NOVEL VII.
The Sultan of Babylon sends one of his daughters to be married to the King of Algarve, but, by divers accidents in the space of four years, she falls into the hands of nine different men in different places. At length being restored to her father, she goes to the King of Algarve as a maid, and becomes his wife, as at first intended.
Had the novel related by Emilia been but a little longer, she would have seen all her audience moved to tears of compassion for the misfortunes that had befallen Beritola; but it being now ended, the queen ordered Pamfilo to follow; and he, in obedience to her commands, proceeded thus: - It is no easy matter for us, most gracious ladies, to know what is good for us. How many, supposing if they were rich that they should then live securely and at ease, not only offer up their prayers to God, but studiously incur all kinds of danger to become so; which, when effected, has been the occasion of their losing their lives by the covetous hands of those, who, before they had attained to riches, were their entire friends. How many from a low estate have made their way to a throne, amidst a thousand dangers, and through the blood of their brethren and friends, expecting to find supreme felicity there, and have endured the infinite cares and anxieties incident to that station, but to find to their cost, at last, that poison is often mingled in the golden cups of princes. Many there are who covet some bodily advantage, as strength, beauty, etc., with which they who are endowed are taught, that death, or a most calamitous life, is often occasioned thereby. But not to speak in detail of all our frail desires, I dare affirm, that there is not one of them which we can fix upon with any certainty of being happy in that choice. The safest way then is to leave all to the good providence of God, who best knows our wants, and is most able to supply them. Men offend in coveting many things; but you ladies sin chiefly in one point, namely, in the desire of beauty; insomuch, that not being satisfied with that share of it given you by nature, you call m the assistance of art, to improve it. It is upon this account that I shall relate what happened to a beautiful Saracen lady, who, in the space of four years, was, for her beauty, married nine several times.
It is now a long time since there lived a sultan of Babylon, called Beminedab, who was highly fortunate in all his affairs. Amongst other children, both male and female, he had a daughter named Alatiel, who, in the opinion of all that saw her, was the fairest lady in the whole world. Now forasmuch as the king of Algarve had afforded him great assistance in a defeat he had inflicted on a most numerous army of Arabians that had assailed him, and had afterwards demanded Alatiel in marriage, he consented as a most special favour: and providing a ship, well equipped for the purpose, with all necessary provisions, and sending an honourable train both of lords and ladies to bear her company, he commended her to the protection of Heaven, and sent her to his ally. The sailors, as soon as a fit opportunity offered, hoisted their sails, and leaving the port of Alexandria, sailed prosperously many days; when, having passed the island of Sardinia, and now seeming to be near the end of their voyage, on a sudden contrary winds arose, which were so boisterous, and bore so hard upon the ship, that they often gave themselves over for lost. Nevertheless, for two days together, they bravely tried all the means they could devise to weather it out; but all to no purpose, for every blast was worse than the former. Unable by any mode of reckoning to calculate where they were, or to see to any distance, on account of the clouds and darkness, the ship sprang a leak by night, not far from Majorca. Perceiving no hopes of escaping, and every one caring for himself only, they lowered a small boat into the sea, choosing rather to trust their lives to it than to the sinking ship. All the men that were in the ship crowded into the boat one after another; although those who were first down made strong resistance with their drawn weapons against other followers: and the consequence was, that thinking to avoid death by this means, they ran directly into it; for the boat, not being able to bear them all, sank at once to the bottom, and all on board of it perished.
The ship being driven furiously by the winds, though it was leaking and half full of water, was at last stranded near the island of Majorca, no other person remaining on board but the lady and her women, all lying as it were lifeless, through the terror occasioned by the tempest. The ship struck with such violence, that it was fixed in the sand about a stone's throw from the shore; where it continued all that night, the winds not being able to move it. When day-light appeared, and the storm was somewhat abated, the lady, almost dead, lifted up her head, and began, weak as she was, to call first one and then another of her servants; but all to no purpose, for those she called for were far out of hearing. Receiving no answer, and seeing no one, she was greatly astonished; and raising herself up as well as she could, she beheld the ladies that were of her company, and some other of her women, lying all about her; and trying first to rouse one, and then another of them, she scarcely found any that had the least understanding left; so much had sickness and fear together affected them. This added greatly to her consternation; nevertheless, constrained by necessity, seeing that she was alone, she knew not where, she shook those that were living till she made them get up; and perceiving that they were utterly ignorant of what had become of all the men, and seeing the ship driven upon the sands, and full of water, she began with them to lament most grievously.
It was noon-day before they could descry any person on shore, or elsewhere, to afford them the least assistance. At length, about that time, a gentleman, whose name was Pericon da Visalgo, passing that way, with many of his servants, on horseback, upon seeing the ship, guessed what had happened, and immediately sent one of them on board, to see what was remaining in her. The servant got into the ship with some difficulty, and found the lady with the little company that was left her, who had all hidden themselves, through fear, under the deck. As soon as they saw him, they begged piteously for mercy; but finding that he did not understand their language, nor they his, they endeavoured, by signs, to inform him of their misfortune. The servant carried the best account he could of what he had seen, to his master, who ordered the ladies, and everything that was in the ship of any value, to be brought on shore, and conveyed to one of his castles, where he endeavoured to comfort them under their misfortunes by the most generous entertainment. From the rich dress of the princess, he inferred that she was some person of great consequence, in which opinion he was confirmed by the great respect paid to her by all the women; and although she was pale and in disorder, through the great fatigue she had sustained, yet was he much taken with her beauty, and he resolved, if she had no husband, to make her his wife; or, if he could not have her as such, still not to lose her entirely. Pericon was a man of stem looks, and robust person; and having treated the lady well for some time, by which means she had recovered her beauty, he was grieved that they could not understand each other, and that he was unable to learn who she was; yet, being passionately in love, he used every engaging art he could devise to bring her to a compliance, but all to no purpose; she refused all familiarities with him, which but inflamed him the more. This the lady perceived, and finding, after some stay there, by the customs of the place, that she was among Christians, and in a land where, to make her rank known, even if she knew how, would be of no great service to her; supposing also, that, at last, Pericon would gain his will, if not by fair means, yet by force, she resolved, with a true greatness of spirit, to vanquish her evil fortune, and she enjoined her women, of whom she had but three now alive, never to disclose her quality, unless there should be hopes of regaining their liberty. She exhorted theni to maintain their chastity, and declared her own fixed resolution never to yield her person to any one besides her husband; for which they all commended her, promising to preserve their honour as much as lay in their power.
Every day did Pericon's passion increase so much the more as the thing desired was near, and yet unattainable: wherefore, perceiving that entreaty was to no purpose, he resolved to try what art and contrivance could do, reserving force to the last. Having once observed that wine was pleasing to Alatiel, as a beverage she had not been accustomed to, it being forbidden by her country's law, he determined to surprise her by means of this minister of Venus. Affecting now to have given over his amorous pursuit, which she had used her best endeavours to withstand, he provided one night an elegant entertainment, at which she was present, when he gave it in charge to the servant who waited upon her, to serve her with several wines mingled together, which he accordingly did. Alatiel, suspecting no such treachery, and pleased with the rich flavour of the wine, drank more than was consistent with modesty, and, forgetting all her past troubles, became gay and merry; so that, seeing some women dance after the custom of Majorca, she also began to dance after the manner of the Alexandrians; which, when Pericon observed, he supposed himself in a fair way of success, and plying her still with more wine, continued this revelling far into the night. At length, when the guests departed, he went with the lady into her chamber, and she being despoiled of modesty for the time, by the fumes of wine, undressed before him, as if he had been one of her women, and got into bed. He instantly followed, caught her in his arms, and took his fill of pleasure, without encountering any resistance on her part. Alatiel, who till then had never had a notion of that sort of pastime, liked it so well that she repented of not having yielded sooner to Pericon 's solicitations; and thenceforth, so far was she from waiting to be pressed, that she often invited him to the sport, not by words, indeed, since she could not speak his language, but by acts which were quite as much to the purpose.
At length fortune, not content with having brought it to pass that she who was to have been the wife of a king, should become the mistress of a nobleman, prepared for her a more barbarous and cruel alliance. Pericon had a brother, twenty-five years of age, of a most commanding person, called Marato; who, having seen her, flattered himself, from her behaviour towards him, that he was not displeasing to her. Supposing, also, that nothing obstructed his happiness, except the watch which his brother kept over her, he conceived a most atrocious design, nor was it long before he carried it into effect. There chanced to be a ship in the haven at that time, laden with merchandise, bound for Chiarenza in Romania. Two young Genoese were the masters, and as they only waited for the first fair wind to go out, Marato made a contract with them, to receive him with the lady the following night. When the time came, having ordered how the thing should be managed, he went openly to the house, nobody having the least mistrust of him, and took with him some trusty friends, whom he had secured for that service, and whom he concealed about the place. Then, in the middle of the night, he opened the door to them, and they murdered Pericon as he was asleep in bed with the lady, and threatened to kill her too, if she made the least noise. Then, carrying off everything of value they could lay hands on, they hastened without discovery to the harbour, where Marato and the lady instantly went on board, whilst his companions returned about their business. The wind was fair, and the ship went to sea at once. The lady seemed for awhile sunk in hopeless grief under this second blow of misfortune; but her ravisher had a talisman endowed with great consoling virtues, and he employed it so well that by and bye she began to have the same affection for him as she had entertained for his brother.
And now all seemed to go smoothly, when fortune, as if not content with what she had already suffered, visited her with new sorrows. Her beauty and loveliness were such, as to enamour the two masters of the ship, who neglected all other business to serve and please her; taking care, all the while, that Marato should have no cause to suspect it. Being apprized of each other's love, they had a consultation together about it, and agreed to have her in common between them, as if love, like merchandise, admitted of partnership. But observing that she was narrowly watched by Marato, and their design thereby frustrated, they took the opportunity one day, as he was looking over the stem, while the ship was under full sail, to go behind and throw him overboard; and the ship had sailed on a full mile before he was missed. As soon as the lady heard that he was lost beyond recovery, she was plunged into fresh sorrow, lamenting her lost husband as much on her own account as his. The two lovers did all they could to console her, using many kind and tender expressions, which she did not understand; and after some little time, imagining that she was sufficiently comforted, they fell into a dispute together which should be the fìrst to enjoy her. Each obstinately insisting on his own claim, high words arose, presently their knives were out, and before the ship's crew could part them, one lay dead, and the other desperately wounded. This occasioned fresh uneasiness to the lady, who now saw herself alone, without any one to advise and help her; she was fearful, also, of the resentment of the two masters´ relations and friends; but the entreaties of the wounded survivor, and their speedy arrival at Chiarenza, saved her from the danger of death.
She went on shore with the wounded man, and they continued together at an inn; whilst the fame of her beauty was spread all over the city, till it reached the ears of the Prince of Morea, who was then by chance at Chiarenza. He was impatient to get sight of her; and after he had seen her, he was so charmed, that he could think of nothing else. Being told in what manner she came thither, he began to contrive means how to obtain her; which, when the man's relations understood, they immediately sent her to him, to his great joy, and hers too, for she now thought herself freed from all danger. The prince, perceiving her rare accomplishments, joined to a matchless person, though he could have no information concerning her, yet concluded that she must be nobly descended; and such was his fondness for her, that he treated her not as a mistress, but a wife. She now recollecting what she had already suffered, and being pretty well satisfied with her present situation, began to be easy and cheerful, whilst her charms increased to that degree, that she was the chief subject of discourse throughout Romania.
Hereupon the Duke of Athens, a young and gay person, a relation also to the prince, had a mind to see her; he came, therefore, one day to Chiarenza with a noble retinue, under pretence of visiting his kinsman, as he had often done before, and was handsomely entertained. Some days after his arrival, contriving to turn the conversation to the subject of the lady's great beauty, the duke asked whether it was such as fame had reported. "Far greater," replied the prince, "but let your own eyes convince you, and not my bare assertion." The duke soliciting the prince very earnestly to gratify his curiosity, they went into Alatiel's apartment together, when she received them with great affability and cheerfulness, being apprized of their coming. Though they could not have the pleasure of conversing together, as she understood little or nothing of their language, yet they gazed upon her, the duke more especially, as a prodigy of nature, scarcely believing her to be a mortal creature; and, without perceiving how much amorous poison he imbibed through his eyes, and thinking only to gratify himself with the sight of her, he soon became over head and ears in love. After they had parted from her, and he had time to reflect, he began to think the prince the happiest person in the universe, in being possessed of such a beauty; and, after much musing upon it, having more regard to his lust than to his honour, he resolved at all hazards to deprive him of that bliss, and secure it for himself. Having a heart to put what he had resolved in speedy execution, he set all reason and justice aside, and bent all the powers of his mind to devise a fit stratagem for his purpose.
One day, therefore, according to a most wicked agreement, which he bad made with the prince's valet de chambre, one Ciuriaci, he gave secret orders to have his horses and things got ready for a sudden departure; and that night, himself and a friend, both armed, were stealthily admitted by the servant into the prince's chamber. There they found the lady fast asleep, and the prince standing naked at a window that looked towards the sea, to take the cool air, the weather being very hot. Having previously instructed his friend what he would have done, the duke went softly up to the window, stabbed his kinsman with a dagger through the small of his back, and threw him out. Now the palace was seated upon the sea-shore, and very lofty; and the window at which the prince had stood, was directly over a spot little frequented, and covered by the ruins of some houses which the waves had beaten down; there was, therefore, no great likelihood, as the duke had foreseen, of the body being soon discovered. When that part of the work was over, the duke's companion took a cord, which he carried with him for that purpose, and making believe as if he was going to caress Ciuriaci, he threw it about his neck, drew it so tight as to prevent his crying out, and the duke coming to his assistance, they soon dispatched the fellow, and threw him down after the prince. This being done, and plainly perceiving that they were not heard or seen by the lady, or any one else, the duke took a light in his hand, and going softly to the bed, where she lay in a sound sleep, he gently uncovered her from head to foot, and stood beholding her for some time with the utmost admiration. If she had appeared so charming before in her clothes, what was she now in her naked loveliness? Fired with still hotter desire, reckless of the guilty deed he had just committed, he crept into bed to her, with his hands yet reeking with blood, she taking him all the while for the prince. After he had been with her for some time, he ordered his people to carry her off in such a manner that she could make .no outcry; and going out at the same back door at which he had entered, he set her on horseback, and bore her away towards Athens. But, as he was married, he did not choose to bring her thither, but left her at one of his country seats on the sea shore, a little way out of town. There the unhappy princess was secretly detained a prisoner, but with strict orders to her attendants to gratify her wishes in every other respect.
The prince's servants waited that morning till nine o'clock, expecting his rising; but hearing nothing of him, they opened the chamber doors, which were not locked, and finding nobody within, they concluded that he and the lady were gone privately to some other place to divert themselves for a few days, and therefore they thought no more about the matter. The next day it happened, by great chance, that a fool going amongst those ruinous houses where the dead bodies were lying, took hold of the cord that was about Ciuriaci's neck, and dragged him along after him. The body was recognised by many astonished beholders, who, by fair words and much persuasion, prevailed upon the fool to show them where he had found it; and there, to the great grief of the whole city, they saw the prince's body also, which they caused to be interred with all due pomp and reverence. Inquiring afterwards who could have committed so horrid a deed, and perceiving that the Duke of Athens was not to be found, but was gone privately away, they judged that he had done it, and taken the lady away with him. Immediately they elected the prince's brother to be their sovereign, inciting him to revenge the atrocious murder, and promising to assist him to the utmost of their power. The new sovereign, having ascertained beyond doubt the truth of these surmises, collected together all his relations, friends, and vassals, and mustering a powerful army, marched against the duke, who had no sooner heard of these preparations than he too levied a great army. Many princes and lords also came to his aid; amongst the rest, Constantine, son of the Emperor of Constantinople, and Emanuel, his nephew, attended by a goodly body of troops. They were gladly received by the duke, and still more so by the duchess, who was daughter to the emperor.
Things tending every day more and more to actual war, the duchess had her brother and her cousin one day into her chamber, where, with abundance of tears, she recounted to them the whole history and occasion of the war, and the ill-usage she had received from the duke on account of this woman, whom she believed he kept privately: and she conjured them very earnestly, for bis honour as well as for her own ease and comfort, to give her their best assistance. The two young lords knew all this matter before, and therefore, without asking many questions, they comforted her as well as they could, and after ascertaining where the lady was kept, they took their leave. Hearing much talk of her beauty, they became very desirous of seeing her, and entreated the duke to afford them that pleasure: and he, never considering what liad happened to the prince, promised to do so. Next day he ordered a magnificent entertainment to be prepared in a pleasant garden belonging to the palace where the lady was kept, and took the two princes and some more friends to dine with her. Constantine was no sooner seated with her at table than he began to gaze upon her with intense admiration, inwardly declaring that he had never seen anything like her, and that the duke, or any other person, was excusable, who, to possess so rare a beauty, should commit any act of baseness or treachery. Gazing still more and more upon her, and evermore with growing wonder and delight, it happened to him just as it had done to the duke; for, going away quite enamoured of her, he had given over all thoughts of the war, contriving only how to steal her away from the duke, at the same time that he concealed his love from every one.
Whilst he was in this agitation, the prince was advancing near the duke's territories, whereupon the latter, with Constantine and the rest, marched out of Athens to secure the frontiers, and to prevent the prince's passing any further. After remaining with the army for some days, Constantine, whose heart was still set upon the lady, and who thought that he might more easily compass his intent now that the duke was absent, feigned himself extremely sick, and, with the duke's consent, leaving the command of his troops to Emanuel, returned to Athens to his sister. Presently, after having led the latter to talk of her husband's baseness in keeping a mistress, he told her that if she would give her consent, he would rid her of that trouble, by removing the lady out of the way. The duchess, supposing that this was spoken out of pure regard to her, and not to the lady, replied, that she should be very glad if it could be done in such a manner that the duke should never know that she was any way accessory; this Constantine fully promised, and she accordingly agreed that he should do it as he thought most advisable. He provided, therefore, a light vessel, with all secrecy, and sent it one evening near to the garden where the lady was kept, having first informed some of his people that were on board, what he would have them do. Taking others with him to the house, he was respectfully received by the servants in waiting there, and also by the lady herself, who walked with him at his request, their servants following them into the garden. There, drawing her aside towards a door which opened to the sea, as if he had business to communicate from the duke, on a signal being given, the bark was brought close to the shore, and she was seized and carried to it, whilst he, turning back to the people that were with her, said - "Let no one stir or speak a word at the peril of their lives; for my design is not to rob the duke of his lady, but to take away the scorn he casts upon my sister." None being hardy enough to return .an answer to this, Constantine went on board the vessel, and bade the men ply their oars stoutly, which they did to such effect that they reached Egina by the next morning. There they landed, and he enjoyed himself awhile with the ftdy, who had so much reason to deplore her fatal beauty. Thence they went to Chios, where, for fear of his father's anger, and to prevent her being taken away from him, he chose to abide as in a place of security: and though she seemed uneasy for a time, yet she soon recovered, as she had done before, and the consolations afforded her by Constantine, reconciled her to her new lot.
In the meantime Osbech, king of the Turks, who was constantly at war with the emperor, came by chance to Smyrna, and hearing how Constantine was leading a lascivious life at Chios, with a mistress he had stolen, and with no provision made for his safety, he went privately one night with some armed vessels, and made a descent on the island, surprising many people in their beds before they knew of his coming upon them, and killing all that stood upon their defence; and after he had burnt and destroyed the whole country, he put the prisoners and the booty which he had taken on board, and returned to Smyrna. Upon inspecting his captives, Osbech, who was a young man, saw Alatiel, and knowing that she was Constantine's mistress, because she was found asleep in his bed, he rejoiced greatly, and took her for his own wife, and they lived together very happily for several months.
Before this happened, the emperor had been making a treaty with Bassano, King of Cappadocia, who was to fall on Osbech on one side, whilst he attacked him on the other; but they could not come to a full agreement, because Bassano stipulated for some things which the emperor was unwilling to grant; but now, hearing of what had befallen his son, and being in the utmost concern, he immediately closed with the King of Cappadocia, requesting him to march with all expedition against Osbech, whilst he himself was preparing to fall upon him from another quarter. When Osbech heard of this, he assembled his army before he should be surrounded by two such mighty princes, and marched to meet the King of Cappadocia, leaving his lady behind, with a faithful servant of his, at Smyrna; and a battle soon ensued, in which Osbech's army was entirely routed, and himself slain.
Bassano advanced victorious to Smyrna, the people making their submission to him all the way as he went. But now Osbech's servant, Antiochus, who had the lady in charge, although he was in years, yet, seeing her so beautiful, and forgetting the regard which was due to his lord, soon became in love with her himself; and, as he understood her language, it was a great comfort to her, because she had been forced to live for some years like a deaf and dumb person, for want of understanding other people, or being understood by them. This gave him great advantages, and whilst his master was warring abroad, he spared no pains to gain her consent, in which he succeeded so well, that from amicable intercourse they soon advanced to amorous dalliance. On hearing, however, that Osbech was slain, and that Bassano was carrying all before him, they did not wait for his coming upon them, but fled privately to Rhodes, taking with them everything of value belonging to Osbech. They had not been there long before Antiochus was taken extremely ill. There happened to be with him a merchant of Cyprus, who was a great friend of his, and finding himself at the point of death, he resolved to bequeath to him his wealth, and the care of his dear lady. Calling them both to him, therefore, he said: - "I find myself declining apace, which grieves me much, because I had never more pleasure in living than at present; yet one thing is a great comfort to me, namely, that I shall die in the arms of those two persons whom I love and value beyond all the rest of the world, that is to say, in yours, my dearest friend, and in that lady's, whom I have loved, ever since I have known her, more than my own life. I am uneasy, indeed, when I consider that I leave her here a stranger, and destitute both of help and advice, and should be infinitely more so if you were not with us, who, I know, will take the same care of her, on my account, as you would of myself. Therefore I entreat you, in case I should die, to take my affairs, and her too, under your protection, and to act, with regard to both, as you think will be most for the comfort of my departed soul. - And you, my dearest love, let me beg of you never to forget me, that I may boast, in the next world, that I have been beloved by the fairest lady that ever nature formed; assure me of these two things, and I shall die satisfied."
The merchant and lady were both much concerned, and promised to fulfil his desires, if he should chance to die; and soon afterwards he departed this life, when they took care to have him decently interred. This being done, and the merchant having despatched all his affairs, and wanting to return home in a Catalan ship that was there in port, he questioned the lady, to know what, she intended to do, because it became necessary for him to go back to Cyprus. She was willing, she said, to go with him, hoping that for the love he bore towards his friend he would regard her as his own sister. He replied, that he was ready to oblige her in everything; and, that he might the better defend her from all injuries whatever, till they came to Cyprus, he suggested that she should rather call herself his wife than his sister. Going then on board ship, they had a cabin and one little bed allotted them, agreeably to the account they had given of themselves, by which means that thing was brought about, which neither of them intended when they came from Rhodes; for they forgot all the fine promises they had made to Antiochus, and before they reached Baffa, where the Cyprian merchant dwelt, they began to consider themselves as man and wife.
Now a certain gentleman happened to arrive at Baffa about that time, on his own private affairs, whose name was Antigono, one advanced in years, and of more understanding than wealth; for by meddling much in the affairs of the King of Cyprus, he had found fortune very unkind to him. One day, when the merchant was gone about his business into Armenia, Antigono happened to pass by the house where Alatiel lodged, and seeing her at the window, he took more than ordinary notice of her, on account of her beauty: till at length he began to recollect that he had seen her somewhere before, but could by no means remember where. She, also, who had long been the sport of fortune, and knew not that the time was now drawing near when her sorrows were to have an end, as soon as she saw Antigono, remembered that she had seen him in no mean station in her father's service at Alexandria. Having now great hopes of regaining her former dignity by his advice and assistance, she took the opportunity of the merchant's absence to send for him. On his coming to her, she modestly asked him whether he was not Antigono of Famagosta, as she really believed. He answered, that he was, and added, - "Madam, I am convinced that I know you, but I cannot call to mind where it is that I have seen you; therefore, if it be no offence, let me entreat you to tell me who you are."
The lady, perceiving him to be the same person, wept very much, and throwing her arms about his neck, asked him at last, as one confounded with surprise, if he had never seen her at Alexandria? Then he immediately knew her to be Alatiel, the sultan's daughter, whom they supposed to have been drowned; and being about to pay homage to her, she would not suffer him to do it, but made him sit down. He then, in a most humble manner, asked her where she had been, and whence she now came? because for some years it had been believed, through all Egypt, that she was drowned. She replied, "I had much rather it had so happened than to have led such a life as I have done; and I believe my father, if he knew it, would wish the same." With these words the tears ran down her cheeks in great abundance. "Madam," he replied, "do not afflict yourself before it is necessary to do so; tell me only what has happened to you; perhaps it may be of such a nature that, by the help of God, we may find a remedy." "Antigono!" replied the fair lady, "I think when I see you that I behold my father: moved, therefore, with the like duty and tenderness that I owe to him, I shall reveal to you what I might have kept secret. There are few persons that I should desire to meet with sooner than yourself to advise me; if, therefore, when you have heard my whole story, you think there is any probability of restoring me to my former dignity, I must beg your assistance; if you think there is none, then I conjure you to tell no person living that you have either seen or heard anything about me."
After this preamble, she gave a full account of what had befallen her, from the time of her shipwreck to that very hour, shedding abundance of tears during the whole relation.
Antigono manifested sincere concern at what he had heard, and after thinking some little time about it, "Madam," he said, 'since it has never been known, in all your misfortunes, who you were, I will restore you to your father, to whom you shall be more dear than ever, and afterwards you shall be married to the King of Algarve." On her inquiring how that could be brought about, he let her know in what manner he intended to do it; and to prevent all danger from delay, he returned directly to Famagosta, and waiting upon the king, thus addressed him: - "My liege, you may, if you please, do great honour to yourself, and service to me, who am impoverished on your account, and that, too, without incurring any expense." The king desiring to know by what means, Antigono answered: "A young lady is just come to Baffa, daughter to the sultan, who was generally thought to have been drowned, and who, to preserve her honour, has undergone great calamities, and is now in poverty, and desirous of returning to her father: if, therefore, your majesty will deign to send her home under my conduct, it will redound greatly to your honour, and prove much to my advantage, nor can the sultan ever forget the favour." The king moved by a truly royal spirit, replied, that he was well pleased with the proposal, and immediately had Alatiel brought in great state to Famagosta, where she was received with all honour and respect, both by himself and the queen; and being questioned by them concerning her misfortunes, she made such answers as she had been taught beforehand by Antigono.
A few days afterwards, at her own request, she was sent with a great retinue both of lords and ladies, and conducted all the way by Antigono, to the sultan's court; where, with what joy they were all received, it is needless here to mention. When they had rested awhile after their journey, the sultan became desirous to know how it happened that his daughter was now living, and where she had been all this time, without his being ever able to hear a word about her. Thereupon Alatiel, who had all Antigono's lectures perfectly by heart, gave her father the following narration:
"You must know, my dear father, that about twenty days after my departure from you, our ship was split in the night by a violent tempest, and driven on the western coasts; nor did I ever learn what befell the men that were in it: I only remember this, that when daylight appeared, and I seemed recovered, as it were, from death to life, certain peasants of the country spying the v,"reck, came to plunder it; whilst I was carried first on shore, with two of my women, who were immediately borne away by some young fellows, and taken different ways, so that I could never learn what became of either of them. I also was seized by two of them, making the best defence I could; and as they were dragging me towards a wood by the hair of my head, four persons on horseback came riding by, when they immediately left me and fled. Then the gentlemen on horseback, who appeared to possess some authority, came to me, and we spoke to each other, without either knowing what the other said. At last, after conferring together, they sat me upon one of their horses, and carried me to a monastery of religious women, according to their laws, where I was kindly received, and always treated with honour; and there I joined them in paying great devotion to a certain idol of theirs, called San Cresci in Val Cava, (*1: This saint is not in the calendar - perhaps because his rites are performed in secret. His attributes are implied in his name.) which is held in the highest esteem by the women of that country. After I had been there for some time, and learnt a little of their language, they began to inquire of me who I was, and whence I came; and I (fearful of telling the truth, lest they should turn me out as an enemy to their religion) made them believe that I was daughter of a gentleman of Cyprus, who sending me to be married to one of Crete, we happened to be driven thither by ill weather, and shipwrecked. Conforming to their customs in many things, for fear of the worst, I was asked, at length, by the chief among them, whom they call Lady Abbess, whether I desired to return to Cyprus? I answered, that there was nothing I desired more. But she, tender of my honour, would never trust nxe with any persons that were going to Cyprus, till, about two months ago, certain French gentlemen with their ladies came that way, one of whom was related to the abbess; and, understanding that they were going to visit the holy sepulchre at Jerusalem, where he whom they believe to be God was buried, after he had been put to death by the Jews, the abbess recommended me to them, and desired that they would deliver me to my father at Cyprus. What respect and civilities I received both from the gentlemen and their ladies, would be needless to mention. Accordingly we went on ship-board, and came in a few days to Baffa, where I arrived a stranger to every person, and not knowing what to say to these gentlemen, who were to present me to my father; when behold (by the great providence of God), the first person I met with upon the shore was Antigono. I called to him in our own language (that none of them might understand us) and desired him to own me as his daughter. He easily understood my meaning, and showing great tokens of joy, entertained them as well as his narrow circumstances would allow, and brought me to the King of Cyprus, who received and sent me hither, with such marks of respect as I am no way able to relate: if there be anything omitted in this relation, Antigono, who has often heard the whole from me, will report it."
Antigono, then turning to the sultan, said, "My lord, according both to her own account, and the information of the gentlemen and their wives, she has said nothing but truth.
One part only she has omitted, as not suiting with her great modesty to report, namely, what the gentlemen and their ladies told me of the most virtuous life that she led amongst those religious women, and their great concern at parting, which, if I were fully to recount to you, would take up both this day and night too. Let it suffice, then, that I have said enough (according to what I could both hear and see) to convince you that you have the fairest as well as the most virtuous daughter of any prince in the world."
The sultan was overjoyed with this relation; begging, over and over, that God would pour down his blessings on all who had showed favour to his daughter; and particularly the King of Cyprus, who had sent her home so respectfully. Having bestowed great gifts upon Antigono, he gave him leave to return to Cyprus; and sent letters, as also a special ambassador to the king, to thank him on her account. And now, desiring that what he had formerly proposed should take effect: namely, that she should be married to the King of Algarve; he wrote to give him a full relation of the whole matter, adding, that he should send for her, if he desired the match to proceed. The king was much pleased with the news, and sent in great state, and received her as his queen; whilst she, who had passed through the hands of eight men, now came to him as a pure virgin, and lived happily with him all the rest of her life: - so true is the old saying, "Kissed lips lose no favour, but renew themselves like the moon."
[This story is taken from the romance of Xenophon Ephesius, and has furnished La Fontaine with his tale of "La Fiancée du Roi de Garbe.”
