CHAP. VIII.
Lost in these, and such like reflections, Ferdinand wandered over the broken monuments of ancient glory, every pillar of which raised an enthusiastic spirit, and a concomitant sorrow. Heli, unmoved, walked among the ruins without either reflection or reverence; but observing that his companion looked fatigued, as well as thoughtful, "I think," said he, "your walk has been sufficiently extensive for the present.—To-morrow you shall take a view of the amphitheatre and the grove. Yet, if it has no other effect than to increase your dejection, we might as well remain in the Castle."
"Do not mistake the nature of my feelings," replied Ferdinand.—"'Tis impossible to view these fragments of ancient grandeur, without ruminating on the causes which tumbled them into ruin. But I assure you, that I am much obliged and gratified by your indulgence; and could the mind of man divest itself from the selfishness inherent to our nature, we should have but little reason to murmur at our own losses and misfortunes, when we reflect on the entire downfall of a nation once so great and mighty as the Romans."
"I cannot say," returned Heli, "that looking on these ruinous palaces, at all lessens my regret for the want of fortune, or comforts me for being doomed to live in this solitary place."
"I am not more abstracted than yourself," said Ferdinand, "since I do not scruple to confess, that I am at this moment not the less sensible of my own unpleasant situation, less unmindful of local attachments, nor less anxious for the fate of my friend, when contemplating the fall of empires; but it proves to a thinking mind, that sorrow is the lot of man, in some stage or other of his life: And if he loves his country, he must dread, that the same vices, luxury, ambition, licentiousness, and discontent, too prevalent in most countries, must at length terminate in the destruction of that nation, where their growth is encouraged by faction, and nursed by the countenance of superior abilities."
Heli nodded his head, but whether in approbation of the justice of those observations, or because he did not comprehend them, and could make no reply, cannot be determined; but he had received so little pleasure from the walk, that he stretched his inclination to make the utmost speed back, that the gravity of the Turkish movements would allow of.
Ferdinand, whose mind had found much relief from the novelty of the morning's ramble, after his return, seemed to have recruited both his strength and spirits, and conversed with more cheerfulness than usual.
"I have frequently," said he to Heli, "had an inclination to ask you one question, but I was fearful you would be displeased at my curiosity."
"And what is that," returned the other. "Speak freely; the answer depends upon myself."
"Have you no women in this Castle?—Near two months that I have been here, I have seen nor heard of any: Yet can hardly persuade myself that you reside in this solitary place without some companions to soften your melancholy hours."
"And have you not made this inquiry before of the man who attends you?" asked Heli.
"Never," replied Ferdinand.—"I have always forborne the meanness of interrogating a servant relative to his master's concerns."
"I admire your discretion," returned he. "You deserve confidence. I have women here, in a distant part of the Castle from this, where they are shut up, and have only a garden to amuse themselves in, which is as much liberty as the laws of our prophet, and the custom of the country, allows them.—You Christians make your women infamous by toleration of their vices, and giving the reins to their natural depraved inclinations."
"As I make it an invariable rule," answered Ferdinand, "never to enter into any controversies against declared and established prejudices, I shall make no other reply to your observation, than to assure you, that in the European countries, we generally find an undue restraint, a severity of conduct, either from a parent or a husband, almost always is productive of those errors and vices we are so sedulous to guard them from.
"The English repose an unlimited confidence in their women; and though doubtless there may be, and I dare say are, very many who disgrace themselves and their families, yet both, from reading and information, I am led to believe that the number of vicious women bears a much less proportion than in Spain, in some parts of Italy, or even in Turkey, where their whole study, and all their ingenuity, is employed to deceive and betray their husbands, whom they look upon rather as severe masters or jailers, than as the partners of their hearts.
"However, as I before observed, I never interfere in established customs; I am obliged to you for your confidence, and am glad to find that you have such objects with you, as may sooth your solitary hours in a place which appears so distant from all social converse."
"I thank you," returned Heli; "but I have at least as much plague as pleasure with them; and had our prophet exterminated them from the world, mankind would have been no losers."
"And yet," replied Ferdinand, "your prophet has made your chief happiness in paradise to consist of beautiful virgins."
"Yes," said Heli; "but those virgins will be always beautiful, always young, and never unfaithful."
"Then," returned the other, "you may well bear with their follies and decay here, since their comparative defects must enhance the delights of your promised happiness hereafter."
"Fine talking," cried Heli; "if you had two or three hundred women to rule, who, shut up together, are perpetually quarrelling, envious, jealous, and revengeful; all of whom you must reconcile, please, and caress. I believe you would scarcely think expected pleasures a sufficient recompense to make you patiently endure such a slavery. Thank Heaven, I have but eight, and trouble enough they give me."
Ferdinand smiled.—"And is not the trouble of your own making. Why increase your plagues; why have eight women?—Can you not select one from the number to make you happy, and dismiss the others?"
"One!" exclaimed Heli; "be confined to one woman! Great happiness indeed I should find then. And that one, what would become of her, without companions.—Shut up from all social converse—nothing to amuse her—nothing to animate or agitate her mind; what a dull insipid mass of clay should I meet, when I condescend to unbend and divert myself."
"I had indeed forgotten her situation," returned Ferdinand, "and must acknowledge, if the severity of your customs oblige women to solitude and confinement, one could not exist long without a companion; but she might have slaves, attendants to converse with."
"It would never do," said Heli.—"Too much consequence and power thrown into the hands of one woman, would make her insolent and rebellious. By dividing our attentions, we reduce them to an equality that prevents intrigues, discontents, and insolence; makes them emulous to please, and cautious to offend. But they are so capricious and so envious, that among themselves they are perpetually disagreeing, and I am often called upon to decide quarrels, and to compel them to keep good order: Yet, were it not for the variety and spirit this diffuses among them, they could neither entertain me, nor amuse themselves. Therefore, though sometimes I am fatigued and angry at their disputes, upon the whole it is less disagreeable than a stupid sameness, which would be disgusting."
"You have accounted very well," said Ferdinand, "for the necessity that compels you to have many women; and whilst your customs respecting the sex subject them so much to your power, and deny them those rights which our divine legislator bestowed on all mankind without discrimination, that of liberty and free will. Whilst both their minds and bodies are in captivity, one unfortunate female, as you observed, can neither be happy in herself, or make another so."—Heli grew thoughtful, and made no reply.—The subject dropped; and for the remainder of the day, Ferdinand applied himself closely to his studies.
The following day, Heli waited not to be asked, but voluntarily offered to accompany Ferdinand in a walk to the amphitheatre.—The other gladly accepted the civility, and they directed their steps to this noble building. Great part of the circular wall remained entire. Many superb pillars supported different parts of the structure. Nearly one half of the inside was in ruins; but in some places there were regular seats rising over one another to an immense height.
The whole exhibited a sullen state of grandeur sinking to decay. Half broken pillars of marble, of granite, lay scattered in large fragments on a kind of Mosaic pavement. Several fine pieces of sculpture, maimed statues, and decayed paintings, that at the touch crumbled into dust, lay in heaps at different parts of the building. In fine, all was great, admirable, and gratifying;—but at the same time mortifying, depressive, and humiliating, to the pride of human nature.
For who that beheld those stupendous buildings, those superb monuments of antiquity, once adorned by the most virtuous and bravest of mankind, now trampled under foot, decayed, mutilated, and sinking into ruin; but must shrink into nothing, on a comparative view of his own littleness, of the modern architecture of the present day, and feel, that soon the one will be no more, lost and forgotten; levelled to the earth, without a stone remaining to engage either veneration or regret: Whilst on this hallowed ground ages hence, mankind will tread with reverence, and recall to their minds those heroes who once were the saviours of their country, and to the latest posterity will be the envy and admiration of mankind.
Ferdinand eagerly gazed on every part of this immense building. His enthusiastic spirit seemed raised above himself. He glowed with delightful recollections, and traced in his mind's eye, those mighty armies commanded by the first of men, now marching to the adjoining fields, to decide, in one day, the fate of Rome, then mistress of the world.
But his feelings cannot be described; nor can this weak pen delineate a hundredth part of the admirable remains of this once incomparable structure; in the examining of which, he had spent more than four hours, without going half over the buildings. Heli, whose complaisance was at its utmost stretch, and who had exhibited several marks of impatience; for what was statues or pillars to him, broken and destroyed by time, and the depredations of vulgar uninformed souls. Fragments like these were to him contemptuous ruins; and he admired, at the ignorance and superstition of Ferdinand, in making them objects of such consequence.
"Well," said he, he a tone of fretfulness, "do you design to pass the day here; or are you inclined to walk in the grove?"
The other perfectly comprehended the spirit of the question, and replied very complaisantly, "that he was ready to attend him."—To the grove they turned, which, though thick and impervious to the eye, was by no means so extensive as Ferdinand had expected, and seemed to have been the work of modern times; for the trees bore not the marks of centuries. This he remarked.
"I believe you are right," returned Heli. "I have heard this plantation was made by some hermits, who chose this spot to build their cells in, one of which only now remains, and is inhabited by Father Abdalla."
"How!" cried Ferdinand, "does any one reside here?"
"Yes," replied Heli; "one holy man has here devoted his life to serve Allah and his prophet."
They now penetrated through a thick underwood, darkened by some lofty trees, and descending a slope, came to a small rivulet, on the opposite side of which he saw among the trees the moss covered cell of the hermit, who was reclining on a little bank, raised about a foot above the earth, reading the alcoran. They had crossed a small wooden bridge, and, as they approached, he raised his head, and viewed them steadily, but without any marks of surprise; then threw his eyes down towards his book.
Heli saluted him, by laying his right hand on his breast. "Abdalla," said he, "holy man, thou art a true servant to the Most High. Praise be to him, and his prophet Mahomet."
The old man arose, and saluted them courteously. He invited them into his cell, where he set before them some dried fruits, and water clear as crystal.
Ferdinand was charmed with the sweet and placid countenance of this hermit—so different from the frigid austere looks of the Turks in general. His voice was mild, his eye soft, though penetrating; and he invited them to the simple repast, with a cordiality that denoted a beneficent mind.
"'Tis long since I have seen thee brother," said he to Heli.
"True," replied he, "I have had a companion, whom thou seest, a Christian captive, under my care; who has acquired our language tolerably, and deported himself so as to deserve my favour."
"As a captive, I pity him," said Abdalla. "As a Christian, I will pray for him, that our holy prophet may convert him from his errors, as he has enlightened his understanding."
"I thank you, holy father," answered Ferdinand.—"Though a Christian, I reverence true piety, and honour good men of every religion. The prayers of an upright heart I shall ever be grateful for. But pardon me if I ask how long you have resided in this grove?"
"Upwards of fifty years," replied he.—"I was near thirty when I first came here.
"When young I was bred to arms. I fought under our last great Sultan. He thought I deserved well; he promoted me. This raised me many enemies; I fell under the displeasure of the Grand Vizier; that was sufficient to mark my ruin. My death was resolved on; a faithful slave gave me notice of my danger, at the hazard of his own life. We fled together, and after encountering a thousand perils, we arrived at this grove, by a different road than the one to the Castle.—In this cell dwelt a holy man; he received and cherished us. In a few moons after, I lost my faithful Sadi. My grief was unspeakable. That event, and the unjust treatment I had met with, gave me a disgust to the world.
"Here I found a friend, a protector, and an instructive monitor. Our holy prophet sanctified his labours. I renounced the world and all its deadly passions, love, hatred, ambition, and envy. Twenty years I possessed a friend, who was the chosen of Allah, and a true son of the prophet. He purified my heart, and fashioned it like his own.—His translation to paradise is the only cloud that has, for a moment, shadowed my content since the death of Sadi.
"I possess health, and every wish of my heart. I expect soon to enjoy the blessings of Mahomet, the joys of paradise: My days are numbered, and draw to an end: I always keep a week's provision in my cell, lest, for a short time, I should be unable to quit it. Allah be praised; I wait his appointed time, which cannot be far off."
This simple recital inspired Ferdinand with admiration and respect. He bowed involuntarily before the good man, whose animated countenance corresponded with the purity of his heart. "Holy father," said he, "let me entreat your blessing. I am a man of sorrows: Captivity is the least of them: Let me have your prayers, that my latter days may be as tranquil as yours."
"Hope, my son—hope," replied Abdalla. "Trust in the Most High; so shall thy troubles fly from thee like a passing cloud: Thine enemies be cut down, and thy latter days be peace."
Heli, who grew impatient at this scene, abruptly reminded Ferdinand it was time to return. He turned to the good father.———"You have cheered my spirits," said he. "You have communicated to my heart faith and hope.—If I am permitted, I will see you again. Holy father, remember me in your prayers."
The hermit, with a look of dignified complaisance, bowed his head.—"The blessing of Allah be upon thee, my son, and upon you, my brother."
Heli and Ferdinand left the grove, and returned to the Castle, the former thoughtful and fatigued; for the Turks are extremely indolent; seldom walk for pleasure; and it was no small effort he had made to emerge from the supine indulgence so habitual to him, as to walk two following days. The other, delighted by new scenes, charmed with what he had seen, and looking with admiration and reverence on every spot so celebrated and so sacred, felt an uncommon flow of spirits, and as well as he could, in a language but new to him, expressed to Heli a thousand obligations for his kindness, and spoke of the pleasure he received in the most lively, and, to the other, enthusiastic terms; which was heard with a frigid coldness, and a more than usual reserve.
Ferdinand, at length struck with the silence of Heli, apologized for his loquacity, and restrained his raptures. On arriving at their apartments, Heli threw himself on the sofa, and complained of immense fatigue, though the whole of their walk had not exceeded three miles; but that was a journey to the Turk, who sometimes had been accustomed to visit the hermit, but through a different road; for on the other side of the Castle was a very short way to it; but then they must pass a few scattered houses, which, being inhabited, Heli did not choose to take Ferdinand near them; nor was he informed that any such places were in the neighbourhood. On the contrary, he supposed Heli's family, and the few soldiers who guarded the small fortresses, he saw on coming to the Castle, were all the people that dwelt in that neglected and deserted spot.
All that day, Heli persevered in an unusual silence. Not that indolent taciturnity natural to the Turks, but a thoughtful gloom seemed to hang upon him, as if revolving, in his mind, some affair of importance.
Ferdinand observed and trembled.—"Some event, productive, I fear, of no good to me, is in contemplation." He passed a night of painful inquietude. The following morning afforded no relief to his anxiety. Heli did not appear at the usual hour.—The noon came, but no Heli. Unable any longer to restrain his impatience, when the slave attended with his coffee—"Is not the governor well?" demanded he.
The man bowed his head, put his finger to his lips, and withdrew. The day passed heavily: He endeavoured to recollect if he had given any offence to Heli; his memory charged him with no fault or imprudence in their several conversations. To what then was owing this sudden and unaccountable revolution in his behaviour?
A second night, and the first part of the second day, passed in the same uneasy conjectures. Towards the close of the day, the door of his apartment opened; Heli appeared, followed by———Judge the transports of Ferdinand—followed by the Count! Yes, his friend Count M———. They flew to embrace each other, regardless of all but the joy of this unexpected meeting; as unlooked for by the Count, as unhoped for by Ferdinand, whose mind, having been wound up to expect some horrid design against him, was so overcome by a rush of sudden joy, that unable to speak, he sunk almost motionless on the sofa.
The effect was momentary; for he soon exclaimed, "My friend! my dear Count.—Dear—generous Heli."
The Count was not less transported, nor less grateful in his expressions to their benefactor. Heli approached them—"I leave you together; an hour hence I shall return, and communicate important news."
He withdrew. The friends had a thousand things to say—a thousand questions to ask. It appeared, that after they had been separated, the Count was carefully guarded. He met with no ill treatment, but he obtained no companion like Heli. His days past heavily, without any employment, and his mind oppressed with sorrow and despair; a situation, he observed, which must very shortly have overpowered his constitution.
The preceding day, Heli accompanied his guard into his miserable apartment. He made him a sign to follow Heli; he knew resistance would be in vain, and was indifferent as to consequences. He was placed in a covered carriage; they travelled all night, and for some hours on this morning.———"When we arrived at this Castle," proceeded the Count, "I supposed I had only changed one prison for another still more dreadful; and when, by signs, I was ordered to accompany Heli to the door of this apartment, I prepared to enter it as the grave of all my hopes, and the closing scene of my life.
"Good Heavens! what a transition from absolute despair to exquisite joy. How little did I hope ever to see my friend again. Yet let me not be too sanguine; perhaps we are prisoners for life; yet if they will permit us to be together, I am careless of future circumstances."
"What is intended by bringing us together," said Ferdinand, "I am as ignorant of as yourself: For when I once questioned Heli as to the place of your confinement, he protested he was ignorant of it. In this, 'tis plain, he practised deception: Therefore I cannot pretend to judge what may be his future views.
"I have experienced civilities from him which call for confidence; and if I am deceived, I would rather suffer for my candor, than wrong him by unjust suspicions."
The Count seemed to derive hope from Ferdinand's account of Heli. They both execrated the treachery of Ismael; judging that, from such a man, they had every thing to dread, should his expectations, or demands of a large ransom, by any unforeseen means, be fruitless.
By the time appointed, Heli entered, and carefully shutting the door, seated himself by Ferdinand.—"I am now going to prove my confidence in you," said he.—"Five days ago, I received intelligence, that my kinsman Ismael was imprisoned, by the machinations of his enemies. This event nearly concerned me; yet I hoped his relations and interest at Constantinople would preserve him. The contrary has happened; the last morning that I walked out with you to the grove, I was informed of his death, the confiscation of his effects, and the determined ruin of all his family.
"I debated in my mind, whether I should fly the approaching storm, and leave you to preserve yourself as you could.—Other thoughts suggested themselves: This government, not being very important, might not be immediately thought of. If I left you, you might indeed regain your liberty, but you might run a thousand hazards.—Your friend would have but little chance of an escape for a long time to come, if ever, as he could not give information to his friends, and the persons who had the care of him, were of an inferior order of people.
"Considering all this, I fixed my plan immediately. I set off for the confinement of this gentleman, and demanded him in the Grand Seigneur's name; I was well known; and though I produced no signet, they presumed not to disobey me: By this step I have obliged you both; and if you will solemnly subscribe to the conditions I propose, I will not only give you your liberty, but open to you a way of returning to your own country, without ransom or difficulty. You may possibly entertain some doubts of my sincerity, because I denied the knowledge of your friend's residence, but it was a trust reposed in me, and I think myself entitled to the more credit, for preserving my faith; you may judge as you please."
"I assure you," replied Ferdinand, who had listened to him very attentively, that he might perfectly understand him, "I honour you for your integrity; name your conditions, therefore, without reserve; they must be hard ones indeed, if we hesitate a moment to fulfil them."
"This then is my plan," returned Heli. "I now acknowledge to you, that within this last moon, peace has been concluded upon between our great Sultan and your Emperor. All officers remaining in Turkey are declared free, and may return to their homes. Nevertheless, many of them, secured as you have been, will find great difficulties. It must be in every governor's power to retard their freedom, without he is interested to liberate them. You understand me.—And in the next place, the natural aversion the Turks have to you Christians, might subject them to many insults, without they have a proper guard.
"Now, if you will swear to take me with you, and to protect me, and one person more, in your country; I will attend you through the country to the first sea port, as the safest way of going in the habit of a Janissary, and as a guard deputed to see you on your way to the port. The other person I speak of is a woman, once a Christian, but now a true disciple of Mahomet—I cannot leave her behind. She must travel as your wife; but she must be sacred from your touch; for I swear by Allah, if in any one point you disappoint or deceive me, both shall instantly suffer death, though I were sure to die a thousand times."
"I will answer both for my friend and for myself," replied Ferdinand; 'that we will sacredly keep our faith with you; that we will amply provide both for you and the woman, and enable you to spend the remainder of your days in comfort."
"Enough," replied Heli; "in two days we will be on the road; but fear not that I shall be a burden to you; I am not destitute of riches, though hitherto they have been useless to me, because I dared not spend beyond my income. Subject to so many jealous eyes, we must have the "wisdom of the serpent" to escape our enemies."
Heli departed with a countenance so changed from the gloom and anxiety which had for some time pervaded his features, that even Ferdinand was surprised at the alteration, and the Count viewed him with wonder and curiosity. When he had left the apartment, Ferdinand quickly informed his friend of their agreeable prospects, from the proposals of Heli. The Count was not less pleased than himself, but could not help observing, that they were more indebted to the selfish gratifications of the proposer, than to his generosity.
"This man's conduct," said he, "confirms the opinion I have early been taught to hold of the Turks, that in their dealings with us, they are selfish, deceitful, and avaricious. Was it not Heli's interest to escape from this country, I believe we should owe him no obligations, either for our liberty or lives, if the sacrifice of either, or both, were essential to his own views."
"We must not search too nicely into the motives which influences men's actions," returned Ferdinand.—"There are so many hidden springs, so many latent causes.———Sometimes scarcely known to ourselves, from which originate our best purposes, and guide our designs, that I fear few could stand the scrutiny, without the imputation of selfishness."
"I shall not now dispute that point with you," answered the Count, 'though I am inclined to think more favourably of human nature than you do."
"Do not mistake my general observation for an invariable rule," said Ferdinand hastily. "There are minds of a superior mould, doubtless; but they are comparatively few. And as for this Turk, as we could have no right to expect his services, I am willing to accept them upon his own terms."
In the afternoon Heli attended them, and after a long conversation, their plan and route was settled, and he bid them prepare to set off by the eleventh hour next day, when he and the woman would join them.
"The lady, I suppose," said Ferdinand, "must be silent, otherwise her language will betray her."
"Not so," returned he.—"I told you she had been a Christian; nay, more, she is your countrywoman, a German."
"And you can be contented with one woman?" asked he, smiling.
"I cannot be contented without this woman," replied Heli.—"That's all I can answer for at present."
The friends passed a night of impatience, and not entirely free from apprehension.—Should any discovery of Heli take place, they might, as accomplices, be involved in very disagreeable situations. If they discovered themselves as German officers, entitled to their liberty, he might, in revenge, accuse them of some crimes which would draw on them unpleasant consequences.—And to irritate, displease, or disappoint a Turk, is seldom done with impunity, they are in general so furious and revengeful.
Therefore, after much consultation, and revolving all circumstances together, they thought it best to submit with a good grace, and trust to the ingenuity and diligence of Heli to extricate them from impending difficulties.
The hour at length came, appointed for their departure. Heli appeared in his usual garb alone; their hearts misgave them.—"Follow me," said he, "and fear nothing."
He led them across a court, and through a small postern door, which opened upon a ragged and unfrequented part of the hill;—and it was with some difficulty they kept their feet steady in going down the declivity. At the bottom was a thick underwood, through which they easily penetrated to a small decayed building: Entering a few steps, they perceived a soldier with a drawn scimitar.—They started back, and supposed themselves betrayed, casting a look of reproach on Heli.—He saw their thoughts in that look.—"This is a friend," said he;—and going forward, he returned with a bundle, that contained the dress of a soldier, and in which he quickly arrayed himself, throwing his other clothes under some large stones and rubbish.
"We have now the day before us," said he, "and no time to lose before we reach a place of safety. I have given out in the Castle, that I shall pass the day with you at the hermit's. No suspicion, therefore, will be entertained 'till night, nor any thoughts of a pursuit 'till morning, because no one has a right to command or leave his post, consequently much time will elapse before that is determined upon."
"But the woman," said Ferdinand.
"Will be safe with us," answered Heli, smiling, and pointing to the soldier, who was so perfectly disguised by her dress and mustaches, that they had not the least suspicion of her sex.
"Will she not be missed?" asked the Count.
"No," replied Heli.—"Yesterday she was impertinent—we quarrelled—I ordered her into confinement, and, in a feigned passion, swore she should remain there three days, sending to her room some dried figs and water. I locked the door, and secured the key.
"This morning I pretended to regret my oath, and said, I would go and consult the holy hermit, how far I dared to remit her punishment. Thus you see neither will be sought after, as I had forbidden any one to approach the door of her apartment; and I am so well beloved by the men, and so little suspected of having any cause to absent myself, as they are ignorant of Ismael's fate, which involves his kindred, that unless an order should arrive to arrest me, I dare say they will not think of my flight, or pursue me 'till after tomorrow, if then; and before that, I trust we shall be in safety."
They could not but acknowledge that he had taken every prudent precaution to preserve them from danger; and without any further conversation, they pursued their way across the plain to the next town, which was a few miles distance. Here they easily procured a carriage, under the pretence that the Count and Ferdinand were prisoners, whom the soldiers had in custody.
The Turkish soldiers are in general so formidable to the common ignorant people, that few would presume to dispute their commands. The same pretence carried them through several small towns and villages without interruption or accident, tho' not without much fatigue, as they proceeded with great speed.
It is not necessary to trace them through their journey, as they had neither time or inclination to make observations. Therefore I shall only say, that they reached the river Danube in safety, which they crossed, and after several days travelling, arrived at Belgrade. Here they rested, and were enabled to breathe, after their fatigues, both of body and mind.
Having stayed two days, they proceeded on to Vienna, and, to the great joy of the whole party, at length entered that Imperial city in perfect safety, just sixteen weeks from the day when the battle took place, and they were carried off by Ismael.