frailty be detected, you will have gained a certain evil, which is now
only possible, and if her innocence appear, you are in the same
condition as now."
"No," answered the husband; "I shall then be easy, and I am now
perpetually disquieted."
"And why all this anxiety?" inquired his friend: "what cause have you
for suspicion?"
"My chief cause," said he, "is that my wife loves me more than she can
give a reason for; I am sure there is nothing in me to justify all the
kindness she professes."
"So," replied the other, "her love is hypocrisy, and her neglect would
be the love of another. With such a temper you can never be satisfied."
"Yes," said the husband, "I am going to be satisfied now."
"But only for the past," rejoined his friend; "you must still be in
trouble for the future."
Thus this faithful adviser continued to argue against the enterprise;
but in spite of his reasons the husband persisted in demanding the
inquiry. I desired him to go home and return to me attended by his wife,
to which he said that he would bring her on some pretence, and not
explain the true design. I then made preparations for the trial, which
was thus conducted. At the torch of Truth I lit a small taper of
peculiar materials, and placed it in a room, from which I excluded the
light of day. Such was the sagacity of this light from the torch of
Truth, that when a married woman, secretly corrupt, entered the room, it
was to be extinguished, but to burn on at the presence of a wife without
blemish. I shut out the daylight to make the sudden darkness and
conviction more solemn.
The inquisitive husband soon appeared with his wife, who believed she
had come to see some splendid show. I took the husband aside, and told
him the nature of the trial. He then entered the room, and desired his
wife to follow him, fixing his eyes on the taper. She was no sooner in
the room than all was dark. I then let in the light upon the detected
wife, while her husband assailed her with reproaches. She was much
surprised to hear him so violently upbraid her with the taper's going
out, which she declared was not by her contrivance, and was besides, she
thought, no great calamity. When the magic was explained to her, she
protested against the injustice of her reputation being forfeited
because a taper had gone out; perhaps it had mistaken her for another
woman; she would maintain her honour against any torch or taper in the
world; and then she appealed to her husband, whether he would believe a
candle rather than his wife.
But the detection was to be completed by discovery of her accomplice,
for which another proceeding was necessary. I lit the taper again, and
giving it to the wife, desired her to pass with it in her hand before
the mirror of Truth, when instead of her own image the assistant in her
guilt was to appear in the mirror with the taper in his hand. She
complied, though unwillingly, while the husband looked eagerly into the
mirror for his enemy; and as his wife passed he saw a perfect
resemblance of that friend who had endeavoured to deter him from this
inquiry by so urgent a remonstrance. His wife was so overcome and guilty
at the sight that she no longer accused the taper of detraction, but
fell on her knees for pardon. Her husband wept; and as the negotiation
seemed likely to be prolonged, I told him, since he was now cleared
from suspicion, it would be convenient that he should give audience to
his wife at home, in order that other husbands might come and enjoy the
same satisfaction.
Another wife was soon brought to trial: she was possessed of great
beauty, and instantly extinguished the taper. At the second trial for
detection of her partner, as she passed like the preceding lady in front
of the mirror, with the taper in her hand, three young men appeared
holding the taper in concert. The husband was much distressed by the
number: one, I believe, he could have forgiven, but the plurality seemed
greatly to discompose him. He desired his wife to remain before the
mirror, till he had recognised all their faces, which filled him with
surprise; for he had regarded all these culprits as excellent young men,
having estimated their merit by the deference with which they had
treated himself.
The next lady came to the information of the taper with evident
reluctance; but when she had entered the room, the light continued
steady, upon which her husband, who had shared her apprehension,
embraced her with great joy; but in the midst of their triumph the fatal
light went out. The husband, in consternation, inquired why the taper
had retracted its first acquittal, to which I answered that it
distinguished the time of transgression: its going out was
instantaneous, when the fault was recent, and there was a delay in
proportion to the length of innocence that had intervened before the
experiment. He comforted himself that the delay had now been
considerable: his wife protested that the interval had not been less
than ten years, and she thought the taper might have said nothing about
such an obsolete adventure. In this her husband agreed: he called it a
censorious candle; and dispensing with the intelligence of the mirror,
led his wife out of the house.
In the trial of some ladies, the taper faded gradually, grew more and
more dim, and required several minutes from its first decay, to be quite
extinguished. By this it denoted a reluctant and tenacious sacrifice of
virtue; in going out suddenly it signified a speedy resolution. A lady
came to trial with great alacrity, and seeming quite convinced of her
own innocence, but as soon as she was within the knowledge of the taper
its light began to waste away. The husband was in despair, while the
wife protested vehemently against the extinction, which she called a
vile slander; but the taper, after being gradually almost reduced to
darkness, suddenly recovered itself into a blaze.
"What!" exclaimed the husband, "has the taper been convinced by my
wife's declaration, and recalled its verdict!"
"No," I answered, "it had no intention of going out; but from its
approach to darkness, you are to conclude that your wife's virtue has
been brought to the same extremity, the taper having been almost
extinguished, she must have been almost frail. In every instance the
taper follows accurately the example of the lady." The wife was so
overcome by the unforeseen exposure of the fault, which she had not
quite committed, that by shame and silence she confessed herself to have
been nearly faithless. She was conducted to the mirror, into which the
husband looking anxiously for the tempter, that he might provide against
a return of the danger, saw one of his dearest friends, according to the
plan of human affairs. In the case of another wife, the taper gave the
same verdict of an approach to error, and when she was brought before
the mirror it presented a singular spectacle. The form of a certain
young man appeared in it for an instant and vanished, and it was
followed by twenty others in succession, only a glimpse being given of
each. Being desired to interpret this, I informed the husband, that the
fault of his wife had been only thought of, and no choice had been made
of an associate; but in her imagination all these young men had been
competitors for the office.
It often happened that when a lady was presented to the taper it would
decay and revive many times, and some appeared to have been constantly
preparing for frailty, yet still without attainment. When the fading of
the taper was gradual, its restoration was always by a sudden effort. In
several cases, after growing dim, and blazing forth again many times,
it went out at last, showing that much endeavour and resolution had been
wasted. In the decays of light the flame was more or less reduced in
proportion as the danger had been urgent. Sometimes when the alteration
was not very palpable there was a dispute about it, the wife urging the
husband not to see any diminution of the light.
The fame of these discoveries being spread through the city, every
married man was seized with a desire of being set at rest, and those
wives who refused the experiment fell under a reproach little less than
conviction. For many days the taper continued its information, to the
great disturbance of numberless families.
I next undertook to try the fidelity of friends, and fixed a day for
exposing pretended kindness. The first who came to this examination were
two men celebrated for inviolable friendship to each other. The one owed
his life to the courage of the other at sea, and had since, at the risk
of his own ruin, preserved the fortune of his friend, in danger of
bankruptcy. They had been friends so long and so securely as to want no
confirmation, but had been provoked to this trial by the sneers of a
satirist, who had written an ingenious treatise to prove that friendship
has no real being, and in truth is nothing more than a few letters of
the alphabet joined together. This doctrine he enforced also in
conversation, and attacking these two supposed friends, he had
entreated them to undergo the trial which I had announced, and so
confirm the discoveries of his book; upon which they had undertaken, by
complying with his desire, to show the fallacy of his tenets. He
accompanied them to the experiment for triumph and derision.
I told these inquirers that I could subject their friendship to two
kinds of scrutiny, one of which taught a man the secret wishes of his
friend concerning him, and the other betrayed what he had said of him
when absent. The malicious author advised them to choose this last
trial, and strengthen their friendship by their mutual praises out of
hearing. To procure this intercourse, I drew back a small sliding door
in the wall, and showed the mouth of a funnel. I then desired one of
these friends to listen, informing him that from this funnel would issue
all that the other had said of him in conversation during the previous
month. All were silent and attentive, and very soon a voice was heard in
the funnel, which the chief listener recognised as his friend's. The
voice first said something moderately in praise of his disposition, and
then proceeded to his faults, which it confessed with great sincerity,
explaining certain bad propensities, which he had fancied unknown to all
the world except himself, and to himself even he had acknowledged them
only in moments of uncommon frankness. His countenance betrayed his
resentment at his friend's knowledge of these things, but he appeared
to be still more mortified when the voice, with much wit, ridiculed his
peculiarities of manner and gesture. It seemed that he never could talk
earnestly without the cooperation of all his limbs, and embroiling his
arms, legs, and body in the discourse. These unnecessary efforts were
now represented by his friend so as much to amuse the hearers, whose
laughter was preserved in the funnel, and heard at suitable times. While
he listened, his guilty friend stood confounded to hear his past remarks
coming out of the wall, and had not confidence to disown them. The
author was the first who made any observation on the revived detraction.
He offered to comfort and appease the injured man. "I fear," he said,
"you are discomposed by what you hear; but you should remember that your
friend did not mean to vex you, for when he said all this he did not
expect it to be kept in a funnel, and let out in your hearing: had he
had the least suspicion of such a contrivance, undoubtedly he would have
been more circumspect. Pray consider, also, that he has great sagacity,
and excels in discerning the characters of men, and that all persons
love to exercise any faculty which they have in perfection. Your friend
could not avoid observing these particulars; for you cannot expect that
a man who has sagacity shall not use it."
"I think," said the injured friend, "if it was necessary for the
exercise of what you call his sagacity that he should observe these
things he might have kept them secret."
"But then," said the other, "he has a great deal of wit, and to debar
him from your failings, which he knows so accurately, and can,
therefore, excel with, would be to require too great a sacrifice from
his friendship."
The victim would not allow that an urgent want of being witty was a
sufficient reason for making a friend ridiculous, but left the house
abruptly, and his friend was too much abashed to pursue him with any
defence. A reconciliation was afterwards attempted, but in vain.
When a report had been spread of the funnel, and its success in
separating two such friends, great numbers soon came to consult it. They
did not come in pairs like the two friends just mentioned, but each
visiter was led in singly, and being placed at the funnel with no
witness, except myself, heard out of it every thing that had been said
concerning him in his absence during the month before. The praise from
this funnel was so much exceeded by the censure, that to listen was in
most cases a very painful duty, yet every sufferer seemed under a charm
to remain till the end of the discipline, and would not lose a single
sneer. My employment was to watch the countenance, and observe what pain
was given by the several kinds of animadversion.
Some accusations, which I thought the most severe, were heard with
perfect calmness, while many trifling charges, not at all injurious to
the character, caused great rage and uneasiness.
One man, who without disturbance had heard a violent and arbitrary
temper imputed to him, was unable to command himself at the ridicule of
some peculiar and established gesture with which he saluted his friends.
Another being accused of inordinate vices showed no concern; but it
being added, that he had a tiresome way of telling a story in
conversation, he was overwhelmed with shame.
Most listeners seemed more ready to pardon the being supposed to want a
kind disposition, than being thought defective in understanding. But the
charge of any bodily imperfection was chiefly resented both by men and
women; and many, who were armed against satire on all their endowments
of mind, could not sustain with any firmness a jest on the shape of
their features, or the management of their limbs. I observed that the
most painful and masterly strokes of censure were always by an intimate
friend. In which cases not only was the sufferer incensed against his
friend for divulging his infirmities, but he regarded even a knowledge
of them as a vile breach of fidelity, which made me consider how
unreasonable we are in imposing this blindness on our associates; for we
expect the greatest ignorance of our faults in those who have the best
opportunities of knowing them.
Few friendships could stand against the information of this funnel. All
the listeners went from it enraged or dejected; some sought new
companions, and others had recourse to solitude as the only security
against deceitful friendship. I have mentioned besides the funnel a
trial of friendship, by which any person might discover the secret
wishes of another concerning him. A rich old man desired to make this
inquiry into the inclinations of his grandson, whom he had made his
heir. The youth had just sent him a present of some quails, together
with an anxious wish that he might have life and health for many years.
"Now," said the old man, "let me know whether he would have sent me this
wish had he thought that I should live the longer by virtue of it?"
For this scrutiny I placed the old man in front of the mirror, and told
him that on pronouncing his grandson's name he would see in it any fate
that the youth really wished him. He spoke the name, and I asked him
what he saw.
"I see," he answered, "my own figure lying on a bed, and seemingly I am
at the point of death,--my grandson kneels at the bed-side with a
countenance full of grief. He is very dutiful, indeed, to wish me dead
that he may show his sorrow. I seem to be giving him my last advice, and
with what submission he receives it! But now I have sunk back, and I
believe am effectually dead; the young man thinks so too, for he jumps
up and goes to my chest, he unlocks it, and surveys my treasure with
delight. I have an excellent grandson! He has sent me a present of
quails! but I will take care that the latter part of his vision shall
never be fulfilled; he shall not be the invader of that chest. I must
provide another heir."
"But," said I, "if some young man is to inherit your property only on
condition of not wishing you dead, you may perhaps hardly find one who
will be able to perform his part of the contract. Besides, if this young
man attacks your life with no weapon more hurtful than a wish, you may
live in defiance of him. It is some merit that he has not contrived your
death, instead of being content with wishing it. Many an heir has
hastened possession by his own industry."
"So," answered he, "you think I ought to give this youth my property as
a reward for not having poisoned me."
"It is probable," I said, "if you were more generous to him now, he
would wait for your death with a grateful patience."
"What!" he replied, "it is advisable that with half my wealth I should
bribe him not to wish for my death! that would be employing my money to
great advantage!"
"Well," I said, "if you are determined to have an heir who will prefer
your enjoyment of this money to his own, you should lose no time in
seeking for him; so singular a man will not be easy to find."
This old man having appointed several heirs in succession, and discarded
them after trial of their wishes in the mirror, at last died without a
will, and his grandson came into possession.
The mirror was next consulted by a merchant who had just taken leave of
his wife to go to sea. At parting she had prayed earnestly for his
safety, and he came to try the sincerity of these prayers. As soon as he
had pronounced the name of his wife he saw the mirror filled with a
violent storm at sea, and his ship tossed about by it, his own figure
standing on the deck. The lady's wish proceeded, and very soon the ship
sunk without a hope of preservation to any on board. He then saw his own
dead body driven on shore amongst other ruins; his wife was on the
beach, accompanied by a young man whom he knew: she pointed to the body
smiling, then stooped, and drawing from its finger a ring, which had
been her own present, placed it on the finger of her living companion,
who succeeded to it with great joy.
Many other husbands pronounced the name of their wives before the
mirror, and saw themselves in the agonies of death, and many wives by
the name of their husbands incurred the same doom. A man who had
consulted the funnel, and heard much detraction against himself, was
however greatly pleased with one of his friends, whose voice had said
many things in his praise without the least censure. That his friendship
might be quite certain, he resorted to the other trial also, pronounced
his name before the mirror, and immediately saw himself standing on the
sea-shore, and watching three ships which contained his whole wealth,
for he, too, was a merchant. These ships were in danger by a storm, and
very soon he saw them perish. His representative in the mirror stood
fixed in distress and ruin, when his friend, the author of the storm,
approached him with consolation, led him to his house, and there
presented to him a deed which put him in possession of an easy
maintenance. The merchant saw this with great astonishment. "What!" he
exclaimed; "my friend wishes me ruined that he may restore my fortune!
He is very generous; but I think had he let my ships come safe into port
without being at the pains of raising this tempest, and drowning so many
innocent men, he would have acted more beneficently and more to my
advantage." He seemed hardly able to determine whether he should be
grateful or angry on account of this singular kind of generosity, but on
the whole I thought he resented the loss of his ships. The mirror
afterwards showed many instances of the same thing, so as to make it
appear that a man often wishes the distress of his friend for the sake
of being his comforter.
Indeed, the mirror declared a strange opposition between the actions of
a friend and his secret wishes; for many who had lived in the constant
practice of kindness and benefits towards a companion, yet appeared to
have pleased themselves at their leisure with involving him in imaginary
troubles. The injury was not to be inflicted by them, but by fortune,
and they were to have no share in it except by a secret satisfaction.
Great was the resentment of many at seeing the distresses wished them by
friends to whom they had given no kind of provocation. And what
aggravated the cruelty was, that these malicious friends proposed no
advantage to themselves from the desired calamities. I endeavoured to
explain to some of these injured and incensed people, that they were not
to suppose, because a friend wished them to be unfortunate, he would
make them so if it were in his power; all he had done was to consider,
in a kind of dream, that if such distresses should occur to those he
loved he could find a singular pleasure in them. But none would allow
this distinction; and by all a misfortune wished was resented as much as
one inflicted. In several of these trials it appeared, that a man had at
the same time wished a disaster from fortune to his friend, and an
opportunity to himself of doing him good.
This trial of friendship was made by several persons to whom some gift
of fortune had suddenly accrued, and they seldom failed to see
themselves deprived of it in the mirror by the wishes of those who had
been full of joy and congratulation at their success. I learned from
these trials, that whatever prize or advantage a man obtains, every
other man thinks it taken from himself.
I announced another discovery to be made by the mirror; which was, the
showing every man his own character. The importance of this knowledge is
owned by all, and by all the study is neglected, perhaps from its
difficulty, since it is as hard to know our own faults as not to know
the faults of our friend. I proposed this trial, thinking it the most
useful of all, and persuaded that Truth could not make a nobler
communication to man than his own mind. The first who came for
intelligence about himself was a philosopher, renowned for his virtues,
and for the number and probity of his disciples. He said the study of
his life had been to know himself, and he believed that nothing remained
for him to discover, but he had come to have his judgment confirmed. I
desired him to stand before the mirror, in which he would immediately
see his whole character. "But," said he, "how am I to distinguish the
qualities of my mind by the eye? I can reason about them, but I know not
any one of them by sight. How can a virtue have shape or colour?" I
told him, that by looking in the mirror, he would discover more of his
character than by disputing the possibility of seeing it. I informed him
that he would see two reflections of his face; the one on his right
hand, expressing the character which he attributed to himself, and that
on the left representing his real disposition.
I looked over his shoulder while he made the trial. It is impossible to
describe the peculiar clearness with which the qualities of mind were
declared in these two faces. On the right hand, I saw the face of the
philosopher, beautiful with the practice of every virtue; this was his
character according to his own judgment. On the left were the same
features, but corrupted into a countenance wholly different, so as to
signify a foolish love of applause, voluptuousness awkwardly concealed,
avarice, treachery, haughtiness; and all covered by a hypocritical pomp
and solemnity. The teacher of wisdom stood in dismay at this discovery;
he was no longer at a loss to conceive how qualities of mind could be
subject to the eye. After gazing some time in horror, he turned suddenly
away, and sought refuge at home. His pupils assembled at the usual hour
for a lecture, but he had not the boldness to confront them, imagining
that he now carried about with him the face that he had seen in the
mirror. He dismissed them, renounced the trade of wisdom, and lived
melancholy and alone.