SOPHBKE AND SOPHOCLES. Sl3 



by what foolish conceit a chimerical happiness could alleviate a real 

 misfortune ? But it was in vain that I put the question to myself, I 

 did not consult my reason ; I was afraid lest it should tend to dissipate 

 an error too dear to me to renounce it. It was more natural for 

 me to apply for advice to my stricken and tumultuous heart. In the 

 mean time, I was not pleased or at all satisfied with its vacillation and 

 wavering. I knew no more what to trust to. And, in fine, my 

 " reason" got the better of it, and I was ashamed of my boundless 

 credulity. " No," said I, " Sophene lives no more ! My mind, still 

 bent upon her image, was deluded by a mere shadow of her bright and 

 beautiful features. The gods would not have drawn her out from the 

 abyss of the sea to plunge her into slavery; they would have carried 

 her to Aurycone, and there have restored her to the burning and bitter 

 tears of Parthia. Sophene is dead !" continued I. "Heaven is too 

 sparing of its miracles to operate so great a one in my favour as to 

 restore my lost Sophene — I must think onlv of mourning for her 

 death !" 



Rhodope did not leave me long unacquainted with ray having pleased 

 her. Could I be prepared for that new caprice of the god of love ? 

 Cruel deity, what a flame thou hast lighted up in her bosom ! Hast 

 thou no pleasure but in making mortals wretched ? Rhodope, you love 

 a slave — an ingrate. Alas ! you deserved a better fate, a happier and a 

 brighter destiny ! Overjoyed that my birth answered an imaginary 

 merit I owed only to her favourable prejudices, she flattered herself that 

 the remembrance of Sophene could not make any stand against her 

 beauty, and the profiers both of her hand and heart — she saw no 

 obstacle to the development and speedy consummation of her passion. 

 She sought after me most diligently, and would have me know it. I 

 avoided her. She was amiable ; but the slightest diversion from my 

 " weariness of life" — my inconsolable affliction — the melancholy religion 

 of my lacerated heart — seemed but a crime to me, and acted upon my 

 mind like forked lightnings upon the raging surface of ocean's immea- 

 surable depths and caverned waters. 



She could not check her tender impatience any longer. She wrote to 

 me. Sylla was commissioned to bring her letter, " Sophocles," said 

 she to me, at the moment when she delivered it, '• my mistress, Ro- 

 dope, wishes you joy!" " What sound was that? What new vision 

 is this ? O, heaven !" I said, " do the deceased live again ? So- 

 phene ! — is it you ?" And what other but Sophocles could call Sophene 

 by her mother's name ? What other could work in my heart such a 

 delicious impression ? Which is the god that thus restores you to my 

 love ?" Rhodope did not give her leisure to answer. She saw us, and 

 could not withstand the pleasure of conversing with me. She took 

 delight in saying to herself that I had read her letter — that I must 

 know she loved me — that I could not but share in her transports. She 

 now came up to us/ Her presence gave us pain. We quickly ex- 

 changed our joy for surprise. She took notice of our discomposure — 

 she looked upon us, and stood amazed ! Her eyes glistened with 

 masculine wrath ! Sophene, by an admirable presence of mind, re- 

 lieved U3 from so embarrassing a situation. " You are astonished at 

 this seemingly sudden acquaintance, [and at our mutual agitation," 



