be satisfied there was not a prompter within each. Seeing, therefore, an
embroidered petticoat, which walked in a very stately manner, I ventured
to raise it, in order to disclose whatever might be there. To this
inquiry it made no resistance; and I found that it had none of those
secrets to keep, which are usually entrusted to a petticoat.
I observed a gold-headed cane walking up and down with a great deal of
medical dignity and learning, and above this, at about six feet from the
ground, there floated in the air a redundant wig, as being part of the
same physician.
I was here convinced how many of the estimable qualities of human nature
are comprehended in dress and gesture; for when I saw these suits of
clothes walking about, each with its own grace and manner, I could not
avoid feeling some respect for them as human beings. When the splendid
apparel of a nobleman in Queen Elizabeth's time stalked past me with a
slow solemn step, I admired its profound reflection, and political
abilities; and I was several times inclined to laugh at the wit of a
lively coat and waistcoat.
I think, in our estimation of those suits of clothes which discharge all
the duties of this life with propriety and applause, we do not
sufficiently acknowledge where the true merit lies. Lord Burleigh was so
sensible of the rights of dress, that in throwing off his gown, he
frequently said to it, "Lie there, Lord Treasurer," as being the real
officer of state.
As I was walking about amongst these actors, I was suddenly startled by
a formidable oath, which was pronounced near me; and I turned round to
see which of the garments was the profane one. I found, however, that
they were not capable of such an accomplishment as swearing. Another
oath, still more copious than the first, was uttered close to me, where
there was no suit of clothes to be seen; and I then found that these
imprecations were preserved here amongst the exploded fashions. I soon
heard every variety of them uttered without anger, and, as it seemed,
merely for the purpose of adding grace or vigour to the sentiments which
they had accompanied. There were some poetical oaths, which seemed to
come from a swearer of imagination, and others very concise and simple.
Many were so obscure, that I found it impossible to discover their
meaning; while some were intelligible enough. As swearing is now a dead
language, we could not, without considerable study, become thoroughly
versed in that literature. But I think it might admit of dispute,
whether the suppression of oaths has been a wise or useful measure,
since they certainly added great facility to conversation. It is known
that, in the days of oaths, there were many who swore with much
invention, but had little ability to converse in any other style; so
that we may suppose there are persons who, by the prohibition of the
only language they can speak, are excluded from all conversation, and
must distinguish themselves by silence. Our ancestors applied oaths to a
great variety of purposes: to enforce an argument, or supply the want
of one; to evince sincerity; to ratify a sentiment; to gain time for
preparation: they used them, also, as invective, wit, fancy, repartee,
and, indeed, as the representatives of every beauty of speech; so that,
manifestly, a great loss and barrenness must have accrued to our
conversation from this supposed refinement.
But in favour of this art, we may allege an antiquity far beyond our
ancestors, since we find specimens of it in the oldest writings. The
orators have always used it in great abundance: it was successfully
cultivated both by Demosthenes and Cicero; and it is to be observed,
that it remained in the modern oratory of England after it had been
exploded in conversation. In both Houses of Parliament, a well-timed
"Good God!" has been frequently known to have great force, and sometimes
was the chief argument that a speech contained.
Whilst I was wandering amongst the departed garments, having escaped
from the oaths, I heard a voice near me exclaim, "Whatever is, is;" and
very soon was added, "It is impossible for the same thing to be, and not
to be." I could not conjecture whence this important intelligence came,
till I met with a person, who informed me, that the maxims which have
passed for truths amongst men, as soon as they are exploded, arrive in
the moon, and are associated with the other dismissed fashions. In what
I had just heard, I recognised the innate ideas with which philosophers
formerly stored the mind of an infant, supposing that, for our safety
through life, we are born fully instructed, that "Whatever is, is," and
provided, also, with some other truths equally useful.
I afterwards heard many other maxims, which once were undisputed: for in
this Valley of Lost Fashions the air was filled with truths, religious,
moral, political, and physical; and, finding here so much of the
learning of our ancestors, I trembled for the fate of many things which
are now undoubtedly true amongst us: for the reason of man is certainly
as variable as his dress; and that secret power, which we call fashion,
regulates opinions, as it does skirts and collars. Different doctrines
come and go in succession, just as one form of apparel supplants
another: a particular kind of dress is dismissed, not for any demerit,
but because it has been worn for a certain time. By the same law of
variety, that which has been true for several years is therefore not
entitled to be true any longer; and as those who abandon a particular
dress can assign no reason for it, except the example of others, so,
when an opinion is universally renounced in any country, the chief part
of the nation know not why they now consider it false, nor why they
before believed it to be true. There are, indeed, some stubborn enemies
of fashion, both in dress and reason: one man prides himself on
fidelity to notions which all others have deserted, and disdains to
think any thing which was not thought a century ago; another, of the
same character, but differently manifested, continues to dress himself
with equal firmness, resists all innovation in the brim of his hat, and
never deviates in his coat or his gaiters from the example set him by
his father.
It has been an eager study, with some writers, to trace the progress and
succession of opinions in past ages, and to explain how one prevalent
notion has been naturally derived from another; but in such speculations
there is usually this imperfection, that they stop at the present time,
instead of proceeding to deduce future opinions from the present. For it
is singular, that men who have sagacity to demonstrate that the maxims
prevalent in one age must unavoidably have followed those in the
preceding, yet from our present doctrines can derive no opinions at all
for the future; and can no more invent maxims to be entertained five
years hence, than a milliner can invent dresses to be worn at that time.
In this assembly of the deceased fashions I found many ancient and
venerable maxims, which served our ancestors for truth; and some of
them, I thought, might have been retained amongst us with advantage,
though many had certainly been dismissed with justice. I began to think
of catching a few of these past truths which I most approved of, and
turning them out in England; but was informed that they would
immediately return to the moon. Besides the ancient truths, I found here
some which had been born and had died within my own memory, and some
which had been truths one year, and delusions the next.
The noise of these contending opinions, each as positive as its
antagonist, each enjoying its short popularity, and thus succeeding and
undermining each other like statesmen, could not fail to make me
consider with regret how very little of real durable truth there is in
the world. However, we have this consolation, that if truth is not to be
found on the earth, its place is amply supplied by belief, which is an
excellent substitute for it.
Belief has, indeed, many advantages over truth; it serves equally well
to stop inquiry, and satisfy the curiosity which harasses mankind; and
it may be attained without the labour and search by which truth must be
pursued; for it happens fortunately that it is as easy to believe as it
is difficult to know. He, too, who follows truth with a life of
meditation, can seldom arrive at any firm conviction, but is continually
perplexed by doubt; while the resolute believer is not disturbed in his
tenets by the slightest distrust. Besides this, the truths that we can
reach are but few, and the greatest part of nature is inaccessible to
inquiry; while the knowledge of him who believes is unlimited: he finds
nothing obscure, but is admitted into all the secrets of the universe.
This, too, must be considered, that he who, after great labour, fancies
himself possessed of a truth, may, upon further discoveries, see his
hypothesis taken from him; but the believer, who has a resolute mind,
can by no art or reasoning be deprived of his belief. It is also a great
evil of truth, that we must receive it as it is by nature, and not as we
would wish it to be. On the other hand, we have it in our power to
believe whatever we desire; and in our plans of the universe may take
care to admit nothing to our disadvantage. This flexible nature of
belief is well understood by those reasoners who, when they would refute
a doctrine, consider it sufficient if they prove it to be pernicious;
whence, without hesitation, it is to be false. For the reasons I have
assigned, my advice to all persons is, that they leave the perplexities
of truth, and resort to belief, as of much greater ease, certainty, and
serenity.
The place I visited after the territory of fashions, was a house
preserving the female characters that have been lost. They are kept in
bottles; and upon the label of each is recorded the accident or
temptation under which the character was let go; and I found much
amusement in this enumeration of the disasters incident to the female
reputation. One character had entered the bottle by surprise, another by
perseverance; society had been fatal to some, and solitude to others;
some perished by flattery, others by argument; here I saw a character
lost by thoughtlessness, and there by contemplation.
While I was reading the narratives of these accidents I observed a lady
whom I knew to have incurred this important loss, in search of the
bottle that contained her own reputation, which having found, she seized
it very eagerly, when immediately it dropped from her hands and was
broken. The character flowed out, resembling quicksilver in appearance,
and the lady in great anxiety endeavoured to collect it, but in vain,
for it escaped with the utmost agility whenever she touched it.
From this house I proceeded to another, filled also with bottles,
containing the lost popularity of statesmen. I here found a well known
politician who has occupied a place in the English cabinet. He told me
in confidence that he had been sent to the moon to regain the lost
popularity of his party. It had escaped from them, he said, in a very
singular manner, and without any misconduct of theirs. He soon found the
bottle he was in search of; but these bottles being fixed to their
shelves he had contrived a plan for catching and detaining the
popularity, which he had been told would issue forth as soon as the cork
should be removed. He produced a paper bag, composed of an act of
parliament, which had been designed for endless popularity, supposing
that if he could once enclose the lost popularity of himself and his
colleagues in that bag he could carry it back without any danger of
losing it on the road.
Just as he was about to release the prize, and with much preparation was
holding his bag ready to catch it, another statesman of a different
party entered the room, and advancing to the spot produced a bag, with
which he also stood ready to dispute the possession of this valuable
popularity. His bag also was made out of a parliamentary bill, but it
had not yet been passed, and he seemed to be confident that it would be
strong enough to secure the captive.
But the first invader of the bottle seeing this new competitor desisted
from his undertaking, and began to remonstrate against the interference.
He said the popularity, that he was going to regain, belonged to himself
and his colleagues, and no other party could have a just claim to it;
their rivals, he added, ought to invent a popularity for themselves, and
not attempt to steal that which others had made by their own industry.
He affirmed, too, that the bag which his adversary had brought was made
of paper stolen out of his desk.
To this the second politician answered, that the popularity in this
bottle was not the property of one party rather than another, but the
prize of any who could gain possession of it. "You and your
colleagues," said he, "have devised a convenient maxim, that whoever
obtains the good will of the public is usurping something that belongs
to you. You have bespoken for yourselves every benefit to the country
that can be thought of, and any other man who attempts to do good is
encroaching on your rights. You declare yourselves the authors of every
useful law that any man may hereafter propose; you are the sole
proprietors of the people's applause, and nobody can acquire approbation
except by defrauding you."
In the midst of this dispute, a third statesman, armed with a bag, came
to claim the contents of the bottle. He derided the pretensions of the
other two, saying that no party could have popularity by just means
except himself and his friends, and whatever portion other men might
enjoy they must have gained by deceit. However, he was convinced that
the bags of the other two would be incapable of holding the popularity,
and that his own would succeed, for he said it was made out of some
admirable laws. I looked at his bag, and saw it was composed of blank
paper, for the laws he spoke of were yet to come, being only in his
intentions, and the paper kept vacant for them.
After some farther dispute it seemed impossible that these claims to the
bottle should be settled by negotiation; and the only agreement that the
three statesmen could arrive at was, that the popularity being let
loose should remain in the possession of any one of the three to whom it
should be allotted by that kind of justice called a scramble, which is a
mode of arbitration very useful and decisive in adjusting many political
contests.
The three politicians, therefore, standing watchfully with their bags,
the cork was drawn, when a loud shout of English huzzas rushed from the
bottle. This was the popularity; and the first of the three statesmen
lost no time in placing his bag over the mouth of the bottle, when it
was instantly torn into a thousand pieces by the wild shout. The second
politician had placed his bag immediately over that of his rival, to
provide for this accident; but the precious huzzas escaped through it
with the same ease as through the first, and left it a similar ruin. The
third statesman laughed triumphantly, and held out his bag with great
confidence; but not a single cry would enter it, and the whole clamour
flew through an open window, and was heard gradually becoming more
distant. The three baffled statesmen ran to the window, and listened
eagerly to the retiring uproar, imagining sometimes that it approached
them again. When at length it had quite died away, they began to dispute
in which bag it ought to have been enclosed, and continued the debate
for some time with much argument and anger.
As I walked along, looking for new adventures, I was surprised by the
sight of a church, with a parsonage house near to it, the scene having
an appearance entirely English. I approached the house, wondering at so
exact a copy of things in my own world; but when I had come close to it,
I was still more astonished to see the house shrink suddenly, and
convert itself into the dress of a bishop, the roof dwindling to a wig,
and the walls becoming robes; at the same instant the church was
increased into a cathedral, which I recognised as the cathedral of
Worcester. While I gazed in wonder, the cathedral underwent another
change, and in a moment was that of Canterbury. Immediately afterwards
the bishop's robes raised themselves, and stood upright as vigorously as
if they had enclosed a real bishop, while the wig hung over them as if
supported by a head. The robe then stretched out its right sleeve as
being in the act of oratory. I had a great curiosity to understand this
mysterious transaction, and fortunately I met with a person who was able
to explain it. He told me that all this was merely a vision, which had
passed through the mind of one of those contemplative persons who are
usually called castle builders; that fortunate race of beings, who, if
they are left alone but a few minutes, can bring to pass whatever they
wish for. He said the moon was amply supplied with such meditations, the
name of the dreamer being always to be found upon the figure which he
had sent there.
On learning this, I approached Canterbury Cathedral to look for the name
of the person who had built it, and I found inscribed over the door the
name of a young clergyman whom I knew. He had taken orders without
either money or interest, and did not seem likely to benefit
Christianity, otherwise than by wearing a black coat. Having, therefore,
time for meditation, he had been busy in making the only kind of
provision for himself that lay in his power. When I saw his name I could
easily interpret his vision: in the beginning of it he had been settled
in a country living, which was the church and parsonage house that had
first drawn my attention; from this, by some celebrated works on
divinity, he had been raised to the bishopric of Worcester, and thence
transferred to Canterbury with a remarkably rapid promotion. The robes
and the wig were now evidently addressing the House of Lords. In this
office the lawn sleeves performed many explanatory and convincing
gestures; and the wig supporting itself in the air, at a suitable
distance from the robes, duly executed all that significant nodding and
trembling by which such a wig usually defends the church. The dress,
indeed, had every perfection of oratory except meaning. While this
eloquence proceeded, he who had attained all this preferment was
probably wandering solitary and neglected.
I now found that I was in the territory allotted to these castles; and
proceeding a little farther, I was surrounded by visionary sights, the
several objects changing every instant as the dream went on. In the
midst of these chimeras I observed a beautiful woman seated, and was
surprised by her not taking the least notice of any thing round her; but
on going behind her I saw a name inscribed on the back of her neck, and
so discovered that she was herself a castle. The name was that of a
young lady endued with a very homely person, who being unable to
acquiesce in the face and shape imposed upon her, had secretly provided
herself with another form more to her taste. What I now saw, therefore,
was the figure which she had appointed to personate her in her imaginary
actions. This elegant apparition was a dark beauty when I first observed
her, but soon after became suddenly fair, the lady in the course of her
dream having chosen a new complexion. She was at first in an evening
dress; but in an instant a riding habit grew over her, and she was on
horseback with a very graceful seat. Soon after she resumed the evening
dress and was dancing.
At the same time I saw a lawyer's wig and gown, and by the eloquent
gestures of the sleeves and the forcible nods of the wig, I perceived
that it was pleading a cause. This was the apparel of a young lawyer,
which, finding no employment in court, was frequently exercised in the
imagination of the wearer.
While I was examining these visions a sudden wind sprung up and swept
them away. Canterbury Cathedral glided along in a very majestic manner,
and the wig and gown continued to argue as far as I could see them.
Amongst the fictitious actions here, which I had time to observe, were
many pairs of young men and women engaged in very agreeable
conversation. These were the dreams of those hapless persons, who,
unable to obtain a real accomplishment of their tenderness, have
recourse to imagination, where no accident or prohibition can interrupt
their interviews. But I must here warn those who practise such
clandestine meetings, that since the road to the moon has been opened
their private meditations are no longer safe. An action only thought of
has formerly been judged secure from the most inquisitive; but now, when
all have access to the moon, where the tenderest visions are thus
exposed, it will be advisable to dream with great caution. I here saw
two or three young ladies of my acquaintance engaged in confederacies of
which the world has had no suspicion, and the apparitions bore an exact
resemblance to the ladies themselves. It is true that in one of these
chimerical scenes of tenderness two figures must concur, and,
therefore, it cannot be known which of the two has transacted the
vision; but a probable conjecture may often be formed by those who know
them. I have thought it right to give this warning to the builders of
castles, who have hitherto been secure against curiosity, and in all
their forbidden meetings have enjoyed an exemption from the common
danger of discovery. Their privilege of secrecy is now lost; and
henceforth, when they wish to retire for the customary enjoyment, they
will do well to remember that all they are to think of must be acted
also before the eyes of profane and satirical observers.
The castles being blown away from me, I walked forward reflecting on the
happy lot of those who build castles, and are thus enabled to determine
what events shall happen to them. There are many persons so dull, that
through life they have no incidents except those which really occur; and
if an advantage, which they desire, does not actually take place, they
are quite unable to obtain the enjoyment of it. These persons cannot
conceive the life of a castle builder. He is the only man who can set
fortune at defiance, being entirely the master of his own destiny. He
does not, therefore, distribute prosperity to himself in that sparing
and imperfect manner which fortune always observes: he is subject
neither to delay nor disappointment in his undertakings; and instead of
needing the labour and perseverance which are necessary to others for
success, he can accomplish all that he wishes in walking about, in
sitting still, or at full length. The best gifts of fortune are not
comparable to his fictions; for in real life there is always something
defective to impair the happiest lot, but he who lives in vision takes
care to exclude every circumstance that could disturb his serenity. It
is to be considered, too, that an actual event can happen only once, but
in imagination the same fortunate casualty may be repeated as often as
it is wished for. It has always been a complaint that the successes of
life are followed by satiety; but an able builder of castles is never
satisfied. Those who are subservient to real occurrences are perpetually
stopped in their designs by an obstacle called impossibility, but this
is no impediment to a true visionary: he can recover a fortune which has
been squandered, recall a lost friend to life, and restore ruined health
to vigour. It is true that those who devote themselves to the pursuit of
these fancies are soon disqualified for the real affairs and successes
of life, but so great is the happiness by a proficiency in dreaming that
they can willingly relinquish all other advantages.
I was now attracted by the loudest valley that I had yet heard, and was
told by one whom I met, that it contained the disputes of conversation,
so that I no longer wondered at the great eagerness and confusion of
voices. I soon arrived at the place, and walked into these
controversies, which are divided into separate districts according to
the subjects of them.