PART I.

GIPHANTIA:

OR

A VIEW of

WHAT HAS PASSED,

WHAT IS NOW PASSING,

And, during the PRESENT Century,

WHAT WILL PASS,

IN THE WORLD.

Translated from the original FRENCH,

With explanatory Notes.

LONDON.

Printed for ROBERT HORSFIELD, in

_Ludgate-Street_. 1761.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TO THE

Hon^{ble} MISS ROSS.

MADAM,

Upon your hearing the other day Giphantia much praised by some friends,

and those no ill judges, you expressed a desire to see it in English, as

you had not, you said, French enough to read the original. I immediately

resolved to gratify your desire, and that very day sat about the

translation.

It is now finished: and, as my hand is not very legible, I take the

liberty to address it to you in print with this Epistle Dedicatory;

which, as neither you, nor the Author, want any encomiums, nor the

Translator any excuses, I shall cut short, and beg leave to subscribe

myself with great respect and sincerity,

Madam,

Your most obedient

and most humble servant,

Feb. 5,

1761.

The Translator.

TABLE

OF THE

CHAPTERS.

PART I.

Page

INTRODUCTION 1

CHAP. I. THE HURRICANE 4

CHAP. II. THE FINE PROSPECT 9

CHAP. III. THE VOICE 13

CHAP. IV. THE REVERSE 16

CHAP. V. THE APPARITIONS 24

CHAP. VI. THE SURFACES 27

CHAP. VII. THE GLOBE 34

CHAP. VIII. THE DISCOURSES 38

CHAP. IX. HAPPINESS 46

CHAP. X. THE HODGE-PODGE 51

CHAP. XI. THE MIRROUR 56

CHAP. XII. THE TRIAL 63

CHAP. XIII. THE TALENTS 73

CHAP. XIV. THE TASTE OF THE AGE 79

CHAP. XV. THE FEMALE REASONER 82

CHAP. XVI. THE CROCODILES 85

CHAP. XVII. THE STORM 93

CHAP. XVIII. THE GALLERY 99

CHAP. XIX. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GALLERY 116

[Illustration]

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GIPHANTIA.

PART THE FIRST.

INTRODUCTION.

No man ever had a stronger inclination for travelling than myself. I

consider’d the whole earth as my country, and all mankind as my

brethren, and therefore thought it incumbent upon me to travel thro’ the

earth and visit my brethren. I have walk’d over the ruins of the antient

world, have view’d the monuments of modern pride, and, at the sight of

all-devouring time, have wept over both. I have often found great folly

among the nations that pass for the most civiliz’d, and sometimes as

great wisdom among those that are counted the most savage. I have seen

small states supported by virtue, and mighty empires shaken by vice,

whilst a mistaken policy has been employ’d to inrich the subjects,

without any endeavours to render them virtuous.

After having gone over the whole world and visited all the inhabitants,

I find it does not answer the pains I have taken. I have just been

reviewing my memoirs concerning the several nations, their prejudices,

their customs and manners, their politicks, their laws, their religion,

their history; and I have thrown them all into the fire. It grieves me

to record such a monstrous mixture of humanity and barbarousness, of

grandeur and meanness, of reason and folly.

The small part, I have preserv’d, is what I am now publishing. If it has

no other merit, certainly it has novelty to recommend it.

[Illustration]

CHAP. I.

THE HURRICANE.

I was on the borders of Guinea towards the desarts that bound it on the

North. I contemplated the immense wilds, the very idea of which shocks

the firmest mind. On a sudden I was seized with an ardent desire to

penetrate into those desarts and see how far nature denies herself to

mankind. Perhaps (said I) among these scorching plains there is some

fertile spot unknown to the rest of the world. Perhaps I shall find men

who have neither been polished nor corrupted by commerce with others.

In vain did I represent to myself the dangers and even the almost

certain death to which such an enterprize would expose me; I could not

drive the thought out of my head. One winter’s day (for it was in the

dog-days) the wind being southwest, the sky clear, and the air

temperate, furnished with something to asswage hunger and thirst, with a

glass-mask to save my eyes from the clouds of sands, and with a compass

to guide my steps, I sate out from the borders of Guinea and advanced

into the desart.

I went on two whole days without seeing any thing extraordinary: in the

beginning of the third I perceived all around me nothing but a few

almost sapless shrubs and some tufts of rushes, most of which were dried

up by the heat of the sun. These are nature’s last productions in those

barren regions; here her teeming virtue stops, nor can life be farther

extended in those frightful solitudes.

I had scarce continued my course two hours over a sandy soil, where the

eye meets no object but scattered rocks, when the wind growing higher,

began to put in motion the surface of the sands. At first, the sand only

played about the foot of the rocks and formed small waves which lightly

skimmed over the plain. Such are the little billows which are seen to

rise and gently roll on the surface of the water when the sea begins to

grow rough at the approach of a storm. The sandy waves soon became

larger, dashed and broke one another; and I was exposed to the most

dreadful of hurricanes.

Frequent whirlwinds arose, which collecting the sands carried them in

rapid gyrations to a vast height with horrible whistlings. Instantly

after, the sands, left to themselves, fell down in strait lines and

formed mountains. Clouds of dust were mixed with the clouds of the

atmosphere, and heaven and earth seemed jumbled together. Sometimes the

thickness of the whirlwinds deprived me entirely of the light of the

sun: and sometimes red transparent sands shone from afar: the air

appeared in a blaze, and the sky seemed dissolved into sparks of fire.

Mean time, now tossed into the air by a sudden gust of wind, and now

hurled down by my own weight, I found myself one while in clouds of

sand, and another while in a gulf. Every moment I should have been

either buried or dashed in pieces, had not a benevolent Being (who will

appear presently) protected me from all harm.

The terrible hurricane ceased with the day: the night was calm, and

weariness overcoming my fears, I fell asleep.

[Illustration]

CHAP. II.

THE FINE PROSPECT.

The sun was not yet risen, when I wak’d: but the first rays enlighten’d

the east and objects began to be visible. Sleep had recover’d my

strength and calm’d my spirits: when I was awake, my fears return’d, and

the image of death presented itself again to my anxious thoughts.

I was standing on a high rock, from whence I could view every thing

round me. I cast, with horror, my eyes on that sandy region, where I

thought I should have found my grave. What was my surprise when towards

the north I spied an even, vast and fertile plain! From a state of the

profoundest sorrow in an instant I pass’d (which usually requires time)

to a state of the highest joy; nature put on a new face; and the

frightful view of so many rocks confusedly dispers’d among the sands

serv’d only to render more affecting and more agreeable the prospect of

that delightful plain, I was going to enter. O nature! how admirable are

thy distributions! how wisely manag’d the various scenes thou presentest

to our sight!

The plants, which grow on the edge of the plain are very small; the soil

does not yet supply sufficient moisture: but as you advance, vegetation

flourishes, and gives them a larger size and more height. The trees are

seen to rise by degrees and soon afford a shelter under their boughs. At

last, trees co-eval with the world appear with their tops in the clouds

and form an immense amphitheatre which majestically displays itself to

the eyes of the traveller and proclaims that such a habitation is not

made for mortals.

Every thing seem’d new to me in this unknown land; every thing threw me

into astonishment. Not any of Nature’s productions which my eyes eagerly

ran over resembles those that are seen any where else. Trees, plants,

insects, reptiles, fishes, birds, all were form’d in a manner

extraordinary, and at the same time elegant and infinitely varied. But

what struck me with the greatest wonder, was that an universal

sensibility, cloath’d with all imaginable forms animated the bodies that

seem’d the least susceptible of it: even to the very plants all gave

signs of sensation.

I walk’d on slowly in this enchanted abode. A delicious coolness kept my

senses open to the pleasure; a sweet scent glided into my blood with the

air I breath’d; my heart beat with an unusual force: and joy enlighten’d

my soul in its most gloomy recesses.

[Illustration]

CHAP. III.

THE VOICE.

One thing surprised me: I did not see any inhabitants in these gardens

of delight. I know not how many ideas disturbed my mind on that

occasion, when a voice struck my ears, uttering these words: “Stop and

look stedfastly before thee; behold him who has inspired thee to

undertake so dangerous a voyage.” Amazed, I looked a good while and saw

nothing: at last I perceived a sort of spot, a kind of shade fixed in

the air a few paces from me. I continued to look at it more attentively,

and fancied, I saw a human form with a countenance so mild and ingaging

that instead of being terrified, the sight was to me a fresh motive of

joy.

I am (said the benevolent Shade) the Prefect of this Island. Thy

inclination to Philosophy has prepossessed me in thy favour: I have

followed thee in thy late journey and defended thee from the hurricane.

I will now show thee the rarities of the place; and then I will take

care to restore thee safe to thy country.

This Solitude with which thou art so charmed, stands in the midst of a

tempestuous ocean of moving sands; it is an island surrounded with

inaccessible desarts, which no mortal can pass without a supernatural

aid. Its name is GIPHANTIA. It was given to the elementary spirits, the

day before the Garden of Eden was allotted to the parent of mankind. Not

that the spirits spend their time here in ease and sloth. What would you

do, O ye feeble mortals! If dispersed in the air, in the sea, in the

bowels of the earth, in the sphere of fire, they did not incessantly

watch for your welfare? Without our care, the unbridled elements would

long since have effaced all remains of the human kind. Why cannot we

preserve you entirely from their disorderly sallies? Alass! our power

extends not so far: we cannot totally screen you from all the evils that

surround you: we only prevent your utter destruction.

It is here the elementary spirits come to refresh themselves after their

labours; it is here they hold their assemblies, and concert the best

measures for the administration of the elements.

CHAP. IV.

THE REVERSE.

Of all the Countries in the world (added the Prefect) Giphantia is the

only one where nature still preserves her primitive vigor. She is

incessantly labouring to increase the numerous tribes of Vegetables and

Animals, and to produce new kinds. She organizes all with admirable

skill; but she does not always succeed, in rendering them perpetual. The

Mechanism of propagation is the master-piece of her wisdom: sometimes

she fails and her productions return for ever into nothing. We cherish,

with our utmost care, such as are sufficiently organized to produce

their kind; and then plant them out in the Earth.

A Naturalist wonders sometimes to find plants that had never been

noticed before: it is because we had just then supplied the earth with

them, of which he had not the least suspicion.

Sometimes also these Exotics not meeting with a proper Climate, decay by

degrees and the species is lost. Such are those productions which are

mention’d by the Antients and which the Moderns complain are no where to

be found.

Such a plant still subsists but has long droop’d, and lost its

qualities, and deceives the Physician who is daily disappointed. The Art

is blam’d; it is not known that the fault is in Nature.

I have now a collection of new simples of the greatest virtue; and I

should have imparted them to mankind before now, had there not been

strong reasons to induce me to delay it.

For instance, I have a sovereign plant to fix the human mind, and which

would give steadiness even to a Babylonian: but for these fifty years I

have been diligently observing Babylon, and have not found one single

moment, wherein the Inclinations, Customs, and Manners have been worth

fixing.

I have another plant, most excellent for checking the too lively sallies

of the spirit of invention: but thou knowest how rare these sallies are

now-a-days: never was invention at a lower ebb. One would think that

every thing has been said, and that nothing more remained but to adapt

things to the taste and mode of the age.

I have a root which would never fail to allay that sourness of the

Learned who censure one another: but I observe that without their

abusing and railing at each other, no man would concern himself about

their disputes. It is a sort of pleasure to see them bring themselves as

well as Learning into contempt. I leave the malignity of the readers to

divert themselves with the malignity of the Authors.

Moreover, do not imagine that nature sleeps in any part of the earth;

she strenuously labours even in those infinitely minute spaces where the

eye cannot reach. At Giphantia, she disposes matter on extraordinary

plans, and perpetually tends to produce something new: she every where

incessantly repeats her labours, still endeavouring to carry her works

to a degree of perfection which she never attains. These flowers which

so agreeably strike the eye, she strives to render still more beautiful.

These animals, which to you seem so dextrous, she endeavours to render

still more so. In short, Man that to you appears so superior to the

rest, she tries to render still more perfect; but in this her endeavours

prove the most unsuccessful.

Indeed, one would think that mankind do all in their power to remain in

a much lower rank than nature designs them! and they seldom fail to turn

to their hurt the best dispositions she gives them for their Good. On

the Babylonians, for instance, nature has bestowed an inexhaustible fund

of agreeableness. Her aim was manifestly to form a people the most

aimable. They were made to enliven reason, to root out the thorns that

spring from the approaches of the sciences, to soften the austerity of

wisdom, and, if possible, to adorn virtue. Thou knowest it: her favours

which should have been diffused on these objects have been diverted from

their destination; and frivolousness and debauchery have been cloathed

with them. In the hands of the Babylonians, vice loses all her

deformity. Behold in their manners, their discourses, their writings,

with what discretion vice unveils herself, with what art she ingages,

with what address she insinuates: you have not yet thought of her, and

she is seated in your heart. Even he who, by his function, lifts up his

voice against her, dares not paint her in her true colours. In a word,

no where does vice appear less vice than at Babylon. Even to the very

names, all things are changed, all things are softened. The sincere and

honest are now-a-days your modish men who are outwardly all complaisance

but inwardly full of corruption: Good company are not the Virtuous but

those who excel in palliating vice. The man of fortitude is not he that

bears the shocks of fortune unmoved, but he that braves Providence.

Bare-faced Irreligion is now styled free-thinking, blasphemy is called

boldness of speech, and the most shameful excesses, Gallantry. Thus it

is that with what they might become a pattern to all nations, the

Babylonians (to say no worse) are grown libertines of the most seducing

and most dangerous kind.

[Illustration]

CHAP. V.

THE APPARITIONS.

I return (continues the Prefect of Giphantia) to the elementary spirits.

Their constant abode in the air, always full of vapours and exhalations;

in the sea, ever mixed with salts and earths; in the fire, perpetually

used about a thousand heterogeneous bodies; in the earth, where all the

other elements are blended together: this abode, I say, by degrees

spoils the pure essence of the spirits, whose original nature is to be

(as to their material substance) all fire, all air, or other unmixt

element. This degradation has sometimes gone so far, as that by the

mixture of the different elements, the spirits have acquired a

sufficient consistence to render them visible. People have seen them in

the fire and called them Salamanders, and Cyclops: they have seen them

in the air and called them Sylphs, Zephyrs, Aquilons: they have seen

them in the water and called them Sea-nymphs, Naiads, Nereids, Tritons:

they have seen them in caverns, desarts, woods, and have called them

Gnomes, Sylvans, Fauns, Satyrs, _&c._

From the astonishment caused by these Apparitions, men sunk into fear,

and fear begot superstition. To these, Creatures like themselves, they

erected altars which belong only to the Creator. Their imagination

magnifying what they had seen, they soon formed a Hierarchy of

Chimerical Deities. The Sun appeared to them a luminous chariot guided

by Apollo through the celestial plains; Thunder, a fiery bolt darted by

Jupiter at the heads of the guilty: the Ocean, a vast empire, where

Neptune ruled the waves: the bowels of the earth, the gloomy residence

of Pluto, where he gave laws to the pale and timorous Ghosts: in a word,

they filled the world with Gods and Goddesses. The Earth itself became a

Deity.

When the elementary Spirits perceived how apt their Apparitions were to

lead men into error, they took measures to be no longer visible: they

devised a sort of refiner by which from time to time they get rid of all

extraneous matter. From thence forward, no mortal eye has ever seen the

least glimpse of these spirits.

CHAP. VI.

THE SURFACES.

Mean while the Prefect moved on and I followed, quite astonished and

pensive. At our coming out of the wood we found ourselves before a hill,

at the foot of which stood a hollow column above a hundred feet high and

thick in proportion. I saw issuing out of the top of the column vapours

(much like the exhalations raised by the sun) in such abundance that

they were very visible. From the same column I saw coming out and

dispersing themselves in the air certain human forms, certain images

still lighter than the vapours by which they were supported.

Behold (says the Prefect) the Refiner of the Elementary Spirits. The

column is filled with four Essences, each of which has been extracted

from each element. The Spirits plunge into them, and by a mechanism, too

long to be described, get rid of all extraneous matter. The images which

thou seest coming out of the column, are nothing more than very thin

surfaces which surrounded them and served to make them visible. These

surfaces partake of the different qualities of the spirits who excel

more or less in certain respects, as visages are expressive of the

characters of men, who differ infinitely. Thus, there are images or

surfaces of science, of learning, of prudence, of wisdom, _&c._

Men often cloath themselves with them, and like masks these surfaces

make them appear very different from what they really are. Hence it is

that you constantly meet with the appearance of every good, of every

virtue and every quality, though the things themselves are scarce to be

found any where.

At Babylon especially, these surfaces are in singular esteem: all is

seen there in appearance. A Babylonian had rather be nothing and appear

every thing than to be every thing and appear nothing. So, you see only

surfaces every where and of every kind.

Surface of modesty, the only thing needful for a Babylonian lady: it is

called decency.

Surface of friendship, by the means of which all Babylon seems to be but

one family. Friendship is like a strong band made of very weak threads

twisted together. A Babylonian is tied to no one by the band, but he is

tied to each of his fellow-citizens by a single thread.

Surface of piety, formerly much in use and of great influence,

now-a-days totally in disrepute. It gives people a certain Gothic air

quite ridiculous in the eyes of the moderns. It is now found only among

a few adherents to the old bigots, and in an order of men, who, on

account of their function, cannot lay it aside, how desirous soever they

may be.

Surface of opulence, one of the most striking things in Babylon. Behold

in the Temples, in the Assemblies, in the publick Walks, those citizens

so richly dressed, those women so adorned, those children so neat, so

lively, and who promise so fair to be one day as frivolous as their

fathers: follow them to their homes; furniture of the best taste,

commodious apartments, houses like little palaces, all continues to

proclaim opulence. But stop there: if you go any farther, you will see

families in distress and hearts overflowing with cares.

Surface of probity, for the use of Politicians and those who concern

themselves with the management of others. These great men cannot be as

honest as the lower people; they have certain maxims from which they

think it essential never to depart, and from which it is no less

essential that they appear extremely remote.

Surface of patriotism, of which the real substance has long since

disappeared. We must distinguish, in the conduct of the Babylonians,

between the Theory and the Practice. The Theory turns entirely upon

Patriotism. Publick Good, national Interest, Glory of the Babylonian

Name, all this is the language of Theory. The Practice hangs solely upon

the hinge of private interest. It is very remarkable that in this

respect the Babylonians have long been dupes of one another. Each

plainly perceived that _Country_ did not much affect him; but he heard

others talk of it so often and so affectionately that he verily believed

there was still such a thing as a true Patriot. But now their eyes are

open and they see that all are alike.

[Illustration]

CHAP. VII.

THE GLOBE.

Such is the lot of the elementary spirits, continued the Prefect of

Giphantia. No sooner are they out of the probation-column where they are

purified, but they return to their usual labours: and to see where their

presence is most necessary, and where men have most need of their

assistance. At their coming out of the column they ascend this hill.

There by a mechanism which required the utmost skill of the spirits,

every thing that passes in all parts of the world is seen and heard.

Thou art going to try the experiment thy self.

On each side of the column is a large stair-case of above a hundred

steps which leads to the top of the hill. We went up; and were scarce

half way when my ears were struck with a disagreeable humming which

increased as we advanced. When we came to a platform in which the hill

ends, the first thing that struck my eyes was a Globe of a considerable

diameter. From the Globe proceeded the noise which I heard. At a

distance it was a humming; nearer, it was a frightful thundering noise,

formed by a confused mixture of shouts for joy, ravings of despair,

shrieks, complaints, singings, murmurs, acclamations, laughter, groans,

and whatever proclaims the immoderate sorrow and extravagant joy of

mortals.

Small imperceptible pipes (said the Prefect) come from each point of the

earth’s surface and end at this Globe. The inside is organized so that

the motion of the air which is propagated through the imperceptible

pipes, and grows weaker in time, resumes fresh force at the entrance

into the Globe and becomes sensible again. Hence these noises and

hummings. But what would these confused sounds signify, if means were

not found to distinguish them? Behold the image of the earth painted on

the Globe; the Islands, the Continents, the Oceans which surround, join,

and divide all. Dost thou not see Europe, that quarter of the earth that

hath done so much mischief to the other three? Burning Africa, where the

arts and the wants that attend them have never penetrated? Asia, whose

luxury, passing to the European nations, has done so much good,

according to some, and so much hurt, according to others! America, still

dyed with the blood of its unhappy inhabitants, whom men of a religion,

that breathes peace and good-will, came to convert and barbarously

murder? Observe what point of the Globe, thou pleases. Place there the

end of this rod which I give thee, and putting the other end to thy ear,

thou shalt hear distinctly whatever is said in the corresponding part of

the earth.

[Illustration]

CHAP. VIII.

DISCOURSES.

Surprised at this prodigy, I put the end of the rod upon Babylon; I

applied my ear, and heard what follows:

“Since you consult me about this writing, I will fairly give you my

opinion. I think it discreet and too much so. What! not a word against

the government, against the manners, against religion! who will read

you? If you did but know how tired people are with History, Morality,

Phylosophy, Verse, Prose, and all that! The whole world are turned

writers; and you will more easily find an author than a reader. How make

impression on the crowd? How draw attention, unless by strokes levelled,

right or wrong, against place-men; by luscious touches of imagination

proper to excite the gust of pleasures blunted by excess; by the trite

arguments which, though repeated a thousand times, still please, because

they attack what we dread! This in my opinion is the only course for a

writer to take who has any pretensions to fame. Mind our Philosophers:

when they reflect, for instance, on the nature of the soul, they fall

into a doubt which with all their reason they cannot get out of. Do they

come to write? They resolve the difficulty, and the soul is mortal. If

they assert this, it is not from an inward persuasion, but from a desire

to write, and to write such things, as will be read. Again, if you had

made yourself a party: if you belonged to one of those clubs, where the

Censor passes from hand to hand, and where each, in his turn, is the

Idol! But no; you are among the literary cabals like a divine who should

pretend to be neither Jansenist nor Molinist[1]. Who, think ye, will

take care of your interests? Who will preach you up? Who will inlist

your name among those we respect?”

I removed the end of the rod about a twentieth part of an inch lower and

I heard, probably, a Farmer of the imposts, who was making his

calculations upon the people.

“Is it not true (said he) that in the occasions of the state, every one

should contribute in proportion to his means, after a deduction of his

necessary expences? Is it not also true, that a very short man spends

less in cloaths than a very tall one? Is it not true that this

difference of expence is very considerable, since there is occasion for

summer-habits, winter-habits, spring-habits, autumn-habits,

country-habits, riding-habits, and I know not how many others? There

should be likewise morning and evening habits; but the morning is not

known at Babylon. I would therefore have all his Majesty’s subjects

measured and taxed each inversely as his stature.... Another

consideration of equal weight. A Tax on Batchelors has been talked of;

but it was not considered. Money should be raised upon those who are

rich enough to be married, and especially upon those who are rich enough

to venture upon having children. And therefore married men should be

taxed in a ratio compounded of the amount of their capitation and the

number of their children. I have in my pocket-book I know not how many

projects as good as these, and which I have very luckily devised. Each

man has his talents: this is mine: and it is well known how much it is

to be prized now-a-days.”

At a little distance a Grammarian was making his Observations. “Three

languages (said he) are spoken at Babylon: that of the mob: that of the

petit maitre; and that of the better sort. The first serves to express

in a disagreeable manner, shocking things. With all their judgment, some

authors have written in this language, and the Babylonians, with all

their niceness, have read them with pleasure. The second is made up of a

certain contexture of words without any meaning. You may talk this

language a whole day together, and when you have done, it will be found

you have said nothing at all. To enter into the character of the idiom,

it is essential to talk incessantly without reason, and as far as

possible from common sense. The third wants a certain precision; a

certain force and certain graces; but it is susceptible of a singular

elegance and clearness. It will not perhaps be expressive enough of the

flights of the poet or the transports of the musician: but it expresses

with admirable ease all the ideas of him who observes, compares,

discusses, and seeks the truth. Without doubt, it is the properest

language for reasoning; and most unhappily it is the least used for that

purpose.”

Methought I heard a woman’s voice at a little distance, and put my rod

there. “I confess (said she) I am foolishly fond of this romance.

Nothing can be better penned. However, this same Julia, who holds out

during three volumes, and does not surrender till the end of the fourth,

makes the intrigue a little too tedious. It is also pity that the

viscount advances so slowly. He uses such preambles, spends so much time

in protestations, and presses his conquest with so much caution, that he

has put me, who am none of the liveliest, a hundred times out of

patience. Surely the author was little acquainted with the manners of

the nation!”

[Illustration]

CHAP. IX.

HAPPINESS.

The end of my rod by chance fell upon an assembly, where they were

talking of Happiness. Each declared his opinion as follows:

“At length (says one) this superb Colonnade is laid open; they think of

removing those pitiful little houses which darken that grand and

beautiful front; they repent of having built under ground to adorn a

place; Taste is reviving; the Arts are going to flourish: very shortly

Babylon will proclaim the magnificence of the monarch and the happiness

of the people.... It is a great question whether colonnades, fine

squares, and large cities, will make a nation happy: they must be

enriched. Industry must be excited, agriculture incouraged, manufactures

increased, and trade made to flourish: without which, all the rest is

nothing.... Nonsense! I have said it, and I say it again: if we will be

happy, our manners must be more simple; the circle of our wants

contracted; and, in a country-life, we must withdraw from the vices

which attend the luxury of cities.... I do not know wherein consists the

happiness of nations; but I think the happiness of individuals consists

in the health of the body and peace of the mind.... Assuredly not.

Health causes no lively impression, and tranquility is tiresome. To be

happy, you must enjoy a great reputation; for, at every instant, your

ear will be tickled with encomiums.... Yes! and at every instant your

ear will be grated with censures, because there is no pleasing every

body. It is my opinion, every man is happy in proportion to his

authority and power: for one can gratify oneself in the same

proportion.... Yes! but then that eagerness will be wanting which stamps

a value upon things: if all was in our power, we should care for

nothing. For my part, I am of opinion, that to be happy we must despise

all things; that is the only way to avoid all kind of vexation and

trouble whatsoever.... And I think, we should concern ourselves with

every thing: by that means we shall partake of every occasion of joy....

Now I think we should be indifferent to every thing: as the means of

enjoying an unchangeable happiness.... I take Wisdom to be the thing,

for that alone will set us above all events.... And I say, it must be

Folly: for Folly creates her own happiness, independently of any thing

cross or disagreeable about her.... You are all of you in the wrong.

Nothing general can be assigned that may be productive of the happiness

of particular persons. So many men, so many minds: this desires one kind

of happiness, and that another: one wishes for riches, another is

content with necessaries; this would love and be loved; that considers

the passions as the bane of the soul. Every one must study himself and

follow his own inclination.... Not at all; and you are as much mistaken

as the rest. In vain do I persuade myself that I should be happy, if I

possessed such a thing; the moment I have it, I find it insufficient,

and wish for another. We desire without end; and never enjoy. A certain

man was continually travelling about, and always on foot: quite tired

out, he said: If I had a horse I should be contented. He had a horse;

but the rain, the cold, the sun were still troublesome to him. A horse

(says he) is not sufficient; a chariot only can screen me from the

inclemencies of the air. His fortune increased, and a chariot was

bought. What followed? Exercise till then had kept our traveller in

health: as soon as that ceased, he grew infirm and gouty, and presently

after, it was not possible for him to travel either on foot or on

horseback or in a chariot.”

CHAP. X.

THE HODGE-PODGE.

I did not keep the rod any longer in one place; but moved it here and

there without distinction: and I heard only broken discourses, such as

these:

“War, taxes, misery, are dreaded; insignificant fears all these: alas!

mine are very different. I have here framed a system upon Earthquakes;

and, by calculation, I find that near the center of the globe there is

now forming an internal fire that will turn the world upside down.

Within six months the earth will burst like a bomb, and all nature....

Yes! all nature vanishes in my eyes; thou alone dost exist for me:

extinguish, my dear, extinguish the flame thou has lighted in my bosom.

What a moment! Pleasure drowns all my senses: my soul, penetrated with

delight, seems to be upon the wing: she beats, she trembles, she flies:

O receive her, my dear, she is wholly thine. Ah! I hear my husband’s

footsteps; let us run.... Courage, brave soldiers! strike home; revenge

your country; let the blood flow, and give no quarter. May the Islanders

perish and the Babylonians live!... I do aver, for my part that of all

the nations there is not one so gay as the Babylonians. They always take

things on the most smiling side. One day of prosperity makes them forget

a whole year of adversity. Even at their own misery, they all sing; and

an epigram pays them for their losses caused by the follies of the

Great.... O how little are our great ones! and how foolish are our wise

ones! I cannot help thinking man an imperfect creature. I plainly see

nature’s efforts to make him reasonable; but I see too these efforts are

fruitless. Materials are wanting. There are but two ages: the age of

weakness in which we are born and pass two thirds of life; and the age

of infancy in which we grow old and die. I have indeed heard talk of an

age of reason; but I do not see it come. I conclude therefore, and I

say.... Yes! madam! of transparent cotton. The discovery was very lately

made in Terra Australis: so no more colds and defluxions. Transparent

handkerchiefs, gloves, and stockings, will defend from the weather, and

at the same time give us a sight of that admirable bosom, those charming

arms, that divine leg.... Doubts every where, certainty no where. How

tired am I to hear, to read, to reflect, and to know nothing precisely.

Who will tell me only what is.... This, sir, is the country-man who

leaving his plough, is come to talk with you about the affair of those

poor orphans which is not ended. That is true, but what would you have?

We are so overwhelmed! No matter, it shall be decided.... Ah! good sir,

I am glad to see you; I owe you a compliment: the last wig I had of you

makes me look ten years older. Surely the gentleman did not think, I had

so magisterial a face! Do you know, my dear sir, that it is enough to

make me look ridiculous, and you to forfeit your reputation.... Grant, O

Lord, three weeks of a westerly wind that my ship may sail.... O Lord,

three weeks of an easterly wind that my ship may arrive.... Give me, O

God, give me children.... O God! send a malignant fever upon my

ungracious son.... O Lord! grant me a husband.... O God! rid me of

mine....”

Perhaps all this Hodge-Podge will not be relished by most of my readers.

I should be sorry for it. To what end then do mortals hold such odd,

such silly and such contradictory discourses?

CHAP. XI.

THE MIRROUR.

As I was amusing myself with these broken speeches, the Prefect of

Giphantia presented me with a Mirrour. Thou canst only (says he) guess

at things: but with thy rod and that glass, thou art going to hear and

see both at once; nothing will escape thee; thou wilt be as present to

whatever passes.

From space to space (continued the Prefect) there are in the atmosphere

portions of air which the spirits have so ranged, that they receive the

rays reflected from the different parts of the earth, and remit them to

this Mirrour: so that by inclining the glass different ways, the several

parts of the earth’s surface will be visible on it. They will all appear

one after the other, if the Mirrour is placed successively in all

possible aspects. It is in thy power to view the habitations of every

mortal.

I hastily took up the wonderful glass. In less than a quarter of an hour

I surveyed the whole earth.

I perceived many void spaces, even in the most populous countries! and

yet I saw men crowding, jostling and destroying one another, as if they

had wanted room.

I looked about a good-while for happiness, and found it no where; not

even in the most flourishing kingdoms. I saw only some signs of it in

the villages, which by their remoteness were screened from the contagion

of the cities.

I beheld in one view the vast countries which nature meant to separate

by still vaster oceans; and I saw men cover the sea with ships, and by

that means join even these distant countries. This is plainly acting

(said I) against nature’s intentions: such proceedings cannot be crowned

with success. Accordingly, Europe does not appear more happy since her

junction with America: and I do not know whether she has not more reason

to lament it.

I saw prejudices vary with the climates, and, every where, do much good

and much harm.

I beheld wise nations rejoice at the birth of their children, and

deplore the death of their relations and friends: I beheld others more

wise stand round the new-born babe, and weep bitterly at the thoughts of

the storms he was to undergo in the course of his life; they reserved

their rejoicings for funerals, and congratulated the deceased upon their

being delivered from the miseries of this world.

I saw the earth covered with monuments of all kinds, which human

weakness erects to the ambition of heroes. In the very temples, the

brass and the marble, which contain the remains of the dead, present

images of war, and breathe slaughter: the very statues of those friends

of mankind, of those pacific sovereigns, whom the calamities of the

times involve in short wars, are adorned with warlike instruments and

nations in chains, as if Laurels died in blood were only worthy to crown

Kings.

I saw the most respectable of human propensities carry men to the

strangest excesses. Some were addressing their prayers to the Sun,

others were imploring the aid of the Moon, and others prostrating

themselves before Mountains; one was trembling at the aspect of

thundering Jove, another was bending the knee to an Ape. The Ox, the

Dog, the Cat, had their altars. Incense was burning even to Vegetables;

Grain, Beans, and Onions had their worship and votaries.

I saw the race of mankind divide themselves into as many Parties as

Religions; these Parties I saw divest themselves of all humanity and

cloath themselves with Fanaticism, and these Fanatics worrying one

another like wild beasts.

I saw men who adored the same God, who sacrificed upon the same altar,

who preached to the people the doctrine of peace and love, I saw these

very men fall out about unintelligible questions, and mutually hate,

persecute, and destroy one another. O God! what will become of man, if

thy goodness doth not exceed their weakness and folly?

In a word, I saw the several nations, diversified in a thousand

respects, all agree in their not being one better than another. All men

are bad, the Ultramontane by system, the Iberian by pride, the Batavian

by interest, the German by roughness, the Islander by humour, the

Babylonian by caprice, and All by a general corruption of heart.

[Illustration]

CHAP. XII.

THE TRIAL.

After this general survey of the whole earth, I had a mind to view

Babylon in particular. Having turned my glass to the north, and

inclining it gently to the 20th meridian, I tried to find out that great

city. Among the places that passed in succession under my eyes, there

was one that fixed my attention. I saw a country-house, neither small

nor great, neither too much adorned nor too naked. All about it was more

embellished by nature than by art. It overlooked gardens, groves, and

some ponds which bounded a hill on the east. A country feast was at this

time celebrating, to which all the neighbouring inhabitants were come.

Some, stretched on the green turf, were drinking large draughts, and

entertaining one another with their former amours; and several were

performing dances, which the old men did not think so fine as those of

time past.

Seest thou (says the Prefect to me) in the balcony, that young lady who

with a smiling air is viewing the sight? She was married some days ago,

and it is on her account that this feast is made. Her name is _Sophia_:

she has beauty as you see, fortune, wit, and what is worth more than all

the rest, a stock of good sense. She had five Lovers at one time: none

made a deep impression in her heart, none were displeasing to her; she

could not tell to which to give the preference.

One day she said to them, I am young; and it is not my intention to

enter yet into the bands of matrimony, which is always done too soon. If

my hand is so valuable as by your eager addresses you seem to think,

exert your endeavours to deserve it. But, I declare to you that I shall

not make any choice these several years.

Of Sophia’s five Lovers, the first was much inclined to extravagance.

Women (says he) are taken with the outside: let us spend freely and

spare nothing.

The second had a fund of economy which bordered upon avarice. Sophia

(says he) who has a solid judgment, must think him best that shows

himself capable of amassing riches: let us turn to commerce.

The third was proud and haughty. Surely (says he) Sophia, who has noble

thoughts, will be touched with the lustre of glory: let us take to arms.

The fourth was a studious man. Sophia (says he) who has so much sense,

will incline to where the most is to be found. Let us continue to

cultivate our mind; and strive to distinguish ourselves among the

learned.

The fifth was an indolent man, who gave himself little concern about

worldly affairs: he was at a loss what course to take.

Each pursued his plan, and pursued it with that ardor which love alone

is capable of inspiring.

The prodigal expended part of his estate in cloaths, in equipages, in

domesticks; he built a fine house, furnished it nobly, kept open table,

gave balls and entertainments of all kinds: nothing was talked of but

his generosity and magnificence.

The merchant set all the springs of commerce in motion, traded to all

parts of the world and became one of the richest men of his country. The

military man sought occasions; and soon signalized himself. The studious

man redoubled his efforts, made discoveries, and became famous.

Mean while, the indolent lover made his reflections; and, believing if

he remained unactive he should be excluded, he strove to conquer his

indolence. The estate, he had from his ancestors, seemed to him very

sufficient, and he did not care to meddle with commerce; the hurry of

war was quite opposite to his temper, and he had no mind to take to

arms; he had never read but for his amusement, the sciences did not seem

to him worth the pains to come at them; he had no ambition to become

learned. What then is to be done? Let us wait, (says he) time will show.

So he remained at his country-house, pruning his trees, reading Horace,

and now and then going to see the only object that disturbed his

tranquillity. Ever resolving to take some course, the time slipt away,

and he took none.

The fatal hour approaches (said he sometimes to Sophia) you are going to

make your choice, and most assuredly it will not be in my favour. Yet a

few days, and I am undone. This peaceful retreat, those delightful

fields you will not grace, you will not enliven, with your presence.

Those serene days that I reckoned to pass with you in the purest of

pleasures were only flattering dreams with which love charmed my senses.

O Sophia! all that stirs the passions and troubles the repose of men has

no power over me; my desires are all centered in you; and I am going to

lose you for ever!

You are too reasonable, replied Sophia, to take it ill that I should

chuse where I think I shall be happy.

At last, the time was expired, and not without many reflections, Sophia

resolved to make her choice.

She said to the prodigal: if I have been the aim of your expences, I am

sorry for it: but what you have done for my sake, you would have done,

had I been out of the question. You have lavished away one part of your

estate to obtain a wife; you would spend the other to avoid the trouble

of management. I advise you never to think of it.

She told the merchant, soldier and scholar, I am sensible, you have

shown a great regard for me: but I think too you have shown no less, you

for riches, you for glory, and you for learning. In trying to fix my

inclination, each has followed his own; each would do as much for

himself as for me. Should I chuse one of you, his views would still rest

upon other objects; one would be busied with increasing his fortune, the

other with his promotion in the army, and the third with his progress in

the sciences. I cannot therefore satisfy any one of you: and my desire

is to ingross the heart of the man who ingrosses mine.

The same day, she saw the solitary gentleman. You have long waited for

it (said she to him) and I am at last going to declare my mind. You know

what your rivals have done to obtain my consent: see what they were and

what they are. For your part, such as you was, such you remain. I think,

I see the reason. Indifferent to all other things, you have but one

passion, and I am its object. I alone can render you happy. Well then!

my happiness shall be in creating yours. I will share the delights of

your solitude, and will endeavour to increase them.

[Illustration]

CHAP. XIII.

THE TALENTS.

I returned to my first object, and, after a long search, I perceived on

the mirrour a spot of land which seemed wrapped in a cloud. There issued

from thence a confused noise like the murmurs of an ebbing tide. The sun

quickly dispersed the vapours, and I saw Babylon.

I saw there spectacles wherein the calamities of past times are

lamented, in order to forget the calamities of the present; I saw

Academies where they should examine and discuss, but where they dispute

and quarrel; Temples that are built against the restoration of religion;

Orators, who foretell to the seduced people the most terrible disasters,

and Hearers who measure the expressions and criticize the style; a

Palace wherein are placed Magistrates for the security of your property,

and where you are conducted by Guides who fleece you.

I cast my eyes on the publick walks and gardens, ever open to idleness,

coquetry and recreation. I beheld sitting alone on the grass a person

who, with a smile, was penning down his ideas. I fixed the paper, and

read what follows:

“One day Jupiter proclaimed through the whole earth, that he had

resolved to distribute different talents to the different nations; that

on such a day the distribution would be made at Olympus; and that the

geniuses of the several nations should repair thither.

“The Genius of Babylon stayed not till the day appointed, but came the

first of all to Jupiter’s palace. He made his appearance with that air

of confidence which is natural to him; he uttered I know not how many

very handsome and well-turned compliments, and made presents to all the

celestial court with a grace peculiar to him.

“He gave the Father of the gods a quintal of wild-fire of a late

invention, that his thunder may be more effectual and people begin to

have faith: to Apollo a Babylonian grammar, that he may reform the

oddities of the language: to Minerva a collection of Romances, that she

may correct their licentiousness and teach the Romancers to write

decently: to Venus two small _votive_ pictures, to thank her for that

the last year there were at Babylon but two hundred thousand inhabitants

who bore the long and painful marks of her favours.

“He made his court to the Gods, wheedled the Goddesses, said and did so

many handsome and pleasant things, that nothing was talked of at

Jupiter’s court but the agreeableness of the Genius of Babylon.

“Mean while, the day appointed was come: and Jupiter, having advised

with his council, made the distribution of the different talents to the

Geniuses of the several nations. To this he assigned the gift of

Philosophy: to that, the gift of Legislation; and to another the gift of

Eloquence. He said to one, Be Thou the most ingenious; to another, Be

Thou the most learned, and Thou, the most frugal; and Thou, the most

warlike; and Thou, the most politick: and Be Thou (said he, speaking to

the Genius of Babylon) whatever thou chusest to be.

“Delighted with his success, and returning home, the Genius of Babylon

is at all. He framed I know not how many schemes, and executed none. He

made most excellent laws, and afterwards embroiled them with numberless

explanations and comments.

“He would likewise turn Theologist, and engaged in disputes which proved

fatal to him.

“He traded, gained much, enlarged his expences, and became richer and

less easy.

“Orator, Poet, Merchant, Philosopher, he was every thing; and in many

things he attained to perfection, but never could keep his ground.”

[Illustration]

CHAP. XIV.

THE TASTE OF THE AGE.

Two men of letters were walking at a little distance. “Will you not own

(said one of them) that, two centuries ago, our learning was in its

infancy; and hardly showed to what degree it might arrive. In the last

century, it took root and rose so high that nothing was seen above it.

The greatest masters among the Greeks and Latins were taken for

patterns: they were equalled, if not surpassed.

“Success inspires confidence; and too much confidence breeds neglect. To

have the eye always on the Antients grew distasteful. They have had

their merit (said the Babylonians) and we have ours: who can say we do

not equal them? They therefore set up for themselves: and the taste, not

the more general and of all the nations, but the taste peculiar to them

characterized their works. See almost all our poems, our histories, our

speeches, our books, all is after the Babylonian mode; much of art,

little of nature; a vast superficies, no depth; all is florid, light,

lively, sparkling; all is pretty, nothing is fine. Methinks I foresee

the judgment of posterity: they will consider the works of the

seventeenth century as the greatest efforts of the nation towards the

excellent; and the works of the eighteenth, as pictures wherein the

Babylonians have taken pleasure to paint themselves.

“If our writers are capable to go back and resume their great patterns,

it is known what they can do; they are sure to please all the world, and

for ever: but, if they continue to stand on their own bottom, their

works will be only trinkets of fancy, on which the present taste stamps

a value, and which another taste will soon bury in oblivion.”

[Illustration]

CHAP. XV.

THE FEMALE REASONER.

I saw two women apart, one of which was talking: she looked round her

every moment with that air of uneasiness which expresses a confidence

the most mysterious. I lent my ear; and with great difficulty I heard

what follows:

“I am obliged to thee, my dear Countess, for the idea thou hast

conceived of my prudence. Hearken; I will hide nothing from thee; thou

shalt see how far I may be relied on. We women are forced to guess

things, they will never be told us plainly: but, with a little

attention, it is easy for us to see how matters are. For my part, I have

reflected on the maxims of the wise men of our days, and from thence

have drawn these conclusions. It is only the mob that trouble themselves

now about a future state; the rewards and punishments of another world

are words without a meaning; which have long been discarded by people of

fashion. Beasts and men (of beasts the chief) are made to be guided by

the senses; they should be actuated solely by the passions. Let each

attentively listen to what is inspired into him by nature, and let him

follow her inspirations; that is the way to happiness. On the other

hand, society cannot subsist without laws, and laws cannot be

accommodated to the passions of every citizen. They therefore who have

placed their happiness in what is forbidden by law, cannot behave too

circumspectly. They must always walk in the shade; mystery should follow

their steps, and cast a veil on all their proceedings: in a word, they

may do what they will, provided they appear to do what they ought.

These, my dear Countess, are the maxims I have gathered from the

Philosophy of the time. I will not mention their influence on my

conduct. Perhaps I really am what I appear to be: but I should be quite

otherwise, that I might appear always such.”

O Babylon! (said I to myself) the leven has fermented the whole mass.

Thou appearest very corrupt; but thou art still more corrupt than thou

appearest.

CHAP. XVI.

THE CROCODILES.

During the course of my travels, I saw in Persia, on the plains watered

by the Tedjen, a dispute arise which divided the country and bred a

surprising animosity in the people. I was curious to see how that matter

stood: I placed the mirrour in the proper position, and then put the end

of the rod upon the globe, so as I could see and hear what was doing.

The plain was covered with two numerous armies; which were just going to

join battle. The ground of the quarrel was this:

A pious and learned Musulman, who used to read the Alcoran with the zeal

of an archangel and the penetration of a seraphim, took it in his head

one day to ask whether the dove, that instructed Mahomet, spoke Hebrew

or Arabic. Some said one thing, some another; and two parties were

formed. They disputed, they wrote at large pro and con, and could not

agree. To the warmth of the contest were added bitterness, malignity its

inseparable companion, and policy, which endeavours to make an advantage

of every thing. One party persecuted the other, or was persecuted,

according as they were or were not uppermost. They began with the

forfeiture of estates and banishments; and ended in an open war. The

sectaries had caballed so well, that the people rose in arms against one

another.

The two armies were just going to ingage, when a venerable old man

advanced, and convening the heads, made the following speech:

“Hearken, O ye people of Chorasan. There was in Egypt a famous city

called Ombi; it was near another great city named Tentyris: both were

situated on the fertile banks of the Nile[2]. In that part, the river

bred a great number of Crocodiles; and these voracious animals so

fiercely attacked these two cities, that the inhabitants were going to

remove. The governours of Tentyris were apprehensive that their

authority would vanish, and the citizens would come to be dispersed.

They assembled therefore the Tentyrites and said:

“_You suffer the destructive animals to increase and multiply in peace.

Hear what we have to declare to you in the name of the Nile your

foster-father and your God. Woe be unto you, if you remain any longer in

this state of indolence! Arm without delay, and wage war against the

monsters that devour your wives and children._

“It was the injunction of the Nile, and not to be disputed. The

Tentyrites took up arms, but it was with great disadvantage, and never

was advice more imprudent. The Crocodiles, invulnerable in almost all

the parts of their bodies, killed many more men than the men killed

monsters. The governours of Ombi used a different artifice to keep the

Ombites from leaving their city.

“_Hearken_, (said they to them) _the God_ Nile _speaks to you by our

mouth: I create plenty among the Ombites, I inrich their lands, I fatten

their flocks; my waters flow and they grow rich. The Crocodile is my

servant, and I permit him now and then to feed upon some of them; this

is the only tribute I require for all my benefits: and, instead of

rejoicing at having it in their power by a single act to render

themselves agreeable to me, they destroy one another, if my servant

seizes a few children. Let them cease to complain, or I will cease to

feed them; I will with-hold my waters and all shall perish._

“The moment the Ombites knew the Crocodile to be the favourite of the

Nile, they erected altars to him; and, far from complaining when he was

pleased to feed on their children, they gloried in it. _Is there a woman

more happy than I?_ (said an Ombite) _I enjoy a competent fortune, have

a loving husband, and three of my children have been eaten by the

servant of our God Nile._

“In the mean time, the favourite of the Nile was killed by the

Tentyrites and worshipped by the Ombites. Discord and animosity inflamed

them against one another; they went to war, which ended in the

destruction of both. Thus perished two cities, dupes of their sincerity,

devoured by the Crocodile, and butchered by each other. Let this example

open your eyes, O ye unfortunate inhabitants of this happy climate.

Cease to be victims of an irregular zeal: worship God, keep silence, and

live in peace.”

Scarce had the old man done speaking, when a general murmur and menacing

looks showed him how little he had moved the assembly, so he withdrew

with a sigh. Immediately the battle was joined; and I turned away my

eyes that I might not behold these mad people destroy one another.

I have a great deal more to show you, (says the Prefect) let us lay down

the mirrour and rod, and walk on.

[Illustration]

CHAP. XVII.

THE STORM.

Some paces from the noisy globe, the earth is hollowed, and there

appears a descent of forty or fifty steps of turf; at the foot of which

there is a beaten subterraneous path. We went in; and my guide, after

leading me through several dark turnings, brought me at last to the

light again.

He conducted me into a hall of a middling size, and not much adorned,

where I was struck with a sight that raised my astonishment. I saw, out

of a window, a sea which seemed to me to be about a quarter of a mile

distant. The air, full of clouds, transmitted only that pale light which

forebodes a storm: the raging sea ran mountains high, and the shore was

whitened with the foam of the billows which broke on the beach.

By what miracle (said I to myself) has the air, serene a moment ago,

been so suddenly obscured? By what miracle do I see the ocean in the

center of Africa? Upon saying these words, I hastily ran to convince my

eyes of so improbable a thing. But in trying to put my head out of the

window, I knocked it against something that felt like a wall. Stunned

with the blow, and still more with so many mysteries, I drew back a few

paces.

Thy hurry (said the Prefect) occasions thy mistake. That window, that

vast horizon, those thick clouds, that raging sea, are all but a

picture.

From one astonishment I fell into another: I drew near with fresh haste;

my eyes were still deceived, and my hand could hardly convince me that a

picture should have caused such an illusion.

The elementary spirits (continued the Prefect) are not so able painters

as naturalists; thou shalt judge by their way of working. Thou knowest

that the rays of light, reflected from different bodies, make a picture

and paint the bodies upon all polished surfaces, on the retina of the

eye, for instance, on water, on glass. The elementary spirits have

studied to fix these transient images: they have composed a most subtile

matter, very viscous, and proper to harden and dry, by the help of which

a picture is made in the twinkle of an eye. They do over with this

matter a piece of canvas, and hold it before the objects they have a

mind to paint. The first effect of the canvas is that of a mirrour;

there are seen upon it all the bodies far and near, whose image the

light can transmit. But what the glass cannot do, the canvas, by means

of the viscous matter, retains the images. The mirrour shows the objects

exactly, but keeps none; our canvases show them with the same exactness,

and retains them all. This impression of the images is made the first

instant they are received on the canvas, which is immediately carried

away into some dark place; an hour after, the subtile matter dries, and

you have a picture so much the more valuable, as it cannot be imitated

by art nor damaged by time. We take, in their purest source, in the

luminous bodies, the colours which painters extract from different

materials, and which time never fails to alter. The justness of the

design, the truth of the expression, the gradation of the shades, the

stronger or weaker strokes, the rules of perspective, all these we leave

to nature, who, with a sure and never-erring hand, draws upon our

canvases images which deceive the eye and make reason to doubt, whether,

what are called real objects, are not phantoms which impose upon the

sight, the hearing, the feeling, and all the senses at once.

The Prefect then entered into some physical discussions, first, on the

nature of the glutinous substance which intercepted and retained the

rays; secondly, upon the difficulties of preparing and using it;

thirdly, upon the struggle between the rays of light and the dried

substance; three problems, which I propose to the naturalists of our

days, and leave to their sagacity.

Mean while, I could not take off my eyes from the picture. A sensible

spectator, who from the shore beholds a tempestuous sea, feels not more

lively impressions: such images are equivalent to the things themselves.

The Prefect interrupted my extasy. I keep you too long (says he) upon

this storm, by which the elementary spirits designed to represent

allegorically the troublesome state of this world, and mankind’s stormy

passage through the same: turn thy eyes, and behold what will feed thy

curiosity and increase thy admiration.

CHAP. XVIII.

THE GALLERY OR THE FORTUNE OF MANKIND.

Scarce had the Prefect said these words; when a folding-door opened on

our right, and let us into an immense Gallery, where my wonder was

turned into amazement.

On each side, above two hundred windows let in the light to such a

degree, that the eye could hardly bear its splendor. The spaces between

them were painted with that art, I have just been describing. Out of

each window, was seen some part of the territory of the elementary

spirits. In each picture, appeared woods, fields, seas, nations, armies,

whole regions; and all these objects were painted with such truth, that

I was often forced to recollect myself, that I might not fall again into

illusion. I could not tell, every moment, whether what I was viewing out

of a window was not a painting, or what I was looking at in a picture

was not a reality.

Survey with thy eyes (said the Prefect) survey the most remarkable

events that have shaken the earth and decided the fate of men. Alass!

what remains of all these powerful springs, of all these great exploits?

the most real signs of them are the traces they have left upon our

canvases in forming these pictures[3].

The most antient actions, whose lustre has preserved their memory, are

the actions of violence. Nimrod, the mighty hunter, after having worried

the wild beasts, attacks his fellow-creatures. See in the first picture

that gigantic man, the first of those heroes so renowned; see in his

looks pride, ambition, an ardent desire of rule. He framed the first

scheme of a kingdom, and uniting men under the pretence of binding them

together, he enslaved them.

Belus, Ninus, Semiramis ascend the throne, which they strengthen by

fresh acts of violence! and of above thirty kings who successively

reigned, only one closed the wounds of mankind, let Asia take breath,

and governed like a philosopher: his name is almost forgot. History,

which glows at the sight of renowned and tragical events, languishes

over peaceable reigns: and scarce mentions such sovereigns.

Sardanapalus ends this series of kings. Enemy to noise, disorder and

war, he mispends his time, shuts himself up in his palace, and sinks

into effeminacy. The women, thou seest about him, neither think nor

exist but for him. His looks give them life, and he receives life from

theirs. What do I say? He seeks himself with astonishment and finds

himself not; a surfeit of pleasures destroys his taste: he does not

live, but languish.

In the mean time, two of his generals[4] loathing peace, form schemes of

conquests, and feed, themselves with bloody projects. They deem

themselves alone worthy to reign, because they alone breathe war in the

midst of the publick tranquillity. See where they attack and dethrone

their effeminate monarch: and forcing him to destroy himself, they seize

and share his dominions. Thus the Assyrian empire was dismembered, after

having kept Asia in continual alarms above twelve hundred years.

Kings succeeded both at Nineveh and at Babylon; and all became famous

for wars and ravages[5]. One of them laid Egypt waste, plundered

Palestine, burnt Jerusalem, put out the eyes of a king whose children he

had murdered, drove from their country whole nations and put them in

chains; and, after such expeditions, he ordered altars to be erected to

him, and worship to be paid him as to a beneficent God. See at the foot

of his image, incense burning and nations lying prostrate; and admire

how far the pride and abjection of mortals extend[6].

The next picture represents the infancy of Cyrus, and the particular

moment wherein he gave signs of that intolerable haughtiness, considered

by the historians as the first sallies of a greatness of soul, which to

display itself wants only great occasions. Cyrus, both by right of birth

and right of conquest, united Assyria and Media to Persia, and was the

founder of the largest empire that ever existed.

His successors still think their bounds too narrow: they send into

Greece, which was then signalized in Europe, armies infinitely numerous,

the which are destroyed: and the spirit of conquest had on that occasion

the fate which unhappily it has not always.

The Greeks, freed from these powerful enemies, turn their arms against

one another: they are animated by jealousy, inflamed by the warm and

dangerous eloquence of their orators, and torn by civil wars. Persia

falls into the same convulsions. And when perhaps every thing was

tending to peace, Alexander appears, and all are embroiled worse than

ever.

This picture shows him in that tender age wherein he lamented his

father’s conquests, and saw with grief human blood shed by wounds, he

had not made. Scarce was he on the throne when he carried desolation

into Greece, Persia and India. The world did not suffice for his

murdering progress, and his heart was still unsatisfied. That other

picture represents his death. That destructive thunderbolt is at last

extinguished, Alexander expires, and casting his dying eyes on the grand

monarchy he is going to leave, nothing seems to comfort him but the

prospect of the bloody tragedies of which his death is to be the signal.

Of all Alexander’s dominions, those to whom they belonged of right, had

the least share. The empire was divided among his generals[7]. War was

soon kindled amongst them, continued among their descendants, and ruined

all the countries of which they had the rule.

Among so many warlike kings, Ptolemy Philadelphus appeared like a lily

raised by chance in a field of thorns. See in that immense library, the

monarch surrounded with old sages, who are giving him an account of the

numberless volumes which are before his eyes. He was too great a lover

of mankind to disturb their tranquillity; and held them in such

estimation, that he collected from all countries the productions of

their wit[8]. These kinds of riches seemed to him alone worthy his care.

He saw them with the same eye that other kings behold those metals which

they search for in the bowels of the earth, or which they fetch from the

extremities of the world through rivulets of blood.

Whilst discord rages amongst Alexander’s successors and their

descendants; already appeared in the center of Italy the first sparks of

the flame that was to spread over the universe and consume all nations.

Like those bodies of a vast weight, which, not being in their just

position, swing themselves to and fro for some moments, and then fix

themselves immoveably; Rome, subject successively to kings, consuls,

decemvirs, military tribunes, settles a government and begins the

conquest of the world.

This ambitious nation, direct at first their forces against their

neighbours. In vain did the several Italian states struggle for five

hundred years against the fate of Rome: one while in subjection, another

while in rebellion: now conquerors, now conquered, they were all in the

end forced to submit to the yoke.

Italy subdued and calmed, that is, reduced to the state of those robust

bodies, which by being exhausted fall into a consumption and weakness,

the Romans cross the seas, and go into Africa in search of fresh enemies

and other spoils. Carthage as ambitious, perhaps as powerful, but more

unfortunate than her rival, after a long and violent contest, is

overcome and destroyed. Corinth and Numantia share the same fate.

About this time, Viriatus raised himself in the same manner as the

Romans. In this picture, he is a huntsman; in that, a robber; in the

third, a general of an army; and in the fourth, he mounts the throne of

Lusitania. But he was only a victim crowned by fortune to be sacrificed

to the ambition of the Romans[9].

Asia is soon opened to these insatiable conquerors. The empire daily

enlarges, and that enormous power over-runs all the known world.

The first passion of the Romans was glory. During seven centuries,

patriotism, which policy cherished with so great success, directed the

love of glory in favour of the republic; and the Romans signalized

themselves no less by their attachment to their country, than by their

warlike exploits. This space was filled with a long train of heroes, and

those that followed, despairing to become famous in the same manner,

sought to distinguish themselves by other methods. Rome was mistress of

the world; it appeared glorious to become master of Rome. Sylla, Marius,

and some others, showed that such a project was not impracticable: Cæsar

accomplished it. That boasted conqueror, who was reproached with so many

things, effaced them all by his virtue: by his military virtue which

destroyed above a million of men, oppressed his fellow-citizens, and

enslaved his country. In vain did the republic exert her utmost

endeavours to save her expiring liberty; she was exhausted and stretched

her hands to Augustus, who, from a bad citizen, became the best of

masters.

Raised to the empire, he put an end to war, and soon gave mankind a

peace the most universal, they had ever enjoyed. The elementary spirits

have given an idea of the pleasure of this general tranquillity, by the

agreeable prospect of the landskips which are here represented.

This peace.... Pray (says I interrupting the Prefect) suspend a moment

the rapid recital of so many revolutions; give me leave to examine this

picture, and a little time to calm the perturbation of my mind. How I

love to see that beautiful sky; those plains that lose themselves at a

distance; those pastures filled with flocks; those fields covered with

corn? The breath of war blows far from those climates the vertiginous

spirit of heroism. This is indeed the seat of peace and tranquillity. My

imagination carries me to those delightful vallies: I behold and

contemplate nature, whose labours nothing interrupts, producing on every

side life and pleasure. My thoughts are composed and my spirits sedate

amidst the tranquillity that reigns in those places: my blood, grown

cool, flows in my veins with the same gentle motion as the rivulets that

water those green turfs; and the passions now have on my mind only the

effect of the zephyr, which seems to play gently among the branches of

leafy trees.

CHAP. XIX.

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GALLERY.

The Prefect soon resumed the thread of his discourse. The quickness,

wherewith he ran over the Gallery, hardly gave me time to view the

several pictures he was explaining. I had not seen him before nor did I

afterwards see him speak with so much action. His face was inflamed, his

eyes darted fire, and his words were too slow for his eagerness.

The language, the manners, the laws of the Romans (said he) were spread

over the world. The nations, conquered and settled, became members of

the empire; and all the known world made but one family. By what

fatality was Augustus’s peace, which seemed so unalterable, of so short

a duration? Mankind only breathed, and were soon inflicted with new

wounds. When Rome had no more kingdoms to subdue, she had rebels to

reduce. Several nations, thinking it a great happiness or a great glory

to be parted from the body of the empire, rebelled in Europe, in Asia,

in Africa: all were repressed. Thus most of the nations, formerly

attacked and defeated, now the aggressors and reduced, continued to be

hurled from one misfortune to another; and the following pictures, those

which represent the more celebrated times of the first Emperors, will

still go on to present to thee spectacles of blood. The three reigns of

Titus, Antoninus, and Marcus Aurelius, were three fine Days in a severe

Winter.

Those times, nevertheless, were times of peace, in comparison of those

that had gone before and those that came after. The empire was like a

body with a good constitution, but which however is attacked with some

disorders, and shews that it is not far from its decline.

Whilst the Romans, at first to extend, then to support and sometimes to

inrich themselves, kept the world in awe, pulled down what attempted to

rise, and penetrated wherever they were allured by rich spoils; towards

the North, in those frozen climates where nature seems to reach only to

expire, there arose and increased, in the bosom of peace and silence,

nations who were one day to humble the pride of the masters of the

world. Three centuries had not yet passed since Augustus’s peace, when,

in the reign of Valerianus, the deceitful hope of a more commodious and

happy life armed these unpolished people. See where they are coming out

of their huts, tumultuously gathering together, marching in disorder,

and showing the way to the hideous multitudes who followed one another

from age to age.

These foreign enemies, coming when the empire was rent with internal

rebellions, shook the Colossus. It withstood however, for some time, the

weight which pulled it down, and one while ready to fall, and another

while erect, it seemed sometimes to be going to stand firm again.

Among the emperors who signalized themselves against the Barbarians,

Probus contributed the most to support the Majesty of the Roman name.

Valiant, but still more humane, he abhorred war and continually waged

it. Dost thou observe, in the picture before thee, that bald old man,

his air of candor, his respectable countenance, the plainness of every

thing about him? It is Probus represented in the moment when, beholding

Rome’s enemies humbled, full of the idea of that general peace he always

desired, he said: “yet a few days and the empire will have no farther

occasion for soldiers.” Words which rendered him worthy of the

veneration of the whole earth, but which caused him to be murdered. Time

passed, the efforts of the Barbarians redoubled, and blood continued to

be shed.

Mean while, the enemies of Rome grew warlike, and her defenders

degenerated. Of this the chief causes were pride, which increasing

wants, forces the citizen to refer every thing to his private interest;

the folly of most of the emperors, which bred in the people a numbness

which a few years confirm, and which whole ages cannot remove; perhaps

too a weariness of the spirits; for that ambition, that haughtiness, or,

if you please, that Roman grandeur, was in the course of things an

excessive effort, which, like an epidemical distemper come to its

height, must necessarily abate by degrees.

However this may be, a century and half after their first invasions, the

Barbarians began to make real progresses, and dismember the Western part

of the empire. Amidst the troubles that then existed, some kingdoms were

established which still remain to this day. Just as Earthquakes, which

raising the sea drown whole regions, produce also new Islands amidst the

waves.

See the Goths, who after traversing sword in hand, part of Asia and all

Europe, are settling in Spain: see the Angles, a people of Germany, who

are passing into Great Britain, and, under pretence of aiding, are

seizing it: see the Franks, other Germans, who are coming to free the

Gauls from the Roman yoke and making them to submit to theirs. In these

unhappy times, Rome herself shares the same fate which she had made so

many cities undergo; she is plundered and sacked at several times[10].

But the next pictures present to thee, in a point of view still more

dreadful, regions laid waste, fields bathed in blood, and cities in

ashes. These are the exploits of Attila and his rapid incursions in

Macedonia, Mysia, Thrace, Italy, and almost through the whole world

which he ravaged. So many desolations, proceeding from several

conquerors, would have made so many heroes: coming from a single hand,

they form a terrible monster. It is thus that military virtues show

themselves in their true colours, and become horrible when they meet in

a center[11].

During Attila’s ravages, certain Italians flying from his fury, withdraw

to the Adriatic sea-side. Behold in this picture the men pale, the women

dishevelled, and the children in tears. Some hide themselves among the

rocks; others dig themselves subterraneous retreats; some ascend the

hills, and, as far as their eyes can reach, look whither the merciless

conqueror, whose name alone makes them tremble, is still pursuing them

to those desolate places, so little proper for the habitation of men. On

every side thou canst see nothing but destruction and horror: very soon

however proud Venice is going to rise out of these melancholy ruins.

Shortly after, the last blow is given to the Western empire. Tyrannized

by its rulers, rent by factions, weakened by continual losses, and

pressed by a fatal destiny, it shakes under some emperors, and falls

under Augustulus. Rome and Italy, successively a prey to two Barbarians,

are afterwards united to the Eastern empire, from which by fresh

misfortunes they were soon after detached again.

Two centuries passed in cruel vicissitudes, when a new scourge, Mahomet,

arose in the East. He was deemed at first but as an impostor worthy of

contempt: but he had an understanding capable of the greatest things,

and a boldness which carried him to the highest enterprizes. It was

known how far he was able to go, when his progress could no longer be

opposed. He over-ran part of the East, and out of the ruins founded the

kingdom of the Khalifs. The nations, he subdued by force of arms, he won

by seduction; and, more fatal still to mankind than all the heroes whose

pernicious actions die with them, he sullied the human species with a

stain which probably will never be effaced[12].

In the West, the misfortunes of the Romans are renewed. The Lombards

waste Italy, the Moors settle in Spain, from whence they threaten the

French: new swarms of Barbarians are going to invade the finest

countries of Europe.

At this time, from the bosom of France arises a Prince full of genius,

and of that military ardor which, in a calm, would have brought on a

storm; but which, finding the tempest formed, like an impetuous wind,

blew it away: this was Charlemain. In this picture, he checks the

Saracens; in that, he subdues Germany; moreover, he destroys in Italy

the power of the Lombards, founds the temporal authority of the Popes,

and receives the crown of the Western empire.

Charlemain’s empire soon fell to pieces. The partitions of the princes,

and the ambition of some chiefs, detach whole nations from it. Weak or

avaricious emperors give or sell liberty to others. The rest is under

particular lords: the sovereign scarce keeps the title and shadow of

authority.

Dost thou observe that battle? seest thou a numerous army defeated by

fifteen hundred men? It is the æra of the liberty of the Helvetic body.

Members of the empire, but oppressed by tyrants, the Swiss shake off the

yoke and form a government, the wisdom of which cannot be too much

admired. Their commerce extends but to necessaries: they have soldiers

only for their defence, and these too are trained among other nations: a

constant peace reigns in the republic. Without covetousness, without

jealousy, without ambition, liberty and necessaries content them. They

are a people that talk the least of philosophy, and are the most

philosophical.

Whilst the new Western empire is rent, the Eastern is destroyed. Thou

seest coming out of Asia the last swarm of Barbarians which were to fall

upon Europe[13]. They advance: and, like huge masses which acquire more

force in proportion to the height they fall from, they crush

Constantinople and seize the Eastern empire, which they still possess to

this day.

Such is the disastrous contexture of the compendious History of mankind:

the crowd of particulars is only a crowd of less noted calamities. The

total of the nations, especially the European, is like a mass of

quicksilver, which the lightest impression puts in motion, which the

least shake divides and subdivides, and of which chance unites again the

parts in a thousand different manners. Who will find the means to fix

them?

THE END OF THE FIRST PART.

GIPHANTIA: