bitter terms, concluding thus, while her delivery was impeded by sighs and sobs: "I am well aware, Sire, that your love is on the wane; spare yourself the pain of seeking to create a quarrel, which will enable you to abandon me. I am resolved to anticipate you, and to join my husband; it is necessary that confidence should be reciprocal in affection; and since you do not love me sufficiently to be convinced of my fidelity, I ought at least to prove myself generous enough to tranquillize your mind by a speedy retreat.'

"You do me great injustice, my beloved child,' answered the king: 'are you not aware that a little jealousy is the certain concomitant of love the most pure and violent? If I esteemed and cherished you less, I should not be so afraid of losing you; however, since my conduct offends, I promise you never more to be jealous. I deserve all your anger, my beloved; but certainly I am not unworthy of grace, since I here confess my fault at your feet.'

“Gabrielle, then casting one of her languishing and eloquent glances towards the monarch, which was more emphatic than words, thus sealed his forgiveness; and so fearful was the prince lest she should put her threat into execution, that a considerable period elapsed ere he again testified any marks of suspicion." Vol. II. p. 166.

He wished to marry her even when he was in possession of proofs of her infidelity to himself. His infatuation was so ridiculous that he allowed her a seat in the public councils. When the divorce from Margaret of Valois was in agitation, the ambitious Gabrielle declared herself a candidate for the royal seat in the case of a vacancy. Sully, of course, opposed her, and her anger was violent and bitter against the virtuous minister.

·

"Henry, afflicted at their enmity, was desirous of effecting a reconciliation; for which purpose he conducted Rosny to the residence of the duchess, who, presuming too much on the ascendency she had obtained over the king, treated the minister in the first instance with disdainful haughtiness, and in the sequel gave vent to violent passion; upon which Henry remarked, that the original cause of his attachment towards her was a gentleness which he had conceived she possess. ed, but that he had for some time remarked such was not the case; but that she would strangely deceive herself if she imagined he could sacrifice such a faithful friend, and he therefore commanded her to get the better of her hatred towards him, and only be guided in future by his advice.'

"Scarcely had the monarch concluded, when his mistress gave vent to a string of reproaches, particularly directed against Rosny; when, after exhausting all her abuse and calumnies, Henry, who had suffered her to continue without interrup. tion, made this reply in a reserved and cold manner: 'I see, madam, that you have been schooled to all this in order to compel me to dismiss a faithful friend, whose services are absolutely essential to me. You know me but little; for I declare that were I reduced to the necessity of choosing which of the two I must lose, I could more easily do without ten mistresses such as yourself, than one servant like him.'

"This fulminating reply completely silenced the duchess; she lost all her haughtiness, became humble, and even supplicated, and then burst into tears; when, seeing the king on the point of retiring to leave her, perhaps for ever, she ran to intercept his passage, threw herself at his feet, declaring that she would never have any other will than his own, and then turning to Rosny, entreated that he would excuse the violence of temper she had manifested, for which she expressed her sorrow. Henry, softened, promised to forget the past, and having quitted the duchess's apartment, he took Rosny by the hand, and pressing it with peculiar energy, exclaimed, Well, my friend, did I not stick out boldly ?'

"From that day,' says Rosny, the duchess displayed so much amenity and consideration towards me, that she soon acquired all her former influence over Henry's heart, who only attributed her conduct to the bad advice she had received." Vol. II. p. 310.

And yet Henry, the Great, never let this epithet be forgotten; Henry the Great did not abandon his wish of marrying her. The

firmness of Sully saved France and its sovereign from this indignity, and Henry was compelled to marry Mary de Medici. Whatever was the state of the king's affairs, his court was always brilliant and licentious; the ladies were gay and amorous, and a brave old soldier was provoked into the exclamation, "that whatever might take place, it was always requisite the ball should be attended to." In such society we do not wonder that Henry did not breathe his sighs in vain. One lady, indeed, opposed him, and it was, we suppose, she that was alluded to by the Copper Captain, in Beaumont and Fletcher, who, on being asked if he had ever seen any virtuous women, replied, that he had read of one, once. The Lucretia of the court of France was Catherine de Rohan, duchess of Deux Ponts, who nobly declared to her sovereign, "I am too poor to rank as your wife, and of too exalted a house to debase myself by becoming your mistress."

The ladies rule every thing in France, and to Gabrielle has been ascribed the credit of converting Henry from Calvinism to popery. There is no proof that the king made any sacrifices by this change. Sully, indeed, states his conviction, that as uprightness and sincerity were the principles of his soul, he was persuaded that nothing could persuade him to embrace a religion which he internally despised, or had even doubted. This was a very liberal, or a very politic assertion of the minister; but those changes of religion, at the precise moment when interest demands them, are suspicious things. Ambition and love seem to have erased every impression of religion from the mind of Henry. "Paris was well worth a mass,' as he used to say. In the jest of the time, he thought that the "best cannon he had ever employed was the canon of the mass," through means of which he acquired his kingdom. He was more famous for his wit on religion, than for his possession of religious principle. When the question of his conversion from the Reformed to the Roman Catholic religion was argued by ecclesiastics of both systems, a Calvinist admitted the possibility of salvation in the opposite faith. The king remarked, with the adroitness of a controversialist rather than with the seriousness of an honest inquirer, that prudence required him to adopt his new religion, for though in professing Calvinism he would be saved, according to that system, yet as he would be damned, according to Catholicism, reason urged him to adopt a faith which both parties admitted led to salvation.

But we must conclude, for there is nothing in the volumes before us worthy of a prolonged criticism. They are, in truth, not much more than an amplification of the common articles on Henry, in biographical dictionaries. The private and personal character of that monarch left scarcely any impression on his age; but his political conduct had abundant influence on the fate of Europe. The Reformation was opposed by the League of Catholic princes, and if that unholy alliance had finally prospered, Europe would have been plunged into its ancient night of barbarism and tyranny: on VOL. VI. No. 33.-Museum. 2 D

the side of the Protestants were arrayed the princes of Navarre and Condé. The family of Valois, and the princes of Lorraine and Guise represented the League. Elizabeth of England, and Philip of Spain, were the allies of the respective parties. Finally the League was broken, the cause of civil and religious liberty was saved, and he who, under Providence, effected the deliverance of Europe, was Henry the Fourth.

FROM THE LONDON MAGAZINE.

THE POWER OF BEAUTY.
A Syrian Tale.

NOT far from the banks of the Orontes, and aloof from any other habitation, stood a Syrian cottage, where dwelt a peasant, his wife, and only son. It was the daily employment of the latter to lead the few sheep of his father to the hills, where the wild and sweet notes of his Syrian pipe often cheered the traveller on his way: the caravans travelling from Damascus to Bagdad sometimes passed by, and purchased of his father's flock; and nothing could exceed the joy of Semid when he heard the camel bell, and the mournful chaunt of the Arab driver, and saw the long train of the caravan winding up the mountain path. He would then listen with delight to the tales of these travellers of the desert, and longed to accompany them on their way; but when he returned to the cottage at night, when the fire was kindled on the rude floor, the unleavened cake baked in the embers, and the milk, fruit, and honey from the hills, formed their repast; when he heard his parents say, in words of affection, that he was their only support and joy, he reproached himself for having ever cherished the thought of leaving them. But one night there arose a violent storm; the Orontes overflowed its banks, the blast came wild and furious from the desert beyond, and moaned through the lonely group of fig-trees around the cottage with a sound as of destruction. Amidst the darkness and the beating of the rain was heard a voice of distress that seemed to implore admission and shelter. Semid arose, and on opening the door, a venerable man entered, whose green turban and toil-worn features proclaimed him to be a Hadgi, or pilgrim from Mecca; his beard descended nearly to his girdle, and overcome by fatigue and the violence of the storm, he threw himself on the coarse carpet which was spread for him, and hung over the blazing fire; and when he had drunk of the coffee presented him, his faded looks brightened with joy, and at last he broke silence, and gave the blessing of a Hadgi, and adored the goodness of Allah. The storm was hushed, the moon-light came through the lattice window of the cottage: the pilgrim knelt, and folding his hands on his breast-he prayed, fixing his eyes on earth, with intense devotion; he thrice pressed his forehead on

the ground, and then stood, with his face to Mecca, and invoked the prophet.

Semid gazed on the stranger-he could be no wandering dervise; his aspect and manner were far superior to the poverty of his dress, and on the hem of his garment was embroidered that passage from the Koran, fit only for the good.-The next and several following days the Hadgi was still a welcome guest; he had been a long and restless traveller, and when Semid was seated by his side in the rude portico of the cottage, as the sun was setting on the Orontes, and the wild mountains around, and he had given the chibouque into his hands, he drank in with insatiable delight every tale of wandering and peril on the wave and the wilderness which the other related. At last the day of his departure came, and Semid wept bitterly as he clasped the hand of the stranger, who, during his short stay, had become deeply attached to him, and who now turned to the father and mother, and raised his right hand to heaven, and attested his words by the name of Allah. "I am alone," he said, " in the world; the shaft of death has stricken from my side relative and friend; as I have beheld the Euphrates rush on its solitary course through the wild, that once flowed through the glory and light of the bowers of Eden. Yet suffer your son to cheer and brighten my way, and I will be to him both parent and counsellor; he shall partake of my wealth, and when three years have passed over our heads, he shall return to bless your declining years." It was long before the parents of Semid would consent to this proposal, but at last the prospect of their son's advancement, and of his return, endowed with knowledge and wealth, wrung a reluctant assent.--The sun's rays had not penetrated through the grove of fig-trees that shadowed his home, when the youth and his companion directed their course across the plain, and on the third day entered the thick forests which terminated it, sleeping at night beneath the trees around the fire they had kindled. The toil of the way was lightened by the converse of the moslemin, which was full of instruction and delight, yet mingled with much that was strange and wild, of genii, the power of evil and good spirits, and the marvellous events he had met with in his varied path. But he knew not that that path was so soon to be closed. One night, overcome by fatigue, and the excessive heat of the way, they had sunk to sleep in the wood, without taking the precaution of kindling a fire.-In the middle of the night Semid was awakened by a piercing shriek, and hastening to his companion, found he had been bitten by a serpent, whose wound was mortal; already the poison began to circulate through his veins, his limbs trembled, his face was flushed with crimson, and his eyes had a fatal lustre. He clasped the hand of the youth convulsively in his own, and pressed it to his heart. "O my son," he said, "Allah has called me at the midnight hour, and the angel of death has put his cup to my lips ere I thought it was prepared; and thou art left solitary like a bride

widowed on her marriage morn:-thy friend and guide torn from thee, what will be thy fate?-and the wealth that would have been thine will now be scattered amongst strangers." He paused, and seemed lost in thought: the young Syrian supported his dying head on his knees, and his tears fell fast on the face that was soon to be shrouded from him for ever. Suddenly the old man drew forth from his bosom a memorial of his affection, that was indeed indelible, and fixing his look intensely on his friend, "Semid," he said, "I have hesitated whether to consign to you this ring, and darkness is on my spirit as to the result. Place this ring on your finger, and it will invest you with surpassing beauty of feature and form, which, if rightly used, will conduct you to honour and happiness; but if abused to the purpose of vicious indulgence, will make sorrow and remorse your portion through life." He fainted, but reviving once more, "Turn my face to Mecca," he cried, "to the tomb of my prophet;" and striving to fix his eyes on the east, "I come, O loved of Allah-the dark realms of Eblis shall not be my home, nor El Arat have any terrors for me: thrice have these feet compassed the Caaba, where rest thy ashes; thrice to arrive there have they trod the burning desert, where thy promises were sweeter to me than the fountain or the shadow-receive me to thy paradise!"-He sank back, and died. All night the Syrian boy mourned loudly over the body of his benefactor; and the next day watched over it till sunset, when with difficulty he dug a rude grave and interred it.-Early on the second morning he pursued his way through the forest, and the sun was hot on the plain beyond, ere he advanced from its gloomy recesses. He had placed the ring, of a green colour and without ornament, on his finger, and already amidst his grief for the loss of his friend, his heart swelled with vanity at the many advantages it had given him.-Oppressed with the heat he drew near to where a fountain gushed forth beneath a few palm-trees on the plain, and formed a limpid pool; he stooped to drink, but started back at beholding the change a few hours had made. The sunburnt features of the shepherd boy had given place to a countenance of dazzling fairness and beauty; the dark ringlets clustered on the pure forehead over still darker eyes, whose look was irresistible; his step became haughty as he pursued his way, and saw each passenger fix on him a gaze of admiration, and he glanced with disdain on his coarse peasant's dress.

The sun was setting on the splendid mosques and gilt minarets of the city of Damascus, now full in view, when a numerous train of horsemen drew near; it was Hussein, the son of the Pacha, returning from the course. Struck at the sight of one so meanly clad, yet so extremely beautiful, he stopped and demanded whence he came and whither he was journeying; on Semid replying he was friendless and a stranger, he bade him follow in his train, and added that on the morrow he should become one of his own guards. The next day, in his military habit, and rich arms, and mounted