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the Dervise prepared himself to receive the pro- || by an honest and worthy merchant that you are a rogue, whom justice will punish as you deserve, if a second similar complaint be made against you."

mised treasure; but it passed without any of the Cadi's slaves appearing. This night was to him of an inexpressible length. As soon as it was day-light, he went to the judge: "I come," said he, to learn why his honour has not sent his slaves to me." "Because I have been informed

The Dervise made a low bow, and retired, without speaking a word.

THE MONK.

MR. EDITOR,

THE following narrative was written by M. de la Harpe, and was first printed a little before the French Revolution, or rather at the time when the first symptoms of that great political crisis appeared, just at the epocha when it was in agitation to suppress all religious vows. This was in 1789. Thirteen years after, it was expected that the re-establishment of monasteries would be demanded; and this paper was re-printed. It has never been translated, and may, perhaps, be thought worth preserving in your Magazine.

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On the pleasant and cultivated hills, which at a distance command the delicious landscape formed by the banks of th Khone, not far from Avignon, the woods belonging to a famous monastery of the order of Camaldules are seen. A more agreable, more fresh, more solitary umbrage may be sought for in vain. Nature is there simple without being savage, and beautiful without ornament. This walk being near my retreat, is the most frequented by me: it shelters from heat, and is an asylum for reveries. entered it not long since, towards the decline of day, when the calm of the country and the cool of the evening excite tender sensations, which Never had those are best enjoyed in silence. woods appeared more beautiful to me; I fancied every thing I saw was tranquil and happy. Whilst I was ruminating on this idea, I perceived at the end of an alley a man advancing, covered with a long white robe, he was walking with slow steps; and at that moment, where all around me seemed Elysium, I was willing to fancy him a happy shade. But I soon had reason to entertain a very different opinion. As he drew nearer, I saw on his face the prints of sorrow and misfortune; a gloomy and fatal character was engraven in the wrinkles of his front, and in the furrows of his hollow cheeks. From time to time, he cast sinister looks around him, and concluded with dropping them towards the ground; it appeared as if the fine day and beautiful country, were to

him afflictive and importune. Thus Milton represents to us the angel of darkness apostrophis. ing in his anger the planet of hight; or thus might be painted Arimanes, the genius of evil, viewing the creation to curse it, and disturb it. I approached him: "Father," said 1, (for he was one of those men who are always called Fathers, and who are prohibited from ever becoming so), "how charming are these woods which encompass your dwelling! and how greatly must you enjoy them! Those souls who are no longer agitated with the passions of the world are the more sensible of the attractions of nature and solitude, and the enjoyments of your age, are repose and a fine day."

:

"Young man," said he, " you are mistaken in every thing what you term my dwelling, is my prison; in solitude the passions ferment with more bitterness: Nature is never beautiful to the wretched, and without peace of mind, there is no fine day."

"Ah! what can now disturb that peace? your white hairs attest long experience-What errors can still molest the old age of a solitary being?"

"Certainly I have lived long, and lived alone. Do you fancy our chain becomes lighter for having worn it fifty years?"

"But that chain, did not you choose it?""Those who have chosen it often finish with "And detesting it, but it was forced upon me." who exercised that abominable tyranny on you?" "My father." "He was then a barbarian!"— "No, he was only weak, and domineered by an imperious wife. We were many children. It entered into my mother's arrangements that I should take the monastic habit; it was she who governed: I showed great repugnance to obey her, and my father resisted for a long while. This contrariety of opinions caused a domestic war, which imbittered his life, He conjured me with tears in his eyes to embrace that condition which he began to think indispensable. I could not bear to see my father unhappy, and I resolved to become so myself; I even hoped to be less so

than I had imagined at first. I fancied one might soon be accustomed to what might appear hardships: youth is susceptible of all kinds of courage. But courage exhausts itself when it sees no term to its efforts. The time came when all the illusions of enthusiasm, all the errors of imagination, gave place to overwhelming truth. Then all my fantastic props fell around me; I looked and saw nothing but a desert, and despair. I was surrounded with unhappy wretches become wicked, who watched each other, and sought to surprise in the hearts of others complaints which they smothered in their own. I held them in execration, I avoided their society. After the death of my mother, I made vain efforts to get released from vows which were involuntary.These useless steps gave my companions a fatal advantage, of which hypocrisy always abuses. The slave willingly becomes an oppressor. I had only one means of revenge. The greatest ambition of my fellow-monks was to make proselytes: mine was to drive them away; I resolved that every one I might converse with should know from me the dangers, the shame, and the horrors of the monastic life. These woods are pretty well frequented. Solitude speaks to the imagination. There is an age where nothing more is wanting to give birth to a transient delirium which produces irremediable evils. I do not believe you to be attacked by this madness; but at all events look at that fatal dwelling, and read on the threshold these words, which an Italian poet says he read on the gates of hell:"You who enter into this place, renounce hope.'

I was shocked to hear him. "You have led a terrible life," said I, "but it nevertheless appears, and is to me a consolatory idea, that evils have not blemished your soul. The care which you take to warn imprudent persons of the snare in which they might fall, bespeaks a sensible and compassionate heart."

"You forget," replied he, "I told you that care was only a vengeance. I hate my companions because they have injured me; but I cannot love men who tolerate those barbarous institutions. Unhappy ever since my birth, to whom can I owe a sentiment of benevolence?"

"Perhaps to him who pities you."

"When these abominable retreats are burnt to the ground, then will I believe in piety and justice."

"But you must be sensible how many men can say to you, as 1 do: it is not my fault if a fanatic founded this house, and if a cruel mother forced you into it."

"My mother!"

He remained ilent a moment; his looks made me shudder." My mother! I cursed her a long while, when each revolving year returned the day

on which I first pronounced my vows. But I no longer curse her."

"You have ceased hating?"

He looked at me for some time, then he continued with a bitter smile: "I have nothing to conceal from you; I have nothing to fear. I believed I pronounced maledictions, that a just and avenging being heard them. I no longer believe it."

I was struck with these words "What! you have suffered so much in this life, and you will not hope any thing from the other?" It no more depends on us to adopt errors than to discover truths. Without doubt religious ideas are the charm of misfortune; they would be more valuable to me than my sad conviction. But can we cast our eyes on this dreadful chaos of evils and crimes, and believe it to be the work of a perfect being! I look on all men as feeble parcels of a perishable matter, the sport of an invincible necessity, as long as for them shall last that system they suppose to be the essential order of things, and which is only one of the transitory combina tions which are lost in the innumerable revolu tions of eternity. My lot has been bitter. I must fulfil my destiny: it will end."

"Thus, in your future, a single instant fixes your attention."-"Yes, that which will be my last; it comes very slowly."

"Your ingenuousness," said I," must excuse mine. I must communicate one reflection. I do not comprehend how; when for you the other life is a chimera, and this one a torment." I hesitated-" Make an end," said he. I continued, "I cannot conceive after all I have heard, how I should meet you this day, walking quietly in these woods."

"I understand you. There was a time when I might have taken that step: then I dared not, I was still fearful. I now fear nothing. But when my reason became enlightened, my soul was dejected; I was in despair, and had lost my courage; I abandoned myself to the habitude of suffering. There is an age at which man will not part with life; it continually afflicts him, and quits him by degrees, without his having the force to cast it off."

Whilst we were thus conversing, the face of nature was changed. The storm approached on heaps of clouds; the night was growing dark. We walked on without speaking a word; but from time to time flashes of lightning shed a livid light over his features, which made them more hideous.

We were advancing towards the convent, and were already near it. It seemed as if the tempest had settled on its roof; the thunder rumbled all round with redoubled claps.

I perceived the forehead of the old monk to

brighten for a moment. "O! if the fire of heaven," cried he, "could but consume that odious inclosure, and all the wretches it contains!"

"You have then not one friend there?"

"A friend-we all call one another brothers, and we are all slaves."

After these words he entered into the dwelling he had just been cursing, and the door shut him in.

My soul was deeply sorrowful. I saw that misfortune, when extreme, ends with rendering the heart callous, and that the complaints of despair become blasphemies. This wretch, who might have found consolation and refuge in the

|| idea of a God, preferred to renounce it, in order to have the more right to hate mankind.

O! thou supreme and necessary Being, in whom I believe, because every thing announces thee, thou hast not created beauty that men should avoid admiring it; thou has not spread out the riches of the creation that men should inhabit dungeons; thou hast not planted in our hearts the want we feel of loving our fellow-creatures, in order that we might unceasingly frustrate that want, and love nothing.

Men have disfigured thy works, before they denied their author; and the atheist has dared to say; Thou hast not made me; and the fanatic has said, Thus hast thou made me.

CELESTINA.-A SPANISH TALE.

CELESTINA, an orphan, and heiress to an immense fortune, was, at seventeen, the most celebrated beauty in Granada. She lived with her uncle, a cross, avaricious old man, named Don Alonzo, who was occupied all the day in counting his ducats, and all the night in silencing the serenades which were played before Celestina's windows. Alonzo had the design of marrying his ward to his son Don Henriquez, who, for ten years, had been pursuing his studies at the University of Salamanca, and began to explain Cornelius Nepos with tolerable facility.

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All the young cavaliers of Granada were in love with Celestina: the only opportunity they had of beholding her was at mass; and every day the church she frequented was filled with young and fashionable men. Amongst these was a captain of cavalry, named Don Pedro, who had attained this rank at the age of twenty. His fortune was small, but his family was one of the most ancient in that country; and so eminently || was he distinguished for his wit and handsome person, that he attracted the attention of all the ladies of Granada. But he had eyes for Celestina alone; and she, who had perceived this, began to return his glances.

Our two lovers corresponded, and were mutually delighted with each other; but Don Pedro wished for something more; he had long solicited the permission of conversing with Celestina at her lattice, according to the custom of Spain, where a window is much more useful at night than in the day, as it is the general place of rendezvous. At midnight, when the streets are deserted, the young Spaniard, wrapped in his mantle, and armed with his sword, walks, invoking love and darkness, towards a lattice, grated on the outside, and within inclosed by shutters. Soon they are slowly opened; a fair damsel appears, and in tremulous accents enquires if any one be there. Her lover, transported with joy, re-assures her; they converse in a whisper; the same things are repeated a thousand times; vows fly through the grating. But day begins to dawn, and they must separate. Another hour is spent in adieus; and they quit each other, without having uttered an infinite number of interesting things which they had intended to say.

Celestina's lattice was on the ground floor, on a retired ill-built spot, inhabited only by the lowest order of people. Here Don Pedro's old nurse occupied a miserable chamber, directly opposite to Celestina's window. Our hero, upon making this discovery, paid the old woman a visit; and said to her, "My good mother, I have too long allowed you to remain in poverty, for which forgetfulness I am very culpable, and am determined to repair my fault by giving

In this manner passed two months, and Don Pedro had not yet dared to address his fair enslaver; his eyes, however, had been very eloquent. At the end of this time our lover found means to convey a letter to his mistress, which informed her of what she already knew. The rigid Celestina had no sooner perused it than, with much dig-you an apartment in my own house. Come and nity, she caused it to be returned to Don Pedro. But as she possessed a very retentive memory, she did not let a word of its contents escape her; and, at the end of a week, was able to answer every sentence of it.

take possession of it immediately, and yield this miserable one up to me." The worthy woman, surprised and affected to tears by his kind offer, would have refused, but he urged her so warmly that it was impossible to resist his entreaties;

and, kissing the hand of her beneficent nursling, || aggressors: he soon wounded two, and made the she consented to the exchange.

Never did a monarch take possession of a palace with more joy than Don Pedro felt while establishing himself in his nurse's chamber. As soon as night arrived, Celestina appeared at her lattice; she promised to do the same every other evening, and faithfully kept her word, for each twilight found her there. These nocturnal meetings increased the passion which these lovers felt, and soon every hour was stolen from sleep, and the whole day employed in writing to each other. They enjoyed, for some time, this delirium of happiness without interruption, when, unexpectedly, Alonzo's son, Henriquez, Celestina's destined husband, arrived from Salamanca, bringing with him, for his intended, a declaration of love, written in Latin, which his professor had obligingly composed for him.

The lovers held a consultation at the lattice, meantime the old guardian was preparing the marriage contract; and the day was fixed which was to make Celestina the wife of Henriquez. What was to be done? No alternative rem ai ed but flight. This, at length, was agreed upon. They determined to seek a refuge in Portugal, to begin by being united, and then to plead their cause with the old guardian. Celestina was to take with her a casket of diamonds, which had belonged to her mother. These were very valu able, and were to support the young couple until Don Alonzo was appeased. Never was an undertaking conceived with more prudence.

Nothing remained but to escape unperceived"; and to accomplish this, it was necessary to possess the key of the lattice. Celestina soon succeeded in this; and immediately it was settled that the following night, at eleven o'clock, Don Pedro should, after having left horses in waiting at the extremity of the town, come and fetch Celestina, who was to descend into the street by her window; and they were both to take the road leading to Portugal.

Don Pedro employed all the day in making preparations for his journey. Celestina, on her side, arranged and deranged the casket which was to accompany them, twenty times. She was very careful in placing in it a very fine emerald, which she had received from her lover, and was ready at eight o'clock in the evening; ten had not struck, when Don Pedro, who had left a carriage in waiting, in the road to Andalusia, with a heart palpitating with joy, approached Celestina's dwelling.

He was on the point of arriving, when he heard a cry for help, and saw two men attacked by five ruffians, who, armed with swords and sticks, make use of them with all possible dexterity.The brave Pedro forgot every thing to fall on the

other three save themselves by flight. What was his surprise at recognizing in those he had delivered, Don Alonzo and his son, Henriquez! The young cavaliers of the town, who all paid homage to Celestina's beauty, knowing that Henriquez was going to rob them of her, had been wicked enough to cause their rival to be insulted by assassins, a species of villains too common in Spain; and without the valour of Don Pedro, the old miser and young scholar would have had some difficulty in escaping from their daggers.

Pedro attempted to escape; but Henriquez, who prided himself in having learned politeness at Salamanca, swore that he should not leave him that night. Pedro, in despair, had already heard eleven strike. Alas! he little knew the misfortune that awaited him.

One of the ruffians he had put to flight, with his face concealed in his mantle, passed before Celestina's window. The night was very dark, and the unfortunate maiden, who had opened the grating while waiting for Don Pedro, when she perceived the assassin, thought she saw him approach. She held out her hand to him with a mixture of impatience and joy, and presenting the casket, said: "take our diamonds, while I descend." At the word diamonds, the ruffian suddenly stopped, seized the casket, and, without saying a word, precipitately fled, while Celestina was employed in quitting her abode.

Judge of her surprise, when alone in the street; she gazed around her, and could no longer descry the person she had taken for Don Pedro. She at first imagined he had proceeded onwards to avoid suspicion; hastily walked forwards, and sought him with her eyes, called him in a low voice; but no one answered her. Terror seized her, and she knew not what to do. Should she return home, or leave the town and seek the carriage Pedro had pomised to have in waiting? Not knowing how to decide, she walked forward, with trembling steps, and soon lost her way, while solitude and darkness augmented her fears. At length she met a man, and, in a faultering voice, asked him how far were the gates of the city? The man directed her. Celestina began to breathe, and proceeded with renovated courage. She soon passed through the walls of Granada; but could descry no carriage in waiting. She did not yet dare to accuse her lover, but still hoping to find him farther on, she continued to walk, terrified at the sight of every bush that crossed her path; at every step she called on the name of Pedro; and the more she advanced, the more she was bewildered, for this road was the opposite one to that of Portugal.

Don Pedro, however, had not been able to

get rid of the grateful Henriquez and his father.
Without leaving him for a moment, they obliged
him to accompany them home. Pedro, thinking
that Celestina would soon be made acquainted
with the cause of his delay, agreed to follow
them. As soon as they were arrived, Don Alonzo
repaired to his ward's chamber to acquaint her
with the peril he had encountered; he called,
but received no reply; entered, but perceived the
lattice open. His cries spread an alarm through
the house. Pedro, on hearing that Celestina was
gone, determined instantly to follow her; and
Henriquez, thanking him for the interest he took
in his misfortune, wished to accompany him.-
But, to be certain of success, Pedro proposed
that they should take different routes.
He ran
to the spot where he had left a carriage in wait-
ing; and, not doubting that Celestina had taken
the road to Portugal, killed his horses to fly from
the object of his affection; while Henriquez
galloped towards the Apulchares, the very road
Celestina had followed.

The unhappy maiden journeyed on towards the Apulchares, enquiring for her dear Pedro of every person the darkness would permit her to distinguish. She at length heard a trampling of horses behind her, and her first thought was, that it might be her lover; but then she feared it might proceed from travellers, or even banditti; and, trembling with apprehension, quitted the road and hid herself behind some bushes. Soon Henriquez passed by, followed by several domestics. Our heroine shuddered at this sight; and fearful, if she continued pursuing the main road, of falling into the power of Don Alonzo, forsook it, and plunged into the thickest recesses of a wood.

meet.

"It was not he," would she exclaim, "who fled with my diamonds. How could I mistake another for him? How is it possible that my heart did not apprise me? He, doubtless, is now seeking me; I am certain he is, he is in despair at my loss; and I shall die unknown, far from him I love."

As Celestina pronounced the last words, she heard the sound of a rustic flute, which proceeded from the foot of the cave in which she was seated. She listened, and soon a pleasing, though uncultivated voice, sang the following

words to a rural air :

"Fleet as the passing breath, is love's delight, "As lasting as the dream of life, his sorrow! "To day the sun sheds beams of light,

"Where tempests rage to-morrow.

"While down the rugged rock yon stream shall flow,

"Responsive to thine heart my heart will

beat."

"Why, Sylvia, soothe me with deceit,

"And bid my soul with hope to glow? "Ah! down the rugged rock yon stream still flows,

"But soon thine arms a rival will entwine;
"Farewell! in solitude no falsehood grows,
"Be joy thy lot, whilst woe is mine.

"Fleet as the passing breath, is love's delight,
"As lasting as the dream of life, his sorrow!
"To-day the sun sheds beams of light,
"Where tempests rage to-morrow."

"Who can appreciate the truth of thy lay better than the unhappy Celestina?" exclaimed our heroine, as she arose to seek the young musician. He, whose wild notes had so afflicted her, was a goat-herd, whom she soon discovered seated at the foot of a weeping-willow; his eyes were filled with tears as he gazed on the clear stream that gently meandered over the rude pebbles: in his hand he held a flute, by his side lay a stick, and a small bundle of clothes wrapped up

The Apulchares form a chain of mountains which extends from Granada to the Mediterranean: they are inhabited by shepherds and husbandmen. A barren and sandy soil, towering oaks here and there, waterfalls, the noise of cascades, and some goats climbing the rocks, were the only objects which presented themselves to Celestina's view at the dawn of morning. Sink-in a goat's skin. "Shepherd," said Celestina, ing with fatigue and pain, her feet torn by the stones, she stepped beneath a rock, through which flowed a limpid stream. The silence of this cave, the sylvan scene which surrounded her, the distant sound of torrents, the murmur of that water which fell drop by drop, into a bason hollowed by the rude hand of nature, all combined to make Celestina more acutely feel that she was alone, in the midst of a desert, abandoned by thewhere, you must know, that this day I should see whole universe. Reclined beside the stream, in which her tears dropped at intervals, reflecting on the misfortunes with which she was menaced, her heart filled with the image of Don Pedro, she still flattered herself that they should one daybrance of what I have lost." These few words

"since you have been forsaken by her you loved, have pity on a stranger who has also been forsaken, and instruct me how I may find, in these mountains, an habitation where I may seek, not rest, but bread."-" Alas! Madam," answered the herdsman, "I would conduct you to the village of Gadara, situated behind these rocks; but you will not ask me to return there,

her I love, the bride of my rival. I am quitting these mountains never to return; and take nothing with me but my flute, one suit of clothes, which I have in this bundle, and the remem

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