heard very provoking accounts of the bad conduct of his wife, and
complained of it to the Emperor, entreating him either to punish his
daughter himself, or to permit him to deliver her over to justice,
that, if she was falsely accused, she might have an opportunity of
putting her own honour and her husband's out of dispute. The
Emperor took little notice of his son-in-law's remonstrances; and,
the truth is, the viceroy was somewhat more nice in that matter than
the people of rank in this country generally are. There are laws,
it is true, against adultery, but they seem to have been only for
the meaner people, and the women of quality, especially the ouzoros,
or ladies of the blood royal, are so much above them, that their
husbands have not even the liberty of complaining; and certainly to
support injuries of this kind without complaining requires a degree
of patience which few men can boast of. The viceroy's virtue was
not proof against this temptation. He fell into a deep melancholy,
and resolved to be revenged on his father-in-law. He knew the
present temper of the people, that those of the greatest interest
and power were by no means pleased with the changes of religion, and
only waited for a fair opportunity to revolt; and that these
discontents were everywhere heightened by the monks and clergy.
Encouraged by these reflections, he was always talking of the just
reasons he had to complain of the Emperor, and gave them sufficient
room to understand that if they would appear in his party, he would
declare himself for the ancient religion, and put himself at the
head of those who should take arms in the defence of it. The chief
and almost the only thing that hindered him from raising a
formidable rebellion, was the mutual distrust they entertained of
one another, each fearing that as soon as the Emperor should publish
an act of grace, or general amnesty, the greatest part would lay
down their arms and embrace it; and this suspicion was imagined more