Br. 27.

Quae, sine morte, fuga est vitae, quam turba malorum

Non vitanda gravem, non toleranda facit?

Dulcia dat natura quidem, mare, sidera, terras,

Lunaque quas, et sol, itque reditque vias.

Terror inest aliis, moerorque, et siquid habebis,

Forte, boni, ultrices experiere vices.

Br. 27.

Terram adii nudus, de terra nudus abibo.

Quid labor efficiet? non, nisi nudus, ero.

Br. 27.

Natus eram lacrymans, lacrymans e luce recedo:

Sunt quibus a lacrymis vix vacat ulla dies.

Tale hominum genus est, infirmum, triste, misellum,

Quod mors in cineres solvit, et abdit humo.

Br. 29.

Quisquis adit lectos, elata uxore, secundos,

Naufragus iratas ille retentat aquas.

Br. 30.

Foelix ante alios nullius debitor aeris;

Hunc sequitur coelebs; tertius, orbe, venis.

Nee male res cessit, subito si funere sponsam,

Didatus magna dote, recondis humo.

His sapiens lectis, Epicurum quaerere frustra

Quales sint monades, qua fit inane, sinas.

Br. 31.

Optarit quicunque senex sibi longius aevum,

Dignus, qui multa in lustra senescat, erit.

Cum procul est, optat, cum venit, quisque senectam,

Incusat, semper spe meliora videt.

Br. 46.

Omnis vita nimis brevis est felicibus, una

Nox miseris longi temporis instar habet.

Br. 55.

Gratia ter grata est velox, sin forte moretur,

Gratia vix restat nomine digna suo.

Br. 56.

Seu prece poscatur, seu non, da, Jupiter, omne,

Magne, bonum; omne malum, et poscentibus, abnue nobis.

Br. 60.

Me, cane vitato, canis excipit alter; eodem

In me animo tellus gignit et unda feras,

Nec mirum; restat lepori conscendere coelum,

Sidereus tamen hie territat, ecce canis!

Br. 70.

Telluri arboribus ver frondens, sidera coelo,

Graeciae et urbs, urbi est ista propago, decus.

Br. 75.

Impia facta patrans, homines fortasse latebis,

Non poteris, meditans prava, latere deos.

Br. 75.

Antiope satyrum, Danae aurum, Europa juvencum,

Et cycnum fecit Leda petita, Jovem.

Br. 92.

Aevi sat novi quam sim brevis; astra tuenti,

Per certas; stabili lege, voluta vices,

Tangitur haud pedibus tellus: conviva deorum

Expleor ambrosiis, exhilarorque cibis.

Br. 96.

Quod nimium est sit ineptum, hinc, ut dixere priores,

Et melli nimio fellis amaror inest.

Br. 103.

Puppe gubernatrix sedisti, audacia, prima

Divitiis acuens aspera corda virum;

Sola rates struis infidas, et dulcis amorem

Lucri ulciscendum mox nece sola doces.

Aurea secla hominum, quorum spectandus ocellis

E longinquo itidem pontus et orcus erat.

Br. 126.

Ditescis, credo, quid restat? quicquid habebis

In tumulum tecum, morte jubente, trahes?

Divitias cumulas, pereuntes negligis horas;

Incrementa aevi non cumulare potes.

Br. 120.

Mater adulantum, prolesque, pecunia, curae,

Teque frui timer est, teque carere dolor.

Br. 126.

Me miserum sors omnis habet; florentibus annis,

Pauper eram, nummis diffluit area senis;

Queis uti poteram quondam, fortuna negavit,

Queis uti nequeo, nunc mihi praebet, opes.

Br. 127.

Mnemosyne, ut Sappho, mellita voce, canentem

Audiit, irata est, ne nova musa foret.

Br. 152.

Cum tacet indoctus, sapientior esse videtur,

Et morbus tegitur, dum premit ora pudor.

Br. 155.

Nunc huic, nunc aliis cedens, cui farra Menippus

Credit, Achaemenidae nuper agellus eram.

Quod nulli proprium versat fortuna, putabat

Ille suum stolidus, nunc putat ille suum.

Br. 156.

Non fortuna sibi te gratum tollit in altum;

At docet, exemplo, vis sibi quanta, tuo.

Br. 162.

Hic, aurum ut reperit, laqueum abjicit; alter ut aurum

Non reperit, nectit quem reperit, laqueum.

Br. 167.

Vive tuo ex ammo: vario rumore loquetur

De te plebs audax, hic bene, et ille male.

Br. 168.

Vitae rosa brevis est; properans si carpere nolis,

Quaerenti obveniet mox sine flore rubus.

Br. 170.

Pulicibus morsus, restincta lampade, stultus

Exclamat: nunc me cernere desinitis.

Br. 202,

Mendotum pinxit Diodorus, et exit imago,

Praeter Menodotura, nullius absimilis.

Br. 205.

Haud lavit Phido, haud tetigit, mihi febre calenti

In mentem ut venit nominis, interii.

Br. 210.

Nycticorax cantat lethale; sed ipsa, canenti

Demophilo auscultans, Nycticorax moritur.

Br. 212.

Hermem deorum nuncium, pennis levem,

Quo rege gaudent Arcades, furem boum,

Hujus palestrae qui vigil custos stetit,

Clam nocte tollit Aulus, et ridens ait:

Praestat magistro saepe discipulus suo.

Br. 223.

Qui jacet hic servus vixit: nunc, lumine cassus,

Dario magno non minus ille potest.

Br. 227.

Funus Alexandri mentitur fama; fidesque

Si Phoebo, victor nescit obire diem.

Br. 241.

Nauta, quis hoc jaceat, ne percontere, sepulchro,

Eveniat tantum mitior unda tibi!

Br. 256.

Cur opulentus eges? tua cuncta in foenore ponis:

Sic aliis dives, tu tibi pauper agis.

Br. 262.

Qui pascis barbam, si crescis mente, Platoni,

Hirce, parem nitido te tua barba facit.

Br. 266.

Clarus Ioannes, reginae affinis, ab alto

Sanguine Anastasii; cuncta sepulta jacent:

Et pius, et recti cultor: non illa jacere

Dicam; stat virtus non subigenda neci.

Br. 267.

Cunctiparens tellus, salve, levis esto pusillo

Lysigeni, fuerat non gravis ille tibi.

Br. 285.

Naufragus hic jaceo; contra, jacet ecce colonus!

Idem orcus terras, sic, pelagoque subest.

Br. 301.

Quid salvere jubes me, pessime? Corripe gressus;

Est mihi quod non te rideo, plena salus.

Br. 304.

Et ferus est Timon sub terris; janitor orci,

Cerbere, te morsu ne petat ille, cave.

Br. 307.

Vitam a terdecimo sextus mihi finiet annus,

Astra mathematicos si modo vera docent.

Sufficit hoc votis, flos hic pulcherrimus aevi est,

Et senium triplex Nestoris urna capit.

Br. 322.

Zosima, quae solo fuit olim corpore serva,

Corpore nunc etiam libera facta fuit.

Br. 326.

Exiguum en! Priami monumentum; hand ille meretur

Quale, sed hostiles, quale dedere manus.

Br. 326.

Hector dat gladium Ajaci, dat balteum et Ajax

Hectori, et exitio munus utrique fuit.

Br. 344.

Ut vis, ponte minax, modo tres discesseris ulnas

Ingemina fluctus, ingeminaque sonum.

Br. 344.

Naufragus hic jaceo, fidens tamen utere velis;

Tutum aliis aequor, me pereunte, fuit.

Br. 398.

Heraclitus ego; indoctae ne laedite liuguae

Subtile ingenium, quaero, capaxque mei;

Unus homo mihi pro soxcentis, turba popelli

Pro nullo, clamo nunc tumulatus idem.

Br. 399.

Ambraciota, vale lux alma, Cleombrotus infit,

Et saltu e muro ditis opaca petit:

Triste nihil passus, animi at de sorte Platonis

Scripta legens, sola vivere mente cupit.

Br. 399.

Servus, Epictetus, mutilato corpore, vixi,

Pauperieque Irus, curaque summa deum.

Br. 445.

Unde hic Praxiteles? nudam vidistis, Adoni,

Et Pari, et Anchisa, non alius, Venerem.

Br. 451.

Sufflato accendis quisquis carbone lucernam,

Corde meo accendens; ardeo totus ego.

Br. 486.

Jupiter hoc templum, ut, siquando relinquit Olympum,

Atthide non alius desit Olympus, habet.

Br. 487.

Civis et externus grati; domus hospita nescit

Quaerere, quis, cujus, quis pater, unde venis.

POMPEII.

Br. 487.

Cum fugere haud possit, fractis victoria pennis

Te manet, imperii, Roma, perenne decus.

Br. 488.

Latrones, alibi locupletum quaerite tecta,

Assidet huic, custos, strenua pauperies.

Fortunae malim adversae tolerare procellas;

Quam domini ingentis ferre supercilium.

En, Sexto, Sexti meditatur imago, silente;

Orator statua est, statuaeque orator imago.

Pulchra est virgiuitas intacta, at vita periret,

Omnes si vellent virginitate frui;

Nequitiam fugiens, servata contrahe lege

Conjugium, ut pro te des hominem patriae.

Fert humeris, venerabile onus, Cythereius heros

Per Trojae flammas, densaque tela, patrem:

Clamat et Argivis, vetuli, ne tangite; vita

Exiguum est Marti, sed mihi grande, lucrum.

Forma animos hominum capit, at, si gratia desit,

Non tenet; esca natat pulchra, sed hamus abest,

Cogitat aut loquitur nil vir, nil cogitat uxor,

Felici thalamo non, puto, rixa strepit.

Buccina disjecit Thebarum moenia, struxit

Quae lyra, quam sibi non concinit harmonia!

Mente senes olim juvenis, Faustine, premebas,

Nunc juvenum terres robore corda senex.

Laevum at utrumque decus, juveni quod praebuit olim

Turba senum, juvenes nunc tribuere seni.

Exceptae hospitio, musae tribuere libellos

Herodoto, hospitii praemia, quaeque suum.

Stella mea, observans stellas, dii me aethera faxint

Multis ut te oculis sim potis aspicere.

Clara Cheroneae soboles, Plutarche, dicavit

Hanc statuam ingenio, Roma benigna, tuo.

Das bene collatos, quos Roma et Graecia jactat,

Ad divos, paribus passibus, ire duces;

Sed similem, Plutarche, tuae describere vitam

Non poteras, regio non tulit ulla parem.

Dat tibi Pythagoram pictor; quod ni ipse tacere

Pythagoras mallet, vocem habuisset opus.

Prolem Hippi, et sua qua meliorem secula nullum

Videre, Archidicen, haec tumulavit humus;

Quam, regum sobolem, nuptam, matrem, atque sororem

Fecerunt nulli sors titulique gravem.

Cecropidis gravis hic ponor, Martique dicatus,

Quo tua signantur gesta, Philippe, lapis.

Spreta jacet Marathon, jacet et Salaminia laurus,

Omnia dum Macedum gloria et arma premunt.

Sint Demosthenica ut jurata cadavera voce,

Stabo illis qui sunt, quique fuere, gravis.

Floribus in pratis, legi quos ipse, coronam

Contextam variis, do, Rhodoclea, tibi:

Hic anemone humet, confert narcissus odores

Cum violis; spirant lilia mista rosis.

His redimita comas, mores depone superbos,

Haec peritura nitent; tu peritura nites!

Murem Asclepiades sub tecto ut vidit avarus,

Quid tibi, mus, mecum, dixit, amice, tibi?

Mus blandum ridens, respondit, pelle timorem:

Hic, bone vir, sedem, nori alimenta, peto.

Saepe tuum in tumulum lacrymarum decidit imber,

Quem fundit blando junctus amore dolor;

Charus enim cunctis, tanquam, dum vita manebat,

Cuique esses natus, cuique sodalis, eras.

Heu quam dura preces sprevit, quam surda querelas

Parca, juventutem non miserata tuam!

Arti ignis lucem tribui, tamen artis et ignis

Nunc ope, supplicii vivit imago mei.

Gratia nulla hominum mentes tenet, ista Promethei

Munera muneribus, si retulere fabri.

Illa triumphatrix Graium consueta procorum

Ante suas agmen Lais habere fores,

Hoc Veneri speculum; nolo me cernere qualis

Sum nunc, nec possum cernere qualis eram.

Crethida fabellas dulces garrire peritam

Prosequitur lacrymis filia moesta Sami:

Blandam lanifici sociam sine fine loquacem,

Quam tenet hic, cunctas quae manet, alta quies.

Dicite, Causidici, gelido nunc marmore magni

Mugitum tumulus comprimit Amphiloci.

Si forsan tumulum quo conditur Eumarus aufers,

Nil lucri facies; ossa habet et cinerem.

EPICTETI.

Me, rex deorum, tuque, due, necessitas,

Quo, lege vestra, vita me feret mea.

Sequar libenter, sin reluctari velim,

Fiam scelestus, nec tamen minus sequar.

E THEOCRITO.

Poeta, lector, hic quiescit Hipponax,

Si sis scelestus, praeteri, procul, marmor:

At te bonum si noris, et bonis natum,

Tutum hic sedile, et si placet, sopor tutus.

EUR. MED. 193--203.

Non immerito culpanda venit

Proavum vecors insipientia,

Qui convivia, lautasque dapes,

Hilarare suis jussere modis

Cantum, vitae dulce levamen.

At nemo feras iras hominum

Domibus claris exitiales,

Voce aut fidibus pellere docuit;

Queis tamen aptam ferre medelam

Utile cunctis hoc opus esset;

Namque, ubi mensas onerant epulae,

Quorsum dulcis luxuria soni?

Sat laetitia sine subsidiis,

Pectora molli mulcet dubiae

Copia coenae.

[Greek:]

Tois Araes brotoloighos enhi ptolemoisi memaene,

Kahi toios Paphiaen plaesen eroti thean.

The above is a version of a Latin epigram on the famous John duke of

Marlborough, by the abbé Salvini, which is as follows:

Haud alio vultu fremuit Mars acer in armis:

Haud alio Cypriam percutit ore deam.

The duke was, it seems, remarkably handsome in his person, to which the

second line has reference.

SEPTEM AETATES.

Prima parit terras aetas; siccatque secunda;

Evocat Abramum dein tertia; quarta relinquit

Aegyptum; templo Solomonis quinta supersit;

Cyrum sexta timet; laetatur septima Christo.

[a]His Tempelmanni numeris descripseris orbem,

[b]Cum sex ceiituriis Judaeo millia septem.

Myrias[c] AEgypto cessit his septima pingui.

Myrias adsciscit sibi nonagesima septem

Imperium qua Turca[d] ferox exercet iniquum.

Undecies binas decadas et millia septem

Sortitur[e] Pelopis tellus quae nomine gaudet.

Myriadas decies septem numerare jubebit

Pastor Arabs: decies octo sibi Persa requirit.

Myriades sibi pulchra duas, duo millia poscit

Parthenope. [f]Novies vult tellus mille Sicana.

[g]Papa suo regit imperio ter millia quinque.

Cum sex centuriis numerat sex millia Tuscus[h].

Centuria Ligures[i] augent duo millia quarta.

Centuriae octavam decadem addit Lucca[j] secundae.

Ut dicas, spatiis quam latis imperet orbi

[k]Russia, myriadas ter denas adde trecentis.

[l]Sardiniam cum sexcentis sex millia complent.

Cum sexagenis, dum plura recluserit aetas,

Myriadas ter mille homini dat terra[m] colendas.

Vult sibi vicenas millesima myrias addi,

Vicenis quinas, Asiam[n] metata celebrem.

Se quinquagenis octingentesima jungit

Myrias, ut menti pateat tota Africa[o] doctae.

Myriadas septem decies Europa[p] ducentis

Et quadragenis quoque ter tria millia jungit.

Myriadas denas dat, quinque et millia, sexque

Centurias, et tres decades Europa Britannis[q].

Ter tria myriadi conjungit millia quartae,

Centuriae quartae decades quinque[r] Anglia nectit.

Millia myriadi septem foecunda secundae

Et quadragenis decades quinque addit Ierne[s].

Quingentis quadragenis socialis adauget

Millia Belga[t] novem.

Ter sex centurias Hollandia jactat opima.

Undecimum Camber vult septem millibus addi.

[a] To the above lines, (which are unfinished, and can, therefore, be

only offered as a fragment,) in the doctor's manuscript, are

prefixed the words "Geographia Metrica." As we are referred, in the

first of the verses, to Templeman, for having furnished the

numerical computations that are the subject of them, his work has

been, accordingly, consulted, the title of which is, a new Survey of

the Globe; and which professes to give an accurate mensuration of

all the empires, kingdoms, and other divisions thereof, in the

square miles that they respectively contain. On comparison of the

several numbers in these verses, with those set down by Templeman,

it appears that nearly half of them are precisely the same; the rest

are not quite so exactly done.--For the convenience of the reader,

it has been thought right to subjoin each number, as it stands in

Templeman's works, to that in Dr. Johnson's verses which refers to

it.

[b] In this first article that is versified, there is an accurate

conformity in Dr. Johnson's number to Templeman's; who sets down the

square miles of Palestine at 7,600.

[c] The square miles of Egypt are, in Templeman, 140,700.

[d] The whole Turkish empire, in Templeman, is computed at 960,057

square miles.

[e] In the four following articles, the numbers in Templeman and in

Johnson's verses are alike.--We find, accordingly, the Morea, in

Templeman, to be set down at 7,220 square miles.--Arabia, at

700,000.--Persia, at 800,000.--and Naples, at 22,000.

[f] Sicily, in Templeman, is put down at 9,400.

[g] The pope's dominions, at 14,868.

[h] Tuscany, at 6,640.

[i] Genoa, in Templeman, as in Johnson likewise, is set down at 2,400.

[j] Lucca, at 286.

[k] The Russian empire, in the 29th plate of Templeman, is set down at

3,303,485 square miles.

[l] Sardinia, in Templeman, as likewise in Johnson, 6,600.

[m] The habitable world, in Templeman, is computed, in square miles, at

30,666,806 square miles.

[n] Asia, at 10,257,487.

[o] Africa, at 8,506,208.

[p] Europe, at 2,749,349.

[q] The British dominions, at 105,634.

[r] England, as likewise in Johnson's expression of the number, at

49,450.

[s] Ireland, at 27,457.

[t] In the three remaining instances, which make the whole that Dr.

Johnson appears to have rendered into Latin verse, we find the

numbers exactly agreeing with those of Templeman, who makes the

square miles of the United Provinces, 9540--of the province of

Holland, 1800--and of Wales, 7011.

TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON MILTON.

Quos laudat vates, Graecus, Romanus, et Anglus,

Tres tria temporibus secla dedere suis.

Sublime ingenium Graecus; Romanus habebat

Carmen grande sonans; Anglus utrumque tulit.

Nil majus natura capit: clarare priores

Quae potuere duos tertius unus habet.

EPILOGUE TO THE CARMEN SAECULARE OF HORACE;

PERFORMED AT FREEMASONS' HALL.

Quae fausta Romae dixit Horatius,

Haec fausta vobis dicimus, Angliae

Opes, triumphos, et subacti

Imperium pelagi precantes.

Such strains as, mingled with the lyre,

Could Rome with future greatness fire,

Ye sons of England, deign to hear,

Nor think our wishes less sincere.

May ye the varied blessings share

Of plenteous peace and prosp'rous war;

And o'er the globe extend your reign,

Unbounded masters of the main!

TRANSLATION OF A WELSH EPITAPH (IN HERBERT'S

TRAVELS) ON PRINCE MADOCK.

Inclytus hic haeres magni requiescit Oeni,

Confessas tantum mente, manuque, patrem;

Servilem tuti cultum contempsit agelli,

Et petiit terras, per freta longa, novas.

THE HISTORY

OF

RASSELAS, PRINCE OF ABISSINIA.

PREFATORY OBSERVATIONS.

The following incomparable tale was published in 1759; and the

early familiarity with eastern manners, which Johnson derived

from his translation of father Lobo's travels into Abissinia, may

be presumed to have led him to fix his opening scene in that

country; while Rassela Christos, the general of sultan Sequed,

mentioned in that work, may have suggested the name of his

speculative prince. Rasselas was written in the evenings of a

single week, and sent to the press, in portions, with the amiable

view of defraying the funeral expenses of the author's aged

mother, and discharging her few remaining debts. The sum,

however, which he received for it, does not seem large, to those

who know its subsequent popularity. None of his works has

been more widely circulated; and the admiration, which it has

attracted, in almost every country of Europe, proves, that, with

all its depression and sadness, it does utter a voice, that meets

with an assenting answer in the hearts of all who have tried life,

and found its emptiness. Johnson's view of our lot on earth was

always gloomy, and the circumstances, under which Rasselas was

composed, were calculated to add a deepened tinge of melancholy

to its speculations on human folly, misery, or malignity. Many

of the subjects discussed, are known to have been those which

had agitated Johnson's mind. Among them is the question,

whether the departed ever revisit the places that knew them

on earth, and how far they may take an interest in the welfare

of those, over whom they watched, when here. We shall elsewhere

have to contemplate the moralist, standing on the border

of his mother's grave, and asking, with anxious agony, whether

that dark bourn, once passed, terminated for ever the cares of

maternity and love[a]. The frivolous and the proud, who think

not, or acknowledge not, that there are secrets, in both matter

and mind, of which their philosophy has not dreamed, may smile

at what they may, in their derision, term such weak and idle

inquiries. But on them, the most powerful minds that ever

illuminated this world, have fastened, with an intense curiosity;

and, owning their fears, or their ignorance, have not dared to

disavow their belief[b].

It is not to be denied, that Rasselas displays life, as one unvaried

series of disappointments, and leaves the mind, at its

close, in painful depression. This effect has been considered an

evil, and regarded even as similar to that produced by the doctrines

of Voltaire, Bolingbroke, and Rousseau, who combined

every thing venerable on earth with ridicule, treated virtue and

vice, with equal contemptuous indifference, and laid bare, with

cruel mockery, the vanity of all mortal wishes, prospects, and

pursuits. Their motive, for all this, we need not pause, in this

place, to examine. But a distinction may be made between the

melancholy of the heart, and the melancholy of the mind: while

the latter is sceptical, sour, and misanthropic, the former is

passionate, tender, and religious. Those who are under the influence

of the one, become inactive, morose, or heedless: detecting

the follies of the wisest and the frailties of the best, they scoff at

the very name of virtue; they spurn, as visionary and weak, every

attempt to meliorate man's condition, and from their conviction

of the earthward tendency of his mind, they bound his destinies

by this narrow world and its concerns. But those whose hearts

are penetrated with a feeling for human infirmity and sorrow,

are benevolent and active; considering man, as the victim of sin,

and woe, and death, for a cause which reason cannot unfold, but

which religion promises to terminate, they sooth the short-lived

disappointments of life, by pointing to a loftier and more lasting

state. Candide is the book of the one party, Rasselas of the

other. They appeared nearly together; they exhibit the same

picture of change, and misery, and crime. But the one demoralized

a continent, and gave birth to lust, and rapine, and

bloodshed; the other has blessed many a heart, and gladdened

the vale of sorrow, with many a rill of pure and living water.

Voltaire may be likened to the venomous toad of eastern allegory,

which extracts a deadly poison from that sunbeam which

bears health, and light, and life to all beside: the philosopher,

in Rasselas, like some holy and aged man, who has well nigh run

his course, in recounting the toils and perils of his pilgrimage,

may sadden the young heart, and crush the fond hopes of inexperience;

but, while he wounds, he presents the antidote and the

balm, and tells, where promises will be realized, and hopes will

no more be disappointed. We have ventured to detain our

readers thus long from Rasselas itself, because, from its similar

view of life with the sceptical school, many well-intentioned men

have apprehended, its effects might be the same. We have,

therefore, attempted briefly to distinguish the sources whence

these different writings have issued, and, we trust, we have

pointed out their remoteness from each other. And we do not

dwell on the subject, at greater length, because Johnson's writings,

in various parts, will require our attention on this particular head.

To be restless and weary of the dull details and incomplete enjoyments

of life, is common to all lofty minds. Frederick of

Prussia sought, in the bosom of a cold philosophy, to chill every

generous impulse, and each warm aspiration after immortality;

but he painfully felt, how inefficient was grandeur, or power, to

fill the heart, and plaintively exclaimed to Maupertuis, "Que

notre vie est peu de chose;" all is vanity. The philosophy of

Rasselas, however, though it pronounces on the unsatisfactory

nature of all human enjoyments, and though its perusal may

check the worldling in his mirth, and bring down the mighty

in his pride, does not, with the philosophic conqueror, sullenly

despair, but gently sooths the mourner, by the prospect of a final

recompense and repose. Its pages inculcate the same lesson, as

those of the Rambler, but "the precept, which is tedious in a

formal essay, may acquire attractions in a tale, and the sober

charms of truth be divested of their austerity by the graces of

innocent fiction[c]." We may observe, in conclusion, that the

abrupt termination of Rasselas, so left, according to sir John

Hawkins, by its author, to admit of continuation, and its unbroken

gloom, induced Miss E. Cornelia Knight to present to

the public a tale, entitled Dinarbas, to exhibit the fairer view of

life.

FOOTNOTES

[a] See Idler, No. 41, and his letter to Mr. Elphinstone, on the death

of his mother.

[b] Aristot. Ethic. Nich. lib. i. c. 10, 11. In Barrow's sermon on the

"the least credulous or fanciful of men."

[c] See Drake's Speculator, 1790, No. 1.

THE HISTORY

OF

RASSELAS, PRINCE OF ABISSINIA.

CHAP. I.

DESCRIPTION OF A PALACE IN A VALLEY.

Ye, who listen, with credulity, to the whispers of fancy, and pursue,

with eagerness, the phantoms of hope; who expect, that age will perform

the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will

be supplied by the morrow; attend to the history of Rasselas, prince of

Abissinia.

Rasselas was the fourth son of the mighty emperour, in whose dominions

the father of waters begins his course; whose bounty pours down the

streams of plenty, and scatters over half the world the harvests of

Egypt.

According to the custom, which has descended, from age to age, among the

monarchs of the torrid zone, Rasselas was confined in a private palace,

with the other sons and daughters of Abissinian royalty, till the order

of succession should call him to the throne.

The place, which the wisdom, or policy, of antiquity had destined for

the residence of the Abissinan princes, was a spacious valley in the

kingdom of Amhara, surrounded, on every side, by mountains, of which the

summits overhang the middle part. The only passage, by which it could be

entered, was a cavern that passed under a rock, of which it has been

long disputed, whether it was the work of nature, or of human industry.

The outlet of the cavern was concealed by a thick wood, and the mouth,

which opened into the valley, was closed with gates of iron, forged by

the artificers of ancient days, so massy, that no man could, without the

help of engines, open or shut them.

From the mountains, on every side, rivulets descended, that filled all

the valley with verdure and fertility, and formed a lake in the middle,

inhabited by fish of every species, and frequented by every fowl, whom

nature has taught to dip the wing in water. This lake discharged its

superfluities by a stream, which entered a dark cleft of the mountain,

on the northern side, and fell, with dreadful noise, from precipice to

precipice, till it was heard no more.

The sides of the mountains were covered with trees; the banks of the

brooks were diversified with flowers; every blast shook spices from the

rocks; and every month dropped fruits upon the ground. All animals that

bite the grass, or browse the shrub, whether wild or tame, wandered in

this extensive circuit, secured from beasts of prey, by the mountains

which confined them. On one part, were flocks and herds feeding in the

pastures; on another, all the beasts of chase frisking in the lawns; the

sprightly kid was bounding on the rocks, the subtle monkey frolicking in

the trees, and the solemn elephant reposing in the shade. All the

diversities of the world were brought together, the blessings of nature

were collected, and its evils extracted and excluded.

The valley, wide and fruitful, supplied its inhabitants with the

necessaries of life; and all delights and superfluities were added, at

the annual visit which the emperour paid his children, when the iron

gate was opened to the sound of musick; and during eight days every one,

that resided in the valley, was required to propose whatever might

contribute to make seclusion pleasant, to fill up the vacancies of

attention, and lessen the tediousness of time. Every desire was

immediately granted. All the artificers of pleasure were called to

gladden the festivity; the musicians exerted the power of harmony, and

the dancers showed their activity before the princes, in hope that they

should pass their lives in this blissful captivity, to which those only

were admitted, whose performance was thought able to add novelty to

luxury. Such was the appearance of security and delight, which this

retirement afforded, that they, to whom it was new, always desired, that

it might be perpetual; and, as those, on whom the iron gate had once

closed, were never suffered to return, the effect of long experience

could not be known. Thus every year produced new schemes of delight, and

new competitors for imprisonment.

The palace stood on an eminence, raised about thirty paces above the

surface of the lake. It was divided into many squares or courts, built

with greater or less magnificence, according to the rank of those for

whom they were designed. The roofs were turned into arches of massy

stone, joined by a cement that grew harder by time, and the building

stood, from century to century, deriding the solstitial rains and

equinoctial hurricanes, without need of reparation.

This house, which was so large, as to be fully known to none, but some

ancient officers, who successively inherited the secrets of the place,

was built, as if suspicion herself had dictated the plan. To every room

there was an open and secret passage, every square had a communication

with the rest, either from the upper stories, by private galleries, or,

by subterranean passages, from the lower apartments. Many of the columns

had unsuspected cavities, in which a long race of monarchs had reposited

their treasures. They then closed up the opening with marble, which was

never to be removed, but in the utmost exigencies of the kingdom; and

recorded their accumulations in a book, which was itself concealed in a

tower not entered, but by the emperour, attended by the prince, who

stood next in succession.

CHAP. II.

THE DISCONTENT OP RASSELAS IN THE HAPPY VALLEY.

Here the sons and daughters of Abissinia, lived only to know the soft

vicissitudes of pleasure and repose, attended by all that were skilful

to delight, and gratified with whatever the senses can enjoy. They

wandered in gardens of fragrance, and slept in the fortresses of

security. Every art was practised, to make them pleased with their own

condition. The sages, who instructed them, told them of nothing but the

miseries of publick life, and described all beyond the mountains, as

regions of calamity, where discord was always raging, and where man

preyed upon man.

To heighten their opinion of their own felicity, they were daily

entertained with songs, the subject of which was the happy valley. Their

appetites were excited, by frequent enumerations of different

enjoyments, and revelry and merriment was the business of every hour,

from the dawn of morning, to the close of even.

These methods were, generally, successful; few of the princes had ever

wished to enlarge their bounds, but passed their lives in full

conviction, that they had all within their reach that art or nature

could bestow, and pitied those, whom fate had excluded from this seat of

tranquillity, as the sport of chance, and the slaves of misery.

Thus, they rose in the morning, and lay down at night, pleased with each

other and with themselves, all but Rasselas, who, in the twenty-sixth

year of his age, began to withdraw himself from their pastimes and

assemblies, and to delight in solitary walks, and silent meditation. He

often sat before tables, covered with luxury, and forgot to taste the

dainties that were placed before him: he rose abruptly in the midst of

the song, and hastily retired beyond the sound of musick. His attendants

observed the change, and endeavoured to renew his love of pleasure: he

neglected their officiousness, repulsed their invitations, and spent day

after day, on the banks of rivulets, sheltered with trees; where he

sometimes listened to the birds in the branches, sometimes observed the

fish playing in the stream, and anon cast his eyes upon the pastures and

mountains filled with animals, of which some were biting the herbage,

and some sleeping among the bushes.

This singularity of his humour made him much observed. One of the sages,

in whose conversation he had formerly delighted, followed him secretly,

in hope of discovering the cause of his disquiet. Rasselas, who knew not

that any one was near him, having, for some time, fixed his eyes upon

the goats that were browsing among the rocks, began to compare their

condition with his own. "What," said he, "makes the difference between

man and all the rest of the animal creation? Every beast, that strays

beside me, has the same corporal necessities with myself: he is hungry,

and crops the grass, he is thirsty and drinks the stream, his thirst and

hunger are appeased, he is satisfied and sleeps: he rises again and is

hungry, he is again fed, and is at rest. I am hungry and thirsty, like

him, but when thirst and hunger cease, I am not at rest; I am, like him,

pained with want, but am not, like him, satisfied with fulness. The

intermediate hours are tedious and gloomy; I long again to be hungry,

that I may again quicken my attention. The birds peck the berries, or

the corn, and fly away to the groves, where they sit, in seeming

happiness, on the branches, and waste their lives in tuning one unvaried

series of sounds. I, likewise, can call the lutanist and the singer, but

the sounds, that pleased me yesterday, weary me to-day, and will grow

yet more wearisome to-morrow. I can discover within me no power of

perception, which is not glutted with its proper pleasure, yet I do not

feel myself delighted. Man surely has some latent sense, for which this

place affords no gratification; or he has some desires, distinct from

sense, which must be satisfied, before he can be happy."

After this, he lifted up his head, and seeing the moon rising, walked

towards the palace. As he passed through the fields, and saw the animals

around him, "Ye," said he, "are happy, and need not envy me, that walk

thus among you, burdened with myself; nor do I, ye gentle beings, envy

your felicity; for it is not the felicity of man. I have many

distresses, from which ye are free; I fear pain, when I do not feel it;

I sometimes shrink at evils recollected, and sometimes start at evils

anticipated: surely the equity of providence has balanced peculiar

sufferings with peculiar enjoyments."

With observations like these, the prince amused himself, as he returned,

uttering them with a plaintive voice, yet with a look, that discovered

him to feel some complacence in his own perspicacity, and to receive

some solace of the miseries of life, from consciousness of the delicacy

with which he felt, and the eloquence with which he bewailed them. He

mingled, cheerfully, in the diversions of the evening, and all rejoiced

to find, that his heart was lightened.

CHAP. III.

THE WANTS OF HIM THAT WANTS NOTHING.

On the next day, his old instructor, imagining that he had now made

himself acquainted with his disease of mind, was in hope of curing it by

counsel, and officiously sought an opportunity of conference, which the

prince, having long considered him, as one whose intellects were

exhausted, was not very willing to afford: "Why," said he, "does this

man thus obtrude upon me? shall I be never suffered to forget those

lectures, which pleased, only while they were new, and to become new

again, must be forgotten?" He then walked into the wood, and composed

himself to his usual meditations, when, before his thoughts had taken

any settled form, he perceived his pursuer at his side, and was, at

first, prompted, by his impatience, to go hastily away; but, being

unwilling to offend a man, whom he had once reverenced, and still loved,

he invited him to sit down with him on the bank.

The old man, thus encouraged, began to lament the change, which had been

lately observed in the prince, and to inquire, why he so often retired

from the pleasures of the palace, to loneliness and silence. "I fly from

pleasure," said the prince, "because pleasure has ceased to please; I am

lonely, because I am miserable, and am unwilling to cloud, with my

presence, the happiness of others."

"You, sir," said the sage, "are the first who has complained of misery

in the happy valley. I hope to convince you, that your complaints have

no real cause. You are here in full possession of all that the emperour

of Abissinia can bestow; here is neither labour to be endured, nor

danger to be dreaded, yet here is all that labour or danger can procure

or purchase. Look round, and tell me which of your wants is without

supply: if you want nothing, how are you unhappy?"

"That I want nothing," said the prince, "or that I know not what I want,

is the cause of my complaint; if I had any known want, I should have a

certain wish; that wish would excite endeavour, and I should not then

repine to see the sun move so slowly towards the western mountain, or

lament when the day breaks, and sleep will no longer hide me from

myself. When I see the kids and the lambs chasing one another, I fancy,

that. I should be happy, if I had something to pursue. But, possessing

all that I can want, I find one day and one hour exactly like another,

except that the latter is still more tedious than the former. Let your

experience inform me, how the day may now seem as short as in my

childhood, while nature was yet fresh, and every moment showed me what I

never had observed before. I have already enjoyed too much; give me

something to desire."

The old man was surprised at this new species of affliction, and knew

not what to reply, yet was unwilling to be silent. "Sir," said he, "if

you had seen the miseries of the world, you would know how to value your

present state." "Now," said the prince, "you have given me something to

desire; I shall long to see the miseries of the world, since the sight

of them is necessary to happiness."

CHAP. IV.

THE PRINCE CONTINUES TO GRIEVE AND MUSE.

At this time the sound of musick proclaimed the hour of repast, and the

conversation was concluded. The old man went away, sufficiently

discontented, to find that his reasonings had produced the only

conclusion which they were intended to prevent. But, in the decline of

life, shame and grief are of short duration; whether it be, that we bear

easily what we have borne long, or that, finding ourselves in age less

regarded, we less regard others; or that we look with slight regard upon

afflictions, to which we know that the hand of death is about to put an

end.

The prince, whose views were extended to a wider space, could not

speedily quiet his emotions. He had been before terrified at the length

of life which nature promised him, because he considered, that in a long

time much must be endured; he now rejoiced in his youth, because in many

years much might be done.

This first beam of hope, that had been ever darted into his mind,

rekindled youth in his cheeks, and doubled the lustre of his eyes. He

was fired with the desire of doing something, though he knew not yet,

with distinctness, either end or means.

He was now no longer gloomy and unsocial; but, considering himself as

master of a secret stock of happiness, which he could enjoy only by

concealing it, he affected to be busy in all schemes of diversion, and

endeavoured to make others pleased with the state, of which he himself

was weary. But pleasures never can be so multiplied or continued, as not

to leave much of life unemployed; there were many hours, both of the

night and day, which he could spend, without suspicion, in solitary

thought. The load of life was much lightened: he went eagerly into the

assemblies, because he supposed the frequency of his presence necessary

to the success of his purposes; he retired gladly to privacy, because he

had now a subject of thought.

His chief amusement was to picture to himself that world which he had

never seen; to place himself in various conditions; to be entangled in

imaginary difficulties, and to be engaged in wild adventures: but his

benevolence always terminated his projects in the relief of distress,

the detection of fraud, the defeat of oppression, and the diffusion of

happiness.

Thus passed twenty months of the life of Rasselas. He busied himself so

intensely in visionary bustle, that he forgot his real solitude, and,

amidst hourly preparations for the various incidents of human affairs,

neglected to consider, by what means he should mingle with mankind.

One day, as he was sitting on a bank, he feigned to himself an orphan

virgin, robbed of her little portion by a treacherous lover, and crying

after him, for restitution and redress. So strongly was the image

impressed upon his mind, that he started up in the maid's defence, and

ran forward to seize the plunderer, with all the eagerness of real

pursuit. Fear naturally quickens the flight of guilt: Rasselas could not

catch the fugitive with his utmost efforts; but, resolving to weary, by

perseverance, him whom he could not surpass in speed, he pressed on till

the foot of the mountain stopped his course.

Here he recollected himself, and smiled at his own useless impetuosity.

Then, raising his eyes to the mountain, "This," said he, "is the fatal

obstacle that hinders, at once, the enjoyment of pleasure, and the

exercise of virtue. How long is it that my hopes and wishes have flown

beyond this boundary of my life, which, yet, I never have attempted to

surmount!"

Struck with this reflection, he sat down to muse; and remembered, that,

since he first resolved to escape from his confinement, the sun had

passed twice over him in his annual course. He now felt a degree of

regret, with which he had never been before acquainted. He considered,

how much might have been done in the time which had passed, and left

nothing real behind it. He compared twenty months with the life of man.

"In life," said he, "is not to be counted the ignorance of infancy, or

imbecility of age. We are long, before we are able to think, and we soon

cease from the power of acting. The true period of human existence may

be reasonably estimated at forty years, of which I have mused away the

four and twentieth part. What I have lost was certain, for I have

certainly possessed it; but of twenty months to come, who can assure

me?"

The consciousness of his own folly pierced him deeply, and he was long

before he could be reconciled to himself. "The rest of my time," said

he, "has been lost, by the crime or folly of my ancestors, and the

absurd institutions of my country; I remember it with disgust, yet

without remorse: but the months that have passed, since new light darted

into my soul, since I formed a scheme of reasonable felicity, have been

squandered by my own fault. I have lost that which can never be

restored: I have seen the sun rise and set for twenty months, an idle

gazer on the light of heaven: in this time, the birds have left the nest

of their mother, and committed themselves to the woods and to the skies:

the kid has forsaken the teat, and learned, by degrees, to climb the

rocks, in quest of independent sustenance. I only have made no advances,

but am still helpless and ignorant. The moon, by more than twenty

changes, admonished me of the flux of life; the stream, that rolled

before my feet, upbraided my inactivity. I sat feasting on intellectual

luxury, regardless alike of the examples of the earth, and the

instructions of the planets. Twenty months are passed; who shall restore

them?"

These sorrowful meditations fastened upon his mind; he passed four

months, in resolving to lose no more time in idle resolves, and was

awakened to more vigorous exertion, by hearing a maid, who had broken a

porcelain cup, remark, that what cannot be repaired is not to be

regretted.

This was obvious; and Rasselas reproached himself, that he had not

discovered it, having not known, or not considered, how many useful

hints are obtained by chance, and how often the mind, hurried by her own

ardour to distant views, neglects the truths that lie open before her.

He, for a few hours, regretted his regret, and from that time bent his

whole mind upon the means of escaping from the valley of happiness.

CHAP. V.

THE PRINCE MEDITATES HIS ESCAPE.

He now found, that it would be very difficult to effect that which it

was very easy to suppose effected. When he looked round about him, he

saw himself confined by the bars of nature, which had never yet been

broken, and by the gate, through which none, that once had passed it,

were ever able to return. He was now impatient as an eagle in a grate.

He passed week after week in clambering the mountains, to see if there

was any aperture which the bushes might conceal, but found all the

summits inaccessible by their prominence. The iron gate he despaired to

open; for it was not only secured with all the power of art, but was

always watched by successive sentinels, and was, by its position,

exposed to the perpetual observation of all the inhabitants.

He then examined the cavern through which the waters of the lake were

discharged; and, looking down, at a time when the sun shone strongly

upon its mouth, he discovered it to be full of broken rocks, which,

though they permitted the stream to flow through many narrow passages,

would stop any body of solid bulk. He returned discouraged and dejected;

but, having now known the blessing of hope, resolved never to despair.

In these fruitless searches he spent ten months. The time, however,

passed cheerfully away: in the morning he rose with new hope, in the

evening applauded his own diligence, and in the night slept sound after

his fatigue. He met a thousand amusements, which beguiled his labour,

and diversified his thoughts. He discerned the various instincts of

animals, and properties of plants, and found the place replete with

wonders, of which he purposed to solace himself with the contemplation,

if he should never be able to accomplish his flight; rejoicing that his

endeavours, though yet unsuccessful, had supplied him with a source of

inexhaustible inquiry.

But his original curiosity was not yet abated; he resolved to obtain

some knowledge of the ways of men. His wish still continued, but his

hope grew less. He ceased to survey any longer the walls of his prison,

and spared to search, by new toils, for interstices which he knew could

not be found; yet determined to keep his design always in view, and lay

hold on any expedient that time should offer.

CHAP. VI.

A DISSERTATION ON THE ART OF FLYING.

Among the artists that had been allured into the happy valley, to labour

for the accommodation and pleasure of its inhabitants, was a man eminent

for his knowledge of the mechanick powers, who had contrived many

engines, both of use and recreation. By a wheel, which the stream

turned, he forced the water into a tower, whence it was distributed to

all the apartments of the palace. He erected a pavilion in the garden,

around which he kept the air always cool by artificial showers. One of

the groves, appropriated to the ladies, was ventilated by fans, to which

the rivulet, that ran through it, gave a constant motion; and

instruments of soft musick were placed at proper distances, of which

some played by the impulse of the wind, and some by the power of the

stream.

This artist was, sometimes, visited by Rasselas, who was pleased with

every kind of knowledge, imagining that the time would come, when all

his acquisitions should be of use to him in the open world. He came one

day to amuse himself in his usual manner, and found the master busy in

building a sailing chariot: he saw that the design was practicable upon

a level surface, and, with expressions of great esteem, solicited its

completion. The workman was pleased to find himself so much regarded by

the prince, and resolved to gain yet higher honours. "Sir," said he,

"you have seen but a small part of what the mechanick sciences can

perform. I have been long of opinion, that instead of the tardy

conveyance of ships and chariots, man might use the swifter migration of

wings; that the fields of air are open to knowledge, and that only

ignorance and idleness need crawl upon the ground."

This hint rekindled the prince's desire of passing the mountains: having

seen what the mechanist had already performed, he was willing to fancy

that he could do more; yet resolved to inquire further, before he

suffered hope to afflict him by disappointment. "I am afraid," said he

to the artist, "that your imagination prevails over your skill, and that

you now tell me rather what you wish, than what you know. Every animal

has his element assigned him: the birds have the air, and man and beasts

the earth."--"So," replied the mechanist, "fishes have the water, in

which, yet, beasts can swim by nature, and men by art. He that can swim

needs not despair to fly: to swim is to fly in a grosser fluid, and to

fly is to swim in a subtler. We are only to proportion our power of

resistance to the different density of matter through which we are to

pass. You will be, necessarily, upborne by the air, if you can renew any

impulse upon it, faster than the air can recede from the pressure."

"But the exercise of swimming," said the prince, "is very laborious; the

strongest limbs are soon wearied; I am afraid, the act of flying will be

yet more violent, and wings will be of no great use, unless we can fly

further than we can swim."

"The labour of rising from the ground," said the artist, "will be great,

as we see it in the heavier domestick fowls; but as we mount higher, the

earth's attraction, and the body's gravity, will be gradually

diminished, till we shall arrive at a region, where the man will float

in the air without any tendency to fall; no care will then be necessary

but to move forwards, which the gentlest impulse will effect. You, sir,

whose curiosity is so extensive, will easily conceive with what pleasure

a philosopher, furnished with wings, and hovering in the sky, would see

the earth, and all its inhabitants, rolling beneath him, and presenting

to him, successively, by its diurnal motion, all the countries within

the same parallel. How must it amuse the pendent spectator to see the

moving scene of land and ocean, cities and deserts! To survey, with

equal security, the marts of trade, and the fields of battle; mountains

infested by barbarians, and fruitful regions gladdened by plenty, and

lulled by peace! How easily shall we then trace the Nile through all its

passage; pass over to distant regions, and examine the face of nature,

from one extremity of the earth to the other!"

"All this," said the prince, "is much to be desired; but I am afraid,

that no man will be able to breathe in these regions of speculation and

tranquillity. I have been told, that respiration is difficult upon lofty

mountains, yet, from these precipices, though so high as to produce

great tenuity of air, it is very easy to fall; therefore, I suspect,

that from any height, where life can be supported, there may be danger

of too quick descent."

"Nothing," replied the artist, "will ever be attempted, if all possible

objections must be first overcome. If you will favour my project, I will

try the first flight at my own hazard. I have considered the structure

of all volant animals, and find the folding continuity of the bat's

wings most easily accommodated to the human form. Upon this model, I

shall begin my task tomorrow, and in a year, expect to tower into the

air beyond the malice and pursuit of man. But I will work only on this

condition, that the art shall not be divulged, and that you shall not

require me to make wings for any but ourselves."

"Why," said Rasselas, "should you envy others so great an advantage? All

skill ought to be exerted for universal good; every man has owed much to

others, and ought to repay the kindness that he has received."

"If men were all virtuous," returned the artist, "I should, with great

alacrity, teach them all to fly. But what would be the security of the

good, if the bad could, at pleasure, invade them from the sky? Against

an army sailing through the clouds, neither walls, nor mountains, nor

seas, could afford any security. A flight of northern savages might

hover in the wind, and light, at once, with irresistible violence, upon

the capital of a fruitful region, that was rolling under them. Even this

valley, the retreat of princes, the abode of happiness, might be

violated by the sudden descent of some of the naked nations, that swarm

on the coast of the southern sea."

The prince promised secrecy, and waited for the performance, not wholly

hopeless of success. He visited the work, from time to time, observed

its progress, and remarked many ingenious contrivances, to facilitate

motion, and unite levity with strength. The artist was every day more

certain, that he should leave vultures and eagles behind him, and the

contagion of his confidence seized upon the prince.

In a year the wings were finished, and, on a morning appointed, the

maker appeared, furnished for flight, on a little promontory: he waved

his pinions awhile, to gather air, then leaped from his stand, and, in

an instant, dropped into the lake. His wings, which were of no use in

the air, sustained him in the water, and the prince drew him to land,

half dead with terrour and vexation.[a]

[a] See Rambler, No. 199, and note.

CHAP. VII.

THE PRINCE FINDS A MAN OF LEARNING.

The prince was not much afflicted by this disaster, having suffered

himself to hope for a happier event, only because he had no other means

of escape in view. He still persisted in his design to leave the happy

valley by the first opportunity.

His imagination was now at a stand; he had no prospect of entering into

the world; and, notwithstanding all his endeavours to support himself,

discontent, by degrees, preyed upon him, and he began again to lose his

thoughts in sadness, when the rainy season, which, in these countries,

is periodical, made it inconvenient to wander in the woods.

The rain continued longer, and with more violence, than had been ever

known: the clouds broke on the surrounding mountains, and the torrents

streamed into the plain on every side, till the cavern was too narrow to

discharge the water. The lake overflowed its banks, and all the level of

the valley was covered with the inundation. The eminence, on which the

palace was built, and some other spots of rising ground, were all that

the eye could now discover. The herds and flocks left the pastures, and

both the wild beasts and the tame retreated to the mountains.

This inundation confined all the princes to domestick amusements, and

the attention of Rasselas was particularly seized by a poem, which Imlac

rehearsed, upon the various conditions of humanity. He commanded the

poet to attend him in his apartment, and recite his verses a second

time; then entering into familiar talk, he thought himself happy in

having found a man who knew the world so well, and could so skilfully

paint the scenes of life. He asked a thousand questions about things, to

which, though common to all other mortals, his confinement, from

childhood, had kept him a stranger. The poet pitied his ignorance, and

loved his curiosity, and entertained him, from day to day, with novelty

and instruction, so that the prince regretted the necessity of sleep,

and longed till the morning should renew his pleasure.

As they were sitting together, the prince commanded Imlac to relate his

history, and to tell by what accident he was forced, or by what motive

induced, to close his life in the happy valley. As he was going to begin

his narrative, Rasselas was called to a concert, and obliged to restrain

his curiosity till the evening.

CHAP. VIII.

THE HISTORY OF IMLAC.

The close of the day is, in the regions of the torrid zone, the only

season of diversion and entertainment, and it was, therefore, midnight

before the musick ceased, and the princesses retired. Rasselas then

called for his companion, and required him to begin the story of his

life.

"Sir," said Imlac, "my history will not be long; the life, that is

devoted to knowledge, passes silently away, and is very little

diversified by events. To talk in publick, to think in solitude, to read

and hear, to inquire, and answer inquiries, is the business of a

scholar. He wanders about the world without pomp or terrour, and is

neither known nor valued but by men like himself.

"I was born in the kingdom of Goiama, at no great distance from the

fountain of the Nile. My father was a wealthy merchant, who traded

between the inland countries of Africk and the ports of the Red sea. He

was honest, frugal, and diligent, but of mean sentiments, and narrow

comprehension; he desired only to be rich, and to conceal his riches,

lest he should be spoiled by the governours of the province."

"Surely," said the prince, "my father must be negligent of his charge,

if any man, in his dominions, dares take that which belongs to another.

Does he not know, that kings are accountable for injustice permitted, as

well as done? If I were emperour, not the meanest of my subjects should

be oppressed with impunity. My blood boils, when I am told that a

merchant durst not enjoy his honest gains, for fear of losing them by

the rapacity of power. Name the governour, who robbed the people, that I

may declare his crimes to the emperour."

"Sir," said Imlac, "your ardour is the natural effect of virtue animated

by youth: the time will come, when you will acquit your father, and,

perhaps, hear with less impatience of the governour. Oppression is, in

the Abissinian dominions, neither frequent nor tolerated; but no form of

government has been yet discovered, by which cruelty can be wholly

prevented. Subordination supposes power on one part, and subjection on

the other; and if power be in the hands of men, it will, sometimes, be

abused. The vigilance of the supreme magistrate may do much, but much

will still remain undone. He can never know all the crimes that are

committed, and can seldom punish all that he knows."

"This," said the prince, "I do not understand, but I had rather hear

thee than dispute. Continue thy narration."

"My father," proceeded Imlac, "originally intended that I should have no

other education, than such as might qualify me for commerce; and,

discovering in me great strength of memory, and quickness of

apprehension, often declared his hope, that I should be, some time, the

richest man in Abissinia."

"Why," said the prince, "did thy father desire the increase of his

wealth, when it was already greater than he durst discover or enjoy? I

am unwilling to doubt thy veracity, yet inconsistencies cannot both be

true."

"Inconsistencies," answered Imlac, "cannot both be right, but, imputed

to man, they may both be true. Yet diversity is not inconsistency. My

father might expect a time of greater security. However, some desire is

necessary to keep life in motion, and he, whose real wants are supplied,

must admit those of fancy."

"This," said the prince, "I can, in some measure, conceive. I repent

that I interrupted thee."

"With this hope," proceeded Imlac, "he sent me to school; but when I had

once found the delight of knowledge, and felt the pleasure of

intelligence and the pride of invention, I began, silently, to despise

riches, and determined to disappoint the purpose of my father, whose

grossness of conception raised my pity. I was twenty years old before

his tenderness would expose me to the fatigue of travel, in which time I

had been instructed, by successive masters, in all the literature of my

native country. As every hour taught me something new, I lived in a

continual course of gratifications; but, as I advanced towards manhood,

I lost much of the reverence with which I had been used to look on my

instructers; because, when the lesson was ended, I did not find them

wiser or better than common men.

"At length my father resolved to initiate me in commerce, and, opening

one of his subterranean treasuries, counted out ten thousand pieces of

gold. This, young man, said he, is the stock with which you must

negotiate. I began with less than the fifth part, and you see how

diligence and parsimony have increased it. This is your own, to waste or

to improve. If you squander it by negligence or caprice, you must wait

for my death, before you will be rich: if, in four years, you double

your stock, we will thenceforward let subordination cease, and live

together as friends and partners; for he shall always be equal with me,

who is equally skilled in the art of growing rich.

"We laid our money upon camels, concealed in bales of cheap goods, and

travelled to the shore of the Red sea. When I cast my eye on the expanse

of waters, my heart bounded like that of a prisoner escaped. I felt an

unextinguishable curiosity kindle in my mind, and resolved to snatch

this opportunity of seeing the manners of other nations, and of learning

sciences unknown in Abissinia.

"I remembered that my father had obliged me to the improvement of my

stock, not by a promise, which I ought not to violate, but by a penalty,

which I was at liberty to incur; and, therefore, determined to gratify

my predominant desire, and, by drinking at the fountains of knowledge,

to quench the thirst of curiosity.

"As I was supposed to trade without connexion with my father, it was

easy for me to become acquainted with the master of a ship, and procure

a passage to some other country. I had no motives of choice to regulate

my voyage; it was sufficient for me, that, wherever I wandered, I should

see a country, which I had not seen before. I, therefore, entered a ship

bound for Surat, having left a letter for my father, declaring my

intention.

CHAP. IX.

THE HISTORY OF IMLAC CONTINUED.

"When I first entered upon the world of waters, and lost sight of land,

I looked round about me with pleasing terrour, and, thinking my soul

enlarged by the boundless prospect, imagined that I could gaze round for

ever without satiety; but, in a short time, I grew weary of looking on

barren uniformity, where I could only see again what I had already seen.

I then descended into the ship, and doubted, for awhile, whether all my

future pleasures would not end like this, in disgust and disappointment.

Yet, surely, said I, the ocean and the land are very different; the only

variety of water is rest and motion, but the earth has mountains and

valleys, deserts and cities; it is inhabited by men of different customs

and contrary opinions; and I may hope to find variety in life, though I

should miss it in nature.

"With this thought I quieted my mind, and amused myself during the

voyage, sometimes by learning from the sailors the art of navigation,

which I have never practised, and sometimes by forming schemes for my

conduct in different situations, in not one of which I have been ever

placed.

"I was almost weary of my naval amusements, when we landed safely at

Surat. I secured my money, and, purchasing some commodities for show,

joined myself to a caravan that was passing into the inland country. My

companions, for some reason or other, conjecturing that I was rich, and,

by my inquiries and admiration, finding that I was ignorant, considered

me as a novice, whom they had a right to cheat, and who was to learn, at

the usual expense, the art of fraud. They exposed me to the theft of

servants, and the exaction of officers, and saw me plundered, upon false

pretences, without any advantage to themselves, but that of rejoicing in

the superiority of their own knowledge."

"Stop a moment," said the prince. "Is there such depravity in man, as

that he should injure another, without benefit to himself? I can easily

conceive, that all are pleased with superiority: but your ignorance was

merely accidental, which, being neither your crime nor your folly, could

afford them no reason to applaud themselves; and the knowledge which

they had, and which you wanted, they might as effectually have shown by

warning, as betraying you."

"Pride," said Imlac, "is seldom delicate; it will please itself with

very mean advantages; and envy feels not its own happiness, but when it

may be compared with the misery of others. They were my enemies, because

they grieved to think me rich; and my oppressors, because they delighted

to find me weak."

"Proceed," said the prince: "I do not doubt of the facts which you

relate, but imagine that you impute them to mistaken motives."

"In this company," said Imlac, "I arrived at Agra, the capital of

Indostan, the city in which the great mogul commonly resides. I applied

myself to the language of the country, and, in a few months, was able to

converse with the learned men; some of whom I found morose and reserved,

and others easy and communicative; some were unwilling to teach another

what they had, with difficulty, learned themselves; and some showed,

that the end of their studies was to gain the dignity of instructing.

"To the tutor of the young princes I recommended myself so much, that I

was presented to the emperour as a man of uncommon knowledge. The

emperour asked me many questions concerning my country and my travels;

and though I cannot now recollect any thing that he uttered above the

power of a common man, he dismissed me astonished at his wisdom, and

enamoured of his goodness.

"My credit was now so high, that the merchants, with whom I had

travelled, applied to me for recommendations to the ladies of the court.

I was surprised at their confidence of solicitation, and gently

reproached them with their practices on the road. They heard me with

cold indifference, and showed no tokens of shame or sorrow.

"They then urged their request with the offer of a bribe; but what I

would not do for kindness, I would not do for money; and refused them,

not because they had injured me, but because I would not enable them to

injure others; for I knew they would have made use of my credit to cheat

those who should buy their wares.

"Having resided at Agra till there was no more to be learned, I

travelled into Persia, where I saw many remains of ancient magnificence,

and observed many new accommodations of life. The Persians are a nation

eminently social, and their assemblies afforded me daily opportunities

of remarking characters and manners, and of tracing human nature through

all its variations.

"From Persia I passed into Arabia, where I saw a nation at once pastoral

and warlike; who live without any settled habitation; whose only wealth

is their flocks and herds; and who have yet carried on, through all

ages, an hereditary war with all mankind, though they neither covet nor

envy their possessions."

CHAP. X.

IMLAC'S HISTORY CONTINUED. A DISSERTATION UPON POETRY.

"Wherever I went, I found that poetry was considered as the highest

learning, and regarded with a veneration, somewhat approaching to that

which man would pay to the angelick nature. And yet it fills me with

wonder, that, in almost all countries, the most ancient poets are

considered as the best: whether it be that every other kind of knowledge

is an acquisition gradually attained, and poetry is a gift conferred at

once; or that the first poetry of every nation surprised them as a

novelty, and retained the credit by consent, which it received by

accident at first: or whether, as the province of poetry is to describe

nature and passion, which are always the same, the first writers took

possession of the most striking objects for description, and the most

probable occurrences for fiction, and left nothing to those that

followed them, but transcription of the same events, and new

combinations of the same images. Whatever be the reason, it is commonly

observed, that the early writers are in possession of nature, and their

followers of art: that the first excel in strength and invention, and

the latter in elegance and refinement.

"I was desirous to add my name to this illustrious fraternity. I read

all the poets of Persia and Arabia, and was able to repeat, by memory,

the volumes that are suspended in the mosque of Mecca. But I soon found,

that no man was ever great by imitation. My desire of excellence

impelled me to transfer my attention to nature and to life. Nature was

to be my subject, and men to be my auditors: I could never describe what

I had not seen; I could not hope to move those with delight or terrour,

whose interest and opinions I did not understand.

"Being now resolved to be a poet, I saw every thing with a new purpose;

my sphere of attention was suddenly magnified: no kind of knowledge was

to be overlooked. I ranged mountains and deserts for images and

resemblances, and pictured upon my mind every tree of the forest and

flower of the valley. I observed, with equal care, the crags of the rock

and the pinnacles of the palace. Sometimes I wandered along the mazes of

the rivulet, and sometimes watched the changes of the summer clouds. To

a poet, nothing can be useless. Whatever is beautiful, and whatever is

dreadful, must be familiar to his imagination: he must be conversant

with all that is awfully vast, or elegantly little. The plants of the

garden, the animals of the wood, the minerals of the earth, and meteors

of the sky, must all concur to store his mind with inexhaustible

variety; for every idea is useful for the enforcement or decoration of

moral or religious truth; and he, who knows most, will have most power

of diversifying his scenes, and of gratifying his reader with remote

allusions and unexpected instruction.

"All the appearances of nature I was, therefore, careful to study, and

every country, which I have surveyed, has contributed something to my

poetical powers."

"In so wide a survey," said the prince, "you must surely have left much

unobserved. I have lived till now, within the circuit of these

mountains, and yet cannot walk abroad without the sight of something,

which I had never beheld before, or never heeded."

"The business of a poet," said Imlac, "is to examine, not the

individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large

appearances: he does not number the streaks of the tulip, or describe

the different shades in the verdure of the forest. He is to exhibit, in

his portraits of nature, such prominent and striking features, as recall

the original to every mind; and must neglect the minuter

discriminations, which one may have remarked, and another have

neglected, for those characteristicks which are alike obvious to

vigilance and carelessness.

"But the knowledge of nature is only half the task of a poet; he must be

acquainted, likewise, with all the modes of life. His character

requires, that he estimate the happiness and misery of every condition;

observe the power of all the passions in all their combinations, and

trace the changes of the human mind, as they are modified by various

institutions, and accidental influences of climate or custom, from the

sprightliness of infancy to the despondence of decrepitude. He must

divest himself of the prejudices of his age or country; he must consider

right and wrong in their abstracted and invariable state; he must

disregard present laws and opinions, and rise to general and

transcendental truths, which will always be the same; he must,

therefore, content himself with the slow progress of his name; contemn

the applause of his own time, and commit his claims to the justice of

posterity. He must write, as the interpreter of nature, and the

legislator of mankind, and consider himself, as presiding over the

thoughts and manners of future generations; as a being superiour to time

and place.

"His labour is not yet at an end: he must know many languages and many

sciences; and, that his style may be worthy of his thoughts, must, by

incessant practice, familiarize to himself every delicacy of speech and

grace of harmony."

CHAP. XI.

IMLAC'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED. A HINT ON PILGRIMAGE.

Imlac now felt the enthusiastick fit, and was proceeding to aggrandize

his own profession, when the prince cried out: "Enough! thou hast

convinced me, that no human being can ever be a poet. Proceed with thy

narration."

"To be a poet," said Imlac, "is, indeed, very difficult." "So

difficult," returned the prince, "that I will, at present, hear no more

of his labours. Tell me whither you went, when you had seen Persia."

"From Persia," said the poet, "I travelled through Syria, and for three

years resided in Palestine, where I conversed with great numbers of the

northern and western nations of Europe; the nations which are now in

possession of all power and all knowledge; whose armies are

irresistible, and whose fleets command the remotest parts of the globe.

When I compared these men with the natives of our own kingdom, and those

that surround us, they appeared almost another order of beings. In their

countries it is difficult to wish for any thing that may not be

obtained: a thousand arts, of which we never heard, are continually

labouring for their convenience and pleasure; and whatever their own

climate has denied them is supplied by their commerce."

"By what means," said the prince, "are the Europeans thus powerful, or

why, since they can so easily visit Asia and Africa, for trade or

conquest, cannot the Asiaticks and Africans invade their coasts, plant

colonies in their ports, and give laws to their natural princes? The

same wind that carries them back would bring us thither."

"They are more powerful, sir, than we," answered Imlac, "because they

are wiser; knowledge will always predominate over ignorance, as man

governs the other animals. But why their knowledge is more than ours, I

know not what reason can be given, but the unsearchable will of the

supreme being."

"When," said the prince, with a sigh, "shall I be able to visit

Palestine, and mingle with this mighty confluence of nations? Till that

happy moment shall arrive, let me fill up the time with such

representations as thou canst give me. I am not ignorant of the motive

that assembles such numbers in that place, and cannot but consider it as

the centre of wisdom and piety, to which the best and wisest men of

every land must be continually resorting."

"There are some nations," said Imlac, "that send few visitants to

Palestine; for many numerous and learned sects in Europe concur to

censure pilgrimage, as superstitious, or deride it as ridiculous."

"You know," said the prince, "how little my life has made me acquainted

with diversity of opinions; it will be too long to hear the arguments on

both sides; you, that have considered them, tell me the result."

"Pilgrimage," said Imlac, "like many other acts of piety, may be

reasonable or superstitious, according to the principles upon which it

is performed. Long journeys, in search of truth, are not commanded.

Truth, such as is necessary to the regulation of life, is always found

where it is honestly sought. Change of place is no natural cause of the

increase of piety, for it inevitably produces dissipation of mind. Yet,

since men go every day to view the fields where great actions have been

performed, and return with stronger impressions of the event, curiosity

of the same kind may naturally dispose us to view that country whence

our religion had its beginning; and, I believe, no man surveys those

awful scenes without some confirmation of holy resolutions. That the

supreme being may be more easily propitiated in one place than in

another, is the dream of idle superstition; but that some places may

operate upon our own minds in an uncommon manner, is an opinion which

hourly experience will justify[a]. He who supposes that his vices may be

more successfully combated in Palestine, will, perhaps, find himself

mistaken, yet he may go thither without folly; he who thinks they will

be more freely pardoned, dishonours, at once, his reason and religion."

"These," said the prince, "are European distinctions. I will consider

them another time. What have you found to be the effect of knowledge?

Are those nations happier than we?"

"There is so much infelicity," said the poet, "in the world, that scarce

any man has leisure, from his own distresses, to estimate the

comparative happiness of others. Knowledge is certainly one of the means

of pleasure, as is confessed by the natural desire which every mind

feels of increasing its ideas. Ignorance is mere privation, by which

nothing can be produced; it is a vacuity, in which the soul sits

motionless and torpid, for want of attraction; and, without knowing why,

we always rejoice when we learn, and grieve when we forget. I am,

therefore, inclined to conclude, that, if nothing counteracts the

natural consequence of learning, we grow more happy, as our minds take a

wider range.

"In enumerating the particular comforts of life, we shall find many

advantages on the side of the Europeans. They cure wounds and diseases,

with which we languish and perish. We suffer inclemencies of weather,

which they can obviate. They have engines for the despatch of many

laborious works, which we must perform by manual industry. There is such

communication between distant places, that one friend can hardly be said

to be absent from another. Their policy removes all publick

inconveniencies: they have roads cut through their mountains, and

bridges laid upon their rivers. And, if we descend to the privacies of

life, their habitations are more commodious, and their possessions are

more secure."

"They are surely happy," said the prince, "who have all these

conveniencies, of which I envy none so much as the facility with which

separated friends interchange their thoughts."

"The Europeans," answered Imlac, "are less unhappy than we, but they are

not happy. Human life is everywhere a state, in which much is to be

endured, and little to be enjoyed."

[a] See Idler, No. 33, and note: and read, in Dr. Clarke's travels, the

effect produced on his mind by the distant prospect of the Holy

City, and by the habitual reverence of his guides. The passage

exemplifies the sublime in narrative. See his Travels in Greece,

Egypt, and the Holy Land, part ii. sect. i. 8vo. ed. vol. iv. p.

288.--Ed.

CHAP. XII.

THE STORY OF IMLAC CONTINUED.

"I am not yet willing," said the prince, "to suppose, that happiness is

so parsimoniously distributed to mortals; nor can believe but that, if I

had the choice of life, I should be able to fill every day with

pleasure. I would injure no man, and should provoke no resentment: I

would relieve every distress, and should enjoy the benedictions of

gratitude. I would choose my friends among the wise, and my wife among

the virtuous; and, therefore, should be in no danger from treachery or

unkindness. My children should, by my care, be learned and pious, and

would repay to my age what their childhood had received. What would dare

to molest him, who might call, on every side, to thousands enriched by

his bounty, or assisted by his power? And why should not life glide

quietly away in the soft reciprocation of protection and reverence? All

this may be done without the help of European refinements, which appear,

by their effects, to be rather specious than useful. Let us leave them,

and pursue our journey."

"From Palestine," said Imlac, "I passed through many regions of Asia; in

the more civilized kingdoms, as a trader, and among the barbarians of

the mountains, as a pilgrim. At last, I began to long for my native

country, that I might repose, after my travels and fatigues, in the

places where I had spent my earliest years, and gladden my old

companions, with the recital of my adventures. Often did I figure to

myself those with whom I had sported away the gay hours of dawning life,

sitting round me in its evening, wondering at my tales, and listening to

my counsels.

"When this thought had taken possession of my mind, I considered every

moment as wasted, which did not bring me nearer to Abissinia. I hastened

into Egypt, and, notwithstanding my impatience, was detained ten months

in the contemplation of its ancient magnificence, and in inquiries after

the remains of its ancient learning. I found in Cairo a mixture of all

nations; some brought thither by the love of knowledge, some by the hope

of gain, and many by the desire of living, after their own manner,

without observation, and of lying hid in the obscurity of multitudes:

for in a city, populous as Cairo, it is possible to obtain, at the same

time, the gratifications of society, and the secrecy of solitude.

"From Cairo I travelled to Suez, and embarked on the Red sea, passing

along the coast, till I arrived at the port from which I had departed

twenty years before. Here I joined myself to a caravan, and reentered my

native country.

"I now expected the caresses of my kinsmen, and the congratulations of

my friends, and was not without hope that my father, whatever value he

had set upon riches, would own, with gladness and pride, a son, who was

able to add to the felicity and honour of the nation. But I was soon

convinced that my thoughts were vain. My father had been dead fourteen

years, having divided his wealth among my brothers, who were removed to

some other provinces. Of my companions, the greater part was in the

grave; of the rest, some could, with difficulty, remember me, and some

considered me, as one corrupted by foreign manners.

"A man, used to vicissitudes, is not easily dejected. I forgot, after a

time, my disappointment, and endeavoured to recommend myself to the

nobles of the kingdom; they admitted me to their tables, heard my story,

and dismissed me. I opened a school, and was prohibited to teach. I then

resolved to sit down in the quiet of domestick life, and addressed a

lady that was fond of my conversation, but rejected my suit, because my

father was a merchant.

"Wearied, at last, with solicitation and repulses, I resolved to hide

myself for ever from the world, and depend no longer on the opinion or

caprice of others. I waited for the time, when the gate of the happy

valley should open, that I might bid farewell to hope and fear: the day

came; my performance was distinguished with favour, and I resigned

myself with joy to perpetual confinement."

"Hast thou here found happiness at last?" said Rasselas. "Tell me,

without reserve; art thou content with thy condition? or, dost thou wish

to be again wandering and inquiring? All the inhabitants of this valley

celebrate their lot, and, at the annual visit of the emperour, invite

others to partake of their felicity."

"Great prince," said Imlac, "I shall speak the truth; I know not one of

all your attendants who does not lament the hour when he entered this

retreat. I am less unhappy than the rest, because I have a mind replete

with images, which I can vary and combine at pleasure. I can amuse my

solitude by the renovation of the knowledge which begins to fade from my

memory, and by recollection of the accidents of my past life. Yet all

this ends in the sorrowful consideration, that my acquirements are now

useless, and that none of my pleasures can be again enjoyed. The rest,

whose minds have no impression but of the present moment, are either

corroded by malignant passions, or sit stupid in the gloom of perpetual

vacancy."

"What passions can infest those," said the prince, "who have no rivals?

We are in a place where impotence precludes malice, and where all envy

is repressed by community of enjoyments."

"There may be community," said Imlac, "of material possessions, but

there can never be community of love or of esteem. It must happen, that

one will please more than another; he that knows himself despised will

always be envious; and still more envious and malevolent, if he is

condemned to live in the presence of those who despise him. The

invitations, by which they allure others to a state which they feel to

be wretched, proceed from the natural malignity of hopeless misery. They

are weary of themselves, and of each other, and expect to find relief in

new companions. They envy the liberty which their folly has forfeited,

and would gladly see all mankind imprisoned like themselves.

"From this crime, however, I am wholly free. No man can say that he is

wretched by my persuasion. I look with pity on the crowds who are

annually soliciting admission to captivity, and wish that it were lawful

for me to warn them of their danger."

"My dear Imlac," said the prince, "I will open to thee my whole heart. I

have long meditated an escape from the happy valley. I have examined

the mountains on every side, but find myself insuperably barred: teach

me the way to break my prison; thou shalt be the companion of my flight,

the guide of my rambles, the partner of my fortune, and my sole director

in the CHOICE OF LIFE."

"Sir," answered the poet, "your escape will be difficult, and, perhaps,

you may soon repent your curiosity. The world, which you figure to

yourself smooth and quiet as the lake in the valley, you will find a sea

foaming with tempests, and boiling with whirlpools; you will be

sometimes overwhelmed by the waves of violence, and sometimes dashed

against the rocks of treachery. Amidst wrongs and frauds, competitions

and anxieties, you will wish, a thousand times, for these seats of

quiet, and willingly quit hope to be free from fear."

"Do not seek to deter me from my purpose," said the prince: "I am

impatient to see what thou hast seen; and, since thou art thyself weary

of the valley, it is evident that thy former state was better than this.

Whatever be the consequence of my experiment, I am resolved to judge,

with mine own eyes, of the various conditions of men, and then to make,

deliberately, my CHOICE OF LIFE.

"I am afraid," said Imlac, "you are hindered by stronger restraints than

my persuasions; yet, if your determination is fixed, I do not counsel

you to despair. Few things are impossible to diligence and skill."

CHAP. XIII.

RASSELAS DISCOVERS THE MEANS OF ESCAPE.

The prince now dismissed his favourite to rest, but the narrative of

wonders and novelties filled his mind with perturbation. He revolved all

that he had heard, and prepared innumerable questions for the morning.

Much of his uneasiness was now removed. He had a friend to whom he could

impart his thoughts, and whose experience could assist him in his

designs. His heart was no longer condemned to swell with silent

vexation. He thought that even the happy valley might be endured, with

such a companion, and that, if they could range the world together, he

should have nothing further to desire.

In a few days the water was discharged, and the ground dried. The prince

and Imlac then walked out together, to converse, without the notice of

the rest. The prince, whose thoughts were always on the wing, as he

passed by the gate, said, with a countenance of sorrow, "Why art thou so

strong, and why is man so weak?"

"Man is not weak," answered his companion; "knowledge is more than

equivalent to force. The master of mechanicks laughs at strength. I can

burst the gate, but cannot do it secretly. Some other expedient must be

tried."

As they were walking on the side of the mountain, they observed that the

conies, which the rain had driven from their burrows, had taken shelter

among the bushes, and formed holes behind them, tending upwards, in an

oblique line. "It has been the opinion of antiquity," said Imlac, "that

human reason borrowed many arts from the instinct of animals; let us,

therefore, not think ourselves degraded by learning from the cony. We

may escape, by piercing the mountain in the same direction. We will

begin, where the summit hangs over the middle part, and labour upwards,

till we shall issue up beyond the prominence."

The eyes of the prince, when he heard this proposal, sparkled with joy.

The execution was easy, and the success certain.

No time was now lost. They hastened, early in the morning, to choose a

place proper for their mine. They clambered, with great fatigue, among

crags and brambles, and returned without having discovered any part that

favoured their design. The second and the third day were spent in the

same manner, and with the same frustration. But, on the fourth, they

found a small cavern, concealed by a thicket, where they resolved to

make their experiment.

Imlac procured instruments proper to hew stone and remove earth, and

they fell to their work on the next day with more eagerness than vigour.

They were presently exhausted by their efforts, and sat down to pant

upon the grass. The prince, for a moment, appeared to be discouraged.

"Sir," said his companion, "practice will enable us to continue our

labour for a longer time; mark, however, how far we have advanced, and

you will find, that our toil will sometime have an end. Great works are

performed, not by strength, but perseverance: yonder palace was raised

by single stones, yet you see its height and spaciousness. He that shall

walk with vigour three hours a day, will pass, in seven years, a space

equal to the circumference of the globe."

They returned to their work day after day, and, in a short time, found a

fissure in the rock, which enabled them to pass far with very little

obstruction. This Rasselas considered as a good omen. "Do not disturb

your mind," said Imlac, "with other hopes or fears than reason may

suggest; if you are pleased with prognosticks of good, you will be

terrified, likewise, with tokens of evil, and your whole life will be a

prey to superstition. Whatever facilitates our work is more than an

omen, it is a cause of success. This is one of those pleasing surprises

which often happen to active resolution. Many tilings, difficult to

design, prove easy to performance."

CHAP. XIV.

RASSELAS AND IMLAC RECEIVE AN UNEXPECTED VISIT.

They had now wrought their way to the middle, and solaced their toil

with the approach of liberty, when the prince, coming down to refresh

himself with air, found his sister Nekayah, standing before the mouth of

the cavity. He started, and stood confused, afraid to tell his design,

yet hopeless to conceal it. A few moments determined him to repose on

her fidelity, and secure her secrecy by a declaration without reserve.

"Do not imagine," said the princess, "that I came hither, as a spy: I

had long observed, from my window, that you and Imlac directed your walk

every day towards the same point, but I did not suppose you had any

better reason for the preference than a cooler shade, or more fragrant

bank; nor followed you with any other design than to partake of your

conversation. Since, then, not suspicion, but fondness, has detected

you, let me not lose the advantage of my discovery. I am equally weary

of confinement with yourself, and not less desirous of knowing what is

done or suffered in the world. Permit me to fly with you from this

tasteless tranquillity, which will yet grow more loathsome when you have

left me. You may deny me to accompany you, but cannot hinder me from

following."

The prince, who loved Nekayah, above his other sisters, had no

inclination to refuse her request, and grieved, that he had lost an

opportunity of showing his confidence by a voluntary communication. It

was, therefore, agreed, that she should leave the valley with them; and

that, in the mean time, she should watch, lest any other straggler

should, by chance or curiosity, follow them to the mountain.

At length their labour was at an end; they saw light beyond the

prominence, and, issuing to the top of the mountain, beheld the Nile,

yet a narrow current, wandering beneath them.

The prince looked round with rapture, anticipated all the pleasures of

travel, and, in thought, was already transported beyond his father's

dominions. Imlac, though very joyful at his escape, had less expectation

of pleasure in the world, which he had before tried, and of which he had

been weary.

Rasselas was so much delighted with a wider horizon, that he could not

soon be persuaded to return into the valley. He informed his sister,

that the way was open, and that nothing now remained but to prepare for

their departure.

CHAP. XV.

THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS LEAVE THE VALLEY, AND SEE MANY WONDERS.

The prince and princess had jewels sufficient to make them rich,

whenever they came into a place of commerce, which, by Imlac's

direction, they hid in their clothes, and, on the night of the next full

moon, all left the valley. The princess was followed only by a single

favourite, who did not know whither she was going.

They clambered through the cavity, and began to go down on the other

side. The princess and her maid turned their eyes towards every part,

and, seeing nothing to bound their prospect, considered themselves, as

in danger of being lost in a dreary vacuity. They stopped and trembled.

"I am almost afraid," said the princess, "to begin a journey, of which I

cannot perceive an end, and to venture into this immense plain, where I

may be approached, on every side, by men whom I never saw." The prince

felt nearly the same emotions, though he thought it more manly to

conceal them.

Imlac smiled at their terrours, and encouraged them to proceed; but the

princess continued irresolute, till she had been, imperceptibly, drawn

forward too far to return.

In the morning they found some shepherds in the field, who set milk and

fruits before them. The princess wondered, that she did not see a palace

ready for her reception, and a table spread with delicacies; but, being

faint and hungry, she drank the milk, and eat the fruits, and thought

them of a higher flavour than the produce of the valley.

They travelled forward by easy journeys, being all unaccustomed to toil

or difficulty, and knowing that, though they might be missed, they could

not be pursued. In a few days they came into a more populous region,

where Imlac was diverted with the admiration, which his companions

expressed at the diversity of manners, stations, and employments.

Their dress was such, as might not bring upon them the suspicion of

having any thing to conceal; yet the prince, wherever he came, expected

to be obeyed; and the princess was frightened, because those that came

into her presence did not prostrate themselves before her. Imlac was

forced to observe them with great vigilance, lest they should betray

their rank by their unusual behaviour, and detained them several weeks

in the first village, to accustom them to the sight of common mortals.

By degrees, the royal wanderers were taught to understand that they had,

for a time, laid aside their dignity, and were to expect only such

regard, as liberality and courtesy could procure. And Imlac having, by

many admonitions, prepared them to endure the tumults of a port, and the

ruggedness of the commercial race, brought them down to the seacoast.

The prince and his sister, to whom every thing was new, were gratified

equally at all places, and, therefore, remained, for some months, at the

port, without any inclination to pass further. Imlac was content with

their stay, because he did not think it safe to expose them, unpractised

in the world, to the hazards of a foreign country.

At last he began to fear, lest they should be discovered, and proposed

to fix a day for their departure. They had no pretensions to judge for

themselves, and referred the whole scheme to his direction. He,

therefore, took passage in a ship to Suez; and, when the time came, with

great difficulty, prevailed on the princess to enter the vessel. They

had a quick and prosperous voyage, and from Suez travelled by land to

Cairo.

CHAP. XVI.

THEY ENTER CAIRO, AND FIND EVERY MAN HAPPY.

As they approached the city, which filled the strangers with

astonishment, "This," said Imlac to the prince, "is the place where

travellers and merchants assemble from all the corners of the earth. You

will here find men of every character, and every occupation. Commerce is

here honourable: I will act as a merchant, and you shall live as

strangers, who have no other end of travel than curiosity; it will soon

be observed that we are rich; our reputation will procure us access to

all whom we shall desire to know; you will see all the conditions of

humanity, and enable yourself, at leisure, to make your CHOICE OF LIFE."

They now entered the town, stunned by the noise, and offended by the

crowds. Instruction had not yet so prevailed over habit, but that they

wondered to see themselves pass, undistinguished, along the street, and

met, by the lowest of the people, without reverence or notice. The

princess could not, at first, bear the thought of being levelled with

the vulgar, and, for some days, continued in her chamber, where she was

served by her favourite, Pekuah, as in the palace of the valley.

Imlac, who understood traffick, sold part of the jewels the next day,

and hired a house, which he adorned with such magnificence, that he was

immediately considered as a merchant of great wealth. His politeness

attracted many acquaintance, and his generosity made him courted by many

dependants. His table was crowded by men of every nation, who all

admired his knowledge, and solicited his favour. His companions, not

being able to mix in the conversation, could make no discovery of their

ignorance or surprise, and were gradually initiated in the world, as

they gained knowledge of the language.

The prince had, by frequent lectures, been taught the use and nature of

money; but the ladies could not, for a long time, comprehend what the

merchants did with small pieces of gold and silver, or why things of so

little use should be received as equivalent to the necessaries of life.

They studied the language two years, while Imlac was preparing to set

before them the various ranks and conditions of mankind. He grew

acquainted with all who had any thing uncommon in their fortune or

conduct. He frequented the voluptuous and the frugal, the idle and the

busy, the merchants and the men of learning.

The prince, being now able to converse with fluency, and having learned

the caution necessary to be observed in his intercourse with strangers,

began to accompany Imlac to places of resort, and to enter into all

assemblies, that he might make his CHOICE OF LIFE.

For some time, he thought choice needless, because all appeared, to him,

equally happy. Wherever he went he met gaiety and kindness, and heard

the song of joy, or the laugh of carelessness. He began to believe, that

the world overflowed with universal plenty, and that nothing was

withheld either from want or merit; that every hand showered liberality,

and every heart melted with benevolence; "and who then," says he, "will

be suffered to be wretched?"

Imlac permitted the pleasing delusion, and was unwilling to crush the

hope of inexperience, till one day, having sat awhile silent, "I know

not," said the prince, "what can be the reason, that I am more unhappy

than any of our friends. I see them perpetually and unalterably

cheerful, but feel my own mind restless and uneasy. I am unsatisfied

with those pleasures which I seem most to court; I live in the crowds of

jollity, not so much to enjoy company, as to shun myself, and am only

loud and merry to conceal my sadness."

"Every man," said Imlac, "may, by examining his own mind, guess what

passes in the minds of others: when you feel that your own gaiety is

counterfeit, it may justly lead you to suspect that of your companions

not to be sincere. Envy is commonly reciprocal. We are long before we

are convinced, that happiness is never to be found, and each believes it

possessed by others, to keep alive the hope of obtaining it for himself.

In the assembly, where you passed the last night, there appeared such

sprightliness of air, and volatility of fancy, as might have suited

beings of a higher order, formed to inhabit serener regions,

inaccessible to care or sorrow; yet, believe me, prince, there was not

one who did not dread the moment, when solitude should deliver him to

the tyranny of reflection."

"This" said the prince, "may be true of others, since it is true of me;

yet, whatever be the general infelicity of man, one condition is more

happy than another, and wisdom surely directs us to take the least evil

in the CHOICE OF LIFE."

"The causes of good and evil," answered Imlac, "are so various and

uncertain, so often entangled with each other, so diversified by various

relations, and so much subject to accidents, which cannot be foreseen,

that he, who would fix his condition upon incontestable reasons of

preference, must live and die inquiring and deliberating."

"But surely," said Rasselas, "the wise men, to whom we listen with

reverence and wonder, chose that mode of life for themselves, which they

thought most likely to make them happy."

"Very few," said the poet, "live by choice. Every man is placed in his

present condition by causes which acted without his foresight, and with

which he did not always willingly cooperate; and, therefore, you will

rarely meet one, who does not think the lot of his neighbour better than

his own."

"I am pleased to think," said the prince, "that my birth has given me,

at least, one advantage over others, by enabling me to determine for

myself. I have here the world before me; I will review it at leisure:

surely happiness is somewhere to be found."

CHAP. XVII.

THE PRINCE ASSOCIATES WITH YOUNG MEN OF SPIRIT AND GAIETY.

Rasselas rose next day, and resolved to begin his experiments upon life.

"Youth," cried he, "is the time of gladness: I will join myself to the

young men, whose only business is to gratify their desires, and whose

time is all spent in a succession of enjoyments."

To such societies he was readily admitted, but a few days brought him

back, weary and disgusted. Their mirth was without images; their

laughter without motive; their pleasures were gross and sensual, in

which the mind had no part; their conduct was, at once, wild and mean;

they laughed at order and at law, but the frown of power dejected, and

the eye of wisdom abashed them.

The prince soon concluded, that he should never be happy in a course of

life, of which he was ashamed. He thought it unsuitable to a reasonable

being to act without a plan, and to be sad or cheerful only by chance.

"Happiness," said he, "must be something solid and permanent, without

fear and without uncertainty."

But his young companions had gained so much of his regard by their

frankness and courtesy, that he could not leave them, without warning

and remonstrance. "My friends," said he "I have seriously considered our

manners and our prospects, and find that we have mistaken our own

interest. The first years of man must make provision for the last. He

that never thinks, never can be wise. Perpetual levity must end in

ignorance; and intemperance, though it may fire the spirits for an hour,

will make life short or miserable. Let us consider, that youth is of no

long duration, and that, in maturer age, when the enchantments of fancy

shall cease, and phantoms of delight dance no more about us, we shall

have no comforts but the esteem of wise men, and the means of doing

good. Let us, therefore, stop, while to stop is in our power: let us

live as men who are sometime to grow old, and to whom it will be the

most dreadful of all evils to count their past years by follies, and to

be reminded of their former luxuriance of health, only by the maladies

which riot has produced."

They stared awhile, in silence, one upon another, and, at last, drove

him away by a general chorus of continued laughter.

The consciousness that his sentiments were just, and his intentions

kind, was scarcely sufficient to support him against the horrour of

derision. But he recovered his tranquillity, and pursued his search.

CHAP. XVIII.

THE PRINCE FINDS A WISE AND HAPPY MAN.

As he was one day walking in the street, he saw a spacious building,

which all were, by the open doors, invited to enter: he followed the

stream of people, and found it a hall or school of declamation, in which

professors read lectures to their auditory. He fixed his eye upon a

sage, raised above the rest, who discoursed, with great energy, on the

government of the passions. His look was venerable, his action graceful,

his pronunciation clear, and his diction elegant. He showed, with great

strength of sentiment, and variety of illustration, that human nature is

degraded and debased, when the lower faculties predominate over the

higher; that when fancy, the parent of passion, usurps the dominion of

the mind, nothing ensues but the natural effect of unlawful government,

perturbation and confusion; that she betrays the fortresses of the

intellect to rebels, and excites her children to sedition against

reason, their lawful sovereign. He compared reason to the sun, of which

the light is constant, uniform, and lasting; and fancy to a meteor, of

bright but transitory lustre, irregular in its motion, and delusive in

its direction.

He then communicated the various precepts given, from time to time, for

the conquest of passion, and displayed the happiness of those who had

obtained the important victory, after which man is no longer the slave

of fear, nor the fool of hope; is no more emaciated by envy, inflamed by

anger, emasculated by tenderness, or depressed by grief; but walks on

calmly through the tumults, or privacies of life, as the sun pursues

alike his course through the calm or the stormy sky.

He enumerated many examples of heroes immovable by pain or pleasure, who

looked with indifference on those modes or accidents, to which the

vulgar give the names of good and evil. He exhorted his hearers to lay

aside their prejudices, and arm themselves against the shafts of malice

or misfortune, by invulnerable patience; concluding, that this state

only was happiness, and that this happiness was in every one's power.

Rasselas listened to him, with the veneration due to the instructions of

a superiour being, and, waiting for him at the door, humbly implored the

liberty of visiting so great a master of true wisdom. The lecturer

hesitated a moment, when Rasselas put a purse of gold into his hand,

which he received with a mixture of joy and wonder.

"I have found," said the prince, at his return to Imlac, "a man who can

teach all that is necessary to be known; who, from the unshaken throne

of rational fortitude, looks down on the scenes of life changing beneath

him. He speaks, and attention watches his lips. He reasons, and

conviction closes his periods. This man shall be my future guide: I will

learn his doctrines, and imitate his life."

"Be not too hasty," said Imlac, "to trust, or to admire the teachers of

morality: they discourse, like angels, but they live, like men."

Rasselas, who could not conceive, how any man could reason so forcibly,

without feeling the cogency of his own arguments, paid his visit in a

few days, and was denied admission. He had now learned the power of

money, and made his way, by a piece of gold, to the inner apartment,

where he found the philosopher, in a room half-darkened, with his eyes

misty, and his face pale. "Sir," said he, "you are come at a time when

all human friendship is useless; what I suffer cannot be remedied, what

I have lost cannot be supplied. My daughter, my only daughter, from

whose tenderness I expected all the comforts of my age, died last night

of a fever. My views, my purposes, my hopes are at an end: I am now a

lonely being, disunited from society."

"Sir," said the prince, "mortality is an event by which a wise man can

never be surprised: we know that death is always near, and it should,

therefore, always be expected." "Young man," answered the philosopher,

"you speak like one that has never felt the pangs of separation." "Have

you then forgot the precepts," said Rasselas, "which you so powerfully

enforced? Has wisdom no strength to arm the heart against calamity?

Consider, that external things are naturally variable, but truth and

reason are always the same." "What comfort," said the mourner, "can

truth and reason afford me? Of what effect are they now, but to tell me,

that my daughter will not be restored?"

The prince, whose humanity would not suffer him to insult misery with

reproof, went away, convinced of the emptiness of rhetorical sound, and

the inefficacy of polished periods and studied sentences.

CHAP. XIX.

A GLIMPSE OF PASTORAL LIFE.

He was still eager upon the same inquiry: and having heard of a hermit,

that lived near the lowest cataract of the Nile, and filled the whole

country with the fame of his sanctity, resolved to visit his retreat,

and inquire, whether that felicity, which publick life could not afford,

was to be found in solitude; and whether a man, whose age and virtue

made him venerable, could teach any peculiar art of shunning evils, or

enduring them?

Imlac and the princess agreed to accompany him, and, after the necessary

preparations, they began their journey. Their way lay through the

fields, where shepherds tended their flocks, and the lambs were playing

upon the pasture. "This," said the poet, "is the life which has been

often celebrated for its innocence and quiet; let us pass the heat of

the day among the shepherds' tents, and know, whether all our searches

are not to terminate in pastoral simplicity."

The proposal pleased them, and they induced the shepherds, by small

presents and familiar questions, to tell their opinion of their own

state: they were so rude and ignorant, so little able to compare the

good with the evil of the occupation, and so indistinct in their

narratives and descriptions, that very little could be learned from

them. But it was evident, that their hearts were cankered with

discontent; that they considered themselves, as condemned to labour for

the luxury of the rich, and looked up, with stupid malevolence, toward

those that were placed above them.

The princess pronounced with vehemence, that she would never suffer

these envious savages to be her companions, and that she should not soon

be desirous of seeing any more specimens of rustick happiness; but could

not believe that all the accounts of primeval pleasures were fabulous;

and was yet in doubt, whether life had any thing that could be justly

preferred to the placid gratifications of fields and woods. She hoped,

that the time would come, when, with a few virtuous and elegant

companions, she should gather flowers, planted by her own hand, fondle

the lambs of her own ewe, and listen, without care, among brooks and

breezes, to one of her maidens reading in the shade.

CHAP. XX.

THE DANGER OF PROSPERITY.

On the next day they continued their journey, till the heat compelled

them to look round for shelter. At a small distance, they saw a thick

wood, which they no sooner entered, than they perceived that they were

approaching the habitations of men. The shrubs were diligently cut away

to open walks, where the shades were darkest; the boughs of opposite

trees were artificially interwoven; seats of flowery turf were raised in

vacant spaces, and a rivulet, that wantoned along the side of a winding

path, had its banks sometimes opened into small basins, and its streams

sometimes obstructed by little mounds of stone, heaped together to

increase its murmurs.

They passed slowly through the wood, delighted with such unexpected

accommodations, and entertained each other with conjecturing, what, or

who, he could be, that, in those rude and unfrequented regions, had

leisure and art for such harmless luxury.

As they advanced, they heard the sound of musick, and saw youths and

virgins dancing in the grove; and, going still further, beheld a stately

palace, built upon a hill, surrounded with woods. The laws of eastern

hospitality allowed them to enter, and the master welcomed them, like a

man liberal and wealthy.

He was skilful enough in appearances, soon to discern that they were no

common guests, and spread his table with magnificence. The eloquence of

Imlac caught his attention, and the lofty courtesy of the princess

excited his respect. When they offered to depart, he entreated their

stay, and was the next day still more unwilling to dismiss them than

before. They were easily persuaded to stop, and civility grew up, in

time, to freedom and confidence.

The prince now saw all the domesticks cheerful, and all the face of

nature smiling round the place, and could not forbear to hope that he

should find here what he was seeking; but when he was congratulating the

master upon his possessions, he answered, with a sigh: "My condition

has, indeed, the appearance of happiness, but appearances are delusive.

My prosperity puts my life in danger; the bassa of Egypt is my enemy,

incensed only by my wealth and popularity. I have been, hitherto,

protected against him by the princes of the country; but, as the favour

of the great is uncertain, I know not, how soon my defenders may be

persuaded to share the plunder with the bassa. I have sent my treasures

into a distant country, and, upon the first alarm, am prepared to follow

them. Then will my enemies riot in my mansion, and enjoy the gardens

which I have planted."

They all joined in lamenting his danger, and deprecating his exile; and

the princess was so much disturbed with the tumult of grief and

indignation, that she retired to her apartment. They continued with

their kind inviter a few days longer, and then went forward to find the

hermit.

CHAP. XXI.

THE HAPPINESS OF SOLITUDE. THE HERMIT'S HISTORY.

They came, on the third day, by the direction of the peasants, to the

hermit's cell: it was a cavern, in the side of a mountain, over-shadowed

with palm-trees; at such a distance from the cataract, that nothing more

was heard than a gentle uniform murmur, such as composed the mind to

pensive meditation, especially when it was assisted by the wind

whistling among the branches. The first rude essay of nature had been so

much improved by human labour, that the cave contained several

apartments, appropriated to different uses, and often afforded lodging

to travellers, whom darkness or tempests happened to overtake.

The hermit sat on a bench at the door, to enjoy the coolness of the

evening. On one side lay a book, with pens and papers, on the other,

mechanical instruments of various kinds. As they approached him

unregarded, the princess observed, that he had not the countenance of a

man that had found, or could teach the way to happiness.

They saluted him with great respect, which he repaid, like a man not

unaccustomed to the forms of courts. "My children," said he, "if you

have lost your way, you shall be willingly supplied with such

conveniencies, for the night, as this cavern will afford. I have all

that nature requires, and you will not expect delicacies in a hermit's

cell."

They thanked him, and, entering, were pleased with the neatness and

regularity of the place. The hermit set flesh and wine before them,

though he fed only upon fruits and water. His discourse was cheerful

without levity, and pious without enthusiasm. He soon gained the esteem

of his guests, and the princess repented of her hasty censure.

At last Imlac began thus: "I do not now wonder that your reputation is

so far extended; we have heard at Cairo of your wisdom, and came hither

to implore your direction for this young man and maiden, in the CHOICE

OF LIFE."

"To him that lives well," answered the hermit, "every form of life is

good; nor can I give any other rule for choice, than to remove from all

apparent evil."

"He will remove most certainly from evil," said the prince, "who shall

devote himself to that solitude, which you have recommended by your

example."

"I have, indeed, lived fifteen years in solitude," said the hermit, "but

have no desire that my example should gain any imitators. In my youth I

professed arms, and was raised, by degrees, to the highest military

rank. I have traversed wide countries, at the head of my troops, and

seen many battles and sieges. At last, being disgusted by the preferment

of a younger officer, and feeling, that my vigour was beginning to

decay, I was resolved to close my life in peace, having found the world

full of snares, discord, and misery. I had once escaped from the pursuit

of the enemy by the shelter of this cavern, and, therefore, chose it for

my final residence. I employed artificers to form it into chambers, and

stored it with all that I was likely to want.

"For some time after my retreat, I rejoiced, like a tempest-beaten

sailor at his entrance into the harbour, being delighted with the sudden

change of the noise and hurry of war to stillness and repose. When the

pleasure of novelty went away, I employed my hours in examining the

plants which grow in the valley, and the minerals which I collected from

the rocks. But that inquiry is now grown tasteless and irksome. I have

been, for some time, unsettled and distracted; my mind is disturbed with

a thousand perplexities of doubt, and vanities of imagination, which

hourly prevail upon me, because I have no opportunities of relaxation or

diversion. I am sometimes ashamed to think, that I could not secure

myself from vice, but by retiring from the exercise of virtue, and begin

to suspect, that I was rather impelled by resentment, than led by

devotion, into solitude. My fancy riots in scenes of folly, and I

lament, that I have lost so much, and have gained so little. In

solitude, if I escape the example of bad men, I want, likewise, the

counsel and conversation of the good. I have been long comparing the

evils with the advantages of society, and resolve to return into the

world to-morrow. The life of a solitary man will be certainly miserable,

but not certainly devout."

They heard his resolution with surprise, but, after a short pause,

offered to conduct him to Cairo. He dug up a considerable treasure,

which he had hid among the rocks, and accompanied them to the city, on

which, as he approached it, he gazed with rapture.

CHAP. XXII.

THE HAPPINESS OF A LIFE, LED ACCORDING TO NATURE.

Rasselas went often to an assembly of learned men, who met, at stated

times, to unbend their minds, and compare their opinions. Their manners

were somewhat coarse, but their conversation was instructive, and their

disputations acute, though sometimes too violent, and often continued,

till neither controvertist remembered, upon what question they began.

Some faults were almost general among them; every one was desirous to

dictate to the rest, and every one was pleased to hear the genius or

knowledge of another depreciated.

In this assembly Rasselas was relating his interview with the hermit,

and the wonder with which he heard him censure a course of life, which

he had so deliberately chosen, and so laudably followed. The sentiments

of the hearers were various. Some were of opinion, that the folly of his

choice had been justly punished by condemnation to perpetual

perseverance. One of the youngest among them, with great vehemence,

pronounced him a hypocrite. Some talked of the right of society to the

labour of individuals, and considered retirement as a desertion of duty.

Others readily allowed, that there was a time, when the claims of the

publick were satisfied, and when a man might properly sequester himself,

to review his life, and purify his heart. One, who appeared more

affected with the narrative than the rest, thought it likely, that the

hermit would, in a few years, go back to his retreat, and, perhaps, if

shame did not restrain, or death intercept him, return once more from

his retreat into the world: "For the hope of happiness," said he "is so

strongly impressed, that the longest experience is not able to efface

it. Of the present state, whatever it may be, we feel, and are forced to

confess, the misery; yet, when the same state is again at a distance,

imagination paints it as desirable. But the time will surely come, when

desire will be no longer our torment, and no man shall be wretched, but

by his own fault."

"This," said a philosopher, who had heard him with tokens of great

impatience, "is the present condition of a wise man. The time is already

come, when none are wretched, but by their own fault. Nothing is more

idle, than to inquire after happiness, which nature has kindly placed

within our reach. The way to be happy is to live according to nature, in

obedience to that universal and unalterable law, with which every heart

is originally impressed; which is not written on it by precept, but

engraven by destiny, not instilled by education, but infused at our

nativity. He that lives according to nature will suffer nothing from the

delusions of hope, or importunities of desire; he will receive and

reject with equability of temper; and act or suffer, as the reason of

things shall alternately prescribe. Other men may amuse themselves with

subtile definitions, or intricate ratiocinations. Let them learn to be

wise by easier means; let them observe the hind of the forest, and the

linnet of the grove; let them consider the life of animals, whose

motions are regulated by instinct; they obey their guide, and are happy.

Let us, therefore, at length, cease to dispute, and learn to live; throw

away the incumbrance of precepts, which they, who utter them, with so

much pride and pomp, do not understand, and carry with us this simple

and intelligible maxim: That deviation from nature is deviation from

happiness."

When he had spoken, he looked round him with a placid air, and enjoyed

the consciousness of his own beneficence. "Sir," said the prince, with

great modesty, "as I, like all the rest of mankind, am desirous of

felicity, my closest attention has been fixed upon your discourse: I

doubt not the truth of a position, which a man so learned has, so

confidently, advanced. Let me only know, what it is to live according to

nature."

"When I find young men so humble and so docile," said the philosopher,

"I can deny them no information which my studies have enabled me to

afford. To live according to nature, is to act always with due regard to

the fitness arising from the relations and qualities of causes and

effects; to concur with the great and unchangeable scheme of universal

felicity; to cooperate with the general disposition and tendency of the

present system of things."

The prince soon found that this was one of the sages whom he should

understand less, as he heard him longer. He, therefore, bowed, and was

silent, and the philosopher, supposing him satisfied, and the rest

vanquished, rose up and departed, with the air of a man that had

cooperated with the present system.

CHAP. XXIII.

THE PRINCE AND HIS SISTER DIVIDE BETWEEN THEM THE WORK OF OBSERVATION.

Rasselas returned home full of reflections, doubtful how to direct his

future steps. Of the way to happiness, he found the learned and simple

equally ignorant; but, as he was yet young, he flattered himself that he

had time remaining for more experiments, and further inquiries. He

communicated to Imlac his observations and his doubts, but was answered

by him with new doubts, and remarks that gave him no comfort. He,

therefore, discoursed more frequently and freely with his sister, who

had yet the same hope with himself, and always assisted him to give some

reason why, though he had been, hitherto, frustrated, he might succeed

at last.

"We have, hitherto," said she, "known but little of the world: we have

never yet been either great or mean. In our own country, though we had

royalty, we had no power; and, in this, we have not yet seen the private

recesses of domestick peace. Imlac favours not our search, lest we

should, in time, find him mistaken. We will divide the task between us:

you shall try what is to be found in the splendour of courts, and I will

range the shades of humbler life. Perhaps command and authority may be

the supreme blessings, as they afford most opportunities of doing good:

or, perhaps, what this world can give may be found in the modest

habitations of middle fortune, too low for great designs, and too high

for penury and distress."

CHAP. XXIV.

THE PRINCE EXAMINES THE HAPPINESS OF HIGH STATIONS.

Rasselas applauded the design, and appeared, next day, with a splendid

retinue at the court of the bassa. He was soon distinguished for his

magnificence, and admitted as a prince, whose curiosity had brought him

from distant countries, to an intimacy with the great officers, and

frequent conversation with the bassa himself.

He was, at first, inclined to believe, that the man must be pleased with

his own condition, whom all approached with reverence, and heard with

obedience, and who had the power to extend his edicts, to a whole

kingdom. "There can be no pleasure," said he, "equal to that of feeling,

at once, the joy of thousands, all made happy by wise administration.

Yet, since by the law of subordination, this sublime delight can be in

one nation but the lot of one, it is, surely, reasonable to think, that

there is some satisfaction more popular and accessible; and that

millions can hardly be subjected to the will of a single man, only to

fill his particular breast with incommunicable content."

These thoughts were often in his mind, and he found no solution of the

difficulty. But, as presents and civilities gained him more familiarity,

he found that almost every man, who stood high in employment, hated all

the rest, and was hated by them, and that their lives were a continual

succession of plots and detections, stratagems and escapes, faction and

treachery. Many of those, who surrounded the bassa, were sent only to

watch and report his conduct; every tongue was muttering censure, and

every eye was searching for a fault.

At last the letters of revocation arrived, the bassa was carried in

chains to Constantinople, and his name was mentioned no more.

"What are we now to think of the prerogatives of power?" said Rasselas

to his sister: "is it without any efficacy to good? or, is the

subordinate degree only dangerous, and the supreme safe and glorious? Is

the sultan the only happy man in his dominions? or, is the sultan

himself subject to the torments of suspicion, and the dread of enemies?"

In a short time the second bassa was deposed. The sultan, that had

advanced him, was murdered by the janizaries, and his successour had

other views, and different favourites.

CHAP. XXV.

THE PRINCESS PURSUES HER INQUIRY WITH MORE DILIGENCE THAN SUCCESS.