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 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 shall see all the conditions of
humanity, and enable yourselves 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 streets, 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 time continued in her chamber, where she was served
by her favourite Pekuah, as in the palace of the valley.
Imlac, who understood traffic, 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 acquaintances, and his generosity made him courted by many
dependants. 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 an 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 anything 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 now being 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
really 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, was there 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 the
present condition by causes which acted without his foresight, and with
which he did not always willingly co-operate, 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.”