An ACTIVE life increases not only the powers of the body, but also those
of the mind; while indolence is the destruction of both. If a man love
his neighbour in a certain degree, and take the first opportunity of
putting that love into ACTION, he will then love his neighbour better
than he did before, or in a higher degree; and will therefore be more
ready to serve him on a future occasion, than if he had omitted the
first ACT of benevolence. This is an invariable truth, provided the ACT
proceed from disinterested motives; the reason of which is grounded in
this immutable law, that all influx is proportioned to efflux; or in
other words, That in proportion as man puts forth himself into ACTUAL
uses, in the same proportion the life which flows into him from the
Lord, becomes fixed within him, and forms a plane for the reception of
more life. A life of ACTIVITY, therefore, when under the direction of
genuine wisdom, enlarges every faculty of the human soul, and at the
same time capacitates man for the most noble and exquisite enjoyments.
* * * * *
* * * *
Interesting History Of
THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.
_Translated from the French._
(Continued from page 59.)
These assurances entirely satisfied the Queen, and they consulted
together on measures by which they might be at liberty to entertain the
illustrious slaves the next day. The Sultan’s coming in, put an end to
their conversation for this time. This Prince, who had no other defect
than his being a Saracen, accosted her with that joy, which his having
had it in his power to oblige her, gave him---“Well madam,” said he,
“can you doubt of my love!---may I flatter myself, that what I have done
will dispel the grief and melancholy that has so long possessed
you?”---“I owe you every thing, my lord,” said she, “and my whole
endeavours shall be to express my gratitude.” The Sultan, charmed to
find her in so good a humour, entertained her a little longer, and then
told her (for he was just come from council) that it was resolved to
oppose vigorously an irruption that a neighbouring prince had made into
his dominions, and that war was going to be declared immediately.
This news inspired the Queen with a thought, which succeeded to her
wish; and being willing to take advantage of the disposition she found
the Sultan in, of granting her every thing; “Heaven,” said she, “favours
me in an extraordinary manner, in giving me an opportunity of
acknowledging your goodness. One of the captives, my lord, whom you have
given me, is the most valiant man of his time, nor is his conduct in war
inferior to his courage, which the wonders he has done evinces. I am
almost assured you will have the victory, if you permit him to combat
the enemy.” The Sultan remonstrated to her the difference of their
religions, and the little assurance he could have in the faith of a
Christian. “I’ll be the pledge of his fidelity; and the better to assure
you, I’ll keep the two other captives, who are, I know, very dear to
him, as hostages.” The Sultan seemed satisfied with these words, and
granted her request, leaving her absolute mistress to act in this affair
as she pleased; and retired to his apartment, much more affected with
the joy of obliging her, than disturbed at the success of the war.
The beautiful Queen passed the night in very different emotions; love
had renewed his forces in her soul, nature that did for a while revolt
at the remembrance of the cruelty inflicted on her, returned to its
obedience, and was wholly taken up with the fear of not being loved, and
remembered enough to be acknowledged, when discovered, with the joy she
wished.----The Counts of Ponthieu and St. Paul spent not their hours
more quietly. Thibault found himself agitated with the perturbations of
a dawning passion; he accused himself of it as a crime. The Count was no
less embarrassed about his, tho’ he was very well assured they proceeded
not from love, but the prodigious resemblance he found between his
daughter and this lovely Queen, reminded him of the barbarity he had
been guilty of.----He could not imagine there had been a possibility of
saving that unhappy princess; but the tenderness with which the
Sultaness had inspired him, was so near that he felt for his daughter,
that it gave him an astonishment not to be conceived.
Day appearing, they rose, and set themselves about preparing the fruit,
as Sayda had ordered them; which done, they were not long before they
received a command to bring it to the Queen. Nothing could be more
pleasing than this commission; both found an undescribable impatience to
see her again, and followed the faithful slave ’till they came into her
presence. They found her dressed with an incredible magnificence,
resplendent with an infinite number of diamonds; she was reclined on a
sofa, and after having looked a moment on them, “Well,” said she, “are
you ready to satisfy me?---I will not give you the pains of relating
your names and qualities, neither are unknown to me; only tell me by
what strange adventure you arrived at this place.---Count de Ponthieu,
it is to you in particular I address.”
The Count was in a surprize which cannot be expressed, to hear himself
named, and finding there was indeed no room for dissimulation, told his
story with sincerity; but when he came to that part which concerned his
daughter, his sighs made many interruptions in his discourse, yet did he
forget no circumstance, but confessed the crime he had been guilty of,
in putting her to death: “But alas!” added he, “with what remorse has my
soul been torn since that fatal day!---my tenderness for her revived
with fresh vigour, and the torments I have endured, have been such, that
if her spirit has any knowledge of what is transacted in this lower
world, she must believe my punishment at least equal to my
guilt.”---Then he told her of their vow, their voyage to Jerusalem, the
tempest, and their slavery and condemnation.---“This, madam,” said he,
“is a faithful account of our misfortunes; and though they are of a
nature beyond the common rank of woes, yet they receive no
inconsiderable alleviation, by the concern your excessive goodness makes
you take in them.”---And, indeed, the fair Sultaness, during the latter
part of his relation, had seemed drowned in tears, and was some time
before she could recover herself enough to speak; but at last---“I own,”
said she, “that what you have told me, very much touches me.--I
extremely pity the Princess of Ponthieu, she was young, her reason might
have returned to her; the generous proceeding of her husband, would
doubtless have reclaimed her in time: but Heaven has punished you for
your cruelty, you must not therefore be any more reproached with it. But
to prove your penitence sincere, what reception would you give that
Princess if by any miracle, which I cannot at present conceive, she
should have escaped that destiny your rashness exposed her to?” “Ah
madam!” cried the Count, “were there a possibility of such a blessing,
my whole life should be employed in rendering hers fortunate!” “And
you,” said she to Thibault, who she saw overwhelmed in tears, “would
your wife be dear to you? Could you forgive her distracted behaviour?
Could you restore her to your heart, as fond, as tender as ever?--in
short, could you still love her?”--“Question it not, madam,” answered
he, with a voice interrupted with sighs, “nothing but her presence can
ever make me happy.”--“Receive her, then,” cried she, casting aside her
veil, and throwing herself into his arms, “I am that unfortunate wife--I
am that daughter,” added she, running to her father, “that has cost you
so many melancholy hours. Own her, my lord; take her to your breast, my
dear Thibault, nor let the sight of her dissipate the tenderness you
expressed for her when unknown.”
Who can describe the joy and astonishment of these illustrious persons!
their eyes were now opened, the secret emotions they had felt, were now
easy to be accounted for.---She was acknowledged for the wife, blessed
as the daughter, with a torrent of inexpressible delight. Thibault threw
himself at her feet, bathing her hands in tears of joy; while the Count
held her in his arms, without being able to utter more than---my
daughter---my dear---my long lost daughter.---The young Prince kissed
her robe; and Sayda, only witness of this moving scene, dissolved in
tears of tenderness and joy.---At length the first surprise being over,
this mute language was succeeded by all the fond endearing things that
nature, wit, and love had the power of inspiring. The beautiful Queen
had now time to return the caresses of the young Prince her brother,
who, though she knew no otherwise than by her father’s account, his
youth and beauty had very much affected her from the first time she saw
him.---After having a little indulged their transports, “It is time,”
said she, “to inform you of my adventures. The Sultan is taken up with
making preparations for a war he is obliged to enter into, so that we
may have the liberty of conversing, without the apprehension of being
interrupted.”----Then having seated themselves, and Sayda being placed
on the outside of the cabinet, to give them notice if any suspicious
person should appear, the charming Sultaness addressing herself to the
Count, began her discourse in this manner:
“I will not repeat,” said she, “the cause of your designing my death,
you are but too sensible of it, and the loss of my reason is too well
known to you for me to go about to renew the affliction it occasioned
you: I shall only say, that it was excess of love which caused my
distraction, and being prepossessed with an idea of being no longer
worthy of my husband’s affection, imagining that I saw him reproaching
me with my misfortune, and endeavouring to get rid of me; I was so
abandoned by my senses, as to wish his death, as the only thing that
could restore me to my repose. This thought so wholly engrossed my soul,
that I looked on the sentence you inflicted on me, as caused by him; my
frenzy prevented the horror of my fate from making any impression on me;
and you may remember, Sir, that I neither endeavoured by intreaties or
strugglings to avert it, being rather in a state of insensibility than
any thing else. Which course my little vessel steered, or how long I
continued in it, I know not---all I can tell, is, that I found myself in
a real ship, in the midst of a great many unknown persons, busily
employed in bringing me to myself; but what is most surprising,
I recovered my sight, memory and reason, at the same instant; whether it
was owing to the common effect which the fear of death has, or to the
property of the sea, or, to judge better, the work of heaven: but all I
had said, or done, or thought, came into my mind, and I found myself so
guilty against you and my husband, that the first sign of life that my
deliverers perceived in me, was by shedding an excessive shower of
tears; which was the more violent, because I had never wept since that
fatal adventure in the forest: and indeed I thought, as did all about
me, that they would have suffocated me; but so much care was taken of
me, that without putting an end to my affliction, my life was out of
danger.
(_To be continued._)
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