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WHEN our hero returned home, he entertained some qualms in his mind, relative to this en|joined flagellation; he could not help thinking it a very foolish custom, nor could he conceive how a
lover's cutting his flesh to pieces, could be of any use to his mistress.
Upon the whole, he found, though he loved Lucilla much, he loved himself more, and discovered, that a lover may say a great deal, and mean little, promise much, and design to perform nothing.
His determination was therefore, neither to hurt him|self, nor lose his mistress; he had an abhorrence for the one, and a contrivance for the other.
Instead of supplying himself with one of the usual whips, he substituted in its place, a whip to all outward appearance similar, but in effect, totally different.
The handle was like the common ones, but in lieu of three leather thongs, he had fastened three small eel-|skins filled with blood, to the end of it.
Thus provided, he repaired the next day to the Al|cazar Street, and having just before he approached Lu|cilla's window, pricked tne skins in several places, he began to lash himself to all appearance, in a most un|merciful manner.
The blood plentifully issued from the apertures in the eel-skins: his shoulders, back, and sides were dread|fully crimsoned over, and appeared in a condition so ghastfully sanguine, that even Lucilla, used as she had been to such a custom, and cruelty vain of such a token of respect, thought he had suffered too much, and given a proof sufficiently bloody of a servent, affection.
She beckoned him to cease lashing himself and ap|peared perfectly well satisfied with his excessive gallantry.
He bowed and retired, walking away as if al|most seinting with loss of blood, but laughing in his sleeve at the success of his stratagem, pleasing himself
〈◊〉〈◊〉ca of the reward he was to receive for his
THE ensuing evening, our hero repaired to the usual place, the duenna met him as before, and introduced him to the lady, into whose presence he came, in full expectation of a reward for his ingenious deception; and indeed it must be admitted, that he was much more deserving of it, than if he had really lashed himself as she fancied he had, in compliance with a custom, at once so cruel and absurd.
As for the lady, she was satisfied with the discipline she imagined he had given himself; this consideration, joined to the natural warmth of her disposition, and a kind of prepossession in favor of young Montague, was sufficient to make her recede from any more punctil|ios; she thought he had sacrificed enough at the shrine of decorum, and therefore as a just saint, to whom as a votary, he had appeared assiduously fervent, she deter|mined to reward the ardency of his vows.
In fine, our hero was as happy, as pleasures mereby sensual could make him.
But as the lovers became mutually pleased, the du|enna grew displeased. In the course of her mistress's amour with Don Carlos, she had received many valua|ble douceurs; but this was not the case with our hero, he had nothing worth her acceptance to give, nor in|deed,
did he entertain the idea that such presents were necessary.
As for Don Carlos, by the means of friends, and evincing his innocence, he soon obtained his liberty.
The duenna no sooner understood this, than she made him acquainted, that a happy rival had during his confinement, supplanted him in the affections of his mistress; though this rival, she cunningly added, was far his inferior, not only in family and fortune, but in personal and mental accomptishments.
This information was sufficient to rouze the indigna|tion of Don Carlos, who was a true Spaniard as far as a possession of all the local follies oi Spain could go. He thought his honour concerned, he felt his heart touched, and his pride exceedingly hurt. He therefore swore by the blood of an old Christian, to have revenge. * 1.1
We have already mentioned, that when the Span|iards fancy themselves grosly affronted, they do not seek what in other parts of Europe is called an honour|able revenge, but without remorse, have recourse to assassination. This was the thought that occurred to Don Carlos, and our hero was very near falling a vic|tim to his vindictive temper, and the barbarous custom of his country.
DON Carlos, deeming the office of assassin too mean for himself, employed a Bravo, (that is, one who lets himself out for hire, to execute the hon|ourable office of murderer) to dispateh his rival.
However, on the evening in which the fatal deed was to be perpetrated, young Montague's fortunate star happened to predominate; the Bravo, who way-laid him coming from Lucilla's intended to stab him in the heart with a dagger, but our hero luckily giving a sud|den start, he only slightly wounded him in the shoulder.
Chagrined not to have succeeded, he prepared to repeat his blow, which Montague, apprized of his de|sign, attempted to ward off, by twisting his cloak round his arm, a thing usual in Spain, when a rencounter hap|pens: the stroke did not succeed according to the Ruf|fian's wish; but however, our hero was desperately wounded in the right side. He fell, and the villain would have dispatched him, had it not been for the sound of some Ce••ecrro bells, * 1.2 which terrified him away, lest he should be taken by the muleteers, who must of consequence attend them.
The ruffian happily left our hero, but the mules turned down another street, and he remained for some time weltering in his blood, till his cries were over|heard in a house near where he lay.
He waS soon brought in by the servants, and taken proper care of that night.
This timely benevolence happened to be extended to him by the domesties of the English Ambassador, near whose hotel he was attacked.
The next day when he was attended by the surgeon who had dressed his wouads over night, of which, from the lose of blood, he was then insensible, he soon per|ceived that he was an Englishman.
This rejoiced him exceedingly, his misfortune had lessened his avidity for Spanish intrigues, and the loss of his blood had cured him very expeditiously of his passion for Lucilla. He therefore without scruple, in|formed the surgeon who he was, and of every thing which had befallen him since his last elopement from school.
This information was speedily communicated to the ambassador, who no sooner understood his rank and in discretion, than he resolved to send him to his friends with all convenient expedition.
His youth, and the skill of the surgeon who attended him, soon re-established his health; and the difrelish which he now began to entertain for Spain, made him fall into the ambassador's proposal of sending him to England, with great pleasure.
He accordingly embarked for his native country, and after a pleasant voyage, arrived there in very good health and high spirits.
Upon the ambassador's serious representation by let|ter,
his noble relations received him with caresses, in|stead of chidings, and, without upbraiding 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as He expected, treated him in such a manner at to make him forget that he had ever committed an indiscretion.
It was concluded, that he should no more go to Westminster school, or any other public seminary of learning, but regain what he had lost, and complete the remainder of his education at home, under the inspar|tion of some gentlemen, eminent in every branch of useful and polite literature, who were employed as pri|vate preceptors for that purpose.
YOUNG Montague's private tuition answered the most sanguine wishes of his relations and friends. His preceptors took uncommon pains, with a genius naturally bright and penetrating, and he repaid their as|siduity by an improvement and persoverance in study little expected from one of his volatile turn of mind. In fine, he happily blended the polite arts with the more abstracted sciences and solid parts of philosophy, and gave the fairest promise of becoming the complete gentleman.
One evening as he was taking his usual walk in the Park, a young woman tripped by him with great soem|ing expedition.
The symmetry of her shape and her nimbleness, at|tracted
his notice; he redoubled his haste to get again before her, that he might have an opportunity of ob|serving her countenance.
He soon overtook her, and viewed her with admira|tion. She blushed on noticing the earnestness of his looks. The crimson glow ot modesty which over|spread her cheeks, gave an additional charm to her na|tive beauty.
Her features were regular; her complexion to the last degree lovely; while the brilliancy of her eyes, and ruddiness of her cheeks, bespoke both health and vivacity.
She ap••••a••ed to have been but little used to compa|ny, or the t ••••Iresses of men, by her manifest confusion; and seemed b•• the simplicity of her dress, which was extremely pl•••• though exceeding neat, not to be above the ordinary ••nk
He determined to enter into conversation with her. At first she appeared very coy, but at length gave him pertinent answers to every question he asked.
From the conversation he had with her, he found that she was only the daughter of a washer-woman; that her mother, who was a widow, had sufficient busi|ness to enable them to live comfortably; that she as|sisted her mother, and was going to Pimlico to fetch a gentleman's linen for whom they washed.
He would fain have engaged her to meet him again, but this she abolutely refused, alledging that she would do nothing without the knowledge of her mother; she however at length agreed that he should call upon her, and gave him her address accordingly.
He frequently visited her, and having gained upon her affections, made several flattering proposals to se|duce
her from her virtue. But he found his endeavors in vain; she had too much modesty to become the vic|tim of his artifices, and her mother too much affection for her child, as well as vigilance, not to prevent his success by an illicit means.
A negative he had never expected, was a double sti|mulative to his disposition, naturally amorous and impa|tient; the obstacles thrown in his way, increased the slame that began to consume him.
He determined to enjoy the fair Patty, (for what was our juvenile washer-woman's name) at any rate. He, therefore, mad with his passion, an careless of the con|sequences, proposed marriage.
This proposal was joyfully received both by mother and daughter and the only stipulations which his small remains of prudence suggested, were to keep the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a secret, untill he became of age, as the publication of such a secret might materially affect in future fortune.
This restriction was acceded to by both, for particu|lar reasons, as they imagined that the marriage being known would be the means of hunting both him and themselves.
Our hero was not only become a poet, put a mighty essayist, and having quitted his bed one morning much earlier than usual, he spent about an hour in penning an Essay on Prudence, then dressed himself, and repaired to his pretty washer-woman, with an intent to commit one of the most Imprudent actions he had ever done in his life, for he immediately took her to the Fleet and married her.
Though both mother and daughter had promised, and indeed knew it to be their interest, to keep this indiscreet step of our hero's a secret; yet it did not re|main long so.
The old woman, who was always fond of exhilarating her spirits, and cherishing her heart with a vivifying cordial in secret, thought upon her daughter's good for|tune, that she could not be too bountiful in regaling her neighbours, and pouring forth her thanks in copious li|bations to Bacchus.
One day in the fulness of her joy and plenitude of her cups, she could not forbear communicating her hap|piness to some of her most particular associates. She informed them not only of her daughter's secret mar|riage, but of our hero's rank, family, and expectancies.
This information, instead of giving pleasure, raised the envy of her neighbours; without considering her hospitality, they hated her for her good fortune, and most of them having daughters, could not without sigh|ing see the success of poor Patty. Such is the ca|price of human nature, that our neighbours good seems our bane.
On receiving the intelligence, they had promised the old woman the strictest secrecy, but as they could not imagine that so unequal a match was concluded with the approbation of our hero's family, they determined it should not long remain a secret.
Malice is seldom dilatory in effecting its purposes; it may therefore be naturally supposed, that young Mon|tague's relation and friends were very speedily apprised of his imprudence.
This information gave them more concern than any of his former follies, as it appeared irreparable, the fleet marriage at that time being good in law, and no restric|tive act having then passed to prevent the indiscretion or minors.
But to preserve as much at possible the dignity of their family, and the credit of our hero, they thought
proper to enter into a negociation with our newly exalted washer-woman and her mother, who being threatened, persuaded, and promised, and finding what pow|erful people they had to deal with, at length agreed to relinquish all manner of claim to and upon the young gentleman, to forego his name, preserve the most inviolable secrecy in future, and retire upon a decent pension into the country.
These were no sooner sent from the metropolis, than they thought proper to dispatch young Montague to the continent, under the conduct of a gentleman every way qualified for so important a charge.
IN Paris our hero launched into every fashionable dissipation, and his tutor's care and assiduity were too little to restrain him from engaging in all the polite follies, or rather vices, of that celebrated metropolis.
He became a Scavoir Vivre, belonging to all the so|cieties then on the Ten, and being exceedingly fond of occult sciences, entered himself into a select association of Rosicrusians, who went under the denomination of the Mystic Philosophers, These recommended to those of their society to peruse the most obstruse of the pole|mic writers, the works of the hermetic philosphers, and such authors as Cornel••us ••g••ipp••, Trisme••stus, Friar Bacon, Albertus Magnu••, &c. What the particulars were relative to this association, we cannot tell but be|lieve from the slight manner in which Mr. Montague
used to mention it in his maturer years, that it promi|sed mere than it performed, and only revealed to its disciples a few secrets that were either futile or danger|ous to be put in experiment.
As it is usual at the French Comedy to sup in the boxes, our hero having been one evening to see the cel|ebrated comedy of Tartuffe and the entertainment of Le Medicin malgre lui, ordered a cold collation.
The moment it was brought in, he perceived in one corner of the box a smart female, whom he had not be|fore observed.
Having since his abode in Paris considered politeness as a science, and studied it even upon Cheston f••••ldian principles it may be imag••••••d that he could not hesi|tate to ask the lady to partake of his collation with him.
He paid her that compliment; she accepted of it, for the French are easy in their manners, and seldom refuse what is offered with a good grace.
Good-humour gave a relish to their entertainment, and their conversation was enlivened by repartee.
After they had supped, they sat very close together, till the conclusion of the entertainment, when he offer|ed to accommodate her with his carriage to any place she might command.
She accepted his proposal, but slipped from him in the crowd, and on his return home he missed his watch, his purse, and his pocket-book; he had no doubt, but the lady who had partook of his collation, had made free with his property, and his only consolation was, the reflection that he might send sufficiently early in the morning to his banker to stop the payment of some drafts to a considerable amount, which his pocket-book contained.
With this idea he went to bed, but slept till it was late in the morning, and not having given any previous direction to his servant over night to repair to the bank|er before he was up; on sending, he was informed that cash had already been given for the drafts.
To curse his folly would avail nothing, he therefore put up with his loss with a philosophic resignation, and did not in the least repine at what would have cha|grined many.
A FEW nights after his late accident our hero again repaired to the play-house. Curiosity led him to seat himself in Paradis,* 1.3 where he had not been long before he perceived the very lady to whom he had been so poiite, and who had so gratefully rewarded him.
He formed the design of having her apprehended. She perceived his intent; and he had no sooner left his feat to go in quest of some officers of justice, than she made her escape.
She however perceived enough to find that he would punish her whenever he met her, though he had not ac|quainted the Police of the affair.
This suggestion led her to keep herself private, until she could put a scheme, which her vindictive spirit had furnished her with, into execution.
A few nights afterwards our hero heard a loud knocking at his door at a very late hour.
He looked out of the window and perceived a fiacre* 1.4 very near, and four men at the door.
He enquired who they were; they replied musque|teers, and that they must have immediate admittance.
While he was partying with them, the landlady who heard with terror that tremendous name, opened the street door.
They immediately burst in, and hastening to our he|ro's chamber, broke into the room and seized him with|out ceremony.
He demanded the: reason of this violent proceeding.
They only replied that they belonged to the Bastile, and had an order from government to apprehend him.
It was in vain for him to expostulate, for the only answer was, that they must obey their orders, that he had offended the state and that their business was to seize his person and seal up his effects.
To resist was impossible and they prevented him from crying out by gagging him.
Then dragging him to the fiacre, two of them const|ned him there, while the others were busied in sealing up his effects, as they pretended.
When they had effected their purpose, they all four drove away in the coach with him; but before they had gone far, had the precaution to blindfold him.
Having drove for a considerable time, they at length stopped, and taking him out of the fiac••e, led him he knew not whither.
They now bound him fast to something; he entreat|ed to know the rcason of his commitment; if they could inform him.
At length one of them asked him if he had not lately lost a pocket-book.
He replied in the affirmative, at the same time telling them that he had not only; lost his pocket book, but his watch and his money.
As for the watch and the money, returned the person who appeared the most communicative of the four, we know nothing about, nor indeed of the manner in which you lost the whole; but this we know, that your pock|et-book, by some means fell into the hands of govern|ment, who found some offensive papers therein, which have occasioned your apprehension.
Having given him this information, they rifled his pockets and left him.
In this dismal situation he began to ruminate on the misfortune which had befallen him: he recollected that in his.pocket-book there was a saty••ical poem, or kind of ••eud' esp••••t entitled Royal Ahsurdities, in which he had severely lashed some of the follies to which his most Christian Majesty was addicted.
This he had no doubt was the cffensive paper allu|••••ed to; but how it fill into the hands of government, after having had his pocket picked of it, he could not conceive.
Indeed he conjectured that either the person, who had picked his pocket, after taking out the drafts and valuable papers, had thrown it away, and some person finding it, had, on account of that poem, delivered it to the ministry, who soon came to me knowledge of the author, by his name being on the cover of the book, and then had ordered him to be apprehended; or that the lady, who had robbed him, finding that unfortunate paper, had thought it prudent to make her peace with the police, by sacrificing him to administration. For in the arbitrary government of France, an offence against majesty will supercede any against the public at large.
Terrified at the thoughts of being in the Bastile, and wearied with a thousand conjectures, he remained under the most dismal apprehensions till morning, when he was surprized at hearing a voice saying, What do you here?
The absurdity of this interrogatory puzzled him ex|ceedingly, more particularly as he thought the person who uttered it, as one belonging to the prison, must know that he was gagged, and consequently unable to answer it.
At length the bandage was taken from his eyes; and to his amazement, instead of the dismal walls of a ••••l to circumseribe his view, he beheld the glorious expanse of the heavens above his head, and a number of fruit|trees around him; and in lieu of an inhuman ••o••••er with a horrid aspect, he saw a peasant, with the ••••••les of innocence on his countenance, who appeared to en|joy the singularity of his fituation, and to be laughing at him.
He pointed to his month, the good-natured country|man conceived his meaning, and immediately released him from the gag.
As soon as he had a little recovered from his surprise
and brought his jaws, (which had been terribly distended) into some degree of composure, he exclaim|ed in his turn,
Where am I, and who brought me here?
As to where you are, replied the peasant, I can inform you; you are tied to a pear-tree in my orchard, from which confinement I will now release you, but as to who brought you here, I cannot tell, unless the devil was concerned in it.
Our hero let the peasant know as much of the affair as he thought proper: the poor fellow took him into his cottage, and refreshed him with all the place could afford; he then conducted him towards Paris, which was at the distance of about a league.
Montague, who was naturally generous, took him home to reward his hospitality.
When he came there, he found his tutor under the utmost concern for him; being alarmed by the dismal account he had received from the landlady.
Montague, having been stripped of all his money, borrowed sufficient of his tutor to reward the peasant amply, who returned home perfectly well satisfied.
Our hero, on examining, found that these gentry, in|stead of carefully fealing up his effects, had plundered him of every thiag valuable.
The whole mystery was now unriddled; he easily conceived the bottom of the affair for it was evident that these sham musqueteers were emissaries and ac|complices of the lady who had so dexterously picked his pocket; by the direction on his pocket-book they sound out the place of his residence, and the libel before mentioned, gave them the idea, as a colourable pretext of seizing his person in order to make themselves mas|ters
ters of his effects, by pretending to be officers of the Bastile, and accusing him of treasornable practices.
NOTWITHSTANDING his accumulated and great losses, be determined not to apprize the Po|lice of his misfortunes.
The artificers of this courtezan, and resolution of her Myrmadons, were too fresh in his memory to permit him to entertain any idea of redress; for he had no doubt, but was he to attempt to stir in the affair, as|sassination would be the inevitable consequence; and being released from the terrours of the Bastile, seemed a solatary consolation for his heavy losses.
He wrote to England for remittances, and letters of credit upon Holland, determining to visit that place be|fore he went to Italy, for he now began to grow dis|gusted with France.
As soon as his remittances arrived, he sat off by land; nothing material happened during his journey, at least nothing worth relating, and the places through which he passed, have been so frequently and accurately described, that it is unnecessary to mention them. Nor shall we in the course of this work, copy the trite senti|ments of other travellers, or the backneyed descriptions of well known places, which are to be found in other authors. We neither write as geographers, ichnogra|phers or navigators, but mean to present our readers with the most remarkable advantures which besol this
singular personage, and it the same time not to omit any thing curious relative to the countries through which he travelled.
According to our plan, therefore, as Holland is a country so universally well known, we shall not trouble the reader with any prolix narrations or local descrip|tions, but pass to the only adventure worthy of record, which besel him during his residence in the United Provinces.
At Amsterdam he became intimate with a Jew bro|ker, who transacted business for him.
This broker had a daughter who, though a brunette, possessed the most regular set of features imaginable, and had killing eyes.
She was vivacious and witty, but very positive and mighty fond of the ceremonials of the Mosaic law.
The charms of pretty Judith, for so was our Jewess named, soon awakened all that was amorous in the composition of our hero.
At first, as usual, he attempted seduction, but his ar|tifices not succeeding, he proposed marriage. This mode of proceeding seems to have been our hero's in|variable condact through the whole of his eccentric life.
Judith, knowing his rank and fortune, was proud of her conquest, and fond of his proposal, as she could not be indifferent to his person and accomplishments.
It is true, she was scarce turned of thirteen years of age, but that made no difference to nither. For, as on his part, youth could he no objection to a voluptuary; so on her's the want of a lover appeared more terrible than want of years.
No•• could her juvenility be any impediment in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of her father; for, (by the laws of the Talmud) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of j••ws are allowed to marry at eighteen, and the daughters when they have completed twelve years and a day.
When the affair was proposed to the broker,, he could not but be highly flattered by such an overture from a person of Montague's family; but yet, interest|ing as th•• prospect might appear, he had some reluc|tance to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 idea of bestowing his daughter on one of the uncircumcised. But as Montague's flame was not so intense as to engage him to undergo the operation, he absolutely refused to hear the affair mentioned, and the old Jew, swayed by motions of avarice, at length agreed to wave so disagreeable a proposition, and to ac|cede to the nuptials.
ONE stipulation, however, the old Jew insisted up|on, which was, that our hero should consent to be married after the Jewish ceremonial, and not accord|ing to the Christian ritual.
To this, Montague had no objection; his fondness of novelty, without any other motive, would have in|duced him to come into the proposal; but in fact he well knew that he was legally married to his pretty washer-woman, and that it was immaterial by what ce|remony he joined himself to any other woman. Add to this, he had no very delicate notions of moral recti|tude; his passion was sensual; he wished to enjoy our
pretty Jewess, and left to her and her father to fix upon the form by which he was to obtain the gratification of his desires.
The preleminaries being settled, the nuptial ceremo|ny was soon after performed.
As there is something very curious in a Jew marriage, and as many of our readers may be unacquainted with that ceremony, we shall present them with an ac|count of it.
Previous to the marriage, several of the friends meet in a convenient place, each having in his hand an ca〈◊〉〈◊〉 en vessel; the contract is then read, notice given of the day of marriage, and a declaration made, that the party who shall not stand to what is agreed, is to pay to the other a stipulated sum.
Then wishing happiness to each other, the young Jews throw their vessels upon the ground, concluding (as the Jews say) that the breaking of them portends plenty and good fortune. But we are rather inclined to think, that this part of the ceremony is an emblem of the frailty of our worldly purposes and delights.
On their departure a person at the door presents ev|ery one with a glass of wine, and some comfits. This is emblematical of chearfulness and plenty.
He that is to bless the marriage takes a glass of wine, and having given it his benediction, presents it to the married couple to drink; this is to signify that we owe a grateful acknowledgment of all our plenty to the bounty of the Almighty. The young couple then must not stir abroad for eight days, during which space their friends are, however, permitted to visit and make merry with them.
The day previous to the marriage, the woman is put
into a bath of cold water, by the rest of her sex, who make a hideous noise while they are bathing her.
The bridegroom then sends a matrimonial girdle to the bride, with a gold buckle; the bride returns a sim|ilar present, with this difference, that the buckle is sil|ver; this signifies that the man does more honor to the woman by taking her to be his wife, than she does to him, by admitting him to be her lord and master.
On the nuptial day, the bride is conducted to a chamber appointed for that purpose, by women who sing and dance before her, for a double motive; as they look upon such chearfulness to be both acceptable to God, and a preventive of gloominess or low spirits, which would appear as bad omens.
When the bridegroom is to receive the benediction, four young men carry a canopy into a garden or open place, beneath which the solemnity is performed.
The bridegroom, accompanied by the males, and the bride by the females, preceded by music, meet under the canopy; every one saying,
Blessed be he that cometh.
The bridegroom then walks three times round the bride, and takes her by the hand.
The company then scatter corn on them both, re|peating at the same time the scripture phrase, cre••cite et multiplicamini, that is increase and multiply. Thence probably arose the custom of having bride cakes among Christians. The whole is allegorical of an increase both in children and substance.
The bride then holds the bridegroom by the hand, and turns her face to the south, or to the meridian sun, which is the emblem of genral and procreative power.
The Rabbi then taking a glass of wine, and rehears|ing the mahzor prayers, gives it to the married couple to drink; if the bride is a virgin, he gives her a narrow glass; if a widow a wide one. Then receiving a plain gold ring, the Rabbi asks if it is gold; on being an|swered in the affirmative, he puts it on the bride's sec|ond singer, and reads the manage contract.
Then taking another glass of wine, and giving thanks to God, that the new married couple have plighted their troth, he presents it them to drink again; the bridegroom having drank, throws the glass with all his force against the wall of ground, in order to break it in remembrance of the destruction of Jerusalem.
Then black caps are placed on both their heads, to shew they are afflicted for the destruction of the temple, even in their greatest rejoicings.
Being led to a banquet, the bridegroom sings a kind of a hymn, then an egg and a hen, ready dressed are set before him; he presents a small piece to his bride, and immediately the company scramble for the rest, and whoever gets the largest piece, is esteemed the most fortunate.
The egg is then presented to the bride, as a prognos|tic of her bearing children, as easily as the hen her eggs.
They then sit down to a feast; after which a dance begins; the noblest person in the company takes the bridegroom by the hand, he another, and so the rest till they all join.
The principal woman takes the bride by the hand, and the rest of the women join, in a similar manner to the men. Thus the dance is long and confused, and the wedding, or rather the rejoicings, continue eight days.
OUR hero for some time was passionately fond of his young bride, but at length his natural vola|tility and sickleness prevailed, and he grew satiated with the enjoyment of that to which he found no obstacle.
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, Fades in his eye, and palis upon the sense.
As her attractions were only personal, so his passion was not permanent. Besides, he shortly found some real occasions of disgust: Judith was an absolute co|quette, and the broker an egregious sharper, so that he perceived he was likely, in a short time, to have his head furnished by the daughter, while his pockets were unfurnished by the father. He determined, therefore, to put an end to a connection from which he began to receive no pleasures, but knew he should sustain great loss.
But it behoved him to proceed with great caution; the old Jew was crafty, and from being naturally a rogue, was naturally suspicious.
He, therefore, pretended that himself and his wife were an incumbrance to the broker, besides not being sufficiently accommodated themselves; to remedy which, he took a genteel house, furnished and took his wife home.
He then, with as much precaution as possible, drew
his cash and notes out of the Jew's hands; not but the broker, though he deemed him his son-in-law, made him pay severely for having ever put any confidence in him.
In a short time, under pretence of being obliged to attend on his friends in England, relative to some af|fairs of the utmost consequence, he shipped his money and the principal of his effects; the youth and inexpe|rience of Judith not permitting her to make such shrewd observations on his conduct as her father, had he been in the same house, would probably have done. Nor, indeed, as she was indulged in every pleasure and amusement, did she in the least suspect has design.
Having every thing on board, which he thought proper to take, he embarked himself, and set sail, (not for England, as she imagined, but for Italy) leaving the house and furniture, with a sum of money, as a recom|pence to Judith for the loss of her supposed husband, and to make her some amends for his infidelity.
HE landed at Leghorn, and after staying in that place a short time, where nothing material hap|pened, he traversed the Italian States, observed what hath been a thousand times observed and saw what hath been a thousand times seen. He was, (as is usual with young travellers) astonished at the Roman anti|quities; in raptures with the paintings of the Italian masters: in extacies with their music; in admiration of their women, and intoxicated by their wines.
He made some stay at Genoa, which, from the sea, he observed affords one of the finest prospects in the world, as it stands partly on the declivity of a hill, and partly on a flat next to the shore.
The houses are very lofty, and sinely painted on the outside, which gives them a fine and splendid appearance.
The Genoese are industrious, cunning and more hardy than the rest of the Italians.
As for jealousy, of which the Italians are generally accused, the Genoese ought to be exempted from the charge, for their women are allowed as many liberties, and indeed take as many, as any set of people in the world. Hence the Italian proverb, which says, that the
Genoese have a sea without fish! land without trees! men without faith! and women without shame!
Here our hero was under the necessity of using the arts of seduction, or making matrimonial proposals.
Money soon procured him a mistress, who was beau|tiful and witty, but licentious in her principles, and dis|agreeable in her temper, so that Mr. Montague soon grew tired of her; for though she took whatever free|doms she thought proper, without the least modest con|sideration, she was jealous of him to an excess, and so exceedingly capricious, that he determined to free him|self from the uneasiness she gave him, by quitting the place.
He proceeded to Sicily, and traversed the whole of that territory. He found the Sicilians polite, courte|ous, fond of magnisicence, and generous, but vindictive to the last degree; to evince which, the following fact will be sufficient. For the spirit of the modern Sicil|ians greatly resembles that of their ancestors.
In the reign of the emperor Charles the Vth, a so|ciety was formed at Trapani, under the title of "The society of St. Paolo;" the members of which, made a vow to take cognizance not only of the proceedings of their neighbours, and the lower order of the inhabitants of the town, but even of their magistrates and nobility.
Whoever was condemned by this society, was cer|tain of death; for one of the members was deputed to assassinate the obnoxious party, and the person so chosen to the office of murderer, was obliged without any ex|cuse, privately to destroy, the person, so clandestinely condemned.
The women of Sicily are beautiful, amorous, and ex|ceedingly fruitful, for some of them have been known to have had three ox four and twenty children.
Sicily is likewise deemed the granary of Europe, be|ing, perhaps, the richest place for grain in the universe.
From Sicily our hero failed in a little bark, manned by one helms-man and two rowers, to the isle of Ghoz|zo. These. vessels, though very small, and seemingly dangerous, are the safest in the Mediterranean, as by their swiftness they escape pirates, and by their light|ness are secure from the waves.
Ghozzo, of itself is a barren hard rock, but is well cultivated, by the most indefatigable industry; for the upper crust is beaten off, pounded with immense labour, and converted into an excellent soil. Nor does the husbandman envy the fertility of Sicily; if he can but marry an Arabian beauty, and eat his fill of while on|••ons and garlick, he is careless of intense, labour, and thinks himself completely happy.—Would to Heaven every ••••tional creature could so easily content himself in his situation!
PROCEEDING to Malta, he found that island cul|tivated much in the same manner as Ghozzo.
The Knights of Malta have rendered the manners of the inhabitants so depraved, that there is scarce an hon|est female in the whole island, except what belongs to the sailors. For these fellows, who are ready to sacri|fice their blood for the sake of religion, and to do any thing for the interest of the Grand Master, are never|theless extremely tenacious of the honour of their wives and daughters: if therefore, any female belonging to them, is forced or decoyed from them, the seducer is sure of death. The women belonging to all the other inhabitants are at their disposal.
The town of Catania at the foot of mount AEtna, which was destroyed by the dreadful earthquake in 1693 is now rebuilding, not with stone or brick, but with, the lava disgorged from the mouth of that tremendous mountain. The streets are regular but the houses low, in order the better to sustain the shock of any future earthquake. Our hero sent some pieces of the lava to the Royal Society, and the British Museum, in which latter repository, they may, at any time, be seen by the curious.
The following 〈◊〉〈◊〉dote is related as a fact, at Paler|mo.
A prince of one of the first families had a se|cret con〈◊〉〈◊〉n with a single lady, who was his equal
in rank; at length he married her, but two months after marriage she was delivered of a son; from a motive of shame, the parents determined to deny the child, and to trust its education to a peasant.
This was kept a secret till the mother, on her death bed, discovered it. The youth being sent for, shewed more surprise than joy, on being informed of his rank; but declared, that unless he was permitted to marry a young country girl, with whom he was in love, he would not accept of any advantage they might offer him. This article being denied him, he willingly resigned his claim, in favour of his brother, returned to the country, and lived happily with the object of his heart in the station in which he had been brought up.A rare example of constancy! and worthy of imitation. Our hero made it his busi|ness to visit this happy couple, at their little town, and was mightily pleased with their apparent conjugal felicity.
Our hero observed, that though the power of the Pope was greatly on the decline, and his domination, in Italy considerably circumscribed, yet the ecclesiastical patrimony is exceedingly fruitful and rich, which gives rise to the Italian saying,
That the Pope has the flesh, and the Great Duke of Tuscany the bones of Italy.
At Naples a very fine lady would willingly have en|gaged him as her Cecisbeo; that is, (as an obsequious gallant) to play with her, and lose what money she she thinks proper to win; to be at a thousand expences in order to indulge her caprices; to murder all his time in her service, escort her to every place of public resort, and privately to administer to her libidinous Pleasures.
This lady was the wife of a principal Neapolitan no|bleman. For the ladies in Italy are permitted, by their husbands, to entertain lovers of this character. Custom
hath established this infamous practice; the women look upon it as one of their privileges, and the men are so afraid of offending against so prevalent a fashion, that they quietly acquiesce with their dishonor, and even ca|ress their wives gallants.
Our hero however thought proper to reject the favor designed him; though he was not over delicate in his amours, yet he had too much sentiment to bear the idea of dividing the affections of a woman with another, or sharing her personal charms, with a rival; how|ever that rival might be entitled to her principal consideration.
Nor could he bear the thoughts of having his liberty so much abridged, as such a piece of gallantry would have rendered necessary.
He loved to pursue pleasure, not to be pursued by it, nor, however, pleasing such customs may be to the Ita|lians, could he approve of being a slave at all times to the satisfaction of another, when, perhaps his own incli|nation pointed a different way.
OUR hero's delicacy, however, in rejecting the over|tures of the Italian lady, had very near cost him his life. For the husband took it as an affr••nt, that any man should have the insolence to refuse becoming the Cecisbeo of a lady of his wife's rank and distinguished beauty; he, therefore, sent him a formal challenge up|on the occasion.
Our hero was surprised at the unaccountable humour of these people, and that the manners of even polished nations should be so diametrically opposite to each other. In England, Holland, France, Germany, and Spain, if one man attempts the honor of another's wife, he runs the hazard of having his throat cut; but in Italy if you refuse to cuckold a man, according to the polite custom of the place, you are liable to be run through the body, even by the husband himself.
Our hero, who was not deficient in personal courage, accepted the challenge; the parties met, fought, and the husband was disarmed. Thus fortune decided, that his brow should not be equipped either by laurels or horns, at least upon that occasion; as doubtless from the natural temperature of the lady, it is reasonable to suppose, that he did not die without the latter dignity.
The lady was greatly exasperated to be disappointed both in her desires and revenge, and therefore determin|ed (according to the Italian mode) to take off our hero by poison; of this intention he was secretly apprized by a friend, which determined him to leave, with all expe|dition, a place where the inhabitants were so absurd in their notions, and so litigious and revengeful in their tempers.
For the bigness of the place, there are perhaps, more lawyers in Naples than any other part of the world; a certain proof of the litigious spirit of the people. It is asserted, that when Pope Innocent XI had desired the Marquis de Carpio, the viceroy at Naples to furnish him with 30,000 head of swine, the Marquis replied, that with respect to his swine, he could not spare them; but if his holiness had occasion for 30,000 lawyers, they were at his service.
OUR hero embarked at Naples, as soon as he con|veniently could, in order to sail for Constantino|ple, as he could no longer repress his ardent desire to see that celebrated city, which he used to term his pa|ternal metropolis.
The ensuing night he was called upon deck, to see the famous Strombolo, a mountain which stands in the sea, like a sugar loaf, and emits continual flames from its summit. At sea it appears even more terrible than either Vesuvius or AEtna.
They then steered between the celebrated rocks of Scylla and Charybdis, which are not near so dangerous as they have been formerly represented; indeed every place and circumstance which had been described by the ancients prove that writers as well as poets have ex|aggerated.
They passed Corfu and steered towards Zante; an is|land famous for two remarkable fountains of pitch.
Here they were pursued by a pirate; for the coasts of Greece and Barbary swarm with Corsairs. This ro|ver did not quit the pursuit, till they reached the first island in the Archipelago, called Cerigo; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was the Cytherea, or seat of the goddess of beauty 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the ancients.
From thence they proceeded to the beautiful island of Scio, one of the reputed birth-places of Homer.
Passing by Myteline, they came to Tenedos, which is about two leagues distance from the shore of Troy.
An isle, in ancient times, renown'd by fame Lies full in view, and Tenedos the name: Once bless'd with wealth, while Priam held the sway, But now a broken, rough, and dang'rous way.
Having passed the first castles of the Dardanelles, they soon made the second, called Sestos and Abydos: Abydos being the celebrated place from whence Lean|der used to swim across the Hellespont to Sestos, in or|der to see his mistress Hero, by which means he was at length drowned.
Having cast anchor at Rhodosto, a city about sixty miles from Constantinople, our hero landed, and pur|sued the rest of his journey in a Turkish coach, which he hired for that purpose. These coaches are covered with fearlet cloth, and painted of lively colours on the outside, besides heing embellished by a variety of beau|tiful flowers, printed on a gold and silver ground inter|mixed; they are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 like a hearse, and without seats; instead of doors or glass••s, they have painted lattices, and are entered by means of a ladder.
At length our hero entered that famous city, where his mother had enjoyed so much felicity.
Lady Mary had been so attentive and minute an ob|server, that our hero found very little worth noticing, but what she had made some observations upon, and those were so accurate and jus••, that in his own minutes he had scarce any thing to add.
CONSTANTINOPLE is one of the largest, and at the same time best situated ci••ies in the world; it is supposed to contain about 800,000 souls, and would be still more populous, did not the arbitrary spirit of the government prevent it.
The streets are paved and tolerable clean. The hou|ses are built of wood or plaister, and make but an in|different outside appearance, but are convenient, and sometimes richly embellished within.
The inhabitants are clean and well dressed; the dif|ferent occupations are distinguished by a variety of tur|bans, every one's profession being known by the turban he wears.
The markets are plentifully supplied, and the best regulated in the world, which is owing to their being inspected by the Grand Vizier himself, at certain times.
Their police is excellent, perhaps the best in the universe. They have very few physicians here, fewer apothecaries, and no surgeons at all.
They act in direct opposition to the European cus|toms, in many particulars; thus, they sit, lie, eat, and even write low; we high.
Their cloathes are long; ours short.
They have many wives, and many mistresses allowed them by law. The law allows us but one wife and no mistress; however, that does not prevent many, who call themselves Christians, from making their will their law.
Our potentates send ambassadors to each other. The Grand Signior sends none.
We have many public prostitutes; they none; but it must be admitted, that no part of the world contains more libidinous females, or a greater number of pri|vate demireps.
Their dead they carry out head foremost. We carry ours out feet foremost.
When we mourn for the dead, we wear black. They wear blue or violet colour; indeed In this par|ticular, many countries differ. For in China their mourning is white, in Egypt yellow, in Ethiopia brown, while kings and cardinals mourn in purple. Indeed all these colours appear to be allegorical; for black being a privation of light, expresses the darkness of the grave; white denotes purity, and is typical of the soul's being freed from the dross of the body; blue, the co|lour of the sky, signifies the happiness, we hope the de|ceased enjoys in heaven; yellow allude to the leaves of the trees, which become of that colour when they fall to the ground; brown denotes the earth, whither the dead return; and purple expresses both sorrow and hope, being a mixture of black and blue.
The slave market is in the middle of the city; it is a quadrangle, surrounded with apartments for white Haves; the black ones sit underneath. These latter are almost naked; but the w••••te female slaves, when shewn for sale, are handsomely dressed in blue, black, or crimson velvet, embroidered.
Our hero having made known who he was, easily obtained the honour of being introduced to the Grand Signior, by whom he was most cordially received, and treated with greater familiarity and affection, than was ever before experit ••ed by any Christian. The reason must he obvious to any intelligent reader, when it is understood that the Grand Signior, to whom our hero was introduced, was the son of him who ruled the Ot|toman empire at the time Lady Mary was at Constanti|nople•• he, therefore, without any manner of doubt, beheld him with a kind of fraternal regard.
The Grand Signior, as a proof of his affection, im|mediately created him an Aga, which word implies commander. Thus the Aga of the Janizaries is their colonel, and the Capi-aga, the captain of the gate of the seraglio. But the title of Aga is frequently given by way of courteousy, as an honorary appellative, which was the case upon the present occasion.
This was not the only favour, for he gave him per|mission to marry a Turkish lady, if he thought proper; a favour never before granted to any Christian, for it is death by the Mahometan law, for a Christian even to cohabit with a Turkish woman.
The titulary honour of Aga was less pleasing to our hero, than the permission to marry a Turkish lady, of which he was very desirous, both from the native warmth of his disposition, and from motives of curiosity.
MR. Montague soon made use of the Grand Sig|nior's permission, by entering into a matrimo|nial negociation with a rich Emir, who had a daughter remarkable for her singular beauty, and every accomp|lishment which the politest oriental education could bestow.
The marriage being concluded on, the nuptials were performed with great pomp. To gratify the reader's curiosity, we shall describe the various ceremonies used at Turkish weddings.
In the first place the friends on both sides meet to settle what dowry the husband is to give his intended wife; for the parents give nothing to their daughters. This renders a woman desirable only for herself. For on the contrary, he that has no other consideration for a woman in marriage than what she has, will seldom regard what she is.
The following is an exact translation of a Turkish song, which seems to satirize the breach of the above custom.
There was a man had a daughter, whom he brought up to spinning, and also he married her, in hopes that both by her work and her marriage, she would curich his family; but he found by experi|ence, that she spent the price of her labour before she had earned it, and that her husband being poor, had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with her for nothing.
The sum being agreed upon, it is sent to the father, or next relation. The bride continues covered eight days before marriage; on the wedding day she bathes, and is washed by two or three women, with great form; nay so solemn is this bathing, that her nearest relations walk before her to the bath with lighted torches in their hands.
To make the bride's hair red, which they look upon as the most glorious colour, they sprinkle it with a dust called. elcana. They likewise make her nails, the palms of her hands, her feet, and her heels red.
The nuptial day being come, the bridegroom sends a present to the cadis; then the sagois, or manager of the nuptials, accompanied by all the guests with musi|cal instruments, goes to the bride's house, where he and the company with him are entreated to sit down.
After a banquet, the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 father takes her by the hand, and delivers her to the sagois, which seems to intimate, that nature ought to submit to policy; for the father surrenders her to the magistrate, who be|comes her civil parent, and disposes of her.
The sagois then sets her on ho••s•• back, and carries her to the bridegroom's house; the guests follow, and are succeeded by carts and horses that carry the furniture.
The bride rides with a veil over her ••••ce and an umbrella over her head, being surrounded by her ser|vants who lament the approaching loss of her virginity. During the cavalcade, she may salute every one she meets, which Turkish women are never permitted to do but on the day of their marriage.
When she arrives at the bridegroom's house, he con|ducts her into a chamber, distinct from the rest; after supper, the sagois takes her by the hand, and leads her
to the bridgroom's chamber, and delivers her to the eu|nuchs, who look after till he comes.
When he is with her, he takes off her veil, then the rest of her cloaths; the pretending some resistance.
The ensuing day, the sagois compliments and jokes with the bridegroom, while the bride is taken by her relations to the bath.
Mr. Montague was mighty fond of his Turkish wise, and though of an amorous disposition, and naturally prone to change, did not entertain a thought of availing himself of the privilege allowed by the laws of that country, which permits a man to marry four lawful wives, and keep as many Mistresses as they can main|tain. Nay, a Turk may marry his sister, provided he begins with the eldest, (for if he begins with the young|est, he must not marry the others.)
THE only time that Mr. Montague, during the course of his life, seemed inclined to constancy, Fortune appeared determined to cross his laudable in|clinations, by depriving him of the beautiful and ac|complished Fatima.
This lady died in child-bed, as did the infant of which she was pregnant.
Our hero was sensibly affected by this loss, as he sin|cerely loved this lady.
As his melancholy grew upon him, and seemed to injure his health, his friends advised him to travel, in or|der to blunt the edge of affliction.
This advice he the more readily received, as he had always found travelling, not only agreeable to his natu|ral curiosity, but a certain specific against melancholy of every kind.
In pursuance of this resolution, he begged the Grand S••gnior's permission to depart from Constantinople.
His sublime highness was unwilling to part from him, but out of regard to his health, gave him leave to go, and furnished him with proper passports to all parts of his extensive empire.
His curiosity led him to see all that was curious in Greece, and to compare the ruins and miserable state of that now wretched country, with its former splendor and magnificence.
He visited all the places which are usually visited by strangers, and examined all those remarkable antiqui|ties, which have been so frequently and minutely de|scribed by travellers.
He perceived that the Greek ladies were remarkably handsome, and that their limbs were formed with that beautiful symmetry of proportion, which is observable in the works of their ancient statuaries. Indeed noth|ing can be more majestic or lovely than their persons; but to balance their beauty, they are exceedingly igno|rant, very proud, and very coquettish; not but a kind of natural politeness makes some amends for their want of the polish of education.
He had the curiosity to ascend the celebrated mount
Ida, but was greatly disappointed, for instead of meet|ing with those beautiful prospects, which the exagger|ated descriptions of the ancients naturally led him to expect, he found it to be nothing but a prodigious large barren rock, without the least landscape to be seen, to make any amends for the trouble of climbing it.
After having seen the famous labyrinth of Gortyna, he proceeded to Candia, which city, when in the hands of the Venetians, sustained a siege by the Turks, which lasted above twice as long as that of Troy, that is, from the year 1645 to 1669.
The Inhabitants of Candia, (or Crete, as it was an|ciently called) were always celebrated as excellent arch|ers, and even to this day are skilled in the use of the bow, as Mr. Montague saw upon several occasions.
The Greek peasants here, wear a red leather cap, a vest, and a pair of blue callico drawers, very wide, and so deep behind, as to be ridiculous. In the country they wear short boots of Turkey leather, which are very neat and lasting; but in the towns they wear pumps or slippers.
The women wear an upper garment of reddish cloth, full of plaits, with long sleeves, but put on in such a manner, as to leave their breasts naked.
He then proceeded to Naxia, which is deemed one of the most fertile and agreeable islands of the Archipe|lago; as the country is so pleasant, every one who can afford it, keeps a country house.
As the gentlemen of Naxia frequently retire to their villa's, it is humorous enough to observe the whimsical vanity of the Greek ladies, who, on retiring to the coun|try, or to the town, are attended by thirty or forty women, some on soot, some mounted upon asses, ••ch of these carries upon her head, or in her hand.
some article of her mistress's cloaths, or of the moveable furniture, which is exposed to the view of every one. For instance, one carries a pair of stockings. another a petticoat, a third an earthen dish, &c. Thus they enter the city, the lady riding at the head of the calvacade, the children in the middle, and the husband on his mule, closing the pompous procession.
After having taken a view of the isle of Paros, which produces the finest marble in the world, Mr. Montague proceeded to Thermia, which receives its name from some remarkable hot springs with which the island abounds.
Here Mr. Montague saw a beautiful Greek girl, whose charms easily made an impression on a heart so susceptible of tender emotions, and seemed at once to banish his melancholy, and obliterate the memory of the lovely Fatima.
Though the Greeks are not so reserved as the other nations, subject to the Ottoman sovereigns, yet their women are modest.
Our pretty Grecian, therefore, stood upon punctilios, when Mr. Montague, not to lose time, or have any un|necessary trouble, had recourse to his old maxim, and freely proposed marriage: Matrimony now being so fa|miliar to him, that the most trisling inclination would have induced him to marry almost any woman, on con|dition it was in a country where the law could not take cognizance of the affair.
The most remarkable circumstances in the marriage ceremonies of the Greeks are these.
The bride is obliged to let her husband know what fortune she has, and he is under the necessity of acting in the same candid manner: the men sitting round a long table, the women on benches raised behind it.
When the bride receives the usual presents from the relations and guests, she sits with a gilt crown on her head, in the midst of the gincco, or women's apartment.
As soon as they have all drank wine and eaten sweet|meats, they make an excursion to take the air, then they return to supper, after which, the new married couple go to bed together, without any farther ceremony or publication, as among the Roman Catholicks.
This compendious method of marrying was mighty pleasing to our hero, who was no friend to long ce|remonies.
Indeed the young Greek understood so well the art of pleasing, that she fixed his wavering heart to constan|cy much longer than could have been expected; for her beauty and blandishments prevailed over his sickleness, during the space of two years, in which he never left her, except to make a few excursions, in order to take a survey of those parts of Greece, which he had not hi|therto seen.
At Athens he could not see, without some painful reflections on the uncertainty of all sublunary things, the stupendous ruins of those beautiful structures, which were once the admiration of the universe; n••r could he, without a variety of melancholy ideas, behold the barbarity and ignorance of those who now inhabit a place, which was celebrated once as the seat of the muses.
After having visited Megara and Corinth, so dimin|ished from their former splendor, he proceeded to The|bes, of which only one part is now inhabited, that is, what was formerly called the castle of Cadmus.
Though the Anchorites live very retired and the her|mits very austere lives, yet the Greek nuns know noth|ing of the severities of a M〈◊〉〈◊〉 life 〈◊〉〈◊〉ir characteris|tic
is that of being magdale is reformed, who towards the decline of life, make a vow to observe some virtues they have neglected in their youth, and so retire into a monastery, there to lead a life less scandalous, or per|haps less publickly so, under the inspection of a good|natured abbess, who is not very rigid. Hence travellers may be accommodated with certain favours, if they chuse to put up with the autumn of beauty.
At length the volatility of our hero's disposition pre|vailing, he grew tired of his wife, and quitting her with|out ceremony, which he seldom used upon such occa|sions, ••••turned again to Constantinople. Here as be|fore, he was cordially received by the Grand Signior.
HE now established a houshold at Constantinople de|termining to reside there some time. The read|er may easily conceive, that he did not forget a seraglio in this establishment.
His women consisted of various beautiful slaves from divers countries, which he purchased as essential to his sensual felicity.
But a life of inactivity and repose was not suited to his restless disposition; in less than a twelvemonth Con|stantinople grew insipid to him, and his roving temper being predominant, he again took leave of the Grand Signior, and having received proper passports, resolved to see Egypt.
Here it is proper to re〈◊〉〈◊〉 a mistake which the pub|lic
have been led into, by several homespun newsp•••• paragraphs, which intimate that Mr. Montague's ••••••••ney to Egypt was chiefly political.
But this is false; he was not entrusted with any com|mission of a political kind by the Grand Signior, n•• would he willingly have been engaged in any such mat|ter, as his disposition led him to pursuits of a far differ|ent nature; besides, though he greatly respected the Grand Signior, he was not fond of the arbitrary severity of that government to its respective officers, and there|fore always preserved the following Turkish maxims in his memory, viz. Four things should never flatter us,
Familiarity with princes, the caresses of women, the smiles of our enemies, and a warm day in winter!for these things are not of long duration.
Mr. Montague did not find Egypt to be that fertile country which it has been represented.
By Egypt is understood a narrow tract of land, divid|ed in two by the river Nile, inclosed with high moun|tains on the east and west, beginning at the cataracts and ending near Cairo, together with what is called the Delta.
The length of Egypt from north to south, is about 600 miles, the breadth in the Delta is 120 miles, but in the middle of the other part only 21.
They have but one harvest in the year in Egypt, any more than in other places, though it hath been errone|ously reported that they have two.
Egypt can hardly supply its inhabitants with corn; many of the people live chiesly upon barley-slour, mixed with water; indeed half of them do not eat bread above once a week, and that bread is not made of wheat, but of coarse millet.
The soil is clayey, mixed with salt petre, which ren|ders
the land so sterile, that few plants or shrubs grow upon it; neither tree or wood will vegetate there, with|out being frequently watered; therefore neither timber nor wood for fuel grow in Egypt.
The vast rains which fall in Abyssinia and Ethiopia, occasion the overflowings of the Nile. This river be|gins to swell at the latter end of May or beginning of June, when the north winds set in, and about the 24th of September, the waters begin to fall.
It hath been said that it never rains in Egypt, but that is a mistake, it frequently rains in lower Egypt, but in middle Egypt very rarely, and in upper Egypt never.
The air of this country is very unhealthy, most of the people are afflicted with bad eyes, the humour of which is so inveterate, that abundance lose their sight, so that Egypt may well be called proverbially the Land of the blind.
A few hours after Mr. Montague's arrival at Grand Cairo, he was witness to the opening the canal, when the waters of the Nile entered that city. The joy of the people was inexpressible, and indeed it is very natu|ral it should, as they are much in want of water.
In the road from Minie to Cairo there is a fine pyra|mid at Benisuef. The Arabs say, that Joseph the son of Jacob built it. Fifteen miles lower there are two more, in the form of a hat; and about nine miles far|ther, at Sacarra, are thirteen large and a great number of smaller pyramids, but the greater part of the latter are fallen into ruins.
Cairo is supposed to contain as many inhabitants as London. There are seven hundred and twenty mosques in it with priests, four hundred and thirty without, and seventy public baths.
The streets are narrow, crooked, and without pave|ment, consequently dusty. The houses have many sto|ries, and flat roofs; they are built of brick; the win|dows have iron ••ails, and curtains to them. There is but one square in the whole town, which lies before the castle. There are no trees, ••ountains, or any other or|naments to it.
The castle is large but irregular. An aqueduct of 320 arches carries the waters of the Nile into it.
Modern Egypt is divided into twenty-four provinces, but no part of the country is so populous as it was for|merly said to be.
In the desert of Rayan, there are some craggy stones, which resemble, and which the superstitious believe to be petrified sheep.
MR. Montague having a great desire to see the lake from whence the Natrum is taken, and the lake without, water, where it is said there are petrified ships.
He accordingly set out for Terane, a place about 42 miles, distant from Cairo, situated on that branch of the Nile which goes to Rose••ta, laving applied to the go|vernor, he ordered some Arabs to attend him.
They joined a drove of camels, who were bound to
the desart of Scete, to procure Natrum. On the road they saw the ruins of various towns; after passing along a sandy plain, interfected by torrents, they arrived at the lake, which is 24 miles long, and two broad.
The salt had formed a crust over the lake, which bore the whole company, and their camels.
Having passed over, Mr. Montague left the caravan and went to a Coptic Monastery, where the monks shew|ed him a stone, which greatly resembled wood, and which, they said, was part of a mast belonging to one of the petrified ships.
The next day he arrived at the lake without water, which is only a number of torrents united in one, and dry all the summer. The petrified ships are nothing but pointed rocks, buried in the sand; they resemble ships at a distance, and look very much like wood. Some pieces are scattered about, which are six or seven feet in length, and five or six inches in diameter, and these are what are taken for pieces of masts.
At the Coptic Monastery, which is very mean, and does not deserve a description, they told him this ridi|culous story; That formerly some Arabians arrived in ships, in their lake without water; that these Arabians having been very troublesome to the hermits of the place, St. Ephraim, who was then abbot of the monas|tery, prayed to God to dry up the lake; this God not only granted, but changed their ships into stone.
On the road from this place to the monastery of St. Macarius, there are three deserted glass houses.
It may not be improper to remark, that the Egyp|sians are of a very dark complexion, with very disagree|able features; they are timid, effeminate, incapable of hardships, have a very down look, owing perhaps to their sore eyes, are conceited, superstitious and too of|ten treacherous.
The forbidding aspect of the people of this country did not, however, deter our hero from engaging in some amours, especially from the Arabian girls, with whom he diverted himself in maay parts of Egypt.
Having joined company with some gentleman, who where going to Suez, he determined to visit that place.
At Heliopolis they were entertained by a Turk. They sat down to dinner upon their heels; above three|score dishes were served up, consisting of rice or flesh, bolled or roasted, prepared with spices, milk of al|moads and ••agar; other dishes of meat were prepared with milk and fruit. Many of the disnes were placed upon each other in a very artful manner, and formed a py••••nid.
After dinner the company were served with coffee, sherbet, and a pipe of tobacco.
At noon they sat off with some other travellers, who had joined them.
The whole caravan consisted of fifty gentlemen, and their servants on hor••eback, and thirty slaves mounted on dromedaries, laden with water and provisions. These were followed by two hundred camels, laden with money and merchandizes; those which carried the money, were adorned with bushes of feathers, and other ornaments, and went first, the kettle drums beat|ring before them.
In the evening they passed a dangerous desil, where the Arabs usually watch, when they intend to attack the caravans going to or coming from Mecca.
In two days they arrived at Suez, which is a very small town, situated on a pcninsula, at the extremity of the Red Sea. There is a governor, with a garrison of three hundred men; the inhahitants get all the necesla|•••••• of the, even their put-h••••••s, from Cairo.
He afterwards visited Lake Menslet, which is 64 miles long, and 24 broad; being the largest in Egypt. Here they have a curious method of catching fish, by means of a bird. Having set their nets, the fishermen let two tame pelicans swim in the lake; they fasten a piece of thread to their eyelids, by which means they can tie up their eyes during the whole fishery; this precaution is necessary, to prevent them from eating too many fish. The pelican having a strong seent, pursues the fish around him, and the fishermen prevent their going off sideways, so they are driven into the net.
In some parts of the lake, the dolphins pursue the fish into little ponds, full of reeds, from whence they cannot return, because the fishermen immediately shut up the entrance into the lake with large nets. The benefits which these people reap by means of the dol|phin, induces them to look upon that fish with the ut|most reverence; nay, some of them go so far as to deem dolphins good spirits, sent on parpose to do them a service; on which account, they would not destroy a dolphin by any means.
From hence our hero passed to Damiata, which, next to Cairo, is the finest and largest city in Egypt.
Twenty-three miles from this city is Rosetta, a town of great trade, in flax, cottons, linens, rice, and leather.
There is-no other place of any great consequence in Egypt, except Alexandria, a town of considerable trade, supposed to contain about 15,000 inhabitants.
We shall here notice a circumstance which our hero thought worthy of a memorandum.
On the east side of the Nile lies a village, called Eridy, where a sheik of the same name resides.
It is famed through Egypt for a snake, of which many miraculous stories are related.
The vulgar believe it to be the devil, banished into the mountains of upper Egypt, by the angel Raphael, to prevent his strangling young Tobias, as he had done with the six former husbands, which his bride had married.
The sheik keeps this serpent in possession, as his pre|decessors for time immemorial has done. It is an inch thick, two fee 'ong, and the skin is smooth and red|dish; it plays thousand tricks, and will twine about the arms or neck of any person; without hurting them; what is remarkable, it is fonder of women than men. An annual feast is held in honour of this serpent. The sheik pretends that he can cut it in pieces at night, and find it whole in the morning.
Mr. Montague looked upon this serpent to be noth|ing but a tohbam, a serpent common enough in Egypt; it hath more sagacity than the European dogs, and may be taught a great variety of tricks.
The land crocodile of Egypt resembles the water crocodile in form, but it is small and harmless. The water crocodile, or that which is commonly understood by the name, inhabits the Nile, and is particularly fond of the lakes, formed by channels, derived from thence; they fly from those parts which are near towns and from boats which contain many men; but will attack a single man, or a boat with a single man in it. This creature is to the last degree, voracious, terrible, and cruel; it is sometimes thirty feet in length; it runs swift, but cannot casily turn, and iu chief strength lies in its tail.
With respect to the artificial method of hatching ch••••kens, it is to be observed that the inhabitants of Ber••••e, a village 60 miles from Cairo, are the only possessors of the secret; parents teach it to their chil|dren, and keep it from strangers. The proprietors of ovens are therefore obliged to have recourse to them, and pay them well for their trouble.
The ovens have two stories, consisting of twenty|eight small cells, into which the eggs are laid; round these there is a hollow, about an inch and a half deep, and six inches broad; this contains the fire to heat the oven; the hollows are between the lower and upper range of cells, so that the fire heats both stories. The floor which divides the stories is made of reeds, covered with cow-dung; the walls are of brick.
The eggs are put upon a mat, in the lowest cells; the fire is made of cakes of cow-dung.
The inspector at various times increases or diminishes the heat, by giving the cells less or more air.
In tweenty-one days the operation is concluded, and all the chickens are seen running about in the cells.
HAVING seen all that is deemed curious in E|gypt, Mr. Montague returned to Constantinople, where, finding some dispatches for him from his rela|tions, which appeared of the utmost consequence, he determined to depart for England.
He soon embarked on hoard a trading vessel, and ar|rived (after a voyage in which nothing material hap|pened) at Marseilles; from whence, travelling by land to Calais, he went on board the packet, and in a few hours landed safe at Dover.
His reputed father, whose name he had always gone
by, had been dead for some years, and his mother, who had desired his presence in England, on account of her precarious state of health, was on the verge of a disso|lution when he arrived.
She died soon after, and left him in possession of an immense fortune; indeed she went so far as to be ex|ceedingly partial in his savour, with respect to person|als contrary to the interest of his sister, the present Countess of Bute.
This occasioned a coolness between him and Lord Bute's family; and that nobleman having done him some disservices, he conceived a most implacable re|sentment against him, which continued till his death.
Though his ample fortune would have enabled him to enjoy all the luxuries of the east, in the northern regions, where his patrimony was situated; yet a pecu|liarity of disposition induced him to sigh for the essemi|nating pleasures of Asia. Grown fond of the eastern countries by familiarity, he determined to dissipate his income in the pleasures which those prolific climes afford.
Before his departure, he made a present of somc cu|rious medals and other antiquities to the Royal Society; on which account, he was made a member of that learned body.
He soon after embarked on board a merchant-ship, bound for Turkey, and on his arrival at Constantinople presented himself to the Grand Signior, by whom he was, as usually, most cordially received.
He had formerly adopted the Turkish habit, but now he thought proper to assume the Armcnian, deem|ing it not only superior to the Turkish, but to all other dresses in the universe.
As Mr. Montague never after appeared in any other habit, it may not be improper to describe it.
The Armenian dress, then, consists of a magnificent turban; and it is to be observed, that the Armenians have a particular maxion to keep their heads very warm, so that they never pull off their turbans out of respect to any one; the other parts of their dress are simple, neat and elegant; next to their skin they wear callico shirts, then a vest, which rcaches below the knee, girt with a sash, and over that a loose garment, somewhat shorter.
Their clothes are, however, generally expensive, con|sisting of the richest furs, silks, muslms, cottons, and the like valuable stuffs embroidered in a very rich man|ner with gold and silver.
On their legs they wear loose boots, and slippers on their feet; they wear a dagger in their sash, and linen trowsers; their clothes and the collar of their strits are open, so that their health is better adapted to the pur|poses of health and activity, than the dress of the Turks.
MR. Montague, whose dispositions was ever rest|less, and his imagination always upon the wing, could not long remain inactive; he therefore made the tour of Persia, and saw as much of that country as the distracted state of affairs would permit.
He perceived that the soil itself was exceedingly
fruitful; but the government was so arbitrary that the inhabitants could neither enjoy plenty or safety.
There are vast mountains in this country, such as Caucasus, Ararat, and Taurus; but no country in the world hath so few rivers.
The women are sufficiently handsome, but they are coquetts, mad continue to heighten their beauty as much as possible, by art.
Ispahan, the capital city of Persia, is 12 miles in cir|cumference, but the strects are narrow and crooked: the chief amusement of the inhabitants is to walk upon the flat roofs of the houses, when the weather will per|mit; the houses are but of one story, and since the late troubles in Persia, not above five thousand of them are inhabited.
With respect to Asia, the Persians stand in the same predicament us the Fre••••ch do in Europe; that is, they are the models of politeness, and not to imitate their manners, and understand their language, argues low breeding. Indeed their manners are the most refined of any people in the eastem countries, and their lan|guage is the most poetical and nervous. In short, in Asia the Arabic is to be considered as the learned lan|guage, the Persian as the polite, and the Turkish or the Coptic as the vulgar language.
The wornen are so far from being reserved as in most other eastern countries, that they will not scruple to make advances to those they like. Of this our hero had a proof, while at Ispahan. A widow lady had ta|ken particular notice of him, and not being able to bri|dle her passion, she sent him a billet doux, written from the right hand to the left, (for the Persians, like the Hebrews, write in that manner.)
Mr. Montague was too much a cavalier not to dis
honour to the overture. The lady received him in a magnificent apartment, which was close shut; it was illuminated by a great number of wax tapers, as well as lamps filled with the most odorise••ous oil; and on a hearth of the finest marble, there was a large fire of the wood of aloes, though the weather was warm; this rendered the room so hot, that our hero begged to re|move to some cooler place. To this request the lady complied with great difficulty, for in her heart she was a gaur or worshipper of fire.
This lady was so extremely ceremonious in her am|ours, that the intrigue became troublesome to our hero, who lest lspahan, a••••••ravelled to the north of Persia, to see a celebrated natural phaenomenon, near Baku. This is a combustible ground, filled with fiery and in|flammable particles being the chief scene of the guebres devotion. These guebres are the priests of the gaurs or fire worshippers. Several temples are scattered about this ground, in one of which the guebres pretend to preserve the sacred slame of the universal fire. This rises from the end of a large hollow cane stuck into the ground, and filled with the purest spirits.
The Persians certainly exceed all the manufacturers in the universe, in silk, woollen carpets, leather and mohair. They do not, however, pursue trade with that avidity which might be expected from people so excellently well situated for commerce.
It is to be observed, that foreigners, who are not Mahometans, pay a ducat a head for being permited to reside in the Persian territories. Though this tax should only be paid once, yet the officers take care to exact it in almost every town, alledging that they are not cer|tain it has been paid in any other place. Thus our hero was under the necessity of paying the tax above fifty different times.
At Schims, a sine open town, with beautiful invi|rous,
Mr. Montague determined to remain for some time. The country is fruitful to the last degree, and the wines the best in Asia.
Here our hero fell in love with, or rather conceived a strong inclination for a beautiful Circassian lady. Not being able to obtain her for a mistress, he as usual addressed her for a wife; he pretended to be an Ar|menian merchant, and lived in a very prosuse mannor, to captivate her by generosity. But liberality will not succeed in this country, without the addition of a very absurd piece of gallantry; that is ••o evince his passion, a lover must burn himself in several parts of his body, and in this scarified manner pr•••••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 before his mistresfs; if she accepts his love she is cousiderace enough to send him fillets and scarss of silk to bind up the sores; but if his passion is dis••greeable to her, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 has only the pain for his recompen••e. Where the lady likes the lover, her esterm rises in proportion to the torture he gives himself; and was he to make him|self cripple, his passion would be deemed the most sublime imaginable.
This method of wooing was not at all agreeable to our hero; be could flatter, swear, and embellish be|yond the truth, as well as any man, but a red hot iron did not fall in with his ideas of pleasure.
Finding he could not obtain the lady, without some such burning proff of his passion, he determied to bave rccourse to art.
In pursuance of this resolution, he stained himself in several parts, in a manner so ingenious that the most discerning eye could not discover but that he was scari|fied in a most termble manner.
Having made himself apear most dreadfully burnt, he presented himself before his mishess, who, kind soul, was melted into compassion at the sight; the li|quid
quit ••••arls streamed from her eyes, and she presented him with the choicest scarfs and silk handkerchiefs, to bind 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his wounds, entreating him to be careful of himself for her sake.
When sufficient time had elapsed for him to appear to be well, the marriage was concluded on as a matter of course; for the gift of the scarfs implies an absolute consent. The ceremony it as follows:
The bride goes from her house with her relations and friends, all on horseback, singers precede them.
The bridegroom leaves his house in the same manner.
When the two troops meet, they return to the bride's house where they have a ball.
The bridegroom is then conducted to the bride's chamber, by two man; the bride comes in another way, being led by two women; the new married cou|ple are then left together, and the company continue dancing during the whole night.
MR. Montague, as usual, was not long satisfied ei|ther with remaining in one place, or with one woman; he therefore packed up his baggage, that is, all but his spouse; for he deemed a wife a cumber|some commodity to travel with, and determined to pro|ceed towards Arabia.
It is remarkable that this country hath always pre|served its ancient name; for the word Arab signifies •• robber, and robbers the Arabians always were, and still remain so.
It is well known that Arabia is divided into three parts, viz. Arabia Petraea or stony, Desarta or desart, and Felix or happy, and that the celebrated mountains Sinai and Horeb are in Arabia Petr••a, cast of the Red Sea.
The desart part of Arabia is a most horrid place, composed of immense plains of sand, and diversified only by frightful craggy mountains, or rocks.
These plains of sand are sometimes moved by hurri|canes, in the same dreadful manner as the waves of the sea are by storms. Beneath these terrible m••••ptaips of sand, whole caravans have sometimes been 〈◊〉〈◊〉
The southern parts of Arabia are indeed deservedly called the happy, as the air is exceedingly temperate, and the soil fertile, producing balm of gilead, my••••h, manna, cassia, aloes, frankincense, and other valuable gums; the finest spices, and the most delic••bus fruits. But Arabia Felix is most celebrated for i•• coffea and dates.
At the Arabians live in a wild manner, and contin|ually rove about from place to place, they pitch their tents sometimes as conveniency and sometimes as whim directs them.
This occasions a ••••••igious scarcity of towns in this immense country, as there are none worth observation except Mocho, Aden, Muchat, and Suez, (trading ci|ties;) and Mecca, and Medina, the cities whither the Mahometan pilgrims resort; the first being the place of Mahomet's birth, and the latter of his burial. Every Mussulman •• obliged by his religion to visit Mecca once in his lifetime, or send a deputy.
The Banvans, who are Originally Indians, but nu|merous in Arabia, have many whimsical religious no|tions; particularly when they are dying they are de|sirous of nothing so much as to hold a cow by the tail, to the end that their souls may enter into the body of that beloved animal, which is the great object of their adoration.
Mr. Montague took up his abode for some days at Mocha; here he observed that the women ••ldom ap|pear in the day time: in the evening, however, they were allowed more liberty, and generally form them|selves into small parties to go upon visits. He has fre|quently met them at twelve o'clock at night, or one in the morning, in groupes; but as soon as they perceived a man, they would turn their faces close to the wall, and remain in that position till he was passed by.
Mr. Montague lived next door to a considerable merchant who used to trade to Surat.
This merchant had a daughter of about sixteen, who, though like others of that country, of a swarthy com|plexion, might be deemed a very agreeable brunette; her features were regular, her eyes full of fire and vi|vacity, and her limbs were formed with the utmost symmetry.
Our hero had built a little lodge upon a terrace, ex|actly opposite to this lady's chamber window, in order to enjoy the cool breezes which came from the sea bet|ter than he could do in the house.
Here he frequently amused himself by playing upon the German flute, wich he did to admiration.
The lady who was concealed from his view by a lat|tice, one day lifted up the lattice while he was playing, when he had a full view or her, and was struck with something in her features and manner, that appeared inexpressibly engaging.
He saluted her by touching his turban, in the man|ner of the country; she blushed, but returned his courtesy.
He made a practice now of going daily to the ter|race, and playing some of the most melting tunes he knew.
She was always attentive to the music, seemed highly delighted with it, and frequently opened the lattice to look at our hero.
He one day displayed to her view a great number of ribbons, some glass toys, and a looking glass, intimating at the same time by signs, that they were at her service, provided he could by any means convey them to her.
She understood his meaning perfectly well, and pre|sently dispatched a black female slave to his house, to whom he gave them, together with a letter for the young lady, written in the Arabic language, and filled with the most passionate expressions.
The lady seemed highly delighted with the presents, as she opened the lattice to thank him by signs.
At night when he had retired to rest, he heard a loud knocking at the door, he ordered a Greek slave, whom he had bought several years before, and who acted in the capacity of his valet, to go and see the oc|casion of the disturbance.
The fellow had no sooner opened the door, than sev|eral soldiers rushed in, a••d making towards Mr. Monta|gue's chamber ordered him to dress himself immediate|ly, and attend them to the governor.
OUR hero could not conjecture on what account he was apprehended, nor could he get any informa|tion from the soldiers, who said they had received orders to seize him, but for what reason they could not tell.
When he came before the governor, he shewed the Grand Signior's passport and protection.
The governor however, treated them very lightly, and informed our hero, that they were given to protect him from the outrages of others, but not to screen him in injuring others with impunity.
He begged to know who he had injured, as he was not sensible that he had given the least offence to any person.
A slave was then dispatehed to call the person who was to exhibit the charge against him, from another apartment.
In a short time his next door neighbour, the Surat merchant appeared.
The mystery was now explained; he presently un|derstood that the crime alledgcd against him, was mak|ing presents, and writing to that gentleman's daughter, and having seen her face to face.
The governor informed him, that they were most hei|nous offences; that now he had seen the young lady, and made her presents, nobody else would marry her;
that therefore he must either marry her himself, or lose both his eyes.
As this was the alternative, the reader may easily con|ceive the choice, which a man of our hero's constitution would naturally make. He did not hesitate a moment to consent to the marriage.
He was immediately discharged; all parties were re|conciled, and the nuptials were soon after solemnized.
The marriage ceremony was the same as that among the Turks, with this addition, that the bride presents the husband with a bearded arrow, which she calls her por|tion. This present is meant to seal the fidelity of her promise, as she gives him an instrument to use, either against herself, it she should prove untrue, or against them who should assault her virtue.
When as usual, he grew tired of his Arabian wife, he found more difficulty in getting rid of her than he had ever done with respect to any of the former. As a foreigner he was naturally suspected, and the idea of having been compelled to marry, increased the suspi|cions of the Arabians.
He soon perceived that he was bu•• a prisoner at large, and that all his wife's relations, and even his neighbours, were so many spics upon him; the reflections which such a situation naturally gave rise to, were exceedingly disagreeable, and being under a consciousness of restraint the time appeared extremely irksome.
At length an English East-India ship arrived in the port, his spirits began to revive at the event, and he now conceived hopes of a speedy deliverance, from what he deemed an absolute captivity.
He soon let the captain understand who he was, inti|mated the nature of his consine••••ent, and expressed the desire he had to regain his liberty.
The captain promised to do him every service that lay in his power; but the utmost precaution was neces|sary. On account of an English ship being in the port, he was more closely watched than ever.
The captain having taken a house near the strand, our hero repaired to it, when he was on the eve of depart|ing from Mocho. He was sent on board the ship in a chest, with holes bored in it to give him air, and his de|parture was not even suspected untill the ship was un|der weigh.
Indeed he was obliged to leave the property he had at Mocho behind him; but that he thought but trisling, when set in competition with the liberty he obtained.
During the voyage they met a ship bound to Constan|tinople; he immediately went on board this vessel af|ter making the captain of the East-India ship a present of a draft on a banker at London, for his civility, and being the instrument of his deliverance as he termed it.
He soon arrived at Constantinople, the emporium of the eastern part of the world, and our hero's favourite metropolis.
MR. Montague, ever restless in his disposition, made another excursion into Egypt.
From Grand Cairo he set out on a journey to the celebrated written mountains in the desart of Sinai. But
as he has given an ample account of that journey in a letter to the Royal Society, we shall transcribe his own words.
A letter from Edward Wortley Montague,Esq. F. R. S. to William Williamson, M. D. F. R. S. containing an account of his journey from Cairo in E|gypt, to the written mountains in the desart of Sinai, re|ceived January 3 d, and read before the Royal Society, March 13, 1776.
"It is with a good deal of difficulty that I have pre|vailed upon myself to write to you, for as coming now to Italy was quite unforeseen, and I am immediately going back to the east, I have not my journal with me, but luckily have the famous inscription. I am sensiple every paper I send to the Royal Society, exposes more and more my incapacity; however, as these inscrip|tions are much wanted, I cannot avoid sending them. I shall only speak to some of the points the bishop of Clogher mentions, but cannot avoid being now and then a little prolix.
I sat out from Cairo by the road known by the name of Tauricke Beni Israel; after twenty-four hours trav|elling, at about three miles an hour, we passed by an opening in the mountains on our right hand, viz, the mountains Maxattec. There are two more roads, one to the northward of this, which the Mecca pilgrims go, and one to the south between the mountains, but never travelled, (as it does not lead to Saez, which is thirty hours march from Cairo,) Through this breach the children of Israel are said to have entered the moun|tains; and not to have taken the most southern road, which I think most probable; for those valleys, to judge by what are now seen, could not be passable for Pharaoh's chariots. This breach, the inhabitants told me, leads directly to a plain called Badeah, which, in Arabic signifies something new or extraordinary, as the beginning of every thing is new which was not be|fore known.
At Suez I found an opportunity of going to Tor, by sea, which I gladly embraced; that by going nearer the place, at which the Israelites are supposed to have en|tered the gulph, and having a view from the sea as well an that of the opposite shore, I might be a little better ••ble to form a judgment about it; besides, I was wil|ling to have the views, bearings, and soundings, which I took.
When we were opposite to Badeah, it seemed to me (for I was not on shore) a plain capable of containing the lsraelites, with a small elevation in the middle of it. I saw something too like ruins; the captains and pilots told me, that this was the place where the Is|raelites entered the sea, and the ruins were those of a convert (I suppose built on the spot in commemoration of the fact;) they added that there was good water there. There is here a strong current, which sets to the opposite shore, about south-east; it forms by its strength a whirlpool, where the sailors said ships were lost, if forced into it for want of wind, by a current. This pool is about six miles northward of Cape Karon|eel, and just below this pool there is a sand, a flat is|land at low water, which runs east and west about three miles. This sand, I suppose, is thrown up by the force of the curent, and the same current by the resistance it meets with from this bank, being forced back into the ravity made by this excavation, forms the whirlpool. This pool it called Birque Pharoone, the pool or well of Pharaoh, and here they affirm his host was destroy|ed. I shall say more of this, as I travel back by land. We came to an anchor in is fathom wather, within a mile and a half of the shore, to the so thward of this sand, and in the Birque Karondel, to the northward of the cape; here the eastern shore is already mountain|ous, which near this place is a sandy beach. The E|gyptian shore from Suez to Badeah is likewise rocky and steep, so that there is no entering upon the gulph from that shore, but at Bddeah or Suez.
It is high water always when the moon is at her mo|ridian height, and it ebbs six hours. At Suez it flows six feet, the spring tidies are nine, and in the variable months, from the beginning of November to the end of April, sometimes twelve. From the beginning of May to the beginning of October a northerly wind gen|erally rises, and goes down with the sun; it is often very strong. This wind never fails in these months, unless there be some violent storm. The rest of the year the winds are variable, and when they blow hard at S. and S. S. E. these winds set up the sea through the narrow streight of Babel Mandel, and up this gulph through its mouth, between C••bel at Zait on the west side of this sea, and the southernmost point of the bay of Tor, on the east side of this western branch of this sea, where it is not above twelve or fourteen miles over. I suppose such a wind hindering the water from going out, causes this extraordinary increase in the spring tides. The same thing happens with the same winds at Venice, both gulphi running nearly in the same direction.
The Egyptian, westerm, or Thebaic shore, from Ba|deah southward to opposite Tor, on the eastern shore, is all mountainous and steep, and at Elim, the north|ernmost point of the bay of Tor, ends the ridge of mountains, which begin on the eastern shore of this western branch at Karondel. I say nothing of Elim or Tor, or the marine productions of this gulph, as this paper is intended to give an account of Sharme, Meenah el Dazhab Kadesh Barnea, the stone which Moses strucle twice, and the inscriptions; I however must say, that from this place Mount Sinai, properly so called, cannot be seen, but only the ridge or groupe of mountains in which it is, and which altogether form that part of this tongue of land, called in general Mount Sinai, The garden of the monks of Mount Sinai at Elim, renders in dates, &c. 20,000 piastres per annum, or 2,500 pounds.
We from thence crossed the plain in about eight hours, and entered the mountains of Sinai; they are of granite of different colours. At the entrance of the narrow breach through which we passed; I saw on a large loose granite stone, an inscription in unknown characters, given, I think, by Doctor Po••ock, bishop of Ossory. However as the Israelites had no writing that we know of, when they passed here, I did not think it of consequence enough to stop for. The Arabs told me it was relative to a battle fought here between A|rabs, and indeed I did not see what points of history it can illustrate, besides, there are not above five or six words. We arrived at the convent of Mount Sinai, after the usual difficulties mentioned by other travellers, were received as usual, and saw the usual places. I must say that the monks were far from owning to me, that they had ever meddled with the print of the foot of Mahomet's camel. I examined it narrowly, and no chissel has absolutely ever touched it; for the coat of the granite is intire, and unbroke in every part; and every body knows, that if the coat of less hard stones than granite is once destroyed, it never returns. It is a most curious lusus natura, and the Mahometans turn it to their use.
Meribah is, indeed surprizingly striking; I examined the lips of its mouth, and found that no chissel had ever worked there. The channel is plainly worn by only the course of water, and the bare inspection of it is suffi|cient to convince any one it is not the work of a man; amongst the innumerable cracks in rocks, which I have seen in this as well as other parts of the world, I never met with any like this, except that at Jerusalem, and the two which are in the rock which Moses struck twice, of which hereafter.
I had enquired of the captain and the two pilots of our ship, about Sharme and Dzahab, on the western shore of the eastern branch of the Red Sea; they told me that they were often forced up the Elanitic gulf, the eastern branch of the Red Sea, and generally went to
Sharme, and sometimes as high as Dzahab. That they generally ran from Cape Mahomet, the southermost part of the peninsula, between those two gulfs to sharme in fix hours; because they made as much more way as they commonly do, they very seldom going there but in a storm. They generally run four knots, so that makes 48 miles, which brings it to the northward of Tor. Tor is in latitude 27 deg 55 min. Cape Mahomet 30 southward, latitude 27 deg. 25 min. Sharme 48 miles, nearly north latitude 23 deg. 13 min. consequently about north-east of Sinai. The port is pretty large, surround|ed by mountains, the entrance very narrow, and the wa|ter deep quite to the rocks, which are so very steep that a stone dropped from the summit falls into the bason. No wind can be felt here; they do not cast anchor, but fasten their cables to the rocks. There is good water; some habitations are found on the sides of the moun|tains, and a pretty large village at top. This seems to answer the idea of Nest-Ken.
Dzahab lies as high again up the gulf, so 48 miles more, or in lat. 29 deg. This port is considerably lar|ger than the former, and very good, but not so closely surrounded with mountains; it is however safe. There is a well of great antiquity, with very good water; very considerable ruins are found, and they say there was a great city formerly, but no inhabitants now, except an Arabian camp of 2000 men. There is a road from it to Jerusalem, formerly much frequented. Thus far the captain and pilots. I enquired from the Monks as well as Arabs, about these places, as well as about the ruins, supposed by my learned friend the bishiop of Ossory, to be Kadesh Barnea. The former could only tell me, they had not received any fish from thence many years; that it was two easy days journey off, but the road was mountainous; so one may ••uppose the distance less than 40 miles. The Arabs agreed as to the road, but they said it was once a large place, where their prince lived, whose daughter Moses married; that Moses, was after|wards their prince, and the greatest of all prophets.
These Arabs place Moses the first, Solomon the se|cond, Mahomet the third, Christ the fourth, and then the prophets of the bible. As to Dzahab the monks only knew the distance to be four days journey, and that there was a rond from it to Jerusalem; (the Arabs told me the same) so the distance is about 80 miles, I enquired of them all about the ruins. They told me there were confiderable ones about half way to Dzahab, about 40 miles from Sinai; but I should think Kadesh must have been much nearer to Jerusalem. I would willingly have gone to these places, but as the four clans of Arabs, which inhabit this promontory, were then at war with the other, I could get no conductor. In any other journey I hope to be more lucky, or this is all hearsay; however, combining the whole together, and comparing it with what we collect from scripture, I think we may conclude Sharme to be Midian, and Mee|nah el Dzahab to be Eziongeber; what the interjacent ruins are, I cannot, conjecture; but I believe have found Kadesh Barnea to be elsewhere; I think it cannot be here, for the Israelites were on the borders of the holy land, or land of promise, when they were ordered back, and when they were stopped by the Moabites. They are said to have been brought up from Kadesh Barnea, and I meet with no place in sacred writing, or any an|cient geographer, neither Strabo nor any other, that draw the line between this promontory and the land of promise so low down; nor could they do it, as these ruins are within almost 70 miles of the extremity of it.
There and two roads from mount Sinai to Jerusalem, the one through Pharan, the other by the way of Dza|hab. That through Pharan, is eleven days journey, two to Phatah, three to a station of the Mecca pilgrims, cal|led Shei••h Ali, and one and a half to some considerable ruins; all this northward. From thence four and some|thing moral to Jerusalem, by the way of Hebron, leav|ing the Asphal••ic lake on the night hand, to the, south-|east: The other way is longer, on account of the road being more mountainous; that too passes the same ru|••••••, and also Seheich Ali.
I enquired about this when I was at Jerusalem, and received the very same account with this addition, that such Mahometans as went from Jerusalem to Mecca, went that way to join the Cairo car•••••••• at S••heich Ali. This seems to be a situation opposite Kadesh Barnea, as the line drawn by all the geographers; it is without mount Sinai, (taken for this whole tract) and just before the Moabites, as the children of Israel passed by mount Hor, now Acaba, leaving the Asphaltic lake on their left hand to the north-west. The tradition too of the Arabs is, that they passed this way; therefore I think Kadesh Barnea must be near this spot. There are here considerable ruins, and I know of no city that ever was here, for Petra lay more to the east, Asphaltic lake and and the Elanitic gulf. To leave no enquiry wanting, I asked the rabbins of Jerusalem where they placed Ka|desh Barnea, and they said these ruins.
We set out from mount Sinai by the way of Scheich Salem, and after we had passed Mahomet's stone, came to the beautiful valley mentioned in the journal. I lay there, and did not set out before day light, that I might not pass the rock which Moses struck twice; I searched and enquired of my Arabs, but could neither hear nor see any thing of it. I saw several short inscriptions stained on some parts of the mountains; the characters being the same as those on mount Sinai, Meribah, &c. given by the bishop of Ossory. About four miles before we arrived at Pharan, we passed through a remarkable breach in a rock, each side of it is perpendicular as a wall, about 80 feet high, and the breach is about 40 broad. It is at this breach I imagine, the Horites were smote, four miles beyond the present ruins of Pharan, for having passed this breach, they could make a stand, nor could they be pursued. Here on the tops of the mountains, to our right hand, were ruins of buildings, and one seemed a castle. From Meribah to near this place we had always rather d••s••ended.
In most places there is the bed of a stream, and after rain the water runs; but a little before we came to this
breach, it winded off towards the west; for the waters fall into that part of the desart, we crossed from Tor. Between thin breach and Pharan there are several springs and one at Pharan, where we encamped. There is the bed of the river mentioned by the journal; the tradi|tional account of which agrees with what is said by St. Paul. Waters seem to have run from Meribah, to within about six miles of this place; the bed of a stream is here again very plain, and a spring at the upper end of it, which does not yield water enough to make a stream, the bed then is dry; four vallies terminate here, and form a large area. I enquired about the road to Je|rusalem; the people agreed in the distance and ruins.
We travelled in the bed of the river through the val|ley, to the north, and in about half an hour the sight and appearance of a large stone, not unlike Meribah, which lay at some distance from the mountain on our right hand which struck me; and I also observed, it had ina|ny small stones upon it. The Arabs, where they have any stone or spot in veneration, as Makowict's stone and the like, after their devotion, lay some smooth stone upon it. I asked what it was, they told me hagar Mousa, the stone of Moses. I told them that could not be, for that lay in Rephidim; they said that was true, but this was hagar il ck••ta••ain, the stone of the two strokes; that he struck it twice, and more water came from it than from Meribah, witness the river. The bed of the river, winds to the eastward, about E. S. E. I asked how far it went; they said this bed ran by Sch••ich Ali to those ruins, and quite away to the sea; so the river must have began here and not at Pharan, and the bed from Pharan is here only formed, I suppose by win|ter torrents. If this be the bed of the river mentioned by St. Paul, as I dare say it is, we have the second rock. If it run to the ruins, they will be pretty plainly those of Kadesh Barnea, and if it coutinue in the same course to the sea, it is probably the river at Rinocolur•• suppo|sed by Eratostenes to be formed by the Arabian laker. because he did not know its miraculous head. This river is doubted of by Stra••••, because d••••ed up to the
source from the time the Israelites entered the land of promise, and the tradition was then lost. Pardon this bold conjecture, but it conciliates and coincides sacred history with ancient geography. This too seems a proof that it is really the second struck rock; as to the springs between the beach and Pharan, they certainly did not exist in the time of Moses, or if they did, they would have been as nothing to so many people.
We went down a large valley to the west, towards the sea, and passed the head of a valley, a part of the desart of Sin, which separates the mountains of Pharan from those which run along the coast, and the same plain which we had passed from Tor. We had scarce entered these mountains and travelled an hoar, when af|ter passing a mountain, where there were visible marks of an extinguished subterranean fire, we saw on our left hand a small rock with some unknown characters cut on it, not stained upon it, as those hitherto met with, and in ten minutes we entered a valley, six miles broad, running nearly north and south, with all the rocks which ••nclose it on the west side covered with characters. These are called gebel el macataab, the written moun|tains. On exa••mning these characters, I was greatly dis|appointed in finding; them every where interspersed with figures of men and beasts, wnich convinced me they were not written by the Israelites, for if they had been after the publication of the law. Moses could not permit them to engrave images, so immediately after he had re|ceived the second commandment. If they went this way and not along the coast they had then no charac|ters that we know of, unless some of them were shilled in hieroglyphics, and th••se have no connexion with them. It will be difficult to guess what these inscrip|tions are; if con••••••cture be permitted, I will give my weak thoughts. They cannot have been written by Is|raelites, or Mahometans, for the above reason, and if by Mahometans they would have some resemblance to some sort of C••phic characters which w••re the characters us|ed in the Arabic language before the in〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the present Arabic letters.
The first M. S. S. of the Alcoran were in Cuphic. There is a fine one at Cairo, which I could not pur|chase, as it is in the principal mosque, and the iman would not steal it for me under 400 sequins, 200 pounds. These have not the least resemblance of them. Saracen characters are very unlike; I think it not im|probable that they were written in the first ages of Chris|tianity, when pilgrimages from Jerusalem to Mount Sinai were fashionable, consequently frequent and nu|merous, by the new Christian Jews who believed in Christ. Therefore I should believe them Hebrew cha|racters, used vulgarly by the Jews, about the time of Christ. I shewed them at Jeruslem to the rabbins; they were of the same opinion. It seems much easier to say what the inscriptions are not, than what they are. They can scarce be of St. Helen's time, for they would have some analogy with Greek characters, and they have none. Perhaps some gentlemen think them ancient E|gyptian, written by the colony, which, they suppose, went to inhabit China; but such colony, if ever there was such a one, probably went the strait road, from the head of one gulf, to the head of the other, from Hiero|polis to Eloth, the way the Mecca pilgrims now go. This place would have been far out of their way, being at least. sixty miles to the south of the pilgrims' road, unless they were supposed to have had transports at Dza|hab or Sharme. Here are on other parts of this rock, some Greek and Arabic, as well as Saracen inscriptions, and an Hebrew one. The Saracens and Arabic only say, "Such an one was here at such a time." The same say the Greek ones, except one, which says, as I remember, for I have it not with me,
The evil geni|us of the army wrote this,which can only prove that some body of the Greeks were worsted here.
The third day from this place, travelling westward, we encamped at Sarondon, as the journal calls it, but it is Karondel, where are the bitter waters Marah. I tri|ed if the branches of any of the trees had any effect on the water, but found none; so the effect mentioned in
scripture must have been miraculous. These waters at the spring, are somewhat bitter and brackish; but on every foot run over, the sand is covered with bituminous salts, grown up by the excessive heat of the sun; they acquire much saltness and bitterness, and very soon be|come not potable. The place at which the ships cast anchor, is below the s••nd, which I mentioned before, near the the ••irque Karondel.
After nine hours and a half march we arived and en|camped at the desart of Shur or Sour. The constant tradition is, that the Israelites afcended from the sea here; this is opposite to the plain Badeah, to which the above-mentioned pass in the mountains leads. From this place the openings in the mountain appear a great crack, and may be called a mouth, taking Hiroth for an apellative: however, I should rather adopt the signifi|cation of liberty. It could hardly have been necessary for the Israelites to pass the sea, if they were within two or three miles of the northern extremity of the gulf. The space of, at most, two miles, the brea••th of the gulf at Suez, and at most, three feet deep, at low water, for it is then constantly waded over, could not have con|tained so many people of drowned Pharaoh's army. There would have been little necessity for his cavalry and chariots to precipitate themselves after a number of people, on foot, incumbered with their wives, children, and baggage, when they could soon have overtaken them by going so little about. These reasons, added to the significant names of the places, Tauriche Ben Israel, road of the children of Israel, Attacah, deliverance, Phahi|roth, whether an appellative or signative, Budeah, new thing or miracle, ••aohorel Poloum, sea of destruction, convince me that the Israelites entered the sea at Bade|ah, and no where else. Besides, all the rest of the coast from Suez and below Badeah is steep rocks, so there must have been another miracle to descend.
The current too sets from this place where we en|camped, towards the opposite sho••••, into the pool Bir|que
Pharaone, pool of Pharaoh, where the tradition is, his host was drowned; a current formed, I suppose, by the rushing and falling of one watery wall on the other, and driving it down; a current, perhaps, by God per|mitted to remain ever since in memoriam re••; in me|mory of the thing. The distance to the bitter waters is about 30 miles. The Ain Mousa, which the Israelites would have met with if they had passed at Suez, and the coast from hence south about a mile to Tor, being all rocky and steep, induced me to believe that they en|tered the Red Sea at Badeah, and ascended from it here. If any thing I have said can in the least support that re|velation, to which I declare myslf a friend, even in this enlightened age, I shall be very happy; or if this trip of mine can be of any use whatever, as I had great pleasure in it, I may truly say with Horace, Omne tu••t punctum, &c.
The denomination I believe, only regards the Hic••a|politic branch, as the marine productions, Madrepores, &c. which form admirable torrents in the bottom of it, are not in the Elanitic branch or gulf. I mean the broad part below Cape Mahomet: no more than that western branch was known to the Israelites at the time of their passage; if it was to the Egyptians. But the name de|scended to the whole, as their knowledge of it. The Red Sea seems to regard the broad part alone. For though there are not the above sea production, yet there is so great a quantity of the tube coral (not found in the western part of the Hierapolitic gulf) and such rocks, as one may say of them, that the Gidda ships fasten them|selves to them instead of casting anchor. It is of a deep red, so that possibly the first navi••••••ors entering at the streight of Babel Mandel, from the red they saw, cal|led it the Red Sea, and that name descended to the whole with their navigation. This sea is tempesluous and full of shoals. There is no harbour an the Arabian coast after Tor, except one; I mean between Suez and Gidda, or Mecca, which is a day and a half from Gidda. Gidda is its port, and there is only one on the other
coast, Ca••••re; but it is a very bad one, however, ships sometimes go thither, and caravans cross the country to Morshout.
The ships are as the bishop of Ossory has described them; the helm is on the outside, as I suppose with his lordship, St. Paul's was. They make use of but ••o••r fails, and no compass, nor do they ever cast the lead, they fail only by day-light from anchoring place to anchoring place, and are not above two day out of sight of land, from Cape Mahomet to the Arabian main. If a gale happen they are often lost about one in ten every year.
I shall be glad to be honoured with the society's com|mands, and in communicating this you will oblige,
SIR,
Your most humble servant, E. W. MONTAGUE
Pisa, Dec. 2, 1765."
AFTER this excursion to the written mountains, we find that Mr. Montague revisited Italy: since the ingenious Mr. Samuel Sharp, in his letters from Italy, in the year 1767, makes the following mention of him.
One of the most curious sights amongst the curiosi|ties at Venice, was the famous Mr. Montague. He was just arrived from the cast, he had travelled
through the Holy Land, Egypt, Armenia, &c. with the Old and New Testament in his hands, he had visited Mount Sinai, and flattered himself he had been on the very part of the rock where Moses spake face to face with God Almighty: his beard reached down to his breast, and the dress of his head was Ar|menian. He was in the most enthusiastick raptures with Arabia and the Arabs: his bed was the ground, his food rice, his beverage water, his luxury a pipe and coffee.
This abstemious method of living in imitation of the Arabs and Armenians, our hero adopted in the latter part: of his life, for he had formerly indulged himself in all the luxuries and sensualities of the east.
Having rather blunted the edge of his curiosity hy continual travel, he resided several years at Constantino|ple. With respect to eating and drinking he affected great temperance, but he was never without a seraglio filled with the beauties of Georgia, Circassia, and Greece; as he deemed a plurality of women consonant to the cus|toms of the patriarchal ages of which he was so fond.
At length growing very infirm, he began to fear an approaching dissolution; this determined him once more to revisit England, in order to settle his temporal con|cerns. He reflected with considerable chagrin, that his sister, the wife of the present Earl of Bute was his heir at law. For his enmity to that nobleman and his family continued, or rather, had im realed with his years, and he seemed to have gath••••••d additional malignity by time.
By his several wives and con••ubines he had several children, but was sensible that they could lay no legal claim to his estate after his demise, on account of his pri|or marriage with the pretty washer wom••n, who had ne|ver been pregnant by him.
But a letter he received from England gave him new
spirits, for it informed him of the death of the washer|woman, his first wife, who had, till this, lived in the country upon her annuity, in a very i••ssensive and reti|red manner.
On the receipt of this intelligence, a thought struck his imagination, which gave him a sensible satisfaction, as it presented him with the idea of throwing his estate into another channel, and disappointing those obnoxious relations who were in sanguine expectation of its falling to them.
His scheme was to marry some young woman of indi|gent circumstances, who was pregnant that the child be|ing born in wedlock, might become his heir. For he was too sensible of his own imbecillity from age and infirmities to suppose he should ever have a child of his own.
Warm with the idea of this novel method of shewing the most permanent resentment to those he so much dis|relished, he wrote to a friend in England to procure a proper young woman in a state of pregnancy, with all possible expedition.
This request to his friends occasioned an advertisement to be inserted in the morning papers.
In consequence of this advertisement several unfortu|nate fai•• ones applied, who had been more prolific than their circumstances rendered convenient, and having been forsaken by their faithless swains, thought by the tenor of the advertisement that it was a favorable oppor|tunity to alleviate their misfortunes.
Four of these were selected for our hero's choice. The first being in the third; the second in the fourth; the third in the fifth; and the fourth in the sixth month of her pregnancy.
They were informed that the person whose happiness it should be to be chosen by Mr. Montague, would have a genteel settlement for life; besides the child of which she was pregnant becoming by the marriage heir to a con|siderable estate; and that the three whose fortune it was to be rejected, would have a present of 200 pounds each. Perfectly satisfied with this, they were sent to France, in in order to proceed to Paris, where Mr. Montague was to meet them, that the hymeneal election might be made with all possible expedition; but the ladies were all dis|appointed, as Mr. Montague did not reach Paris, being seized at Venice with a malignant fever, which carried him off in a few days. Thus his relations who were so obnoxious to him, were much more befriended by for|tune, than by his age or impotency.
The Spaniards in general, are exceedingly proud of arrogating to themselves this appellation; by which they insinuate, that they are descended from an ancient Christian family of Old Castile, the blood of which hath not been contaminated by any intermarriage, or intermixture with Moors o Jews.
The bells, which the mules in Spain wear as pack|horses do in England, or at least, as they did before the roads were made so good, and the cariages so much more cmmodious as at present.
As these in the upperr gallery in the English thea|tres are 〈…〉〈…〉 galieryu itself in the Fr••nch 〈…〉〈…〉se
A hackney-c••ach.