Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia | Page 7

and
tranquillity. I have been told that respiration is difficult upon lofty
mountains, yet from these precipices, though so high as to produce
great tenuity of air, it is very easy to fall; therefore I suspect that from
any height where life can be supported, there may be danger of too
quick descent."
"Nothing," replied the artist, "will ever be attempted if all possible
objections must be first overcome. If you will favour my project, I will
try the first flight at my own hazard. I have considered the structure of
all volant animals, and find the folding continuity of the bat's wings
most easily accommodated to the human form. Upon this model I shall
begin my task to-morrow, and in a year expect to tower into the air
beyond the malice and pursuit of man. But I will work only on this
condition, that the art shall not be divulged, and that you shall not
require me to make wings for any but ourselves."

"Why," said Rasselas, "should you envy others so great an advantage?
All skill ought to be exerted for universal good; every man has owed
much to others, and ought to repay the kindness that he has received."
"If men were all virtuous," returned the artist, "I should with great
alacrity teach them to fly. But what would be the security of the good if
the bad could at pleasure invade them from the sky? Against an army
sailing through the clouds neither walls, mountains, nor seas could
afford security. A flight of northern savages might hover in the wind
and light with irresistible violence upon the capital of a fruitful reason.
Even this valley, the retreat of princes, the abode of happiness, might
be violated by the sudden descent of some of the naked nations that
swarm on the coast of the southern sea!"
The Prince promised secrecy, and waited for the performance, not
wholly hopeless of success. He visited the work from time to time,
observed its progress, and remarked many ingenious contrivances to
facilitate motion and unite levity with strength. The artist was every
day more certain that he should leave vultures and eagles behind him,
and the contagion of his confidence seized upon the Prince. In a year
the wings were finished; and on a morning appointed the maker
appeared, furnished for flight, on a little promontory; he waved his
pinions awhile to gather air, then leaped from his stand, and in an
instant dropped into the lake. His wings, which were of no use in the air,
sustained him in the water; and the Prince drew him to land half dead
with terror and vexation.
CHAPTER VII
-- THE PRINCE FINDS A MAN OF LEARNING.

The Prince was not much afflicted by this disaster, having suffered
himself to hope for a happier event only because he had no other means
of escape in view. He still persisted in his design to leave the Happy
Valley by the first opportunity.

His imagination was now at a stand; he had no prospect of entering into
the world, and, notwithstanding all his endeavours to support himself,
discontent by degrees preyed upon him, and he began again to lose his
thoughts in sadness when the rainy season, which in these countries is
periodical, made it inconvenient to wander in the woods.
The rain continued longer and with more violence than had ever been
known; the clouds broke on the surrounding mountains, and the
torrents streamed into the plain on every side, till the cavern was too
narrow to discharge the water. The lake overflowed its banks, and all
the level of the valley was covered with the inundation. The eminence
on which the palace was built, and some other spots of rising ground,
were all that the eye could now discover. The herds and flocks left the
pasture, and both the wild beasts and the tame retreated to the
mountains.
This inundation confined all the princes to domestic amusements, and
the attention of Rasselas was particularly seized by a poem (which
Imlac rehearsed) upon the various conditions of humanity. He
commanded the poet to attend him in his apartment, and recite his
verses a second time; then entering into familiar talk, he thought
himself happy in having found a man who knew the world so well, and
could so skilfully paint the scenes of life. He asked a thousand
questions about things to which, though common to all other mortals,
his confinement from childhood had kept him a stranger. The poet
pitied his ignorance, and loved his curiosity, and entertained him from
day to day with novelty and instruction so that the Prince regretted the
necessity of sleep, and longed till the morning should renew his
pleasure.
As they were sitting together, the Prince commanded Imlac