my tutor un- 
 just; but Arthur never. Nature had moulded 
 g2
 
 124 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 him of the kindliest elements. He had never 
 taken advantage of the undue partiality that 
 had been shewn him. He had never, by any 
 interference of his, brought down upon me a 
 moments mortification and sorrow. He had 
 made me the equal partaker of all his little pos- 
 sessions. 
 
 At a proper age we were sent together to 
 Trinity College, Dublin. We were inseparable 
 companions. The injustice I had suffered in 
 my early years passed away. It is a commoner 
 and an easier thing to put down and discoun- 
 tenance a child or a school-boy, than it is to 
 persist in the same treatment towards a yqung 
 person verging on manhood. I was no longer 
 left to be the associate of footmen, and to im- 
 bibe their pernicious lessons. We were each 
 of us remarked as graceful and prepossessing. 
 We grew more alike. I had been the shorter 
 of the two ; but, as I advanced in my teens, I
 
 VII. 
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 125 
 
 shot up, and Arthur had scarcely in any thing 
 the advantage of me. Our parents, though 
 late, grew proud of their sons. Add to which, 
 when we left the paternal roof, I was less sub- 
 ject to the caprices of the individuals from 
 whom I derived my existence. Still however I 
 did not at all times forget, that Arthur was the 
 heir, that he was destined to be the rich man 
 and I the poor; and I then bitterly repined at 
 the partiality of fortune. 
 
 Arthur's tastes were military. He not only 
 imbibed this passion from his classical studies, 
 Achilles, and Alexander, and Caesar; but his 
 ambition was stimulated by the modern exam- 
 ples of Conde and Turenne and Villars and 
 Luxembourg, but above all by that of our fel- 
 low-subject, the duke of Marlborough. Arthur 
 was of a generous strain ; and it has often been 
 .observed that a bounteous and liberal spirit has 
 a kind of instinctive congeniality with military
 
 126 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 heroism. I was less enamoured of camps and 
 fields of battle than he was ; but I wished not 
 to separate my destiny from that of my brother, 
 and I felt that, if I succeeded in this career, 
 nothing could more obviously supply to me my 
 want of the goods of fortune. If I were not 
 born to a title, the honours of the field, and the 
 character of a distinguished soldier would place 
 me fully upon an equality with the men who bore 
 a coronet. My father favoured our wishes ; and 
 at a proper time Arthur became a lieutenant, 
 and I a cornet in the same regiment. 
 
 But the bare idea of wearing a red coat, and 
 figuring at a review, was by no means the gra- 
 tification to which my brother's ambition aspired. 
 A war was now on the point of breaking out 
 between the Austrians and the Turks ; and the 
 period had not yet passed away, when a cam- 
 paign against the infidels was looked upon in 
 somewhat of the same light, as that in which
 
 VII. CLOUDESLEY. 127 
 
 our ancestors in the middle ages regarded a 
 crusade for the delivery of the Holy Sepulchre. 
 Prince Eugene, the brother in arms of our own 
 Marlborough, was appointed by the emperor to 
 the command of an army of one hundred and 
 twenty-five thousand men; and we were de- 
 sirous of placing ourselves as volunteers under 
 his standard. 
 
 The proper authorities were easily obtained, 
 enabling us to quit the army of Ireland, and 
 enter upon this enterprise. A short time be- 
 fore we set out, my father died; my mother 
 had deceased in the preceding year. These 
 events however did not detain us long. Some 
 steps it was proper my brother should take in 
 person on his accession to the title and estate ; 
 but he left the details in the hands of a confi- 
 dential agent.
 
 128 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Eugene set out from Vienna to take the com- 
 mand of the imperial army on the first of July 
 1716. He won an important victory over the 
 Turks at Peterwaradin; and marched from the 
 field of battle against Temeswaer, which fortress 
 he reduced on the twelfth of October. The 
 ensuing winter was passed by him at Vienna ; 
 and here in the following spring he was joined 
 by a crowd of distinguished volunteers, French, 
 German and Italian, and among others by lord
 
 VIII. CLOUDESLEY. 1*29 
 
 Alton, as I shall henceforth call him, and my- 
 self. 
 
 The battle of Belgrade m 1717 was more 
 obstinately contended, and the Turkish army 
 was commanded by a more gallant leader, than 
 had been encountered by the imperialists in the 
 preceding year. My brother achieved wonders 
 both of valour and conduct in the events of the 
 campaign, and was proportionably honoured in 
 the applauses and favour of our illustrious chief. 
 The town of Belgrade capitulated the day after 
 the battle, on the seventeenth of August. 
 
 Never, in modern Europe, had two cam- 
 paigns been crowned with a more splendid 
 success, than these of prince Eugene against 
 the Turks. The war seemed at an end. The 
 negociations for peace commenced early in the 
 following year, and ended in a treaty, which 
 was signed in July, by which the emperor ac- 
 G 5
 
 130 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 quired Belgrade and Temeswaer, and extended 
 the bounds of his dominions. 
 
 But this splendour lies in a great degree on 
 the surface of things. The rainy season came 
 on immediately after the reduction of Belgrade. 
 The infectious odour of imburied bodies, the 
 confinement of such multitudes within the nar- 
 row limits of a camp, and the unwholesome 
 weather, spread diseases on every side, and 
 turned the camp almost into a hospital. The 
 victor-forces, who with such elation of heart had 
 humbled the insolence of the crescent, now 
 crawled about, emaciated and dejected, and 
 seemed scarcely able to bear up under the 
 weight of their existence. Eugene withdrew 
 his army over the Save, and encamped under 
 the walls of Semlin. 
 
 Here the same train of disasters pursued 
 him. The weather became exceedingly tem-
 
 VIII. C'LOUDESLEY. 131 
 
 pestuous. The winds roared ; and the inces- 
 sant rains poured down in torrents. The 
 bridges which had been constructed for the 
 accommodation of the army were broken down ; 
 and the bridge of boats across the Danube was 
 utterly annihilated. The prince, who had be- 
 fore moved his camp to the northern bank of 
 the Save, now found it necessary to break it up 
 entirely, and disperse his army into winter- 
 quarters. 
 
 The Turks, immediately after the battle of 
 Belgrade, seemed entirely to have disappeared. 
 The foot had in great part been cut oiF in the 
 battle. The main body of the horse had crossed 
 the Morava, and retired towards Moldavia and 
 the banks of the Pruth. The prince, expecting 
 to find the province of Bosnia in a manner de- 
 serted in this general reverse, first sent thither 
 a detachment of sixteen hundred horse. The 
 commander of tlie detachment speedily adver-
 
 132 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 tised him that he found the Turks gathering a 
 force in the vicinity of Zvornich. The prince 
 therefore dispatched three thousand foot with 
 cannon and mortars to cooperate with the horse, 
 and shortly after made up the detachment ten 
 thousand men. They formed the siege of 
 Zvornich. 
 
 Hassan, the bashaw of Bosnia, however, far 
 from giving way, under this general calamity, 
 determined to make the imperialists repent of 
 their temerity. He assembled his forces with 
 the utmost expedition. He was informed of a 
 body of Turkish cavalry, to the amount of no 
 fewer than fifteen thousand, which had broken 
 away from the rest, and had marched upon 
 Croatia. He immediately advanced towards, 
 and joined them. The forces which had been 
 quartered for the defence of the Austrian part of 
 Croatia, not expecting to be molested, amount- 
 ed to no more than two thousand. The Croats
 
 VIII. CLOUDESLEY. 133 
 
 however, who are all of them warlike, finding 
 the danger of a merciless enemy immediately 
 impending over them, assembled as volunteers, 
 to the assistance of the small bands of regulars, 
 to the number of seven thousand, and promised 
 in the course of a week to produce as many 
 more. 
 
 Hassan, who well understood the nature of 
 the foe he had to contend with, felt that on his 
 side every thing depended on dispatch. He 
 marched upon the imperialists, and by his ma- 
 noeuvres compelled them to an instant engage- 
 ment. He killed three thousand in the battle, 
 and made as many more prisoners. The two 
 Austrian generals escaped with difficulty. The 
 army he encountered was utterly annihilated. 
 
 All this was the affair of a few days. The 
 people of Croatia had been delighting them- 
 selves with the success of the imperial arms and 
 the prowess of their illustrious commander. At
 
 134 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 the news of the fall of Belgrade they gave them- 
 selves up to all the extravagance of joy. They 
 considered the formidable despot of Constan- 
 tinople as disarmed for ever. They felt the 
 same sort of security, as if a wall of impene- 
 trable brass had shut out the unhallowed foot- 
 steps of an invader. They ploughed their fields 
 in entire confidence. They sat, each man under 
 his vine, surrounded with his infant progeny. 
 The dance, and the sound of the tabor and fife, 
 exhilarated all hearts. 
 
 Hassan was a fierce and atrabilarious devotee 
 of the ascendancy of the crescent and of the re- 
 ligion of Mahomet. He had always dwelt with 
 transport upon the victories of the descendants 
 of Ali. He delighted to recollect the days 
 when the provinces of Africa bowed before the 
 standard of Mahomet, when his followers crossed 
 into Spain, and fought in the battle of Tours 
 for the dominion of France. He hated the
 
 VIII. CLOUDESLEY. 135 
 
 Christian dogs, the followers of the prophet of 
 Nazareth, who conjured the devil into a herd 
 of swine. He had therefore meditated on the 
 events of the present and the preceding cam- 
 paign with sentiments of frenzy and rage. 
 
 The victory he had just gained, put it in his 
 power to avenge on the Christians the disgraces 
 of Belgrade. He was, as we find in many war- 
 riors of Asiatic origin, alike brave in the hour 
 of conflict, and merciless in the moment of 
 triumph. He poured with his victorious troops 
 upon the fertile plains of Croatia. He laid 
 waste all the produce of the year. He spread 
 fire and sword on every side. He consumed 
 with flames the cottages, the granaries, the 
 farm-houses, the villages and the towns. He 
 spirited on his soldiers to every kind of licen- 
 tious ferocity. He drove along the inhabitants 
 amidst a whirlwind of cavalry, to be sold for 
 slaves in the more distant provinces of Turkey.
 
 136 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Never was a scene of desolation more perfect, 
 never a more unbroken solitude, than that which 
 he left behind. 
 
 The prince of Brunswick Bevern, who com- 
 manded at the siege of Zvornich, was induced 
 by the accounts that reached him of the cala- 
 mities of Croatia, to detach several troops from 
 the besieging force to endeavour to put a check 
 upon the enormities of Hassan, and to protect 
 what remained of the country. Lord Alton 
 commanded one of these troops, and I went 
 with him. Hassan had withdrawn himself pre- 
 viously to our arrival. Having defeated and 
 annihilated the army of raw recruits in Croatia, 
 he hastened to complete his work by raising the 
 siege of Zvornich. Here he was not less suc- 
 cessful than in the first object of his expedition. 
 By the celerity of his movements he took the 
 besiegers completely by surprise. He fell upon 
 them in their intrenchments ; he dispersed them
 
 VIII. CLOUDESLEY. 137 
 
 like chaff before the wind ; he took their camp 
 and baggage, and speedily delivered his go- 
 vernment of Bosnia from the annoyance of an 
 enemy. This was, locally speaking, a complete 
 reversing of the face of the campaign : but the 
 Turk did not attempt to cross the Save or the 
 Danube, and therefore the fortune of the war 
 continued the same as if Hassan had made no 
 efforts, or his efforts had terminated in disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 But, though Hassan had quitted Croatia pre- 
 viously to our arrival, he had left behind some 
 detached portions of his force, for the purpose 
 of preventing the Croats, who were essentially 
 of a warlike character, from assembling a new 
 army, and reversing that helpless state of things 
 and that desolation which he had created. 
 These troops, no longer under the eye of their 
 chief, were, if possible, more brutal and inhu- 
 mm than they had shewn themselves immedi-
 
 138 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 ately after their victory. They doled out that 
 violence and murder piecemeal, which Hassan 
 had perpetrated on a grander scale. Lord Alton 
 and the captains who had been dispatched on 
 die same errand, concerted together, and skil- 
 fully arranged certain points d'appui, by way of 
 shelter for the defenceless peasantry, and for the 
 purpose of holding in awe the petty bands of 
 the infidels, who had before straggled from 
 their quarters, with views of depredation, or the 
 design of satiating their most brutal passions 
 upon such as had none to help them. 
 
 During the whole of this melancholy scene, 
 a scene which exhibited all the sad results of 
 war without any of those glaring and dramatic 
 effects which cloak its deformity from the eyes 
 of the unthinking, my brother displayed in him- 
 -self the very soul of humanity. He was every 
 where; he appeared never to sleep. He was 
 all ear for the complaints of the miserable ; he
 
 VIII. CLOUDESLEY. , 139 
 
 penetrated into thsir wants before they had time 
 to express them ; he contrived remedies, where 
 the sufferers had persuaded themselves that re- 
 medy was impossible. He brought out to the 
 light of day children for parents that had pro- 
 nounced themselves childless, and parents for 
 children, who but for his activity must have pe- 
 rished by the way-side for lack of sustenance. 
 With the unerring eye of divine compassion he 
 always flew to the spot where his assistance was 
 principally needed, and in the critical moment 
 effected miracles of beneficence. His very look 
 and the character of his countenance were 
 changed. His eye swam in the liquid dew of 
 love ; his voice melted with all the softest tones 
 of sympathetic kindness ; his strength was pre- 
 ternatural ; his activity was ever fresh and new ; 
 he was like a messenger from heaven commis- 
 sioned for the relief of unutterable woes.
 
 140 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 One evening, that we were returning from one 
 of these godlike expeditions, and approached 
 the banks of the Unna, there started before us 
 from the neighbouring forest the figure of a 
 beautiful woman, pursued by two persons attired 
 in the Turkish uniform. They were on horse- 
 back, and had nearly overtaken her. Sure of 
 their prey, one of them wheeled round, with 
 the intention to take her in front. They would 
 otherwise have been in danger of throwing her
 
 rx. CLOUDESLEY. 141 
 
 to the earth with the weight of their steeds ; but 
 by this manoeuvre the nimble rider counted to 
 make her their prisoner without injury to her 
 person. We approached the spot in an obhque 
 direction, and were not at first observed by her 
 pursuers. As soon as we were, they turned 
 their horses (for we were to the amount of 
 twenty or thirty), and were presently out of 
 sight. The lady whom it had been their pur- 
 pose to seize, as long as they were engaged in 
 the chace was mute, and concentrated all her 
 powers in the rapidity of flight. But she no 
 sooner saw that deliverance was at hand, than 
 she uttered a scream, with a mixed expression 
 between agony and joy, and fell to the ground. 
 In a moment we reached the spot where 
 she lay, and Arthur and two or three more, 
 alighting from their horses, flew to her assist- 
 ance. It was long before she could be reco- 
 vered. When she opened her eyes, she looked
 
 142 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 wildly about her with every expression of the 
 bitterest anguish, and immediately again be- 
 came insensible. Three times did the paroxysm 
 return; and we began to apprehend that the 
 shock she had experienced was too great for 
 her strength to endure. Her complexion was 
 white, like that of a corpse. Her features were 
 sometimes convulsed, but oftener collapsed into 
 the semblance of death. She knew not what, 
 nor where she was. 
 
 Yet it was easy to see under all these disad- 
 vantages, that a more beautiful creature never 
 existed under the sun. I cannot speak fully of 
 this as she appeared at that moment. But this 
 encounter was the commencement of a familiar 
 intercourse ; and I may therefore reasonably 
 describe her, as she was seen by us when this 
 paroxysm of agony had passed away. — She 
 stood before us in the lustre of that beauty, 
 which is seen in the frailer and more delicate
 
 IX. CLOUDESLEY. 143 
 
 moiety of the human species, when born beneath 
 a glowing sun. She could not be more than 
 
 nineteen years of age. The first thing that 
 
 struck the beholder was the extreme regularity 
 of her features, so that the eye wandered over 
 the whole countenance without meeting with a 
 single harshness which might disturb its in- 
 chanted gaze. Her forehead was low and broad, 
 yet arched, and, being for that reason in a con- 
 siderable degree concealed with the hair, a 
 double interest was given to the eyes, which 
 thus became in a certain sense the sole inter- 
 preters of the mind. These were full and round, 
 the dark balls dilating with innumerable rays, 
 and fixed in a liquid heaven of the deepest, 
 purest blue. The sweeping arch of the upper 
 lid gave a peculiar look of nobleness and open- 
 ness to the countenance. There seemed, so to 
 speak, full room for the thoughts to come forth,
 
 144 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 and display themselves. Her nose was broad 
 at the root, and, descending straight from the 
 forehead, terminated in due season in a rounded 
 point. Her smile was tender and full; and, 
 while it possessed extraordinary powers of ex- 
 pression, disturbed less the shape of the lips 
 than the smile of an European, which most fre- 
 quently widens in lines into the cheek. Her 
 chin, which was round and turned up, formed 
 as it were a base to the entire countenance. 
 Her cheeks were not full and prominent, but 
 on the contrary seemed to withdraw, and thus 
 to place the features strikingly in relief. Her 
 complexion was brown and glowing, and, on any 
 sudden emotion, her eyes and lips and cheeks 
 simultaneously partook of the same suffusion, 
 each with a hue peculiar to itself, yet blending 
 into one delicious whole. Her figure was smaller 
 both in size and fulness than that of the beauties
 
 IX. CLOUDESLEY. 145 
 
 of the North usually are, while it was at the sam 
 time more defined in muscular appearance, more 
 airy in effect, and compact in the entire whole*. 
 
 More than an hour elapsed, before the blood, 
 which had rushed back to the heart, resumed 
 its ordinary functions, and gave to her limbs the 
 power of voluntary motion. At the same time 
 her faculties of recollection returned to her. 
 
 My father ! Where is my father ? she ex- 
 claimed. I must see my father ! 
 
 She was about to fly from us with the speed 
 of lightning. But her strength was not equal to 
 her desires. After a few steps she fell. My 
 brother raised her from the earth, and soothed 
 her with those accents, which I had heard so 
 often, and which had a power over the human 
 heart that no other man ever equalled. He 
 
 * This description of the person of the Greek lady was 
 obligingly supplied to me, by one who had the happiness 
 to be intimately acquainted with her. 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 offered himself as her assistant; he intreated 
 her to point out the way. We came to a ca- 
 vern in the rock. 
 
 What a spectacle then presented itself before 
 us ! At the mouth of the cavern lay an old man 
 with his face upward ; a deep wound was in his 
 breast ; the blood was still flowing ; but the man 
 was dead. A middle-aged woman in a state of 
 insensibility was groveling on his corpse. That 
 man and woman were the father and mother of 
 the female we had saved. Those renegades had 
 murdered the old man, and were pursuing the 
 daughter, at the time that we interposed, and 
 drove them into flight.
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 147 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The father and mother of the damsel we had 
 saved were Greeks. The name of the father 
 was Colocotroni, that of his daughter Irene. 
 He was of the race of the Mainotes, the de- 
 scendants of the ancient Spartans. He was of 
 the noblest class of this people, and had been 
 the proprietor of considerable wealth. In his 
 youth he had devoted himself to the contem- 
 plation of the heroic deeds of his ancestors, who 
 in ancient times had repelled the Persian inva- 
 H 2
 
 148 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 sion ; and he indulged in dreams of being him- 
 self an instrument to shake off the yoke of the 
 more barbarous Turk. He had fondly dwelt 
 upon the contrast of character between the ig- 
 norant and presumptuous conqueror, and the 
 ingenious and inventive enslaved. The latter 
 were tenfold more numerous than the former. 
 The victor left to the Greeks the various pur- 
 suits of arts, manufactures and commerce, while 
 he proudly flattered himself that he was born 
 only for conquest and indulgence, and the others 
 sent into the world to supply his wants, and 
 anticipate his wishes. The Turk was unques- 
 tionably brave, and well trained in all the dis- 
 cipline of the followers of Mahomet. His was 
 the strength of thews and sinews, while the in- 
 genuity, the subtlety and active invention of the 
 Greeks were in his opinion only calculated to 
 make them more serviceable slaves. The creed 
 of Colocotroni was of a diametrically opposite
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 149 
 
 character. He held, that mind was destined by 
 nature to be the master of the universe, and 
 that, where intellectual faculties existed, they 
 could not fail by perseverance to bring all other 
 things into subjection and obedience. 
 
 Colocotroni had been in his youth a fervent 
 patriot. He had passed from the volumes of the 
 ancients, and the meditations which those vo- 
 lumes suggested, into the world. He had stu- 
 died his countrymen, with an ardent desire to 
 find in them all that his fond wishes suggested, 
 but with a feeling that, if they rose in arms to 
 shake off the Turkish yoke, it was a deep stake 
 that they played for. He knew that, if they 
 failed in the attempt, there was no inhumanity 
 that their barbarous masters, in revenge of 
 their audacity, and in contempt of the Christian 
 dogs that dared to rise up against them, would 
 not inflict. He had weighed his countrymen in 
 the balance, and found them wanting. They
 
 160 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 were sufficiently inflammable ; but they had an 
 instability, the utter foe of arduous undertakings. 
 They were easily excited, and easily daunted. 
 If the whole business could have been effected 
 by one bold exertion, then the Greeks would not 
 fail. But they were not prepared to encounter 
 reverses, to sustain the most trying sufferings 
 and privations, and against hope to believe in 
 hope. In addition to all other disadvantages, 
 they were totally deficient in subordination and 
 concert. Every one abounded in his own sense, 
 judged that his plan was the one that should 
 be followed, and that he himself should be the 
 leader. In the deep recesses of his soul Colo- 
 cotroni resolved that he would not be the per- 
 son to urge his countrymen to enterprises, in 
 which, alone and unsustained, he became con- 
 vinced they would not succeed. 
 
 Having looked on all sides for the succour 
 of which the Greeks of the Morea stood in
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 151 
 
 need, he at length persuaded himself that he 
 had found it in the republic of Venice. The 
 Venetians had lost the island of Candia to the 
 Turks in the year 1669. But they had pre- 
 viously sustained a siege of twenty-eight months; 
 and Morosini, the governor, had surrendered it 
 in the last extremity, with the reputation of the 
 most consummate commander both by sea and 
 land, that Italy had produced for more than a 
 century. The fame of this man perpetually in- 
 creased ; and his ascendancy in his native state 
 was such as no efforts of those who desired to 
 destroy it could succeed to undermine. Colo- 
 cotroni saw in the government of Venice a race 
 of profound politicians, while its armies were 
 led by, a general from whose prowess every be- 
 neficial result might be expected. The Vene- 
 tians were Christians, cultivated by every art, 
 and excelling in various literature. How much 
 more beneficial must it be for the Greeks of the
 
 152 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Morea to be placed under the protection of Ve- 
 nice, than to be scourged, as now, by the de- 
 spotism and contempt of the barbarous Turk ! 
 Ck)locotroni could earnestly have wished that 
 his countrymen might have been valiant and 
 resolute enough to be their own deliverers. 
 But, satisfied that that was not the case, he be- 
 lieved that he had found in this expedient the 
 only practicable mode of arriving at the good 
 he desired. 
 
 The Venetians, the Austrians and the Poles, 
 the hereditary and inexpiable adversaries of the 
 power whose flag now waved from the minarets 
 of Constantinople, having had some years' re- 
 spite from the toils and the calamities of war, 
 took in the winter of 168 J counsel together, 
 how they might in the most effectual way expel 
 the hordes of the Asiatics from the shores of 
 Europe. Colocotroni, authorised by the most 
 considerable of his countrymen, resorted to this
 
 X* CLOUDESLEY. 153 
 
 conference, laid before them a plan for reducing 
 the peninsula under the sovereignty of Venice, 
 and promised the unanimous concurrence of 
 the Moreotes to carry it into effect. Morosini 
 accordingly sailed with a fleet for the execution 
 of this purpose, and in a series of uninterrupted 
 successes reduced St. Maura, Modon, Coron, 
 Navarino, Lepanto and Patras, and annexed 
 the entire dominion of the Morea to the go- 
 vernment of the Venetians. Corinth and Na- 
 poli di Romania were the last trophies of his 
 success. The expedition took place in the year 
 1687. 
 
 Nothing could be more complete than the 
 success of the plan which had thus been sug- 
 gested. But the result was similar to that of 
 iEsop's fable of the horse and, the stag. The 
 Greeks got rid of the enemy, whose tyranny 
 they had deemed insupportable. But they found 
 no advantage in the exchange. The arbitrary 
 H 5
 
 154 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 power of the Turk they had felt from time to 
 time in all its severity. The oppression of the 
 Venetian satraps was yet more systematical, 
 invariable and insupportable. The Venetians 
 did not seem to consider the Greeks as in any 
 way entitled to their indulgence. They despised 
 them as an effeminate and unorganised people, 
 and of consequence worthy only to be trampled 
 on. Their determined purpose was to draw as 
 large supplies from them as possible, to fill the 
 coffer of the paramount state. Nor was this all. 
 The provincial governors, finding that such was 
 the policy of the senate that deputed them, deter- 
 mined to imitate their masters, and proceeded 
 to fleece the subject people, not only for the be- 
 nefit of their masters, but also for their private 
 advantage. 
 
 Colocotroni, thus painfully disappointed in 
 the result of his endeavours, resolved hence- 
 forth to withdraw himself from public affairs,
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 155 
 
 and concentre the activity of his spirit in his 
 studies and the circle of his private friends. 
 Tlie dominion of the Venetians lasted nearly 
 thirty years. During this period the efferves- 
 cence of his youthful thoughts had greatly sub- 
 sided. He married somewhat late in life ; and 
 his bride, according to the mode of the warmer 
 climates in these cases, had been considerably 
 younger than himself. They had only one 
 daughter, that survived the period of infancy. 
 The wife had been beautiful. Beauty in these 
 climates is eminently a fragile flower ; but, as 
 the beauty of the mother subsided, that of the 
 daughter continually developed itself in greater 
 splendour and fascination. 
 
 It was in the year that preceded the cam- 
 paigns of Eugene against the north-west frontier 
 of the Turks, that the armies of the Ottomans 
 had fallen with so great a force, both by sea 
 and land, upon the Morea, and the invasion
 
 156 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 was so totally unexpected by the now supine 
 and heartless Venetians, that all the fortresses 
 built for the defence of the peninsula against an 
 enemy were reduced at a blow. The Greeks 
 looked on at this entire transfer of dominion 
 with a perfect neutrality. Their very hearts 
 were filled with aversion against their Italian 
 lords. They believed that the former success 
 of Morosini was mainly owing to their coope- 
 ration ; and they saw how all their services and 
 good-will had been requited. The vigilance of 
 their Venetian governors, so far as applied to 
 the oppression of the natives, had never relaxed 
 for a moment; and they found the methodised 
 extortion of their new masters, infinitely more 
 vexatious than the crude and skill-less imposi- 
 tions of the Turk. 
 
 Colocotroni had taken no part in this event. 
 He had the most cogent reason to be dissa- 
 tisfied with the Venetians, whom, thirty years
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 157 
 
 before, he had invited into the country ; and he 
 beheved that he should have no personal cause 
 to regret the resumed dominion of the Turk. 
 What was his astonishment therefore to find, 
 that one of the first acts of the Ottoman govern- 
 ment was to drag him from his peaceful home, 
 and cast him into a dungeon ! 
 
 This proceeding was the fruit of a cabal. 
 One of the most esteemed friends of the early 
 years of Colocotroni, was a brother Maiiiote 
 and a neighbour, of the name of Bozzari. Their 
 youthful studies had been similar; they had 
 meditated, and had communed together, re- 
 specting the sentiments and the virtues of the 
 ancient Greeks. They had set out in life as 
 patriots ; but they had each come to the same 
 conclusion, that their contemporaries, who had 
 grown up under the Turkish dominion, were 
 not made of such elements, as should afford a 
 rational hope that they would be able of them-
 
 158 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 selves to vindicate their independence. Colo- 
 cotroni and Bozzari therefore, with others of 
 their countrymen, had concurred in the project 
 of calling in the aid of the Venetians. 
 
 Bozzari had died in the prime of life ; but he 
 had left a son, the sole heir of his property. 
 He had married earlier than his friend; and 
 his son was ten years older than the daughter 
 of Colocotroni. But this did not interfere with 
 the attachment which the young man cherished 
 for the fair Irene, whom he had been accustomed 
 to see every day. He had been the protector 
 and friend of her infancy. He had been her in- 
 structor. It will be found in many ways ad- 
 vantageous, that the preceptor should, as little 
 as may be, exceed in years the years of the 
 pupil. Irene felt herself particularly charmed 
 with the lessons of the young Bozzari. There 
 is a natural caressing and accommodation of 
 manner in a boy just growing up into manhood
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 159 
 
 towards a being, ten years his junior, espe- 
 cially if that being is a female, that renders 
 his communications delightful, Irene had the 
 profoundest reverence for her father, almost 
 amounting to adoration; and yet there was 
 certainly a variety of things that she more 
 eagerly learned from the son of her father's 
 friend. The stripling had in him the seeds of 
 a violent and ungovernable character ; but this 
 native of the forest curbed his temper, and 
 sheathed his fangs, whenever it was his cue to 
 address himself to the beautiful child. — The 
 scene I describe was not in accordance with 
 the manners of these countries; but the close 
 intimacy of the fathers sanctioned the innova- 
 tion. And, as these things occurred when 
 Irene was no more than five or six years of 
 age, the unripe age of the pupil banished any 
 scruple which might otherwise have arisen. 
 Such for the most part the younger Bozzari
 
 160 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 had appeared during the Hfe-time of his father. 
 When he was nearly twenty years of age, the 
 father died, and left Jiis son under the guardian- 
 ship of his friend. This was the signal for the 
 young man to break loose from all restraint. 
 For some time before the death of his parent, 
 he had secretly connected himself with a band 
 of licentious rioters, though the awe of fatherly 
 authority had kept him within bounds, and his 
 wanderings had been carefully concealed. In 
 fact the junior Bozzari had for a considerable 
 time only carried himself speciously in the pre- 
 sence of his father, and the house of his father's 
 friend, while all those of inferior station knew 
 him for what he was, tyrannical, cruel, and a 
 profligate. 
 
 At the death of his father he at once threw 
 off the mask. In the precepts of a parent he 
 recognised the voice of nature; but he con- 
 sidered the directions of a guardian as flowing
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 161 
 
 from a factitious and an usurped authority. He 
 grew every day more rebellious and stubborn, 
 and at length totally broke off from all in- 
 tercourse with Colocotroni. He became the 
 slave of habits of debauchery, and for a time 
 forgot all the haunts of his youth. It was du- 
 ring this period that he contrived to dissipate 
 his inheritance. He had been reduced to the 
 most desperate straits ; and, in proportion as 
 his difficulties increased, his morals became 
 more relaxed. All sober and creditable per- 
 sons now shunned his society ; and he associ- 
 ated only with men of villainous principles and 
 desperate character. Such had been the style 
 in which he proceeded for a period of seven 
 years. 
 
 Meanwhile the season at length arrived, when 
 like certain other prodigals, he appeared to 
 have grown tired of a career of dissipation, and 
 to have adopted the plan of a reformed life.
 
 162 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 He sought once more the protection of Coloco- 
 troni. He regarded the friend of his father, 
 the instant he professed the purpose of an al- 
 tered course, as obliged to become his patron. 
 He reminded the venerable Greek, of the de- 
 voted attachment he had felt for his fair daughter 
 even in infancy, and added that the sure way to 
 reclaim him for ever, was to give him her hand, 
 and establish him in a system of domestic life. 
 Colocotroni felt the truest devotion to the me- 
 mory of the deceased ; he would not have been 
 deterred from acceding to the proposition that 
 was made him, by the poverty of the suitor ; 
 but he thought his daughter's happiness far too 
 precious a stake to be embarked in so uncertain 
 a venture. He therefore set before the young 
 man a picture at large of his prodigality, his 
 debauched courses, and the disgrace into which 
 he had plunged himself, and rejected his suit. 
 He offered to do every thing in his power to
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 163 
 
 restore his ward to his former station in society, 
 but refused to assist in the mode now suggested. 
 He was even careful not to give to the professed 
 penitent encouragement to hope, that at a future 
 time he might be found more favourable to his 
 suit. 
 
 The young Bozzari was radically of an un- 
 forgiving spirit. He had not anticipated this 
 repulse. He swore in the inmost recesses of his 
 soul, that Colocotroni should rue to his latest 
 hour the affront which was thus put upon him; 
 He returned to his former associates, his mind 
 rankling with revenge. It was at this time that 
 a correspondence was entered into with the 
 Turk by some of the Moreotes of the looser 
 sort for the expulsion of the Venetians. Boz- 
 zari believed that he could make this revolu- 
 tion in some way subservient to his animosity 
 against Colocotroni, and engaged in the con- 
 spiracy. The event was the entire restoration
 
 164 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 of the authority of the Porte over this beautiful 
 country. 
 
 The Austrians immediately declared their 
 discontent with the revolution that had taken 
 place, and loudly complained of the invasion to 
 the Ottoman government, as an infraction of the 
 peace of Carlowitz. Prince Eugene of Savoy had 
 a genuine passion for military enterprise ; and, 
 partly from his instigation, war was declared by 
 the emperor against the Turk. Achmet, the 
 officer who had been commissioned by the di- 
 van to effect the reduction of the Morea, found 
 himself placed in a very arduous predicament. 
 He cast into prison a certain number of the 
 most considerable Greeks ; and, as he was him- 
 self unacquainted with the tempers and views 
 of the inhabitants, he was directed in the choice 
 of his victims by the unworthy natives who 
 had invited the expedition. Colocoti'oni was 
 one of the imprisoned.
 
 X. CLOUDESLEY. 165 
 
 But the revenge of Bozzari did not stop at 
 this point. He represented his guardian to the 
 Turkish commander, as engaged in a secret 
 correspondence with the court of Vienna, and 
 industriously urging them to throw down the 
 gauntlet against the Ottomans, This at the 
 present moment was a most dangerous accusa- 
 tion ; and the Turks were accustomed to be 
 in a high degree summary in the administra- 
 tion of what they called justice. The life of 
 Colocotroni was in the most imminent peril; 
 and the reputation of his great wealth increased 
 the danger, Bozzari was instigated to accom- 
 plish his destruction by the joint impulses of 
 hatred and of love. He resolved never to for- 
 give his guardian for the affront he had put 
 upon him ; and he believed that, when Coloco- 
 troni was removed, he should easily be enabled, 
 particularly in the present convulsed state of 
 the Morea, to dispose of his orphan daughter
 
 166 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 as be pleased. Already in his villainous imagi- 
 nation he had taken away the life of the father, 
 and gratifying at once his hatred and his love, 
 made the daughter the victim of his lust. There 
 even seemed to be nothing that could prevent 
 him in his crimes. Colocotroni was greatly 
 loved and honoured by his countrymen ; but at 
 the present crisis it was not believed that a sin- 
 gle Greek would be listened to by the Turkish 
 commander, except those who had been active 
 in reducing the Morea once again under the 
 dominion of the crescent.
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEV. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 It is impossible to depict the agony of mind 
 to which the wife and daughter of Colocotroni 
 were reduced on this dreadful occasion. The 
 wife felt for her husband the most tender and 
 undivided attachment. Being many years his 
 junior, she regarded him as her father, her* 
 protector, the only person who could conduct 
 her in safety and honour through the perilous 
 paths of life : at the same time that, in the in- 
 timacy and reciprocity of the connubial state,
 
 168 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 she felt for him that ardent spirit of affection, 
 which appeared to her to exceed all she could 
 have known towards the author of her exist- 
 ence. There was yet another link that bound 
 him to her heart-strings. Irene, the fruit of 
 her womb, for whose safety she felt inexpres- 
 sible misgivings, must be deserted, must, as she 
 believed, inevitably be lost, in the present wild 
 state of the newly conquered Morea, without a 
 father's protection. 
 
 Irene was herself in a state of mind consi- 
 derably different from that of her mother. She 
 loved her father with the most perfect devotion; 
 and she was not insensible of the forlorn con- 
 dition in which she and her mother would be 
 left, if Colocotroni became the victim of Turkish 
 policy. But now first there burst out within 
 her bosom emphatically the seeds which had 
 been sown by the education of her father. She 
 did not abandon herself to despair. She felt
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 169 
 
 that she had resources within her. She had 
 derived benefits inestimable from the lessons of 
 Colocotroni; and she believed that the time 
 was now come for her in part to repay those 
 benefits. She could not believe that she was 
 nothing, a mere gaudy flower in the parterre of 
 nature, or, like the beauties of a Turkish harem, 
 existing only for the gratification of the senses 
 of imperious man ; and she determined to make 
 experiment of what was in her power. If there 
 was hazard in the trial, the danger, should she 
 remain nerveless and supine, would be nearly 
 equal ; and she could not expose herself to the 
 tempest of the public scene in a more glorious 
 cause. 
 
 She consulted an intimate friend of her father, 
 a most honourable man, a Greek, of the name 
 of Adrasti. He assisted her by his advice ; but 
 the suggestion of what she had resolved to un- 
 dertake, was purely her own. Whatever were 
 
 VOL. T. 1
 
 170 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 the difficulties and discouragements that at- 
 tended it, she determined to encounter tkem. 
 The circumstances proved in reality more fa- 
 vourable, than could have been expected. She 
 requested Adrasti to make himself acquainted 
 with the personal dispositions of the Turkish 
 commander. Adrasti found that Achmet vv^as 
 of a character of which all men stood in fear. 
 He was fierce, severe and repulsive. His 
 temper was ferocious; his orders often in- 
 human ; mercy seemed altogether a stranger to 
 his breast ; and he even appeared to delight in 
 blood. But, with all this, he was a fervent 
 lover of justice, according to his own concep- 
 tions of that virtue. He did not indeed, in the 
 execution of his military designs, feel greatly 
 prompted to stop and discriminate. When a 
 people were to be driven into exile, or sold to 
 slavery, he gave himself no trouble to distin- 
 guish the innocent from the guilty. He took
 
 xr. CLOUDESLEY. 171 
 
 it for granted, when the honour of the crescent 
 demanded a sacrifice of this kind, that all were 
 of equal demerit. But, when an individual case 
 came before him, in which flagrant injustice was 
 supposed to be committed, he rose like a lion in 
 vindication of his favourite virtue. Here he 
 appeared to be in his element ; he was impar- 
 tial and equal in his judgment of the merits of 
 the case; and he was exemplary in his ven- 
 geance upon those who sought to impose upon 
 him. He had also another quality, which in 
 some respects was not unfavourable to the en- 
 terprise of Irene. He exhibited in his own 
 person that rare phenomenon in the Turkish 
 nation, a man indifferent to the allurements of 
 the fair sex. Though his philosophy was alto- 
 gether of the barbarous sort, yet, such as it was, 
 it engrossed the devotion of his soul. He 
 thought woman beneath his attention. He be- 
 lieved the individual who bowed at the shrine 
 I 2
 
 172 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 of beauty, unworthy the name of a man. His 
 austerity was proof against all assaults. While 
 he was young, he had never been a boy; he 
 had never engaged in childish sports, or been 
 amused with trifles. His rigid features had 
 never relaxed into a smile. His heart was un- 
 impressible as the nether milstone. If this 
 character was in one respect unfavourable to 
 the generous purpose of Irene, in another it was 
 propitious. There was no danger that Achmet 
 should form any project hostile to her chastity. 
 Achmet at present administered his govern- 
 ment at Corinth ; and Corinth was the prison 
 of the unhappy Colocotroni. Hither therefore 
 Irene repaired. Corinth was the see of a 
 Christian archbishop; and this dignitary was 
 at present from motives of policy treated v/ith 
 some degree of consideration by the Turkish 
 conquerors. The archbishop entertained a due 
 esteem for the virtues of Colocotroni; and
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 173 
 
 Irene first addressed herself to him. Most 
 gladly would she have obtained an interview 
 with her father ; but that was impossible. In- 
 dulgence obtained no quarter from the temper 
 of Achmet. Colocotroni was shut up in rigo- 
 rous solitude in the dungeons of the citadel; 
 and no mortal but the jailer and his servants 
 was permitted to approach. All that the arch- 
 bishop could obtain for the fair Greek, was 
 that she should be allowed access to Achmet, 
 and to tender her petition to him in person. 
 Aware of the temper of the governor, he had 
 not even mentioned to him the name of the 
 suitor. His request had been, that Achmet 
 would permit a distressed Grecian female to 
 lay her sorrows at his feet. 
 
 Irene ascended the hill, anciently called the 
 Acrocorinthus, upon which the citadel is built, 
 and Adrasti was suffered to attend her. The 
 citadel, and the hill on which it stands, command
 
 174 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 the finest prospect in the world, the gulphs of 
 Lepanto and Egina, the sacred woods of the 
 ancient Delphi, and a country upon which from 
 every side nature has lavished her most exceed- 
 ing bounties. Irene pursued the path which 
 had of old been constructed, leading up to the 
 seat of government; she resolved to break 
 through the restraints of Turkish manners, but 
 her person was covered with a thick veil ; she 
 saw nothing to her right or her left, before her 
 or behind her ; her mind was engrossed with 
 those sentiments of filial piety which had prompt- 
 ed her undertaking. 
 
 Achmet was engaged, at the very moment in 
 which she entered the chamber, with one of the 
 officers of the prison, who was calling over to 
 him the list of the prisoners in durance for of- 
 fences against the state. He ordered variously, 
 some to be sent into banishment at the foot of 
 mount Caucasus, some to be imprisoned for a
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 175 
 
 term of years, while he deferred his decision on 
 the case of others. The name of Colocotroni 
 was enunciated. Let him die, said Achmet, in 
 the public place of Corinth, at the hour of 
 noon. 
 
 Irene at this moment had reached the spot 
 where the general stood. Her senses were ar- 
 rested ; she heard the name of her father ; she 
 heard the award of the Turk. Struck to the 
 heart in an instant, she fell suddenly to the 
 earth. She lay, with her brow at the foot of 
 Achmet. Unmoved by the incident, with un- 
 altered features he motioned to the attendants 
 to raise her up. 
 
 What woman is this ? He demanded. 
 
 It is the person whom, at the suit of the 
 Greek primate, you consented to hear. 
 
 Explain yourself, said the general. What is 
 it you would have me do for you ? — She threw 
 back her veil.
 
 176 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 I am the daughter of Colocotroni. 
 
 Bear her hence. I have pronounced his sen- 
 tence. 
 
 Will Achmet be unjust ? Oh, my lord ! my 
 father is guiltless. Stain not the sword of 
 righteousness you bear, with the blood of the 
 innocent ! 
 
 Woman, I have decided on the most un- 
 erring grounds. Your father brought in the 
 Venetian thirty years since, and perpetrated 
 the deepest offence against the Porte. He 
 has grown grey in rebellion and treason. He 
 stirred up the Venetian then ; he has stirred 
 up the Austrian now. But he shall offend no 
 more. He dies. Would I had known in what 
 suit the primate solicited me ! Remove this 
 woman. Officer, I have given my final orders. 
 
 Irene struggled with the men who were en- 
 gaged in thrusting her from the presence of the 
 general. She loosened herself from their hold;
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 177 
 
 she was once more at the feet of Achmet. With 
 imploring hands and tearless eyes she claimed 
 his attention. 
 
 Yet, yet, she cried, the blow is not struck. I 
 do not plead for the guilty. If my father has 
 done any thing worthy of death, let him die ! 
 But hear him ! Achmet will not refuse a hear- 
 ing to the man who is able to vindicate himself. 
 Bring him and his accuser front to front, and 
 then judge between them ! My life upon his 
 innocence ! 
 
 There was something in the manner of Irene, 
 that shook the confidence of the Turk. It was 
 not pity that moved him ; it was not the power 
 of beauty. In these directions he was inacces- 
 sible. It was the voice of truth ; it was the tone 
 of deep-felt and entire conviction. It was im- 
 possible not to feel that the suppliant infallibly 
 knew the truth of what she uttered; it was 
 I 5
 
 178 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 impossible not to imagine, that the oracle of 
 heaven expressed itself by her organs. 
 
 Colocotroni finished what Irene had begun. 
 Achmet yielded to the suggestions of his sup- 
 pliant. He commanded that the father should 
 immediately be brought into his presence : he 
 directed that Bozzari should be summoned. 
 Irene was removed. The business was to 
 place the veracity and assertions of the accuser 
 and the accused in equal balance. And, though 
 Achmet did not doubt the inflexibility of his 
 judgment, he resolved that the single object 
 before him should be the parties themselves. 
 
 Both were taken by surprise. But the effect 
 was different upon the one and the other. 
 Bozzari was disturbed at the presence of his 
 victim. He had felt from childhood that Colo- 
 cotroni was a being of another order from him- 
 self. He knew that he had endeavoured to
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 179 
 
 crush him under the weight of a false accusa- 
 tion ; and he had counted upon his death as 
 instantaneous and certain. He was summoned 
 to the presence of Achmet. To see there the 
 man he had injured, aHve, and able to speak for 
 himself, appalled him no less than the appari- 
 tion of a departed spirit would have done. 
 
 Colocotroni was brought from his dungeon. 
 He knew not whither they were leading him ; 
 probably, as he conceived, to the place of ex- 
 ecution. Instead of that, he found himself in 
 the presence-chamber in the Acrocorinthus. 
 The good man is never unprepared, to stand in 
 any presence, to repel any accusation, to face 
 the monarchs of the earth, and to justify his 
 own integrity. He saw Bozzari placed together 
 with him, front to front, before the Turk. The 
 whole truth was revealed to him in a moment. 
 
 Bozzari was called on for his indictment. 
 He hesitated and grew pale. He related a
 
 180 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Story of conspiracy among the Greeks, of intel- 
 ligence conveyed, and incentives administered, 
 to the cabinet of Vienna. He told of the re- 
 sult, of troops assembled by the emperor, and 
 prince Eugene actually appointed to the com- 
 mand. 
 
 Colocotroni felt what it vv^as incumbent on 
 him to do. He cared little for his own life; 
 but his wife and his child had no other pro- 
 tector; and he trembled to think what might 
 happen to them in a newly conquered and dis- 
 turbed country, when he himself should have 
 been cut off by the executioner as a criminal 
 against the state. He felt that he was called 
 upon for a bold and unshrinking defence, that 
 should overwhelm his accuser with the con- 
 tempt he merited. 
 
 I will tell to your highness at once, said 
 Colocotroni, the entire truth without colouring 
 and disguise. I am a Greek, and the lover of
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 181 
 
 Greece ; I aspired to emulate the heroes who 
 in ancient times fought against and baffled the 
 innumerable armies of the despot of Persia. I 
 saw in the state of Venice men who worshipped 
 the same God, and believed in the same Saviour, 
 as we did. I persuaded myself that the Vene- 
 tian senate would prove our protectors and our 
 brothers. I invited them into Greece; I as- 
 sisted them with all my might ; I resolved that, 
 if any exertion of mine could effect it, the Turk 
 should not possess a foot of land in the Morea. 
 I succeeded. If the question is to punish an 
 offence against the divan of Constantinople 
 committed in the year 1687,— here I am; use 
 me at your pleasure. 
 
 But I soon found the mistake I had com- 
 mitted ; I found the Venetians our unrelenting 
 oppressors. I resented this the more, because 
 they came among us under the pretence of 
 being our deliverers. I felt less aversion to the
 
 182 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Turks, because they were at least honest ene- 
 mies, and did not attempt to deceive us. But 
 I resolved henceforth to retire into myself, to 
 converse only with my studies and my private 
 friends. I became convinced that I could ren- 
 der no important service to my country as a 
 country. It is not in my disposition to be any 
 thing by halves ; whatever I undertake, I un- 
 dertake with my whole soul, and keep for myself 
 no loop-hole, no retreating place behind. The 
 private course of life I have chosen, I have 
 preserved inviolate for more than twenty-five 
 years. 
 
 My accuser pursues me from personal mo- 
 tives. I was appointed his guardian by his 
 deceased father. I endeavoured with sincerity 
 to do him all the good that I could. He re- 
 jected my advice, and became a prodigal. His 
 associates have uniformly been chosen from 
 among the most abandoned of the Greeks. At
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 183 
 
 length, when he had squandered his fortune, 
 and blasted his character, he pretended to turn 
 repentant. He asked of me the hand of my 
 only child, the staff of my age, in marriage. I 
 refused him. Hence his present hostilities. 
 He has resolved by false accusations to destroy 
 the father, that the daughter may fall defenceless 
 into his hands. 
 
 In speaking thus to your excellency, I lay 
 before you without disguise the true account of 
 my imprisonment, and of this man's accusation. 
 But it is not just, that you should found your 
 judgment either on his story or mine. He al- 
 leges that I have corresponded with, and en- 
 deavoured to stir up against you, the court of 
 Vienna. Let him produce his proofs. If I 
 have written letters hostile to your government, 
 or to that of Constantinople, with the contents 
 of which he is acquainted, he must have inter- 
 cepted some of them. Let him shew those
 
 184 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 letters ; or let him bring forward witnesses that 
 have seen them. I on the other hand am ready 
 to produce witnesses of the inoifensiveness of 
 my life, and that I have held no society with 
 persons of doubtful character, or who can be 
 suspected of engaging in political conspiracies. 
 
 Bozzari was unprepared for this severe ex- 
 amination of evidence. He sought however to 
 bring himself out of the affair as he could. He 
 owned he had no letters. But he undertook to 
 present witnesses to Achmet, who had seen the 
 letters, and could attest the truth of his infor- 
 mation. The witnesses were called for. They 
 were persons of the lowest description, and ap- 
 parently dependent upon the accuser. Achmet 
 insisted upon examining them separately. Thus 
 tried, they could not agree in one sentence of 
 these imaginary letters. Achmet demanded the 
 letters themselves. If they had been intercepted 
 in the manner pretended, and fixed on as the
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 185 
 
 ground of a criminal accusation, it could never 
 be imagined that they would have been de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 In conclusion, Achmet became satisfied of the 
 falshood of the charge, and drove Bozzari with 
 scorn from his presence. It is thus, said he, 
 that in state- affairs the officer who would serve 
 his prince, is reduced to contaminate himself 
 with the intercourse of the worst of men. I 
 well know that no honourable Greek will pre- 
 vail upon himself to be the friend of the Turk. 
 Our religion, our manners are different. It is 
 the principle of the Mahometan faith to reduce 
 all unbelievers into subjection. Every virtuous 
 Greek will desire the independence of his coun- 
 try. You may become good subjects, sub- 
 mitting with patience to the yoke you cannot 
 relieve yourselves from. But you cannot be 
 our confederates. All this I knew ; and I take 
 shame to myself for being governed, in a matter
 
 186 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 of plain justice, and where the life of an indivi- 
 dual is at stake, by the assertions of a renegade. 
 It is a poor apology to say, that, in the midst 
 of a people newly reduced to the obedience of 
 my master, one has not leisure for every thing, 
 and that in such a situation it is unavoidable to 
 distrust all who appear to have the power to 
 disturb the government. In fine, judging as I 
 do of Bozzari and yourself, I am reduced to the 
 necessity of employing the one, and discounte- 
 nancing the other. 
 
 If I were a private man, I should desire the 
 friendship of such an one as Colocotroni, his re- 
 ligion only excepted. As a public officer, I am 
 compelled to act otherwise. The policy of the 
 divan of Constantinople requires that you should 
 be removed out of this our newly recovered 
 province. You were principally instrumental 
 in the year 1687, in expelling the Turks out of 
 the Morea, You are well known to be hostile
 
 XI. CLOUDESLEY. 187 
 
 to the subjugation of your countrymen. These 
 are not offences against general justice: but 
 they are offences against the master I serve, 
 and the standard I bear. In atonement for the 
 flagrant injustice you have suffered, I will make 
 the doom of your banishment as light as I am 
 able. I will give you reasonable time to dis- 
 pose of your property in the Morea to such 
 advantage as you can ; and I will suffer you to 
 carry out of the country whatever is capable of 
 being transported into another. I allow you 
 one moon, before you shall be required to 
 resign your fields, and take leave of your 
 abode.
 
 188 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The meeting of Colocotroni on the one side, 
 and his wife and daughter on the other, was 
 full of congratulation and joy. They had not 
 expected to meet again in this world. They 
 knew the summary style of Turkish justice; 
 they knew what was to be expected in the con- 
 vulsed state of the country ; and they had heard 
 of the ferocious and sanguinary character of 
 Achmet. They met however ; and, which is 
 more, they met in freedom. They were per-
 
 XIT, CLOUDESLEY. 189 
 
 mitted to carry with them out of the dominions 
 which were now subjected to the Turk, what- 
 ever was capable of being transported. But, 
 which was still more gratifying to them, they met 
 with acquittal, with honour and virtue. This 
 sudden change of fortune which had taken 
 place, was wholly owing to the heroic qualities 
 of both father and daughter. Irene, a young 
 girl of nineteen years of age, had had the 
 courage to present herself, urged by the insup- 
 pressible passion to save her father's life, alone, 
 before the Turkish conqueror, surrounded with 
 his officers; and the result had been such as 
 her courage and devotion merited. Colocotroni 
 had finished what his daughter began. He 
 stood before the barbarian in all the magnani- 
 mity of a son of Leonidas. He had told his 
 story with the frankness and simplicity, with 
 the subdued manner and the unconquerable 
 soul, which adorned it with a thousand name-
 
 190 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 less graces, and which had taken captive one of 
 the fiercest and the most formidable spirits, that 
 the school of Mahomet ever bred. 
 
 Colocotroni had always been of an infirm 
 constitution. Rescued from the danger of a 
 violent death, and discharged from prison, he 
 and his family had at first entertained no other 
 feeling than that of joy at his deliverance. 
 When however the tumult of congratulation 
 had passed away, they began to reflect with 
 terror upon the exile to which they had been 
 sentenced. To quit the delightful plains of 
 Arcadia and Pylos was to them a grievous 
 thought. Whither were they to go ? They had 
 all the feelings of their remoter ancestors, and 
 regarded the whole human race as divided into 
 Greeks and barbarians. The fields of Italy 
 itself were not exempted from this prejudice. 
 But Gaul and Germany and Poland and Hun- 
 gary they viewed in much the same light as we
 
 XII. CLOUDESLEY. 191 
 
 should regard an exile among the savages of 
 North America. Add to which, Colocotroni's 
 infirm health had suffered much from his brief, 
 but severe imprisonment in the .dungeons of the 
 Acrocorinthus. He had been shut out from 
 light and air in a solitary cell ; no literature, 
 his constant resoui;ce, to amuse him ; no indul- 
 gences to cherish, no kindness to cheer him ; 
 his days and nights passed in monotonous uni- 
 formity, and no other prospect before him, but 
 that of perishing, he knew not how soon, by a 
 Turkish sabre. Death in any form is a bitter 
 draught ; but death from the hands of a bar- 
 barian, against whom he had done nothing, 
 whose vengeance he had not even had the satis- 
 faction to provoke by a generous, but hopeless, 
 opposition to their aggressions, was doubly re- 
 volting and intolerable. Then his poor wife, 
 his sole, his beautiful, his spotless Irene, to be 
 exposed to the despotic tyranny, and, still worse,
 
 192 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 the brutal lusts of the conqueror, — when he 
 thought of this, he tore his hair, and threw him- 
 self on the earth, his flesh quivered, his limbs 
 were convulsed, and he felt all the agonies of 
 the last despair. 
 
 Colocotroni came forth from this undescri- 
 bable trial and anguish. He was in urgent need 
 of tranquillity and repose, to soothe his soul to 
 peace. Instead of this, he was called upon to 
 sell his lands, to collect the wreck of his pro- 
 perty, to pack up and drive away all that could 
 be removed, to take leave for ever of his plea- 
 sant and long-endeared abode, and to set out 
 on a weary pilgrimage through the deserts and 
 wilderness of an unknown world. And for all 
 this he had the allowance of one little month. 
 A thousand times he sunk under his task, and 
 threw up his labour in despair. How much 
 better, he thought, it was, to deposit his aged 
 bones at once under the turf of his beloved La- .
 
 XII. CLOUDESLEY. 193 
 
 conia ! But then the recollection of his Irene 
 and her mother flashed upon his mind ; and he 
 felt that he had more than mortal strength, and 
 could undergo unheard-of labours, that so he 
 might place these beloved pledges in a land 
 possessed by Christians, and where, with all his 
 prejudices, he could not but acknowledge they 
 would be protected by the laws of a civilised 
 community. At length, with the assistance of 
 Adrasti and a few other attached friends, every 
 thing was prepared, and they set out. 
 
 Their journey was by land. They passed by 
 Salona and Yanina and Elbasson and Scutari ; 
 they traversed the Arnauts and Monte Negro. 
 Every where their way lay through savage 
 tribes, and a people that lived by pillage. But 
 proper precautions had been taken; and they 
 were protected by the rescript of the Turkish 
 governor of the Morea. Again and again their 
 quarters had been approached ; and the alarm 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 had been given by the wild and almost lawless 
 Albanians. At length however, wearied and 
 almost destroyed by the anxieties and inconve- 
 niences of their march, they reached the banks 
 of the Unna. They could no more ; and Colo- 
 cotroni gladly took up his rest in the first 
 Christian district, protected by the banner of 
 the emperor king of Hungary, on which he had 
 placed the sole of his foot. 
 
 War had by this time been declared by the 
 Austrians against the Turks; and the subse- 
 quent successes of prince Eugene at Peter- 
 waradin and Belgrade seemed to render the 
 north-western bank of the Unna as safe from 
 the inroad of the Turks, as Paris or London 
 would have been. It proved otherwise. Colo- 
 cotroni had just fixed himself in a quiet and 
 simple abode not far from this beautiful stream, 
 and had begun to reconcile himself to his exile, 
 when Hassan, the bashaw of Bosnia, and the
 
 XII. CLOUDESLEY. 195 
 
 fifteen thousand horse which had escaped from 
 the battle of Belgrade, suddenly burst forth 
 upon the defenceless and unapprehensive inha- 
 bitants of Croatia. They desolated every field, 
 and set fire to every village. 
 
 To render the mischief more terrible, as far 
 as related to our unhappy exiles, Bozzari was 
 among them. He w^as an officer in one of the 
 brigades of Turkish cavalry, which had broken 
 away from the battle of Belgrade to fall upon 
 the Hungarian Croats. Soon after his arrival, 
 he accidentally met with the intelligence, that 
 Cdlocotroni, the man against whom he enter- 
 tained so many feelings of alienation and rage, 
 w^as in his immediate vicinity. He remembered 
 that Colocotroni had refused him the hand of 
 his daughter; he remembered that he had him- 
 self sought the life of Colocotroni ; and he re- 
 membered that the vigorous defence made by 
 the man he accused, had caused him to be 
 K 2
 
 196 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 driven with scorn from the presence of the 
 Turkish governor of the Morea. He knew that 
 the lawless condition of all that now surrounded 
 him, afforded himself every facility for perpe- 
 trating whatever revenge and lust might prompt 
 him to execute. 
 
 He had hastened on the wings of all the baser 
 passions to the dwelling of Colocotroni. He had 
 found it deserted and tenantless. He eagerly 
 seized the gratification of setting it on fire ; and, 
 as he saw the flames ascend, he thought he felt 
 his heart lightened of part of its burthen. Sti- 
 mulated by the savage feelings that fermented in 
 his bosom, he obtained a clue that led him to 
 the hiding-place of the virtuous and unhappy 
 Greek. He thrust his spear into his heart. 
 Irene happened at that moment to be absent. 
 He turned his head, and saw the beautiful 
 Greek, who had withdrawn herself for a short 
 time to see whether by any means relief might
 
 XII. CLOUDESLEV. 197 
 
 be obtained for her parents, and was now re- 
 turning from her brief excursion. 
 
 What an instant was this for the wretched 
 Irene ! She saw her father in the agonies of 
 death. She saw Bozzari, the man on earth she 
 had most cause to fear and to abhor, standing 
 over him armed, his spear yet dripping with 
 blood. There was nothing doubtful in the scene 
 and the attitude. She would have given worlds 
 to have been able to succour her father, to try 
 if it were yet possible to save his life. But, the 
 moment the figure of Bozzari presented itself 
 to her sight, nature itself wrought within her; 
 she felt an instinctive horror; and, though he 
 was within the cave, and she only approaching, 
 her imagination represented to her herself with- 
 in his hold, and his hand, smeared and red with 
 the blood of her father, already grasping her 
 arm. She fled with the rapidity of lightning. 
 Bozzari at the same moment caught a glimpse
 
 198 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 of her person, dropped his weapon, and pur- 
 sued. He had not proceeded far, when he saw 
 our party, twenty or thirty imperialists, ad- 
 vancing directly in his path; and, turning his 
 horse, he was out of sight in an instant. 
 
 As long as the pursuit lasted, Irene was si- 
 lent, concentrating all her powers in the ra- 
 pidity of her flight. But she no sooner saw her 
 deliverers advancing to h^ rescue, than she 
 uttered a piercing shriek, and fell to the ground. 
 Arthur, myself and another,, alighted from our 
 horses, and flew to her assistance. From the 
 joint effect of the scene she had witnessed, the 
 evil she feared, and the suddenness of her 
 rescue, she fainted. Never had there existed a 
 situation of more complicated horror. It was 
 with much difficulty, and after many fruitless 
 efforts, that we recovered her. At first she 
 gazed wildly on one of us and another, bereft 
 of recollection and judgment. Her complexion
 
 XII. CLOUDESLEY. 199 
 
 was white, like that of a corpse. Her features 
 expressed no definite thought or conception. 
 She knew not what, nor where she was. Pre- 
 sently her countenance became convulsed with 
 more than mortal agony; she screamed out, 
 My father ! and fell again lifeless to the earth. 
 
 It was with more diflSculty, that she reco- 
 vered the second time, than the first. She 
 started up, and endeavoured to move her feet, 
 but was unable. Help me, she cried ; for God's 
 sake, for pity's sake, assist me ! 
 
 Which way shall we lead you? said my 
 brother. 
 
 It is not far. But to yonder point. 
 
 We obeyed, not knowing whither we went. 
 We approached the fatal cave. We saw an old 
 man with his face upward, and a middle-aged 
 woman in a state of insensibility, who appeared 
 to have thrown herself forward upon his corpse. 
 The old man was evidently dead. We removed
 
 200 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 the woman, and caused some of our followers 
 to lead her to the air. Irene gazed on the face 
 of the dead man, next took hold of his hand, 
 and then laid her own hand on his heart. 
 
 Is he dead ? she cried impatiently. Are you 
 sure of it? 
 
 We answered in the affirmative. 
 
 Exhausted, as she had already been with fa- 
 tigue and horror, and feeling that there was 
 nothing to be done, she sunk insensible into 
 our arms. We dragged her out of the cave. 
 The garments of both the females were stained 
 with the blood of the murdered. Arthur con- 
 tinued with them. I returned into the cave; 
 and, my followers being inured to such offices, 
 I caused them to compose the limbs and fea- 
 tures of the deceased, foreseeing that the first im- 
 pulse of the women, when they had recollected 
 their senses, would be to require that they 
 might see the body of their husband and father.
 
 XII. CLOUDESLEY. 201 
 
 It happened, as 1 expected. My brother de* 
 tained them for a time; he besought them to 
 have courage ; he bade them fear nothing, and 
 promised to do every thing for their safety and 
 relief. They listened for a time in desperate 
 grief. Sometimes they uttered the most mourn- 
 ful wailings, or pierced the air with their shrieks. 
 At length I shewed myself, and gave Arthur to 
 understand that we had, as well as we could, 
 restored order to the cave. He yielded to their 
 impatience. His followers, who had till then 
 ranged themselves before the entrance, opened 
 their ranks. Arthur led the way. 
 
 Irene, younger and more active than her 
 mother, flew to the couch upon which the body 
 was laid. She gazed for a time in agonised si- 
 lence, and then exclaimed : 
 
 My father ! my father ! best of parents ! most 
 excellent of men ! is it possible ? shall I never 
 see those eyes again? shall I never hear that 
 K 5
 
 202 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 voice ? Oh, he was the first of created beings. 
 All that was left of Greece, dwelt in that bosom. 
 He lived but for others. In his youth he led 
 the levies of his countrymen, and drove out the 
 Turks. In his age he was the adviser of all, 
 the friend of all. What treasures of wisdom 
 and learning dwelt in that head ; while all the 
 virtues were congregated in that heart ! His 
 voice fell upon the ears of mankind, like the 
 music of an angelic host. All that was kind 
 and lovely, combined with the most penetrating 
 sagacity, beamed in his eye. I have sat from 
 morning to night under the instruction of his 
 speech, and never was wearied. He never said 
 to me an unkind word. I lived but in him, and 
 was all his care. And now, oh God, I implore 
 thee, let me die with him ! 
 
 And can he be thus cut off? cut off by the 
 hands of a villain, who sought to destroy him 
 by false accusations, who drove him into exile,
 
 XII. CLOUDESLEY. 203 
 
 and whose malice was never satisfied till with 
 his weapon he had pierced his heart. It is too 
 much ! Too much of sorrow was heaped on 
 that aged head. But lately he was compelled 
 to seek refuge in a strange land. Thither he 
 was pursued by infuriated savages, his property 
 laid waste, his house burned to the ground. 
 And now, the most abandoned of men, the au- 
 thor of all his adversities, has found, and has 
 murdered him. God of heaven, hast thou seen, 
 and dost thou suffer all this ?
 
 204 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 My brother devoted himself at once to the wo- 
 men, and begged me to supply his place with 
 the troop. It is difficult to conceive a case more 
 distressing, than that of this mother and daugh- 
 ter. They had had in Colocotroni a protector, 
 in whom they confided for every thing. But a 
 few days before that in which we found them 
 thus desolate, they had had a convenient abode ; 
 they had had servants. All was now gone. 
 Their dwelling was burned to the ground ;
 
 Xiil. CLOUDESLEY. 205 
 
 their property consumed; their servants di- 
 spersed no one knew whither. They were alone, 
 surrounded with military bands, not a face 
 among them that they had ever seen before. 
 Arthur supplied every thing to them. He led 
 them to a neighbouring village, and provided 
 them with a decent apartment. No enemy was 
 now to be found in the Austrian province. By 
 dint of enquiry my brother traced two of their 
 servants, a male and a female, and thus gave 
 them attendants to whose assistance they were 
 accustomed. Their means were irretrievably 
 dissipated; but Arthur took care that they 
 should feel no want. 
 
 The campaign was now concluded. Eugene 
 had dispersed his forces into winter-quarters: 
 Hassan was satisfied with having raised the 
 siege of Zvornich, and delivered his province 
 of Bosnia from the annoyance of an enemy. 
 Our troops were drawn off to their winter-
 
 206 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 quarters in Hungary. A carriage was provided 
 for Irene and her mother ; and they proceeded 
 in the rear of the detachment. 
 
 My brother had a confidential servant, by 
 name Cloudesley. The character of this man 
 was sufficiently extraordinary, to make it proper 
 for me to mention the history of his early years. 
 Arthur had met with him in a visit he paid in 
 England to the then earl Danvers, the head of 
 the elder branch of our family. He had set up, 
 when young, in a small way of trade at Hull in 
 Yorkshire, being at no great distance from the 
 seat of the Danverses. He was the son of one 
 of lord Danvers's tenants. At his outset he 
 was distinguished for sobriety, integrity, and 
 the most indefatigable attention to business. 
 His character was unblemished. He had great 
 frankness of disposition, and was exceedingly 
 remarked for his good-nature, and invariable 
 kindness and tenderness of heart. In Hull, at
 
 XIII. CLOUDESLEY. 207 
 
 his hours of relaxation in an evening, he got ac- 
 quainted with a man somewhat older than him- 
 self, of great shrewdness of understanding, ad- 
 venturous, bold, and intent upon making a 
 fortune. He appeared to consider the acquaint- 
 ance of young Cloudesley as of some importance 
 to him. He had a sister, upon whom the be- 
 ginning tradesman cast an eye of affection ; and 
 Norton, that was the name of the adventurer, 
 encouraged the attachment. Norton was always 
 engaged in speculations, which, if successful, 
 promised to lead on to fortune, but which, not 
 seldom, were attended with considerable risk. 
 In one instance, he proposed to Cloudesley to 
 become his security for a sum which to the 
 sober tradesman was very considerable, two 
 hundred pounds. The latter hesitated ; but 
 the specious representations of Norton, his own 
 exceeding good-nature, and the affection he 
 entertained for Norton's sister, overcame his
 
 208 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 scruples. Norton's speculations miscarried; 
 and Cloudesley was ruined. Norton absconded ; 
 and the severe creditor to whom Cloudesley had 
 given security, threw the young man into jail. 
 
 Arthur had known something of Cloudesley 
 in his visits to England. Arthur was fond of 
 rural sports ; and Cloudesley, as the son of one 
 of the nearest tenants, had frequently been of use 
 to him in scenes of this nature. There was a 
 propriety, a good sense, and a sagacity in the 
 rustic, which had strongly prepossessed my 
 brother in his favour. In a subsequent excur- 
 sion he had missed his favourite ally, had en- 
 quired for him, and heard all his misfortunes. 
 The intelligence had so strong an effect upon 
 Arthur, that he could not rest; and he prevailed 
 upon his cousin, the English earl, to concur 
 with him in rescuing the young man from a 
 state of unmerited calamity. 
 
 Cloudesley came out of prison a totally al-
 
 XIII. CLOUDESLEY. 209 
 
 tered man. He had before been friendly and 
 confiding. Conscious of no ill in his own 
 bosom, he had suspected none in others. He 
 was never asked for an act of charity, that he 
 did not feel prompted to perform. He never 
 saw a scene of distress, that he did not wish to 
 relieve. He was a person of great sagacity : 
 otherwise the goodness of his heart would have 
 induced him to credit tales the most monstrous. 
 And, as it was, he had often been deluded by 
 figments, that even a child, with a spice of the 
 devil in him, would have rejected. 
 
 But, in proportion to the original integrity of 
 his nature, was the bitterness of his soul, when 
 he became so flagrantly the victim of unmerited 
 calamity. As, before, he had loved all men, so 
 it seemed now that it was sufficient to present 
 any thing in human shape, to excite his anti- 
 pathy. Before, the whole world was illuminated 
 to him with sunshine, and decorated with the
 
 210 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 most brilliant colours of the rainbow ; now all 
 was dinginess, darkness and eclipse. He saw 
 on all sides a disposition to cheat, to overreach, 
 and to oppress. He saw all men armed against 
 all men, restrained by no principles of justice* 
 or feelings of humanity, but merely by the law 
 of the land, and a fear of the ill construction 
 tliat might be put upon their actions. He that 
 could sin in secret, and reap the advantage, 
 would infallibly be guilty. He had lived for 
 months in a jail ; and here, as it appeared to 
 him, he had first seen the true character of his 
 species. He had studied it with the earnestness 
 of the discoverer of an unknown country. He 
 discarded all the antiquated prejudices of his 
 youth, and formed to himself a new code, suit- 
 able to the sort of creatures with whom he was 
 henceforth to associate. 
 
 The history of this man affords a striking ex- 
 ample of the disadvantages arising from a
 
 XIII. CLOUDESLEY. 211 
 
 defective and neglected education. Recollecting 
 the excellent qualities with which he had been 
 originally endowed, we may safely pronounce 
 that, if his mind had been unfolded in the cli- 
 mate of even a slight degree of literature, the 
 treachery of a friend, or even a six months' 
 initiation in the mysteries of a jail, could not in 
 so great a degree have changed his principles, 
 and made him consider the species whom he 
 had hitherto regarded as his brothers, as worthy 
 only of his hatred, and engaged in a general 
 conspiracy against him. But, accurately speak- 
 ing, he had never had principles : his good im- 
 pulses were merely the creatures of feeling, and 
 arose from his ascribing to others the uncorrupt 
 sentiments he found in his own breast ; and, 
 when experience, as he construed it, had shewn 
 him his mistake, he no longer found any thing 
 within him to control his misanthropy. He and 
 his fellow-creatures, as he judged, were in a
 
 212 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 State of war ; and the laws of war, not the laws 
 of peace and benevolence, were to be henceforth 
 the regulators of his conduct. 
 
 When Arthur had taken him out of prison, 
 and set him even with the world, it struck him 
 that he had done little for Cloudesley, if he did 
 not proceed to launch him in a different sphere, 
 and enable him to engage in a course of life, 
 which, if it were not his own fault, might be 
 productive of tranquillity and content. Clou- 
 desley, such as my brother had known him, was 
 not placed above other men, except by the 
 goodness of his heart, and the soundness of his 
 judgment in the common affairs of life. The 
 education that had been bestowed upon him, 
 was ordinary and narrow. The slender capital 
 with which he had set out in the world, was 
 now gone. Arthur therefore thought he was 
 doing him sufficient justice, in offering to take 
 him for his personal and confidential servant.
 
 xni. CLOUDESLEY. 213 
 
 We had already formed the plan of embarking 
 in the wars of Hungary. And Cloudesley, 
 who had small reason to be pleased with his 
 first voyage on the ocean of life, received with 
 pleasure the suggestion of proceeding in his 
 next, to untried scenes and " pastures new." 
 
 From this epocha there was a perpetual strug- 
 gle in Cloudesley's mind, between what I may 
 call the old man and the new. The rules of 
 conduct which he had framed to himself during 
 his residence in the castle at Hull, were of an 
 anti-social cast. He had formed the resolution 
 that he would fight his own way in the world, 
 regardless of the wishes, the prejudices, the joys, 
 and the sorrows of others. Nay, in his gloom- 
 iest moods, he anticipated a gratification from 
 avenging on his future associates the injustice 
 he had suffered from those that had gone before. 
 This was the new man. 
 
 But the better propensities of his early years.
 
 214 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 in spite of himself, would be perpetually press- 
 ing into action. He was a knave by principle. 
 But he was often much better, from the remains 
 of what was honest and more truly human 
 within him. He could not help being grateful 
 for what Arthur had done to make him a 
 man again. My brother's qualities were such as 
 won the regard of his fellow creatures in pro- 
 portion as they were more intimately acquainted 
 with him. Cloudesley admired him in a super- 
 lative degree. Arthur treated him with inva- 
 riable kindness, humanity and consideration. 
 Cloudesley would at any time have laid down 
 his life for Alton. — It is also right to mention, 
 that Cloudesley's early habits were always up- 
 permost. The creed he had learned, was con- 
 cealed in his own breast. It lay there like a 
 hidden treasure ; or rather, like an oracle, which 
 he was accustomed to resort to and consult, when 
 the eyes of all other mortals were closed in sleep.
 
 XIII. CLOUDESLEY. 215 
 
 In the day-time, he was apparently the same 
 mild, agreeable, friendly creature he had ever 
 been. His physiognomy had contracted the 
 peculiarities of his better years. His voice had 
 still the same prepossessing character. He ap- 
 peared the most simple-hearted and guileless 
 creature in the world. Without perhaps ex- 
 actly designing it, he had realised to a consi- 
 derable degree the poet's suggestion : " Look 
 like the innocent flower; but be the serpent 
 under it." — Such was the man to whose special 
 protection my brother now consigned Irene 
 and her mother. 
 
 The bier which contained the remains of 
 Colocotroni, was inclosed in the midst of our 
 troop, partly that they might not for ever im- 
 press his survivors with melancholy ; and we 
 deposited them, as we passed, with military 
 honours in the church of Novigrad. 
 
 The situation of these ladies was singularly
 
 216 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 forlorn ; and, conscious of this, and moved with 
 the truest sentiments of pity and sympathy, 
 Arthur did every thing in his power to alleviate 
 their distress. He rode up to their carriage 
 repeatedly during the route, to see that they 
 were safe, and to enquire if there was any 
 thing necessary or agreeable to them that it 
 might be in his power to supply. Wherever 
 the detachment halted, he was attentive to their 
 accommodation in the minutest particular. At 
 first, they begged that they might dispense with 
 his personal attendance, partly as apprehending 
 that it must be a burthen to one whose pro- 
 fessional duties demanded his incessant atten- 
 tion, and partly because, overwhelmed as they 
 were with the mighty loss they had sustained, 
 they felt whatever called upon them for the 
 observances of society, as unacceptable and dis- 
 tressing. Arthur was at first therefore brief in 
 his visits, referring them to the attendance of
 
 Xlll 
 
 CLOUDESLEY. 217 
 
 their ordinary servants, and to the mechanical 
 and unobtrusive interference of Cloudesley. 
 His kindness however by degrees won upon 
 their partiality. There was something so un- 
 affected in all he did, so fully in accord with the 
 truest sympathy, that, when he was mute, they 
 were in no way embarrassed with his presence, 
 and when he spoke, silence 
 
 Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might 
 Deny her nature, and be never more, 
 Still to be so displaced. 
 
 On the other hand, so far as Arthur was 
 concerned, he felt himself transported into a 
 scene to which he had been hitherto a stranger. 
 He was not unacquainted with the fascinations 
 of a court, and his humane and kindly disposi- 
 tions had in multiplied instances made him fa- 
 miliar with scenes of distress. But he was 
 persuaded that he had never beheld any thing 
 so fascinating as the countenance, the manners, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 and every gesture of this beautiful Grecian 
 girl — every tear she dropped was in his eyes a 
 gem of unrivalled lustre, and the plaintive tones 
 of her grief might have subdued the hardest 
 hearts, and breathed a soul into rocks and 
 stones.
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 We arrived at Vienna, where it was proposed 
 we should take up our winter-residence, in ex- 
 pectation of another campaign to commence in 
 the spring of 1718. We had no succeeding 
 campaign. The war was substantially at an 
 end. The scenes we had anticipated never oc- 
 curred. But on the other hand how great a 
 variety of events, which we had never in the 
 slightest degree foreseen, did we encounter ! 
 l2
 
 220 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 The next eighteen months constituted the most 
 critical and momentous period of my life. 
 
 The first care of my brother on our arrival 
 was to provide a suitable retreat for the widow 
 and daughter of Colocotroni. He fixed on a 
 romantic spot, about eight miles south of the 
 metropolis, and nearly in the road to Italy, 
 called the Briel. This is a narrow defile, 
 bounded by high rocks on each side, and with 
 a mountain-stream at the bottom, which is 
 skirted by a foot-path on one side, and a road 
 on the other, along the banks of the stream. 
 The rocks are every where interspersed with 
 shrubs, dwarf-firs, and patches of green sward ; 
 and the scene is not altogether unlike the walk 
 at the foot of the rocks along the banks of the 
 Avon, beyond the Hot Wells at Bristol. After 
 you have proceeded about a mile, the rocks dis- 
 appear, and you find yourself in a broad valley 
 of rich pasturage, with grassy hills on the right.
 
 XIV, CLOUDESLEY. 221 
 
 and steep woody mountains on the left. The 
 valley, as it proceeds, winds deeper and deeper 
 into the mountains, and the scenery becomes 
 every moment more magnificent and romantic, 
 discovering, when you ascend the acclivities, a 
 prospect of Vienna, and the immeasurable plains 
 stretching to Moravia beyond, the whole being 
 bounded, to the south-east by the Carpathian 
 ridge, and to the south and the south-west by 
 the mountains of Hungary. In this valley lie 
 scattered various dwelling-houses of the farmers 
 and others ; and in one of the most remote and 
 sequestered nooks stood the cottage, which Ar- 
 thur destined as a residence for the Greek ladies 
 whom he had taken under his protection. 
 
 It presently became apparent that the health 
 of the mother was in the most precarious state. 
 Her constitution, naturally delicate, suffered a 
 severe shock, first from the sentence of banish- 
 ipent which had been awarded against them,
 
 222 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 and next from the dreadful scene that had re- 
 cently occurred in Croatia, where the whole 
 country, houses, granaries, and the fields them- 
 selves, had been consumed with flames. The 
 death of Colocotroni, murdered almost in her 
 arms by the inhuman Bozzari, filled up the 
 measure of her sufferings. From this moment 
 she scarcely lifted up her head. She spoke 
 not ; she slept not ; and, when she arrived at 
 the close of her journey, she was more dead 
 than alive. Her daughter had had to sustain 
 her, and to watch over every thing that could 
 afford her relief, during the entire route. At 
 first, repose, and the beautiful scenery with 
 which she was surrounded, seemed somewhat 
 to revive her : but this was only like a lightning 
 before death. In a few days, the balmy air, 
 the refreshing fields, the foliage, the mountains, 
 and the streams appeared to lose their effect. 
 She sunk into a quiet, but rapid decline. She
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 223 
 
 scarcely tasted of nourishment ; and the powers 
 of digestion were altogether suspended in her 
 frame. Her greatest exertions, immediately- 
 after her arrival at the Briel, were to proceed 
 to the door of the cottage, to partake of the 
 cheerful light of the day, and the balmy air ; 
 and, once or twice, to reach a seat in the gar- 
 den, from whence the view was at once rich in 
 the fore-ground, and romantic in the distance. 
 But she became every day weaker. She was 
 confined to her bed ; and in a few weeks, the 
 powers of nature being altogether exhausted in 
 her, she sunk away, and, without a struggle or 
 a groan, calmly expired. Her remains were 
 deposited in the cemetery of the parochial 
 church of Meidling, in which parish the cot- 
 tage of the Briel was situated. 
 
 Thus was the young, and not long before 
 blooming Irene, left in a situation singularly 
 desolate. She had lost father, mother and
 
 224 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 country, and was robbed of the last remains of 
 that opulence which had belonged to her an- 
 cestors for centuries. The goods of fortune 
 however occupied no part of her attention. She 
 thought only of her parents, and principally of 
 Colocotroni, the learned, the refined, the ac- 
 complished, the true patriot, the friend of man, 
 the individual from whom she had derived 
 every thing — not merely life — that, considered 
 by itself, was a gift of small price — but all that 
 she knew, her tastes, her sentiments, her vir- 
 tues, her elevated tone of thinking, all that 
 made her a model of whatever was to be ad- 
 mired and esteemed in woman. Colocotroni 
 was, to the thoughts of his daughter, all the 
 world. She had never known any thing in 
 human form that could enter into competition 
 with him; and, now that he was gone, the 
 whole world appeared to her one unvaried 
 blank. Then she recollected in addition to
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 225 
 
 this, that she was torn from her country. She 
 saw no face, her two domestics excepted, that 
 she had ever seen in her past life. Fatherless, 
 an orphan, she was cast upon tribes and na- 
 tions, with whom she had no fellowship. She 
 was one solitary and unconnected individual, 
 among an immense crowd of beings, whose 
 dioughts, whose pursuits, whose customs, and 
 whose language were wholly strangers to her. 
 What was there left to her, that was worth the 
 living for? What was there, for the sake of 
 which the burthen of existence could be en- 
 dured? It seemed in the eyes of Irene a sort 
 of profanation, that she should dream of outliv- 
 ing the existence of Colocotroni, that she should 
 entertain the idea of joining in the commerce 
 and the interests of another race of men, wholly 
 different from and inferior to those among 
 whom she was born. It was as if one, by de- 
 scent a princess, should suddenly be made a 
 L 5
 
 226 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 slave, and should be so desenterated of spirit, 
 as to become a companion for slaves, to join in 
 their amusements, to enter into their squabbles, 
 and having once had " a kingdom for a stage, 
 sovereigns to act, and monarchs to behold the 
 swelling scene," should now quarrel for sugar- 
 plums and nuts. No : there was nothing that 
 Irene so earnestly desired, and impatiently 
 longed for, as to die, and go to her father. 
 
 The despondency and indifference with which 
 she regarded every thing around her, rapidly 
 increased. She would sit alone in her apart- 
 ment, and appear to be talking to Colocotroni. 
 If any one intruded on her when she was thus 
 occupied, she manifested great displeasure. At 
 some times indeed she seemed wholly abstract- 
 ed. She was engrossed with what stood before 
 her mind ; and whatever of reality passed under 
 her eye, whatever speeches were addressed to 
 her, she shewed like a person that was deaf and
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 227 
 
 blind. If however she was roused by some- 
 thing that it was impossible to resist, she be- 
 came fretful and indignant. And it appeared 
 as if a greater degree of injury was done to her 
 animal constitution and the frame of her spirit 
 by such interruptions, than could have resulted 
 from the allowing her diseased imagination to 
 take its course. 
 
 She sometimes strolled beyond the precincts 
 of her little dwelling, and wandered among the 
 rocks which shut in the defile of the Briel. 
 This was usually in the dead of the night. 
 Once and again, when she returned, or was 
 brought back by the vigilance of her attendants 
 from these roamings, she dropped words which 
 intimated that, in the depths of the cliffs, she 
 had seen Colocotroni. He had looked out from 
 a fissure of the rock with a wan and deathlike 
 countenance, and had by his gestures invited 
 her to join him, or chidden her delay.
 
 228 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 During this period my brother was her only 
 visitor. At first she took no notice of him, and 
 seemed absorbed in her sorrows. It was some- 
 thing that was gained, so long as she endured 
 his visits, and did not protest against them as a 
 molestation, or refuse to admit them. It was 
 impossible, that so fine a young man, so emi- 
 nent in his endowments, should persist in shew- 
 ing himself daily solicitous for her consolation 
 and relief, and that this should not awaken in 
 her some degree of admiration and gratitude. 
 
 His first visits were silent. He spoke to 
 Cloudesley, and to the attendants of Irene, but 
 did not attempt to interrupt the sacredness of 
 her sorrow. By degrees he addressed her. 
 He took her hand, and led her forth from the 
 cottage. He seated her on a bench, and placed 
 himself near to her, but unseen. He advanced 
 nearer, and seated himself. He told her of his 
 exceeding desire to serve her. He dwelt with
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 229 
 
 fervour on the merits of Colocotroni. He had 
 heard of his eloquent defence before the bashaw 
 of the Morea. He had read certain papers 
 drawn up by this admirable man, which testified 
 alike his taste and his virtue. He lamented 
 that it had not been his own good fortune, to 
 have improved his mind under the instructions 
 of Colocotroni. 
 
 Irene was gratified to her very heart, to hear 
 the praises of her father from the lips of a 
 stranger. She was astonished to find my bro- 
 ther so fully informed on these topics. They 
 shed tears together to his memory. 
 
 It was apparent that Irene was silently wast- 
 ing away under the afflictions that had befallen 
 her. Her aberrations of mind, when she left 
 her midnight-bed, and when amidst the moun- 
 tains she held imaginary communion with the 
 ghost of Colocotroni, acted like a worm that 
 unseen consumed within her the very springs of
 
 230 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 life. But, when she met with sympathy, when 
 she saw a person beside her, who seemed to give 
 words and articulate voice to all she had felt in 
 the secrecy of her grief, this produced a favour- 
 able revolution in her case. 
 
 The visits of my brother were for some time 
 unmingled with any retrospect to himself. They 
 were dictated merely by compassion for the 
 unhappy situation of Irene, mingled with admi- 
 ration of the qualities of her mind. It was not 
 likely that his thoughts should go further than 
 this. He had not yet listened to the idea of 
 settling himself in the way of marriage. When 
 he did, it was to be supposed, as a native of the 
 British isles, that he would look among the 
 high-born damsels of the English court for a 
 suitable consort. His accomplishments were 
 such as were likely to secure him against being 
 refused in any quarter in which he might think 
 proper to apply. He had not only a plentiful
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 231 
 
 estate in Ireland, but was in no distant prospect 
 to succeed to the title of earl Danvers, and a 
 still larger property, in England. He was not 
 destitute of the anticipation and the wish, so 
 usual among prosperous men, of leaving a still 
 more splendid succession to his children and 
 his children's children. 
 
 But this adventure in Croatia eventually ope- 
 rated to interrupt all these ambitious projects. 
 There are no two passions that are more insen- 
 sible in the gradation by which they melt the 
 one into the other, than pity and love. " 'Twas 
 but a kindred sound to move." Beauty never 
 appears so beautiful, as when it is under the 
 dominion of sorrow. Beauty, in its hour of 
 exultation and pride, has a tendency to arm the 
 spectator against its inroad and usurpation. 
 We feel the impulse to resist aroused within us, 
 and resolve to shew, while it comes on fifty- 
 thousand strong, that we will not be made the
 
 232 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 dust under its feet. But beauty in sorrow is 
 the adversary that has throwp down its arms, 
 and no longer defies us to conquer its prowess. 
 It is the weak and tender flower, illustrious in 
 its lowliness, that asks for a friendly hand to 
 raise its drooping head. The colour had faded 
 in Irene's cheek; but the paleness that suc- 
 ceeded was only the more interesting. Her 
 dark eyes did not flash with Grecian fire; but 
 they were melting, the twin-born messengers of. 
 sympathy. You saw that sleep had fled from 
 her pillow. But the languor that followed, was 
 more powerful and resistless than the bloom of 
 health. Her face was stained with tears ; and 
 what heart, young, generous and affectionate 
 like my brother's, was not impelled to fly to 
 succour and relieve her ? 
 
 When Arthur talked of the virtues and high 
 qualities of Colocotroni, it was impossible that 
 Irene should not take her share in the discourse.
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 233 
 
 bring forward endowments of which my brother 
 had scarcely been aware, and supply incidents 
 and illustrations which were stored in her me- 
 mory, more than in that of any one that lived. 
 She was taken before she was aware, and com- 
 pelled to speak at a time when the faculty of 
 speech seemed to have abandoned her. She 
 was raised as from death to life. Her eyes, 
 which had before been constantly declined, were 
 now occasionally lifted up, as she spoke of some 
 illustrious deed which had distinguished the 
 career of her father. A blush of generous pride 
 would suffuse her cheek, when she suddenly 
 called to mind and related the noble achieve- 
 ments, which had rendered him the idol of his 
 contemporaries and countrymen* But the part 
 of Irene in these conversations was not all eleva- 
 tion and joy. When she eulogised this memo- 
 rable Greek, he appeared sometimes to stand 
 out to her mind in all the vigour of manhoodj
 
 234 CLOLDESLEY. CH. 
 
 or all the venerableness of experienced wisdom. 
 The moment before she repeated some of his 
 acute and well considered remarks, she seemed 
 to herself to hear them, enriched with the tones 
 of his well-known voice. But then it suddenly 
 recurred to her, that that tongue was now for 
 ever silent, and that voice sunk in the oblivion 
 of the tomb, and her whole frame became con- 
 vulsed with unutterable anguish. 
 
 The fair Greek was cast pennyless and por- 
 tionless upon the wide theatre of the world. It 
 was some sacrifice for the pride and ambition 
 of my brother, to think of marrying an alien and 
 an exile, without possessions or connections in 
 any part of the globe : and he had not been 
 without an internal struggle on the subject. 
 The public however, and the fashionable part 
 of the public, do not refuse to make allowances 
 for high birth and noble blood, though denied 
 the advantages of wealth, especially if the person
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 235 
 
 SO highly born is first introduced to them, al- 
 ready raised from the destitution into which she 
 had fallen, by a partner, who had had the ge- 
 nerosity to discover her excellencies in the midst 
 of her unfortunate destitution. Irene also had 
 accomplishments that would have adorned a 
 throne ; and her beauty was such as all eyes ad- 
 mired, and all hearts bowed down to. In re- 
 ality however Arthur made no sacrifice. Irene 
 had already made him her conquest, before he 
 thought of, and before he had time to ask him- 
 self the questions I have spoken of. 
 
 While we continued at Vienna, my brother 
 received a commission from the court of Lon- 
 don, empowering him to enter into communi- 
 cation with the imperial cabinet respecting the 
 provisions of a treaty, since known by the name 
 of the Quadruple Alliance. We had been pre^ 
 sented to king George the First previously to 
 our embarking for the continent, my brother
 
 236 CLOUDESLEY. 
 
 CH. 
 
 on his accession to the title, the presenter being 
 Robert earl Danvers our kinsman : and Arthur 
 was at that time much taken notice of at court 
 for the nobleness of his air, and the pregnancy 
 of his replies. The Quadruple Alliance was the 
 favourite project of lord Stanhope, at that time 
 secretary of state ; and he, who had more than 
 once invited lord Alton to his table at London, 
 now selected him as peculiarly well qualified to 
 smooth certain difficulties which were presented 
 by the emperor's ministers to the completion of 
 the treaty. This affair detained us in Vienna 
 considerably longer than we should otherwise 
 have remained in that city. 
 
 Where the intercourse between two young 
 persons of different sexes is so frequent as was 
 that of my brother and Irene, love, the auda- 
 cious intruder, is apt to come in, before any one 
 has had notice of his approach. The fair Greek, 
 having now been roused from the death-like
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 237 
 
 silence of despair, and in some degree restored 
 to the offices of existence, could not but observe 
 the graces and elegance of lord Alton, and 
 could not but be gratified by the attentions of a 
 person of such acknowledged distinction. When 
 the topics which related to the memory of Co- 
 locotroni were somewhat exhausted, these young 
 persons necessarily reverted to other themes. 
 Irene was no longer dead to the beauties of 
 nature, though she shrank from the thought of 
 scenes of promiscuous intercourse, and from 
 public places. As the spring advanced there-* 
 fore, my brother prevailed on her to suffer him 
 to accompany her in visits to spots the most 
 worthy of her observation in the beautiful en- 
 virons of Vienna. She felt that she had no plea- 
 sure but in the society of Alton. And he on the 
 other hand, whenever he could escape from the 
 duties which his own government now imposed 
 upon him, was sure to fly to the presence of
 
 238 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Irene. Speaking now only at intervals of the 
 virtues of Colocotroni, topics of general litera- 
 ture would sometimes intrude themselves. They 
 spoke of poetry and the arts. Irene descanted 
 with enthusiasm upon the remains of Phidias 
 and of the ancient Grecian architecture. She 
 was perfectly conversant with the rhapsodies of 
 Homer, and would point out beautiful passages, 
 that Arthur till then had too cursorily consi- 
 dered. The verses of the prince of poets, when 
 articulated by the lips of beauty, and with that 
 exquisite taste and that depth of feeling which 
 Irene so powerfully possessed, had charms and 
 an ascendancy over the soul, that was irre- 
 sistible. It was like the power of music, that 
 drank up the spirits. It was the harp of Or- 
 pheus. On the other hand, Arthur had a much 
 more extensive acquaintance with the Italian 
 poets than Irene. And he endeavoured to re- 
 pay her with passages from the bards of Fer-
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 239 
 
 rara and Vaucluse for the divine inspirations of 
 Homer. 
 
 Arthur particularly admired the story of Bi- 
 reno and Olimpia in the Orlando Furioso. At 
 first sight this tale might seem little appropriate 
 to his suit to Irene. But the effect of contrast 
 is often not less powerful than that of resem- 
 blance. Bireno arrived a stranger and an ad- 
 venturer in the land where he first beheld 
 the forlorn and orphan Olimpia. Bireno, after 
 many perils and hard fortunes, proposed to 
 carry Olimpia by sea into a country in which 
 they might both be settled in everlasting con- 
 tent. But, proving himself the falsest and most 
 worthless of his sex, he, instead of conducting 
 his mistress in safety to the place of their des- 
 tination, touched at the shore of a desert island, 
 and there, while she slept in confidence and 
 security, left her alone to be devoured by wild 
 beasts, or to fall into the hands of savage free- 
 booters more to be feared than they.
 
 240 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 While Arthur recited to Irene the particulars 
 of this tragic tale, it could not but occur to 
 both, that my brother, like Bireno, had arrived 
 a stranger and an adventurer in the land in 
 which he first saw the fair Greek. Irene, like 
 Olimpia, had been bereaved by cruel fate of her 
 parents, of all she loved and all she possessed. 
 Arthur would also, no doubt, if his suit were 
 accepted, propose to carry away his mistress 
 into a far country, that they might settle there 
 in tranquillity and happiness. 
 
 But here the parallel ended. Bireno was 
 false-hearted and treacherous, the most deceit- 
 ful of mankind. Alton carried in his face the 
 full exposition of the nobleness of his nature. 
 Never did falshood harbour under so glorious 
 . an outside. No one could look at him, and not 
 be conscious of his virtue. That voice, that 
 tone, could never be the vehicle of any thing 
 but the sentiments of his heart. All his motions 
 were free and graceful and unrestrained ; you
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 241 
 
 could not find the slightest, the most indifferent 
 impulse, that was not utterly incompatible with 
 an artificial character. There was something 
 in the liquid lustre of his eye, that conveyed I 
 know not what of tenderness and soft humanity. 
 The lines of his countenance were marked with 
 the expression of nature, and varied with every 
 gradation and variety of sentiment. His face 
 was the transparent glass through which you 
 saw all that passed in his soul. There was no 
 knot in the surface, nothing that interrupted the 
 view, or for a moment clouded the apprehension 
 of the person with whom he communicated. 
 There was an impetuosity in his manner totally 
 incompatible with duplicity and trick ; and yet 
 that impetuosity was attuned to the gentlest na- 
 ture that ever inhabited a human bosom. The 
 purity of his soul might indeed be called his 
 ruling principle. It is not my interest to speak 
 thus of my brother ; I would suppress it, if I 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 could; but the irresistibleness of truth con- 
 strains me. The consequence of all this was, 
 that the tale of Bireno served but the more to 
 bring out to view the excellencies of Alton. 
 That he should deceive, that he should act in a 
 manner unworthy of the trust reposed in him, 
 was of all things in nature the most impossible. 
 Irene felt this, and gave him her heart. 
 
 The marriage of lord Alton and the fair Irene 
 was solemnised privately in the English ambas- 
 sador's chapel at Vienna in the spring of 1718, 
 six months after the death of her mother. The 
 mutual attachment which had grown up be- 
 tween my brother and the lovely mourner, 
 served to reconcile her to life. But her spirits 
 were still tender ; the sensitiveness of her na- 
 ture was greatly increased by the complicated 
 and dreadful evils she had encountered. She 
 shrank from all society ; and lord Alton, proud 
 as he was of her beauty and accomplishments,
 
 XIV. CLOUDESLEY. 243 
 
 and, thinking as he did, that justice to her re- 
 quire*d that he should shew he was proud, made 
 it a law to himself to conform to her inclinations 
 in this article. 
 
 My brother had never been so happy, and 
 his spirits so buoyant, as they became through 
 this change of his condition. Though he de- 
 lighted above all things in the society of his 
 bride, and they were never tired of each other's 
 company, yet the duties of his station required 
 that he should not lead a life altogether seques- 
 tered ; and Irene was far too considerate to de- 
 sire that he should sacrifice every other object 
 of existence to her gratifications and her tastes. 
 In conversation with a few intimate friends he 
 would repeatedly boast of the alliance he had 
 contracted, as a league between two nations, 
 and a grand experiment on human happiness. 
 In the lightness of his heart, and the elevation 
 of his spirits, he would good-humouredly ob- 
 M 2
 
 244 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 serve, that Greece was the most eminent and 
 highly endowed nation of ancient times, and 
 England of modern ; and that the happiest con- 
 sequences might be expected to result, from 
 thus bringing them together in the compass of 
 one family. It was too much the practice of 
 mankind for different races to sequester them- 
 selves in a sort of sullen disunion from each 
 other; but benevolence prescribed, and im- 
 provement required, that this supine monotony 
 should be abolished, that the prejudices of dif- 
 ferent tribes should be brought into collision, 
 and their various accomplishments made to en- 
 counter and combine, for the common advan~ 
 tage. If human creatures were thus made with- 
 out distinction the members of one universal fa- 
 mily, the whole species would be raised to an 
 excellence, of which we could now with diffi- 
 culty conceive an idea. 
 
 The affair of the negociation in which lord
 
 XIV. LOUDESLEY. 245 
 
 Alton had been employed by the court of Lon- 
 don was finished in the autumn of the present 
 year ; and he once more became in the strictest 
 sense a private individual. By this time how- 
 ever his consort was advanced in her preg- 
 nancy; and for that and other reasons he re- 
 solved not to set out on his return to the British 
 dominions till the spring. Nothing material 
 occurred, which it is necessary to particularise 
 in their history, till the month of January fol- 
 lowing.
 
 246 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 But what is the happiness, and what are the 
 prospects of man ! This mighty edifice, at the 
 thought of which my brother had felt such 
 elation of heart, and which he had deemed se- 
 cure against all the storms of life, was swept 
 away in a moment. It was in vain that this 
 accomplished pair found themselves supremely 
 happy in each other ; their happiness was des- 
 tined to be of transient duration. 
 
 They had now been united for the greater 
 portion of a year, when the unfortunate event
 
 XV. CLOUDESLEY. 247 
 
 happened that put an end to their felicity on 
 earth. It was at the time of the carnival, a pe- 
 riod of festivity, which begins on the sixth of 
 January, and continues till the beginning of 
 Lent. During this period, assemblies, or ri- 
 dottos as they are called, take place at the pub- 
 lic rooms in Vienna two or three times a week, 
 to which every one is admitted on paying a sti- 
 pulated sum at the door. The entertainments 
 consist of dancing, a masquerade, refreshments, 
 and supper. The majority of the females who 
 partake of the amusement are masked ; but the 
 men are, for the most part, unmasked. On 
 principal days, especially on the last day of the 
 carnival, the emperor and the court attend, and 
 make the promenade of the rooms for a short 
 time. Tiiis is early in the evening ; and, when 
 the royal family is withdrawn, every one enters 
 gaily into the pleasures of the place, within the 
 limits of a certain decorum.
 
 248 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 Lord Alton had more than once participated 
 in the amusements of this scene, in company 
 with some volunteers, and the officers who had 
 served in the war against the Turks. It was on 
 the eighteenth of January that he encountered 
 here a certain signor Fabroni, a young Vene- 
 tian of high rank, and nearly related to some of 
 the first families of his native city. Annexed to 
 the principal saloon at the ridotto, are several 
 smaller rooms with tables for supper, several of 
 these tables being large enough to accommodate 
 fifteen or sixteen persons, and where of conse- 
 quence it not unfrequently happens that indivi- 
 duals are seated next to each other, having no 
 previous knowledge of each other's names or 
 condition. Fabroni and lord Alton were in this 
 way brought into contact. 
 
 The conversation happened to turn upon the 
 late war, which had been terminated by the 
 peace of Passarowitz in the preceding July.
 
 XV. CLOUDESLEY. 249 
 
 Fabroni, though at this time he happened to be 
 present at the Austrian festival, was full of ill 
 blood and indignation against the measures of 
 the imperial cabinet. Nor was he altogether 
 without reason for this. The primal cause of 
 the war had been the aggression of the Turks 
 in seizing the Morea when hostilities were least 
 apprehended, and expelling the Venetians, who 
 had been in quiet possession of the province for 
 nearly thirty years. The emperor laid hold of 
 this occasion for taking up arms against the ag- 
 gressor; and yet, when he had won two great 
 battles, and his inroads had been crowned with 
 the most splendid success, he made a peace by 
 which Belgrade and Temeswaer were annexed 
 to his hereditary dominions, but in the articles 
 of which not the smallest attention was paid to 
 the interests of the Venetian republic. From 
 this time forward the Morea has been consi- 
 M 5
 
 250 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 dered as an integral part of the dominions of 
 the grand signior. 
 
 Fabroni was not destitute of many brilliant 
 qualities. He had a fine figure and an expres- 
 sive countenance ; and the elegance and ease of 
 his manners were such, as upon ordinary occa- 
 sions conciliated him many friends. But he had 
 all his country's pride and haughtiness of soul. 
 And he was as yet too young, to have learned the 
 useful lesson of making a due allowance to the 
 prejudices and opinions of others. Along with 
 this he was a "most profane and liberal cen- 
 surer," when any thing awakened his displea- 
 sure, and by no means scrupulous in the choice 
 of epithets by which to express his dislike. He 
 had too much judgment however to attack the 
 Austrian government in the metropolis of its 
 dominions ; and therefore, though this govern- 
 ment was the real object of his resentment, he
 
 XV. CLOUDESLEY. 251 
 
 gave vent to his displeasure by falling foul of 
 the Greeks. 
 
 Fabroni and one or two Italians were seated 
 at one of the tables that have been mentioned, 
 when lord Alton and two friends, myself being 
 one, took their places immediately opposite. 
 The topic of conversation with Fabroni was the 
 late war, with the caution I have spoken of, not 
 directly to inveigh against the imperial govern- 
 ment. He described the Greeks as a set of the 
 most contemptible wretches that ever disgraced 
 the human form. He lauded in the highest 
 terms the followers of Leonidas and Miltiades 
 in ancient times, and the glorious specimens of 
 intellectual greatness handed down to us from 
 Homer and Plato and Demosthenes, for the 
 sake of placing in an invidious contrast the 
 worthlessness of their present descendants. He 
 asserted, that the minds of these were wholly 
 immersed in commerce and gain, that all their
 
 252 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 actions were tricks, and all their words were 
 lies, and that they were the most spiritless, 
 faw^ning and perfidious race of men that ever 
 deformed the face of the earth. He finished 
 with the common-place maxim, that men who 
 do not effectually assert their own independence 
 deserve to be slaves ; and, thank God, the 
 Greeks had now got their deserts, in being 
 again subjected to a worse than Egyptian bond- 
 age to the infidel. 
 
 Alton interposed, in the mild and ingenuous 
 manner in which he was accustomed to speak, 
 in behalf of this much injured race. He said, 
 it was a mistake to imagine, that the Greeks 
 were not Greeks still, and did not retain many 
 features of their illustrious ancestors. They 
 were ingenious, sharp-witted, and animated 
 with spritely and brilliant thoughts. They 
 had not a particle of dulness about them ; and 
 all the dreadful oppression they had suffered
 
 XV. CLOUDESLEY. 253 
 
 for centuries, had not yet made them slavish in 
 mind, or patient beneath the yoke. It was not 
 just, he added, to compel men to be miserable, 
 and then condemn tliem for the vices which 
 misery engenders. He gave it as his opinion, 
 that the day would yet come, when the Greeks 
 would redeem their lost honours, and shew 
 themselves worthy of the name which antiquity 
 had consecrated. 
 
 He combated the vulgar maxim, that all men 
 who did not energetically vindicate their free- 
 dom, deserved to be slaves. A thousand cir- 
 cumstances must concur to enable a race of men 
 to recover the advantages which their fathers 
 had lost. The most eager and generous aspi- 
 rations after freedom might exist in bosoms, 
 where from many causes it became impossible 
 to give scope to those aspirations. Fate often 
 shuts them in with adamantine bars, which it is 
 impracticable for them to burst. Nor should
 
 254 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 we make the mistake to suppose that courage is 
 every thing, or that other treasures of the high- 
 est value may not be found in the magazine of 
 mind. A man of constitutional timidity might 
 yet be a most estimable man. It was not a dis- 
 grace to us, that we should calculate conse- 
 quences, and not enter on a perilous action till 
 we had some sort of assurance of success. The 
 men who plunge into danger headlong and 
 without reflection, were not the only men worthy 
 of our commendation and esteem. Courage in 
 public affairs, was like a confident temper in the 
 affairs of private life. The man who comes for- 
 ward warily and with diffidence, the tongue that 
 hesitates, the cheeks that blush, and the eye that 
 looks but half-assured, are not always harbingers 
 of the least splendid and honourable success. — 
 While Alton uttered these words, in the secret 
 chambers of his soul he thought of Colocotroni. 
 Fabroni, who had listened to all this detail
 
 XV. CLOUDESLEY. 255 
 
 with marks of the greatest impatience, answered 
 as if to the thoughts of his opponent. There 
 was Colocotroni, he said. (He thought of the 
 illustrious Morosini, his kinsman, who, coope- 
 rated with by Colocotroni and others, had wrest- 
 ed the Morea from the Turks in 1687.)— There 
 was Colocotroni. He pretended to restore the 
 ancient discipline of the Greeks. He devoted 
 himself to the study of their authors. He 
 boasted to be a patriot upon the purest model. 
 He was impatient of the yoke of the infidel, and 
 called in my countrymen with Morosini at their 
 head. We rescued the Greeks from subjection 
 to the Turk. What then did Colocotroni? 
 He pretended to be dissatisfied with his deli- 
 verers. He became of the sect of the whimsi- 
 cals, whose approbation no government can 
 obtain. He withdrew himself into the obscurity 
 of repining and discontent. And, when, three 
 years ago, the Turk attacked the Morea with a
 
 256 CLOUDESLEY. cU. 
 
 fleet and an army, he with his countrymen stood 
 aloof, did not move a finger to help us in our 
 hour of trial, and pretended by his actions to 
 say that the dominion of the Venetian republic 
 was no way to be preferred to that of the Scy- 
 thian barbarians. 
 
 But, curse him ! he had met with his deserts. 
 The Turk himself would not endure so perni- 
 cious and perfidious an inmate, and had driven 
 him, the hoary traitor ! out of their dominions. 
 The judgment of God had pursued him in his 
 exile in Croatia. His house had been burned 
 and his property spoiled by the Ottomans, 
 whom he had allowed to resume their tyranny 
 in Greece ; and, last of all, his life had become 
 a sacrifice, as he well deserved, to the knife of 
 one of his own countrymen. He would become 
 a beacon and a warning to all future traitors, 
 and his memory would stink to the latest gene- 
 rations.
 
 XV. CLOUDESLEY. 257 
 
 Id reality it was the virtues and high attain- 
 ments of Colocotroni, that rendered him the 
 butt of Fabroni's abuse. Colocotroni had done 
 nothing more than the great majority of his 
 countrymen on the occasion of the Turkish in- 
 vasion : but his illustrious character and his 
 spotless excellence had caused Fabroni to single 
 him out as the individual upon v^^hom to spend 
 all the fury of his bile. 
 
 Alton listened with the utmost impatience to 
 this tempest of invective. His soul was on fire. 
 Irene and her father were to his idea amalga- 
 mated, were one single object of boundless af- 
 fection. His love was never so vast and over- 
 flowing as at this moment. He had lived with 
 Irene as his spotless wife for now eight months. 
 Every day his attachment grew : every day he 
 had found in her mind and soul some new vein 
 of excellence unexplored before. Her misfor- 
 tunes had rendered her a thousand times deareo:
 
 258 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 to him. That she was a solitary slip, torn off 
 from the vast plantation of human kind, and 
 that but for him would have been thrown away 
 neglected among whatever is least the object of 
 man's protection and care, awakened his most 
 sacred sympathies. She had lost her father, 
 her mother, her property, and her country. 
 But for these losses she would have been to 
 him the object of a less intense and uncontrol- 
 able love. And whatever touched her father, 
 that glorious image shrined in her inmost soul, 
 he considered as touching her in the most sen- 
 sitive point, the very core of her existence. 
 Colocotroni was the theme of his most ardent 
 devotion ; Colocotroni was the disembodied and 
 etherialized counterpart of his beloved. 
 
 Alton sat with the most burning impatience, 
 a witness to the Copious invective of Fabroni. 
 Once and again he rose from his seat, unable to 
 retain his posture. Once and again he endea-
 
 XV. CLOUDESLEY. 259 
 
 voured to interrupt the speaker, and turn him 
 into another course. It was in vain. At length 
 Alton, the mildest and most polished of men, 
 bursting with indignation, struck the Venetian. 
 
 The bystanders had in no degree anticipated 
 this excess. Every one, the friends of Fabroni 
 and of Alton, started from his seat. The pub- 
 lic rooms at Vienna are within the verge of the 
 palace; and all personal violence committed 
 there is an offence against the emperor. Fa- 
 broni was worked up in a moment into inextin- 
 guishable rage ; and it was with difficulty that 
 the friends of each prevented the violence from 
 proceeding farther. Fabroni and Alton were 
 forced by their partisans to leave the assembly 
 by different doors.
 
 260 CJ.OUDESLEV. CH. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 In the different governments of the continent a 
 blow, given by one gentleman to another, is an 
 affront that can only be extinguished in blood. 
 The first business however, was to remove 
 Alton to some hiding-place where the myrmi- 
 dons of the police should not reach him. The 
 government of Austria probably connived at 
 this, unwilling to proceed against a British no- 
 bleman, and who had lately been a minister 
 from the court of London, with extreme seve-
 
 XVI. CLOUDESLEY. 261 
 
 rity. The next business was for the friends of 
 each party to adjust the preliminaries between 
 them. Fabroni was fervent in his demand of 
 expiation ; and Alton knew sufficiently the es- 
 tablished laws of honour, to feel that the de- 
 mand could not be controverted. It was settled 
 between the parties, that they must immediately 
 leave the Austrian dominions ; and the neigh- 
 bourhood of Saltzburg in Bavaria was fixed on 
 as the place where the difference was to be de- 
 cided. 
 
 In a case of this sort the rule is that the 
 combatants must fight with swords, and that 
 the duel can no otherwise be terminated than 
 by the death of one of the parties. My brother 
 was overwhelmed with the thought of the ter- 
 rible predicament in which he stood. He had 
 a presentiment that he should be the victim of 
 the strife. His courage was of the highest 
 order. But there is a great difference between
 
 262 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 danger incurred in the tented field, where 
 every thing is conducted on a magnificent scale, 
 where, as in the battles of prince Eugene, a 
 hundred thousand combatants are drawn out 
 on each side, and the whole is accompanied 
 with the clangour of trumpets, with shouts 
 which rend the skies, and all the pomp and 
 circumstance of glorious war ; and the narrow 
 encounter of two individuals, brought together 
 in a manner in cool blood, and where the law 
 of the encounter is, that one of them is of ne- 
 cessity to die by the sword of the other. This 
 is unquestionably a sober and a solemn transac- 
 tion ; it is a mournful, almost a funereal meeting, 
 fit to be solemnised and darkened with congre- 
 gated clouds and blackening skies. Add to 
 which, lord Alton felt an unconquerable im- 
 pression, that he came there to be the victim, 
 and this was the last day of his life. All that 
 remained for him was, to meet his fate with
 
 XVI. CLOUDESLEY. 263 
 
 constancy, to stand forth undismayed to the 
 last, and to die with the same pure and unble- 
 mished honour which had attended him through 
 life. Thus in a moment was the face of all 
 things changed to the most generous of men. 
 In the commencement of this very evening, he 
 had had every prospect before him of a long 
 life of love, of prosperity and happiness. Now, 
 he laid his head on his pillow in a condition 
 parallel to that of the condemned criminal on 
 the morning of his execution, who at one instant 
 stands before us in the undiminished possession 
 of all his energies of body and mind, and the 
 next is seen a powerless and unanimated corpse. 
 But the ruling idea in the mind of lord Alton 
 was Irene, She had been stripped of all, had 
 been without a friend in the world. Alton had 
 then become every thing to her ; she had re- 
 ceived him in lieu of father, mother and inheri- 
 tance, irrecoverably lost. What was to be her
 
 264 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 condition, when he was taken away ! His feel- 
 ings were also modified in this crisis by the 
 thought of the fruit of her womb, his unborn 
 child. 
 
 Alton went to the Briel, that he might have 
 one parting interview with the idol of his soul. 
 His manner was inevitably sad. He told her, 
 that he was obliged to go to Saltzburg upon 
 unexpected business, but that that business 
 would soon be dispatched. He affectionately 
 exhorted her to be cheerful ; occasional separa- 
 tion was one of the laws of human existence. 
 Poor Irene had not the slightest apprehension 
 of the thought at work in the mind of her 
 lord. She asked him, for what reason he ap- 
 peared so unusually solemn ? Alton replied, It 
 was his first separation from her, in whom his 
 very heart was bound up. — He was unaccus- 
 tomed to practise this concealment, this sup- 
 pression of what was uppermost in his mind.
 
 XVI. CLOUDESLEY. 265 
 
 It was working in his features, and seemed 
 ready to burst from his lips. He tore himseL 
 away. 
 
 I accompanied my brother in this fatal ex- 
 pedition. We took with us his valet and my 
 own. Irene was left in the care of Cloudesley. 
 We were thirty- six hours on the road. Fabroni 
 arrived almost at the same hour that we did. 
 We reached the place of our destination, an 
 Austrian village a few miles north of the Saltz- 
 burg road, about eight in the evening on the 
 twenty-first of January. We chose this place 
 as being in the confines of Austria, and at the 
 same time affording the opportunity of expedi- 
 tiously retiring into Bavaria, so that, whatever 
 might be the event of the conflict, we should be 
 exposed to the animadversion of the govern- 
 ment of neither country, the act not being com- 
 mitted in Bavaria, and the offender having 
 immediately withdrawn himself out of the terri- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 tories of Austria. The seconds fixed on the 
 precise spot for the meeting the next morning ; 
 and the encounter was appointed for the hour 
 of noon. 
 
 Fabroni and lord Alton were both skilful 
 swordsmen. The spot we had chosen was a 
 little valley between two hills, at some distance 
 to the left of the high road, and apparently re- 
 mote from observation. The combatants threw 
 off their coats and waistcoats. They were both 
 tall ; and each of them in his mode, a pattern 
 from which for a sculptor to copy. They were 
 both serious, collected, quick of eye, agile of 
 limb, and with countenances strikingly expres- 
 sive of firmness and self-command. There was 
 no delay on either part to proceed to immediate 
 decision. Each appeared to scan and measure 
 the other, as they stood for an instant with 
 their swords unsheathed. Both advanced a few 
 paces. Several passes were made and parried
 
 XVI. CLOUDESLEY. 267 
 
 on each side without effect. At length lord 
 Alton made a desperate thrust at his antago- 
 nist, which, but for a sudden turn in Fabroni, 
 would have gone through his body. A slight 
 wound was inflicted, and blood followed. The 
 smart excited in some degree the temper of the 
 Venetian, and the exchange of passes grew 
 quicker and more determined. One thrust of 
 Fabroni finished the contest. It took place; 
 and the sword pierced the body of my brother 
 deeply on the right side. He instantly fell. 
 
 The fatal event had scarcely occurred, when 
 a party was seen on the hills, apparently sports- 
 men, with guns and hounds, led thither by the 
 pursuit of their game. They beheld two persons 
 engaged with drawn swords, and observed one 
 of the combatants fall, as desperately wounded. 
 They immediately made towards the valley in 
 which we were posted. Fabroni and his second, 
 perceiving this, and convinced that we should 
 n2
 
 268 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 want no necessary aid, took to their horses, and 
 made, as had been previously concerted, for the 
 Bavarian border. Meanwhile the sportsmen ap- 
 proached. The principal person in the groupe 
 was a baron Stahlhoffen, whos6 sfeat was at a 
 small distance. One of his companions was a 
 person not unskilled in surgery. He bound up 
 the wound as well as he could ; and, a sort of 
 litter being prepared, lord Alton was, by the 
 express order of the baron, conveyed to that 
 nobleman^s seat. 
 
 It was apparent that my brother had a very 
 short time to live. The effusion of blood had 
 been great on the spot; and, on the way to the 
 mansion of the charitable baron, though every 
 possible care was exerted in the removal, the 
 wound broke out afresh. After a short repose 
 however, lord Alton desired to be left alone with 
 me, and spoke as follows. 
 
 My dear Richard, I am dying; and my
 
 XVI. CLOUDESLEY. 269 
 
 death occurs under circumstances which render 
 death bitter. There is no person on earth to 
 whom my Hfe was of so much moment as to the 
 unhappy Irene. She will now be indeed alone. 
 Oh, how faulty, how unpardonable my conduct 
 has been ! A Briton, a noble, and a soldier, 
 to have had his passions no more under con- 
 trol ! I have paid the forfeit of my violence, 
 and I well deserve it. But why should the most 
 virtuous and excellent of her sex be destroyed 
 by my folly ! 
 
 1 have one consolation. Richard, we are 
 brothers, the sole remains of our father's house. 
 We have always lived together, and lived in 
 harmony. I trust I have never done any thing 
 to merit from you unkindness or resentment. 
 This therefore is my consolation ; 1 leave all 
 that is dear to me in your hands. I have no 
 other friend in this country. Watch over my 
 beloved, I intreat you. Be tender of her, as 
 N 3
 
 270 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 the apple of your eye. Think of her as all that 
 remains of your poor Arthur, and exercise 
 towards her in its full extent all a younger 
 brother's love ! Think that in her your Arthur 
 still lives ! 
 
 She is pregnant. I have not strength, nor 
 is it in the least required, that I should remind 
 you of all the vigilance, the care and the love, 
 which this sad situation will demand from you. 
 I rely upon you, even as I should upon my 
 own heart. Farewel, my dear, my ever dear 
 Richard ! 
 
 Lord Alton was exhausted by the length at 
 which he spoke, and still more by the earnest- 
 ness, and deep and solemn feeling which ac- 
 companied his words. He wrung my hand. 
 In a moment after he sank back in the bed, 
 and fainted. It was a considerable time before 
 he recovered. He lived the remainder of the 
 day, and part of the night. But he spoke little
 
 XVI* CLOUDESLEY. 271 
 
 coherently, after having thus imparted to me 
 his last injunctions. He expired at four o'clock 
 in the morning. 
 
 Of all the sorrows with which the death of a 
 human creature ever afflicted me, I know no- 
 thing that I ever felt comparable to this. Arthur 
 said to me, " We have always lived together, 
 and lived in harmony. I trust I have never 
 done any thing to merit from you unkindness 
 or resentment." But in saying this he did not 
 say a thousandth part of the truth. There 
 never was such a brother. Father, mother, 
 and the persons who were about me in early 
 youth, had done many things that inflicted on 
 me exquisite pain ; and Arthur had often been 
 the subject to which these things related. But 
 he, — oh, never, never ! The kindest heart that 
 ever existed in a human bosom was his. In all 
 the various relations of existence he was exem- 
 plary. In no moment of his life did he forfeit
 
 272 CLOUDESLEY. CH. 
 
 this praise. The idlest, the most unconsidered 
 of all his actions, did not detract from the most 
 excellent and heroic. A pillar of spotless mar- 
 ble erected over his grave would have been the 
 suitable emblem of his character and his course. 
 
 The remains of my brother were transported 
 to England, and for that purpose were embalm^ 
 ed. They were conveyed in the first place to 
 Saltzburg, where every requisite accommodation 
 was to be found to that end. 
 
 What a dreadful practice is this of duelling, 
 which seems to be so deeply rooted in the ha- 
 bits of modern Europe ! The best and the 
 most generous of our race are more exposed to 
 its tragical consequences, than the ignoble and 
 the base. It is said to be indispensible to the 
 keeping up the courtesies of polished society. 
 In that case those courtesies are bought at a 
 high price. It is held that no man without the 
 deepest disgrace can abstain in certain cases
 
 XVI. GLOUDESLEY. 273 
 
 from the receiving, or even the giving a chal- 
 lenge. What can be more barbarous than that 
 two men should go in cold blood to stand out 
 as a mark, or even to press forward as to a 
 mark against the life of a fellow-creature, for 
 some unintelligible point of imaginary honour ! 
 We all confess this; and yet the evil is not 
 remedied ! Surely the wit of man ought stre- 
 nuously and unintermittingly to be applied to 
 find out the cure for so tremendous an evil. 
 
 The death of such a man as my brother, in 
 the flower of youth, and for so frivolous an oc- 
 casion, so generous, so accomplished, so noble 
 and perfect in heart, was a loss to the age in 
 which he lived, and perhaps to all future ages. 
 He was a man that could not have been spared 
 from the general cause and weal of his species. 
 For myself, all that gave me serenity and the 
 sunshine of the soul, was buried in his grave ; 
 and from the moment of his death my heart has
 
 274 CLOUDESLEY. CH. XVI. 
 
 never known an instant of peace. Ob, what 
 would I not give that he had not thus perished ! 
 — Lord Danvers was for some time to that de- 
 gree agitated with this thought, as to render 
 him unable to continue his narrative. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by Richard Taylor, 
 Red Lion Court, Fleet Street.
 
 3UN0^ 
 
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