PART II.

Page

CHAP. I. THE REPAST 201

CHAP. II. THE KERNELS 212

CHAP. III. ANTIENT LOVE 215

CHAP. IV. THE GRAFTS 221

CHAP. V. VOLUPTAS 228

CHAP. VI. PERPETUAL YOUTH 233

CHAP. VII. THE ITCHINGS 239

CHAP. VIII. THE COMPENSATIONS 249

CHAP. IX. NIL ADMIRARI 253

CHAP. X. THE FANTASTICAL TREE 259

CHAP. XI. THE PREDICTIONS 265

CHAP. XII. THE SYSTEM 274

CHAP. XIII. EPISTLE TO THE EUROPEANS 292

CHAP. XIV. THE MAXIMS 302

CHAP. XV. THE THERMOMETERS 306

CHAP. XVI. THE LENTILS 312

CHAP. XVII. THE SUBTERRANEOUS ROAD 318

[Illustration]

GIPHANTIA.

PART THE SECOND.

CHAP. I.

THE REPAST.

My zeal has carried me farther than I should have imagined, added the

Prefect; it is time to think of what concerns thee. The air of Giphantia

is lively and full of active corpuscles; it keeps up the spirits; and,

in spite of the fatigues, thou hast endured in the desart, it does not

suffer thee to have the least sense of weariness, However, thou hast

need of a more solid food. I have ordered thee a Repast, and I will

regale thee after the manner of the elementary spirits.

We went out of the gallery; and the Prefect conducted me to a grotto, of

which the architecture was so strange, that I dare not venture to

describe it. The whole furniture was a marble table and a cane-chair, on

which he bid me sit down.

Whatever I saw at Giphantia was extraordinary, the Repast to which I was

invited was not less so. Thirty salt-sellers filled with salts of

different colours, were placed on the table in a circle round a fruit,

much like our melons. There was also a glass decanter full of water,

round which other salt-sellers formed another circle.

These preparations were not very tempting; I never had less appetite.

However, not to affront a host, to whom I was so much obliged, I tasted

the fruit that he offered me. The purest chymical earth purged of all

foreign matter, would have more taste. I forced myself to swallow a few

bits. I drank a glass of water: And I told the Prefect, that my strength

was more than sufficiently recruited, and if he pleased, we would

continue to visit the rarities of Giphantia.

Thou hast had (said he) the complaisance to taste the fruit and the

liquor, thou wilt farther oblige me to season them both. The salts which

stand round them have, perhaps, more virtue than thou art aware of. I

invite thee to try.

Upon these words, I viewed the salt-sellers more attentively, I saw that

each had a label; and I read upon those that surrounded the insipid

fruit, salt of woodcock, salt of quail, salt of wild-duck, salt of

trout, _&c._ Upon the others, I read, concrete juice of Rhenish, of

Champagne, of Burgundy, of Usquebaugh, of oil of Venus, of Citron, _&c._

Having taken a small slice of the fruit, I spread upon it a grain of one

of those salts; and putting it to my mouth I took it for the wing of an

ortolan. I looked upon the salt-seller from whence I had the salt, and

saw the word _ortolan_ on the label. Astonished at this phænomenon, I

spread upon another slice salt of turbot, and I thought I was eating one

of the finest turbots the channel ever produced. I tried the same

experiment upon the water; according to the salt I dissolved in it, I

drank wine of Beaune, of Nuis, of Chambertin, _&c._

My lord, (said I to the Prefect) you have shewn me the columns, the

globe, the mirrour, the pictures; I have admired the mechanism of these

masterpieces, and the wonderful skill of the elementary spirits; but

now, my admiration is turned to desire. Is a mortal allowed to enter

into the physical mysteries of the spirits? May I learn from you, this

invaluable secret of your saline powders.

Now-a-days more than ever, (added I) men (especially the Babylonians)

seek with eagerness whatever can please the senses; and one of the

things which raises the greatest emulation, is to have a table covered

with exquisite dainties. Their fore-fathers did not look upon a good

cook as a _person divine_. The most simple preparations sufficed for

their food: they thought no wines excelled those of their own country;

and sometimes those good men made a little too free with them. The

modern Babylonians disgusted at this simplicity, and hating hard

drinking, have taken a different method. They are become sober, but of a

sensual and ambitious sobriety, which, by unheard of extracts and

mixtures, perpetually creates new tastes. They search in the smallest

fibres of the animals for the purest substance, and, under the name of

essences, they inclose in a little phial the produce of what would

suffice for the nourishment of the most numerous families. The most

exquisite wines cannot satisfy their palate; they esteem nothing but

what is owing to a violence done to the order of nature’s productions.

They extract the most active spirit of wine, and thereto add all the

spices of India: And, with such liquors, seeds of fire, collected from

all the countries of the world, flow in their veins.

You see (continued I) that with the secret of your savoury

crystalizations, I should be able to satisfy the nicest palates, and

please the most curious lovers of variety. But what is much more

important, these saline extracts, which are not prepared by the

pernicious arts of the distiller and cook, these extracts, I say, would

not spoil the stomach in pleasing the taste; high health would revive

among us; the primitive constitutions would be restored by degrees; and

mankind would resume a new youthful vigour; in all respects, a man might

be a glutton without danger, and, that is saying a great deal of a vice,

which is become incorrigible.

I was not refused: In less than half an hour, the Prefect taught me the

whole art; I actually resolve the savours, with the same ease that

Newton did the colours. From all the fruits that go to decay, from all

the plants of no use, from even the herbs of the field, in a word, from

all bodies whatever, I extract all their savoury parts; I analyze these

parts; I reduce them to their primitive particles; and then uniting them

again in all imaginable proportions, I form saline powders, which give

such a taste as is desired. I can inclose in a small snuff-box,

wherewith to make in an instant a complete entertainment, courses,

ragouts, fricassees, deserts, coffee, tea, with all kinds of wine and

other liquors. From a single bit, though ever so insipid, I produce at

pleasure the wing of a partridge, the thigh of a woodcock, the tongue of

a carp, _&c._ From a decanter of water, I draw Tomar, Ai, Muscadine,

Malmsey, Chian wine, Lacryma Christi, and a thousand others.

My secret should have been publick before now; but all the advantages

accruing from it do not remove a fear, which, as will be seen, is surely

not without foundation. I am apprehensive that certain gentlemen,

incessantly busied to open new channels to convey to them the substance

of the people, may lay their greedy hands upon my salt, and undertake to

distribute it, charged with some light tax. These light taxes are known

always to grow heavier, and end with crushing; much like those

snow-balls, which, rolling down from the top of the mountains, and soon

growing immensely large, root up trees, throw down houses, and destroy

the fields. Let these gentlemen give in our newspapers, a positive

assurance that they will never meddle with the management of my savours;

the next day, I will publish my secret, distribute my powders, and

regale all Babylon.

I think I know the world: these gentlemen, you will see, will keep

silence, and I my salt, and so nobody will be regaled.

[Illustration]

CHAP. II.

THE KERNELS.

My dinner ended and my lesson learnt, we sate out again. Let us (said

the Prefect) take the benefit of this long shady walk, and go to the

grove at the end of it. By the way, I will explain some matters relating

to what I am going to show thee.

Adam had just been driven out of Paradise, (continued the Prefect:) The

tree, from which the fatal apple was gathered, disappeared: Innocence,

everlasting peace, unmixt pleasure vanished; and death covered the earth

with her mournful vail. Witnesses of Adam’s sin and punishment, the

elementary spirits remained in a consternation mixt with astonishment

and fear. All was silent, like the dreadful calm, which, in a gloomy

night, succeeds the flashes of lightening.

One of our spirits perceiving on the ground the remains of the fatal

apple, hastily took them up, and found three Kernels: these were so many

treasures.

The forbidden tree, which was the cause of Man’s misery, was to have

been the cause of his happiness. It contained the shoots of the

sciences, arts, and pleasures. The little, men know of these things, is

nothing in comparison of what this mysterious tree would have disclosed

in their favour. It was to vegetate, blossom, and bear seed for ever;

and the least of these seeds would have been the source of more delights

than ever existed among the children of men.

We took great care of the three Kernels, which had escaped the total

ruin just then befallen mankind; this was not sufficient to repair their

unhappy fate, but it helped to soften it. As soon as we were returned to

Giphantia, we consulted upon what we could do in favour of mankind so

terribly fallen. Most of the spirits took the office of governing the

elements, and, as far as lay in their power, of directing their motions,

according to the wants of men. Those that remained at Giphantia, were

entrusted with the sowing of the three Kernels, and carefully to mind

what they produced.

CHAP. III.

ANTIENT LOVE.

As we were talking we entered into a pretty large grove, in the midst of

which, I perceived a star formed by most beautiful shrubs. From every

part of these shrubs there darted forth a luminous matter, whereon were

painted all the colours of the rain-bow. Thus the sun, viewed through

the boughs of a thick tree, seems crowned with sparkling rays, on which

shine the liveliest and most variegated colours.

The first Kernel taken from the fatal apple and committed to the ground,

(said the Prefect of Giphantia) produced a shrub of the nature of those

thou seest. Its leaves were like those of the myrtle. Its purple

blossoms, speckled with white, were raised round their stalks in form of

pyramids. Its boughs were thick and interwoven with one another in a

thousand different ways. It was the most beautiful tree, nature had ever

produced, therefore it was her most favorite object. A soft zephyr,

gently moving its leaves, seemed to animate them; and never were they

ruffled by the impetuous north winds; never was the course of its sap

obstructed by winter’s frost, or its moisture exhausted by summer’s

scorching heats; an eternal spring reigned around it. This singular

tree, was the Tree of Love.

It is well known what influence the extraneous particles of the air have

upon us. Some accelerate or retard the motions of the blood, others dull

or raise the spirits, sometimes they brighten the imagination, and

sometimes they cloud it with the gloomy vapours of melancholy. Those

that were exhaled from the tree of Love, and dispersed over the earth,

brought the seeds of the most alluring pleasure. Till then, men, left to

a blind instinct, which inclined them to propagate their species, shared

that advantage (if it is one) with the rest of the animals. But, like a

flower which opens to the first rays of the sun, their hearts soon

yielded to the first impressions of love, and instinct gave place to

sentiment.

With that passion they received a new life; the face of nature seemed

changed; every thing became ingaging; every thing touched them.

The other passions disappeared, or were, in respect of this, like brooks

to a river in which they are going to be lost.

Superior to all events, love heightened pleasure, asswaged pain, and

gave a charm to things the most indifferent. It enlivened the graces of

youth, alleviated the infirmities of age, and lasted as long as life.

Its power was not confined to the creating a tender and unchangeable

attachment to the object beloved; it inspired also a certain sentiment

of sweetness, which was infused into all men, and united them together.

Society was then as an endless chain, each link was composed of two

hearts joined by love.

The pleasure of others was a torment to none: Gloomy jealousy had not

possessed the human heart, nor envy shed her venom there. Concord

multiplied pleasures: A man was not more pleased with his own, than with

the happiness of others.

Mankind was yet in infancy, and unacquainted with excesses. Adversity

did not depress them to annihilation, nor prosperity puff them up to the

loss of their senses. Their wants were few, the arts had not increased

them. Frightful poverty appeared not among them, because they knew not

riches; every one had necessaries, because none had superfluities. Utter

strangers to the ridiculousness of rank, they were not exalted with

insolence, nor did they servilely cringe; no man was low, because no man

was high. All was in order, and men were as happy as their state would

admit of. O nature! why dost thou not still enlighten us with those days

of peace, harmony, and love!

[Illustration]

CHAP. IV.

THE GRAFTS.

The stinging nettle and wild briar increase and are renewed, (continued

the Prefect) the tree of Love had not that privilege. Its blossoms

vanished without leaving a kernel, and its shoots planted in the ground

did not take root; they died and nature groaned.

Mean while, this only tree was going to decay; its sap withdrew from

most of the branches, and the faded leaves withered on their boughs.

The elementary spirits were sensible how valuable the treasure was, that

the sons of men were going to lose, and were under the deepest concern

for them. They studied therefore to find the means to fix love upon

earth, and imagined they had succeeded.

They took from the languishing and exhausted tree, its best shoots and

grafted them upon different stocks. This precaution saved love, but at

the same time, altered its nature. Nourished by an extraneous sap, these

shoots and their emanations quickly degenerated: So the exotic plants

which grow in our gardens by the assiduous care of the gardiner, change

their nature, and lose almost all their virtues.

Love then existed among men; but what love? It sprung from caprice, was

attached without choice, and vanished with levity: It became such as it

is at this day amongst you. It is no longer that common band which

united mankind, and rendered them happy; it is on the contrary, an

inexhaustible fountain of discord. Formerly, it was stronger alone than

all the passions together; it was subject only to reason: Now, it is

overcome by the weakest passion, and hearkens to any thing but reason.

To say the truth; it is no longer Love: Phantoms have taken its place,

and receive the homage of men. One in the highest ranks only finds

objects worthy his vows; he thinks it love, it is only ambition. Another

fixes his heart where fortune is lavish of her gifts, he imagines, love

directs him, but it is thirst of riches. Another flies from where

delicateness of sentiments calls for his care and regard, and runs where

an easy object hardly gives him time to desire. What is the ground of

his haste? a depraved appetite for pleasure. Of pure, sincere, and

unmixt love there is none left; the grafts are quite spoiled.

At Babylon, degenerated love varied with the fashions, the manners, and

every thing else. At first it gave into the Romantick: This was in the

days of our good Knights Errant. It was all fire, transport, extasy. The

eye of the fair was a sun, the heart of the lover was a volcano, and the

rest of the same stamp.

In time, it was found, that all this was departing a little from nature;

in order therefore, to make it more natural, love was dressed like a

shepherd with a flock and pipe; and spoke the language of a swain. In

the heart of his noisy and tumultuous city, a Babylonian sung the

refreshing coolness of the groves, invited his mistress to drive her

flock thither, and offered to guard it against the wolves.

The pastoral language being drained, the sentiment was refined, and the

heart analysed. Never had love appeared so subtilised. To make a

tolerable compliment to a girl beloved, a man must have been a pretty

good metaphysician.

The Babylonians, weary of thinking so deeply, from the height of these

sublime metaphysicks fell into free speeches, double-meanings, and

wanton stories. Their behaviour was agreeable to their talk; and love,

after having been a valiant knight-errant, a whining shepherd and a

sublime metaphysician, is at last grown a libertine. It will soon become

a debauchee, if it is not so already; after which, nothing remains but

to turn religious; and this is what I expect.

Moreover, the Babylonians flatter themselves with being a people the

most respectful to the ladies, and boast of having it from their

ancestors. In this respect, as in all others, two things must be

distinguished at Babylon, the appearance and the reality. In appearance,

no place where women are more honoured; in reality, no place where they

are less esteemed. Outwardly, nothing but homages, inwardly, nothing but

contempt. It is even a principle at Babylon, that the men cannot have,

in an assembly, too much respect for the sex, nor, in private too

little.

[Illustration]

CHAP. V.

VOLUPTAS or PLEASURE.

We came out of the grove. Men (said I to the Prefect) are highly

indebted to you for preserving love, degenerated as it is. If you did

but know what a void there is among them now-a-days! Their amusements

are so few, that the least of all must be to them very valuable. Love no

longer makes their happiness; but it diverts them at least. What would

the Babylonians do, if love did not put in motion all those walking

statues, which you see so busy about the women? They sigh, they

complain, they request, they press, they obtain, they are happy or

dupes; it is just the same thing: But time passes, and that is enough

for the Babylonians.

“In the beginning (continued the Prefect) nature, ever attentive to the

welfare of men, begot Voluptas. She was an unadorned native beauty, but

full of those charms which characterises whatever comes out of the hands

of the common parent of all Beings. Nature gave her a golden cup, and

said: Go among men; draw pleasure out of my works; present it without

distinction to all mortals; quench their thirst, but make them not

drunk.”

Voluptas appeared upon earth. Men flocked together in crowds; all drank

largely of her cup; all quenched their thirst, none were intoxicated.

Voluptas made herself desired, presented herself seasonably, and was

always received with joy. As she offered herself with restriction, she

was always cherished and never cloyed. Men, not being enervated by

excess, preserved to a very advanced age, all their organs in vigor;

their taste remained; and old age still drank of Voluptas’s cup.

Nature has a rival, called Art, who, incessantly employed in rendering

himself useful or agreeable to society, strives to supply what nature

cannot or will not do for men. He resumes nature’s works, retouches

them, sometimes embellishes, often disguises and degrades them.

Art failed not to observe the conduct of Voluptas, and to refine

whatever she offered to mankind. He could not bear an interval between

pleasures, and would have them succeed one another without intermission.

He ransacked all the countries of the world, united all the objects of

sensuality, and multiplied a thousand ways the pleasures of sense. Men,

surrounded with so many alluring objects, thought themselves happy, and

in their intoxication, said: _Without Art, Nature is nothing_. But very

soon their senses were cloyed; satiety bred disgust, and disgust made

them indifferent to all kinds of pleasure. Neither Art nor Nature could

affect them to any degree. From that time, they have hardly been able to

amuse or divert themselves. Voluptas has no longer any charms for them.

[Illustration]

CHAP. VI.

PERPETUAL YOUTH.

There is no place (continued the Prefect) where these dissipations,

supposed to supply the room of pure pleasure, are more necessary than at

Babylon; so there is no place where they are more frequent.

The Babylonians are known not to be made for much thinking, and, for

good reason, it is not desired they should think. A wise policy has

always proposed to keep as many employed as possible, and to amuse the

rest.

For these last it is, that the arts of amusement are incouraged, that

publick walks are kept up at a great charge, that spectacles of all

kinds are exhibited, and so many places tolerated, where gaming,

drinking, and licentiousness serve for food to these heedless men, who,

without these avocations, would not fail to disturb the society.

These various avocations fill up the moments of life to such a degree,

that there is no time for recollection, and for counting the years that

insensibly fly away. A man declines, decays, is bent under the load of

years, and he has not once thought of it.

Rather let us say, there is no old-age at Babylon, for men of this kind:

A perpetual Youth runs through their life; the same agitations in the

heart, the same dullness in the soul, and the same void in the mind.

Youths of twenty-five and of sixty, march with an equal pace to the same

end. The desires, eagernesses, sallies, excesses are the same. All

forgetful of themselves, still go on; and death alone is capable to stop

the career of these decrepid youths.

It is remarkable, that one day, one of those young old men, bethought

himself to make reflections. “When a man (said he) is come, like me, to

a certain age, he does not fully live, he dies by degrees, and he ought

successively to renounce whatever does not suit his state. There are

things that become nobody, which however are connived at in youth; but

which make an old man ridiculous. What business have I now with this

costly furniture, these splendid equipages, with this table served with

so much profusion? Am I excusable for keeping a mistress, whose

luxuriousness will not fail to ruin me in the end? does it become me to

appear still in those places, where licentiousness carries inconsiderate

youth? I will forsake a world for which I am no longer fit, and will

embrace that peaceful and retired life to which my declining age invites

me. What I shall retrench from my expences, I will give to my nephew,

who is coming; into the world, and should set out with some figure.

Since I am dying by degrees, so by degrees he ought to inherit.”

This resolution being taken and well taken, a friend of his comes to

visit him, sees him thoughtful, asks the reason and learns his design.

“What, (says he to him) have you not still spirit enough to withstand

reason? She knocks, and it is going to be opened! what do you mean?

Reason may be of use to a young man, to curb the fury of his passions;

but must be fatal to an old one, in totally extinguishing the little

relish he has left for pleasures. What a fine sight will it be, to see

Plutarch’s morals, Nicole’s essays, and Pascal’s thoughts lodged in thy

brain, close by Bocace’s novels, La Fontaine’s tales, and Rousseau’s

epigrams! Believe me: Reason is good only for those, who have cultivated

it long ago; heads made like ours cannot suit it. Our maxims and

reason’s are too contradictory; and instead of regulating, it would

throw all into disorder and confusion.”

“But (replied our new convert) dost thou know what thou art doing with

thy extraordinary eloquence? never was so much reason used to prove,

that we must act against reason. Come, let us go, my dear marquis, a

free supper waits us at the ... where the nymph, thou knowest, will

compleat my conviction: From thence we will go to the ball. Tomorrow,

champagne at your cousin the countess’s, and lansquenet, at our friend

the President’s.”

CHAP. VII.

THE ITCHINGS.

We walked toward the south. On this side, Giphantia ends in a point, and

forms a little promontory, from whence there is a large prospect. This

promontory is covered all over with a plant, whose boughs descend and

creep every way. This is the production of the second Kernel. The plant

never bears either leaves or blossoms, or fruit: It is formed by an

infinite number of very thin small fibres, which branch out of one

another.

View carefully the fibres (says the Prefect to me.) Dost thou see at

their extremity, little longish bodies, which move so briskly? They are

small maggots, which this plant breeds; whether vegetation, carried

beyond its usual bounds, produces them; or whether there comes at the

extremity of the fibres, a sort of corruption, by which they are

engendered. In time, these maggots waste away so as to become invisible:

But withal they get wings, and growing flies, they disperse themselves

over the earth. There, they stick fast to men, and cease not to infest

them with a sting given them by nature. And as the tarantula, with the

poison which she leaves in the wound she has made, inspires an

immoderate desire to leap and dance, just so these small insects cause,

according to their different kinds, different Itchings. Such are the

itch of talking, the itch of writing, the itch of knowing, the itch of

shining, the itch of being known, with a hundred others. Hence, all the

motions, men put themselves into, all the efforts they make, all the

passions that stir them.

The sensation they feel on these occasions, is so manifestly such as we

are describing, that when any one is seen in an uncommon agitation of

body or mind, it is very usual to say, _What fly stings? what maggot

bites?_ Though nothing can be seen, it is perceived that the cause of so

many motions is a stinging: A man often finds it by experience, and

knows what it is owing to.

When once men are troubled with these restless prickings, they cannot be

quiet. He, for instance, that is stung with the itch of talking, is

continually discoursing with every body, correcting those that do not

need it, informing those that know more than himself. His visage opens,

lengthens, and shortens at pleasure: He laughs with those that laugh,

weeps with those that weep, without sharing the joy of the one, or the

grief of the other. If by chance he gives you room to say any thing,

speak fast and stop not; for, in an instant, he would begin again, and

take care not to be interrupted. Never does he lend an ear to any one;

and even when he seems to hold his tongue, he is still muttering to

himself. He despises nothing so much as those silent animals, who hear

little and speak still less; and he thinks no men more worthy of envy

than those, who have the talent of drawing a circle of admirers, of

raising the voice in the midst of them, and of saying nothings

incessantly applauded.

Sometimes the itch of talking is turned into the itch of writing; which

comes to the same thing; for writing, is talking to the whole world.

Then those torrents of words, which flow from the mouth, change their

course and flow from the pen ... what numbers of bablers in these silent

libraries! Oh how must those who have ears, and run over these immense

collections, be stunned with what they hear! They are like great fairs,

where each author cries up his wares to the utmost of his power, and

spares nothing to promote the sale. Come (says an Antient) come and

learn of me to practice virtue and become happy; come and draw from

these pure fountains, whose streams are polluted by the corruption of

men.... Come rather to me (cries a Modern) time and observation have

opened our eyes; we see things, and only want to show them to you....

Mind them not (says a Romancer) seek not truth there; truth still lies

in the bottom of Democritus’s well. Come therefore to me for amusement,

and I will help you to it. Come and read the life and exploits of the

duke of * * * *, the model of the court; he never attacked a girl

without debauching her; he has embroiled above fifty families, and

thrown whole towns into confusion: He must, it is plain, be one of the

most accomplished men of the age.... I have things to offer you, much

more interesting than all this, (says a Versifier) I have the prettiest

odes and finest songs in the world, little soft verses, nosegays for

Iris, and a complete collection of all the riddles and symbolical

letters, which for these ten years have puzzled the sagacity of the

strongest heads in Babylon.... Away with those trifles (says a Tragic

Poet) and come to me: I manage the passions as I please: I will force

tears from your eyes, transport you out of your senses, and make your

hair stand an end.... That is very kind indeed, (says a Comic Poet) but

I believe, it will be better to come to me, who will make you laugh at

all others and even at yourselves. I pity you all, (says a Man-hater)

burn me all those books there and mine too; and let there be no mention

of learning, arts, sciences, and the like wretched things; for it is I

that tell you, as long as you have any reason, you shall have neither

wisdom, nor conduct, nor happiness.

I say nothing of the itch of knowledge, which should always precede that

of writing, and which commonly follows it at a good distance, and often

never comes at all.

At Babylon, the itch of being singular, is like an epidemical disease.

It is pretty well known wherein the Babylonians are alike, but it would

be the work of an age, to say wherein they differ. Every one

distinguishes himself by some remarkable stroke. Hence comes the mode of

portraits, and the facility of drawing them. Draw them by fancy, you are

sure they will meet with a likeness; draw them after nature, you will

never fail of originals. There are some for the pulpit, for the use of

the orators who want grace, there are some for the theatre, for the use

of poets who want genius, there are some for writings of all kinds, for

the use of the authors who want ideas.

The most troublesome of all the itches produced by these insects, is the

itch of being known. Thou canst not conceive, what efforts are made by

all the men stung with this itch. I say all the men; for, who has not a

view to reputation and fame? The Artisan shows his work, the Gamester

his calculations, the Poet his images, the Orator his grand strokes, the

Scholar his discoveries, the General his campaigns, the Minister his

schemes. And even he that sees the nothingness of this chimæra, still

contemplates its charms, and sighs after it: Just so a lover, with a

troubled heart, strives to abandon a faithless mistress, from whom he

cannot bear to part. What designs, what efforts of imagination to make

one’s self talked of! how many things attempted and dropt! what hopes,

fears, cares, and follies of every kind!

[Illustration]

CHAP. VIII.

COMPENSATIONS.

What you tell me (says I) is very extraordinary. But I cannot see why

the elementary spirits raise and cultivate this plant with so great

care. They who wish us so much good, in this respect do us very little.

To behold men, stung to the quick, acting like madmen, losing their

senses for chimeras, is a thing, in my opinion, deserving pity; but

perhaps it may be an amusement to the elementary spirits.

Like many others (replied the Prefect) thou judgest and seest things but

in one view. The itches have their inconveniences; but that is nothing

in comparison of their advantages. Without the itch of talking and

writing, would eloquence be known? Would the sciences have been

transmitted and improved from generation to generation? Would not you be

like so many untaught children, without ideas, without knowledge,

without principles? Was it not for the itch of being known, who would

take the pains to amuse you, to instruct you, to be useful to you by the

most interesting discoveries? Without the itch of ruling, who would busy

themselves in unravelling the chaos of the laws, in hearing and judging

your quarrels, in watching for your safety? Without the itch of shining,

in what kingdom would policy find a vent for those respectable

knick-knacks wherewith she adorns those she is pleased to distinguish?

And yet, this kind of nothings are, for the good of the state, to be

acquired at the price even of blood. Thanks to our flies, there are some

mad enough to sacrifice all for their sake, and others fools enough to

behold them with veneration.

Take away our insects, and men stand stupidly ranged by one another,

like so many statues; let our insects fly, and these statues receive new

life, and are as busy as bees. One sings, another dances, this reads his

verses and falls into an extasy, that hears him and is tired: The

Chymist is at his furnace, the Speculatist in his study, the Merchant at

sea, the Astronomer discovers a new satellite, the Physician a new

medicine, the soldier a new manœuvre; in fine, the statues are men; and

all this is owing to this plant and our care.

I beg (said I to the Prefect) we may stand at a distance from this

admirable plant; I dread more than I can express, the neighbourhood of

these volatiles. I rejoice much to see them authors of so many benefits;

but I fear still more, the uneasiness they create.

[Illustration]

CHAP. IX.

NIL ADMIRARI.

Your fearfulness, (says the Prefect) surprises me. Tell me, I pray, what

idea hast thou of what is called grandeur, dignities, and high rank in a

state?

I am in this world (answered I) like a traveller, who goes on his way

curiously observing the objects, but desiring none, because he is but a

passenger. Moreover, if things are estimated according to the happiness

they procure, I do not think that the highest places should be much

valued; for, I see, they make no man happy, and are a misfortune to

many.

What of riches? added the Prefect.

Pleasure (said I) is like a very rare commodity, which, however, every

one would fain purchase. Among those that succeed, the rich buy it very

dear, it comes cheap to the rest: One may as well be among the last as

the first. Of the few pleasures that exist, the lower class enjoy as

large a share as the highest.

What of wit, genius, talents? says the Prefect.

One half of the world, replied I, study to amuse the other. The first

class is formed of men of talents; whose brains are wound up by nature

higher than ordinary. They are incessantly striving to please: If they

fail, they waste away with grief; if they succeed, it is never fully,

and a single censure creates them more pain than all the encomiums

together give them pleasure. It is, therefore, better to be of the

second class, I mean among those who are amused by the others.

As far as I see, said the Prefect, the aspect of the great and their

pomp, of the scholar and his extensive genius, of the rich and his vast

possessions, makes little or no impression on thy mind.

I confess, replied I, that no man was ever less dazzled with all this

than myself. Wrapt in a certain coolness of sense, I am guarded against

all strong impressions. I behold with the same eye the ignorant who know

nothing, and the learned who know all, except truth; the protector who

plans, though he knows his weakness, and the protected who cringes,

though he perceives his superiority; the peasant that is disgusted with

the simplicity of his diet, and the rich sensual, who with thirty

niceties, can hardly make a dinner; the duchess, loaded with diamonds,

and the shepherdess decked with flowers; vanity, which dwells in the

cottage as well as in the palace, and upholds the low as well as the

high; care, which sits on the throne by the king, or follows the

philosopher in his retirement. All the parts on the stage of this world,

seem to me one no better than another: but I do not desire to act any. I

would observe all and be taken up with nothing. Hence it is, that I

dreaded the neighbourhood of these restless flies....

And hence it is precisely, interrupted the Prefect, that thou hadst

nothing to fear from them. Thou admirest nothing; it is sufficient: The

flies can take no hold of thee. The first impression they must make, is

the impression of surprise and admiration; if they make not that, they

miss their aim. But the moment admiration is admitted, a crowd of

passions quickly follow. For, in the object of wonder, great hurt or

great good is expected. Hence Love or Aversion, and all their

attendants; restless Desire which never sleeps; Joy, which embraces and

devours its objects; Melancholy, which, at a distance, and with weeping

eyes, contemplates and calls for what it dreads: Confidence, which walks

with head erect, and often meets a fall; Despair, which is preceded by

fear and followed by madness, and a thousand others. If thou wilt rest

secure from their attacks, cherish thy coolness of sense, and never lose

sight of the grand principle,

NIL ADMIRARI.

[Illustration]

CHAP. X.

THE FANTASTICAL TREE.

After having walked some time by the side of a rivulet, we came into a

beautiful and spacious meadow. It was enamelled with a thousand sorts of

flowers, whose various colours were, at a distance, blended together and

formed shining carpets, such as art has never woven. The meadow was

bounded by a piece of rock, like a wall; against which grew a tree, like

an espalier. It did not rise above a man’s height, but spread itself to

the right and left, the length of the rock, above three hundred paces.

Its leaves were very thin and very narrow, but in such abundance, that

it was not possible to see the least part, either of the trunk or of the

branches, or of the surface of the rock.

Thou seest, said the Prefect, the product of the third and last Kernel;

we give it the name of the Fantastical Tree.

From this precious tree it is, that inventions, discoveries, arts and

sciences take their original; and that by a mechanism, which will

surprise thee.

Thou knowest that the fibres of the leaves of a tree, are ranged

uniformly on each of them; to see one, is to see all the rest. Here,

this uniformity has no place; each leaf has its fibres ranged in a

particular manner; there are not two alike in the Fantastical Tree. But,

what is most wonderful, the fibres, on each leaf, are ranged with

symmetry, and represent distinctly a thousand sorts of objects; one

while a colonnade, an obelisk, a decoration; another while mechanical

instruments; here, geometrical diagrams, algebraical problems,

astronomical systems; there, physical machines, chymical instruments,

plans of all kinds of works, verse, prose, conversation, history,

romances, songs, and the like.

These leaves do not fade. When come to perfection they grow by degrees

prodigiously small, and roll themselves up in a thousand folds. In this

state, they are so light, that the wind blows them away; and so small,

that they enter through the pores of the skin. Once admitted into the

blood, they circulate with the humours, and generally stop at the brain,

where they cause a singular malady, the progress of which is thus:

When one of the leaves is settled in the brain, it is imbibed, dilated,

opened, becomes such as it was on the Fantastical Tree, and presents to

the mind the images wherewith it is covered. During the operation, the

patient appears with his eyes fixed, and a pensive air. He seems to hear

and see what passes about him, but his thoughts are otherways employed.

He walks sometimes at a great rate, and sometimes stands stock-still. He

rubs his forehead, stamps with his foot, and bites his nails. They who

have seen a geometrician upon the solution of a problem, or a naturalist

on the first glimpse of a physical explication, must have observed these

symptoms.

This violent state proceeds from the efforts of the soul, to discern

what is traced on the leaf; it holds longer or shorter, according as the

leaf takes up more or less time in displaying, and aptly presenting

itself.

The abatement of the malady appears by light emanations from the brain,

such as some ideas suddenly conceived, some designs hastily thrown upon

paper, some scheme sketched in a hurry. The soul begins to discern the

objects, and contemplate at leisure the Fantastical leaf.

These last symptoms declare an approaching crisis, which quickly shows

itself in a general evacuation of all that has been transmitted to the

brain. Then verses flow, difficulties are cleared, problems are

resolved, phenomena are explained, dissertations are multiplied,

chapters are heaped upon chapters; and the whole takes the form of a

book, and the patient is cured. Of all the accidents which afflicted

him, there only remains an immoderate affection for the offspring of his

brain, of which he was delivered with so much pain.

CHAP. XI.

PREDICTIONS.

Behold, added the Prefect, showing me the extent of the Fantastical

Tree, behold leaves for a century of designs, of discoveries, and of

writings. Thou mayest examine at thy leisure what, during that space,

will torment above a million of heads.

I drew near, and attentively viewed a good while the wonderful tree,

especially those branches on which the sciences vegetated; and after

having examined it to the last boughs with all the attention and

exactness I am capable of, I think myself qualified to make here some

Predictions.

The historical branch has an admirable effect; all the events are

painted like a camayeu[14], as by the hand of the greatest masters. So

many leaves, so many little pictures. What will most surprise, is, that

these pictures, seen in different points of view, represent the same

subject, but represent it very variously: And, according to the manner

of beholding it, the same action appears courageous or rash, zealous or

fanatical, rational or silly, proud or magnanimous. So, according to the

point of view, wherein these leaves present themselves to the brain of

an historian, he will see things in a good or bad light, and will write

accordingly. I would not have such works entitled, _The history of what

passed in such a time_, but rather, _The manner in which such an author

saw what passed_. Moreover this branch is plentifully furnished, and

should be so. As long as there are men, there will be ambition,

traitors, disturbers of the publick peace, merit will be forgotten and

the worthless preferred, virtue will be oppressed, vice will be

triumphant, countries will be ravaged, cities will be sacked, and

thrones will be dyed in blood; and these are the food of history;

excellent school, for youth to learn lessons of humanity, candor, and

sincerity!

The metaphysical branch is almost equally furnished: But its leaves are

very thin, and their fibres so excessively small, that they are hardly

perceivable. I greatly pity the brains where they will settle. I see but

one way to give them ease: And that is, to treat the most thorny

questions after the modern manner; I mean to supply the want of clear

ideas and deep reflections, by bold and confident assertions, which may

serve to impose.

The moral branch droops, and receives scarce any sap; its withered

leaves declare an approaching decay; alas! it is dying. The plans on it

are quite effaced. This is too visible from the works that are published

of this kind. The ideas of good and evil are confounded; virtue is so

disguised as hardly to be known, nor is it easy to discern what is to be

called vice. And yet, the whole is not said. There remains many

arguments to be published against the obsolete notion of justice; many

jests to be passed upon those who still talk of probity in the old

fashioned stile; many fresh proofs to demonstrate, that national,

private, and especially personal interest, should be the sole rule of

conduct. At these so fine lessons, the Babylonians will clap their hands

and cry: “In truth, all the world was blind; and men did not see clearly

till this present time.”

The poetical branch is in a very bad state; there are only a few boughs

left, among others, the dramatic bough, and that so very weak, it can

hardly support itself. There will appear from time to time at Babylon

some tragic poets, but no comic. I suspect the reason. Formerly the

Babylonians were only ridiculous; they were brought upon the stage and

people laughed: Now, they are almost all vicious, but vicious upon

principle; and such objects by no means raise laughter. The manners

begin to be no longer theatrical.

The panegyrical branch is very considerable, and bends under its load.

There will be panegyricks applicable to a great man from whom some

favour is expected; to an author who having flattered, receives homage

for homage; to another, who is flattered, in order that he may flatter

again. There will be some commercial ones, which will be sold, to one

for his protection, to another for his table, to a third for his money.

There will be also some, and in great plenty for those, who beg them:

But there will be hardly any for those that deserve them the most.

With good-sense alone, and the simplest notions which a bough of the

philosophical branch furnishes, and which teach to estimate the things

of this life according to their value, there will be formed, among the

people, a number of practical philosophers; whilst, among the men of

letters, all the penetration imaginable, all the knowledge they think

they have, all the wit in the world will form only imperfect

philosophers. They will avoid praises, but so as to attain them by some

round-about way. They will profess the most ardent zeal for all the

citizens, nay, for all men in general; but they will care only for

themselves. They will decide upon the most complicated, the most

obscure, the most important questions, with an astonishing confidence;

but in deciding everything they will clear up nothing. They will wear

outwardly the most reserved modesty; inwardly they will be eaten up by

ambition. Now, shall we call such persons philosophers? It is thus that

we give the name of stars to those meteors, which kindle sometimes in

the upper region of the air, make a blaze, and instantly vanish.

In general, I thought, I saw upon a great number of leaves, things

entirely contradictory. The century will slide away, and the sentiments

upon the same objects will not be reconciled. According to custom, each

will speak his opinion, and attack the rest. Disputes will arise; and

the most bitter ironies, the strongest invectives, the most cutting

railleries, nothing will be spared to raise the laughter of the crowd,

and the pity of the wise.

[Illustration]

CHAP. XII.

THE SYSTEM.

Of an infinite number of plans of different works, that I saw drawn on

the leaves of the Fantastical Tree, I remember three. In the first, the

point in question is very abstract, but treated in so singular a manner,

that perhaps it will not be disagreeable to give here a slight sketch of

it.

“When I have examined matter, it has appeared to me, that it could not

think, and I have readily admitted Beings purely spiritual. It is true,

the least ideas of such substances have never been formed. This proves

the sagacity of man does not reach very far: But does it prove there is

nothing beyond?

“When I have considered the animals, I have not been able to help

thinking them intelligent, and that so much ingenuity was not without

some understanding. They are, therefore, said I, provided with a

spiritual substance. But what! these insects, these worms, these

microscopical animals, who increase without number in the shortest

space, have they each a spiritual, that is to say, an unchangeable,

immortal soul? I do not imagine, any such thought ever entered into a

sound head.

“Then calling to mind that intelligent Being diffused through the whole

earth, and perhaps farther, that immense spirit of whom some antient

philosophers have talked, under the name of the universal soul; I have

thought that, without multiplying infinitely spiritual substances, that

soul was very proper to supply their place, and alone sufficient to give

life to all the animals. I have therefore embraced the opinion of the

antients, but with one restriction.

“They were persuaded that every thinking organized Being, is animated by

a particle of the universal soul; That cannot be. If this soul is

capable of perceptions, it is spiritual, and indivisible, and if it is

indivisible, it cannot separate from itself any part to go and animate

any Being whatever. If this spirit informs different bodies, it is

because it operates at the same time in different places; and not

because it sends any where some emanation of its substance.

“Farther: The antients believed that man, like the animals, derived from

the universal soul all the intelligence he is endowed with; another

mistake. If we consider in man, that hidden principle which carries him

so efficaciously to follow the impressions of sense, though ever so

repugnant to reason, we shall agree, with the antients, that this

principle must be the same with that which animates, rules, and directs

the animals; the pure sensitive nature of the universal soul is visible

in it. But when I perceive in man another agent, which tends to subject

all his actions to the rules of justice; which so often opposes the

senses (though seldom with success) which, even when it succeeds not to

hinder the sin, never fails to sting him with remorse and repentance; I

cannot help thinking, that besides the universal spirit, there is in man

another principle of a superior order: A principle known by the name of

rational soul. It is manifest by the clashing between the passions and

reason, that there are in us two contradictory Beings, which oppose one

another. If I may be allowed to compare things of so different a nature,

I should say that every thing which partakes of the universal soul is

like a spunge soaked in water, and immersed in the sea; and that if,

moreover, the body is endued with a reasonable soul (which is the case

of man) it is like the same spunge soaked in water, but in which a drop

of oil has found its way.

“In fine, the antients believed, that the universal soul was diffused

every where; but neither can That be. Perhaps it pervades the

terrestrial globe, or, it may be, the whole solar system, or even

farther: But still it is certain, it has its bounds, it is God alone

that fills immensity.

“But how shall the existence of a thinking Being be admitted, which,

bounded as it is, has however so prodigious an extension? What ideas can

be formed of its capaciousness and its limits? How can it animate so

many bodies physically separated one from the other, and forming so many

individuals? Let us fathom, as far as in us lies, these depths of

obscurity.

“Since spiritual substances have no solidity, they are penetrable, and

take up no room. From their penetrability it follows, that several

spirits may exist in one and the same space, and that a body may also be

in the same place. From their taking up no room it follows, that they

have neither length, nor breadth, nor depth; that they have no extension

properly so called. But still a spirit is a real Being, a substance:

Though it takes up no room, it is necessarily some-where; and, though it

has no extension properly so called, it has necessarily its bounds. So,

in a metaphysical sense, all spiritual Beings may be said to be more or

less extended, to contain, and to be contained: And then we may return

to our companion of the spunge, penetrated by a drop of oil, impregnated

with water, and immersed in the sea.”

“On the other hand, by virtue of the laws of combination, the result of

the unions necessarily differs from the substances that are united; and

it does not appear, that the soul and the body should make an exception.

When the spirit and matter are united, think not the spirit the same as

before; it is, in some measure, materialized; think not the matter such

as it was before; it is, in some measure, spiritualized. From this

mixture results a new Being, different from pure spirit, though it

retains its noblest virtue; different from brute matter, though it

partakes of its qualities: It is a particular Being, forming an

individual, and thinking apart; in fine, it is such a Being as you that

are reading, such as I that am writing. Therefore, what perceives in us,

is properly speaking, neither the universal spirit nor the rational

soul, nor organized matter: but a compound of all three. Just as when a

lion roars, it is not the universal soul, that is in a rage; it is the

compound of that soul and the brain of the lion. Hence it comes, that

each animal forms a separate thinking individual, though all the animals

think only by virtue of one and the same spirit, the universal soul. Let

us proceed without losing sight of the faint light which guides us thro’

these dark paths.

“We have seen that, to form an animal, there needs only a combination of

organized matter, and the universal soul; and, to form a man, there must

be another union of organized matter, universal spirit, and rational

soul. If the universal spirit was wanting; ever obedient to the dictates

of the rational soul, we should see none but virtuous and spotless men,

such as are no where to be found. If the rational soul was wanting,

abandoned to this instinct of the universal spirit, which always follows

the allurements of sense, we should see none but monsters of vice and

disorder.

“The rational soul is united to the human body, the instant the motion

essential to life is settled there, it is separated the instant that

motion is destroyed; and, once separated, it is known to return no more,

it departs for-ever; and enters into a state of which there is to be no

end.

“The universal soul is united and separated in the same circumstances:

But it is not always separated for-ever. Let, in any person, the motion

essential to life, after having totally ceased, come to be renewed, (a

thing which every physician knows to be very possible) and what will be

the consequence? The rational soul, which departed upon the ceasing of

the vital motion, cannot return; but the universal soul, always present,

cannot fail of re-uniting with the organized body set in motion again.

The man is dead, for his soul is separated from his body. He preserves,

however, the air of a living man; because the universal soul is

re-settled in his brain, which it directs tolerably well.

“Such to you appears a person perfectly recovered from an apoplectic or

lethargic fit, who is but half come to life; his soul is flown; there

remains only the universal spirit. Excess of joy, or of grief, any

sudden opposition may occasion death, and does occasion it, in fact,

oftener than is imagined. Let a fit of jealousy or passion affect you to

a certain degree, your soul, too strongly shocked, quits its habitation

for-ever: And, let your friends say what they please, or say what you

will yourself, you are dead, positively dead. However, you are not

buried: the universal soul acts your part to the deception of the whole

world, and even of yourself.

“Do not complain therefore, that a relation forgets you, that a friend

forsakes you, that a wife betrays you. Alas! perhaps it is a good while

since you had a wife, or relations, or friends; they are dead; their

images only remain.

“How many deaths of this kind have I seen at Babylon? Never, for

instance, did contagious distemper make such havock as the late pious

broils. It is true, the Babylonians are so constituted, that their soul

sits very loose; the least shock parts it from the body; this is

confirmed by observation. Call to mind their notorious quarrel about

musick, their rage, their fury: How few heads were untouched? They are

mad, said some reasonable people: But for my part, I knew they were

dead.

“God rest the soul of the author of the _Petites Lettres a de grands

Philosophes!_ He had long been declining; and at last died some months

ago. Instantly, the universal soul, possessed of his brains, dislodged

some shreds of verses, jumbled them together, and framed that lifeless

comedy, the indecency of which gave offence to all the Babylonians that

remained _alive_.

“I shall now speak of the signs by which the living may be distinguished

from the dead: And, doubtless, the reader sees already what these signs

may be. To behold wickedness with unconcern; to be unmoved by virtue, to

mind only self-interest; and without remorse, to be carried away with

the torrent of the age, are signs of death. Be assured, no rational soul

inhabits such abandoned machines. What numbers of dead amongst us! you

will say. What numbers of dead amongst us! will I answer.

“As there are signs which declare that such a particular person, who

thinks himself, and whom you think full of life, is however deprived of

it; so there are signs which show the ravages, these concealed deaths

have made in the world. For instance, there must have been, of late

years, a great mortality among the learned: For, if you observe almost

all the productions of modern literature, you will find only a playing

with words, destructive principles, dangerous assertions, dazzling

hints. Alas! our authors are manifestly but machines, actuated by the

universal soul.

“And, very lately, have we not had fresh proofs of this mortality? What

is meant by these libels unworthy of the light? These _when’s_? These

_if’s_? These _what-d’ye-calls_? These _wherefore’s_? And I know not how

many more with which we are deluged. Be not persuaded that rational

souls are capable of such excesses.

“I will conclude with opening a door to new reflections. Suppose a man,

like so many others, vegetates only, and is reduced to the universal

soul, I demand whether the race of such a man is not in the same state.

If so, I pity our posterity. Rational souls were scarce among our

fore-fathers; they are still more so among us; surely there will be none

left among our offspring. All are degenerating, and we are very near the

last stage.”

[Illustration]

CHAP. XIII.

LETTER TO THE EUROPEANS.

The second of the works, of which I remember to have seen the plan

delineated on the leaves of the Fantastical tree, was digested into the

form of a letter, addressed to all the nations of Europe, the substance

of which is as follows:

“O ye powerful nations of Europe; nations polished, ingenious, learned,

warlike, made to command the rest; nations the most accomplished upon

earth; the times are come: Your profound schemes for the happiness of

man have prospered: You enjoy it at length, and I congratulate you upon

it.

“In nature’s infancy, those uncivilised ages wherein men wandering in

the fields, were fed with the products of the earth, a perfect security,

easy pleasure, profound peace, or rather languishing indolence benumbed

all the faculties of the soul. But when the sweets of property had

flattered the human heart; when each had his inclosure and could say,

_This is mine_; then all was in motion. A man had too much of one thing,

and too little of another; he gave the superfluity for what he wanted:

And trade was established. It was at first carried on among neighbours;

then, from country to country; and at last, from one of the quarters of

the world to the other three. From that time, mankind have formed but

one numerous family, whose members are incessantly employed in cheating

one another. The spirit of distrust, finess, and fraud, have displayed

all the springs of the soul; the talents have shown themselves, the arts

have taken birth; and men begin to enjoy the full extent of their

understanding.

“How well these profound speculatists have conjectured, who have told

us: _Would you have a state flourish? incourage populousness; for real

strength and riches consist in a great number of citizens. To incourage

populousness, enlarge trade more and more, set up manufactures,

introduce arts of every kind; and, to consume superfluities, call in

luxury._ Let the names of those who have opened this admirable way, be

carefully preserved in our kalendar.

“It is true, by following this method, you have missed your aim, which

was populousness. What fortune soever a man may raise, it is consumed by

the boundless expence of luxury, which always exceeds the revenues:

There is nothing left for the education and settlement of children; and

means must be used to have a small number, or even none at all. Long

races suit only those remote times when your ancestors, plentifully

furnished with necessaries, were so unfortunate as to have no idea of

pageantry. It is no wonder, if people so barbarous as not to know silk,

lace, tea, chocolate, Burgundy, Champagne, should so increase in the

northern regions, as to over-run, like a torrent, all your countries,

should found monarchies, and dictate laws, which are revered to this

day.

“But what signifies populousness and multitude? Rejoice, O ye fortunate

nations; for you have coffee and snuff, cinnamon and musk, sugar and

furs, tea and china. How happy are you! and how composed should your

minds be!

“It is true, toils, hunger, thirst, shoals, storms, sooner or later

destroy these insatiable traders, who traverse the seas to bring you

these precious superfluities. But with how many advantages are these

petty inconveniences repaid? The face of Europe is entirely new! even to

your constitutions all is changed. Thousands of quintals of spices,

circulate in your blood, carry fire into your inmost nerves, and give

you a new sort of Being. Neither your health, nor your diseases are like

those of your fore-fathers. Their robust constitution, simplicity of

manners, their native virtues, are they comparable to the advantages you

enjoy? That sensibility of the organs, that delicacy of mind and body,

those universal lights, those vices of all kinds.... What! will it be

said, are vices also to be reckoned among the actual felicities of

Europe? Yes, without doubt: Is it not daily proved, that virtue

heretofore might be useful to the prudent economy of your ancestors, but

that, for enlightened citizens, who no longer walk by the old rules,

vice is absolutely necessary, or rather changes its nature and becomes

virtue.

“Another advantage that you owe to the depth of your policy and

extensiveness of your trade is, that perpetual occasions offer to show

your courage, and to practice your military virtues.

“When formerly your countries were under that vast dominion, which

swallowed up all the rest, they sunk into indolence; you had only short

wars and long intervals of peace, every thing languished. But since, out

of the wrecks of that unwieldy empire, a hundred petty states have been

formed, every thing has revived. The Europeans have incessantly

quarrelled and fought for little spots of land; the grand art of heroism

is returned, the art of sacking provinces and shedding blood: And that

balance of power so much talked of, is at last established, which puts

all Europe in arms at the motion of the least of its parts, and by means

of which, a single spark is sufficient to set the whole earth in a

flame.

“Let us not regret those times so productive of warriors, when country

heroes, each at the head of two or three hundred vassals, continually

harrassed one another. The seeds of dissention, which were grown scarce

in your climates, have been sought in the farthest parts of the earth;

and from the bosom of the two Indias, commerce has brought fresh seeds

of enmity, discord, and war.

“These fertile sources are not exhausted; there still remain countries

to be discovered. O ye indefatigable nations! is your courage abated?

What! should you confine yourselves to your late progresses, as if there

remained no unknown lands? Will you never go and hoist your standards,

and build forts, directly under the Poles? Rouse yourselves, there are

still left riches to plunder, countries to waste, blood to spill.

“But why should you cast your eyes on such objects? Are not your

possessions immense? Is not your luxury carried to the utmost height?

Are there still new vices to be introduced among you? And do not you

begin to shake off the troublesome yoke of every sort of duty? Without

doubt, you are very well, nor were you ever better. The little way you

have to arrive at perfection, will soon be gone over. When modern

wisdom, which timorously conceals herself still in the shade, shall

appear in broad day; when she shall have raised her proud head, and

shall see all Europe at her feet, universally adopting her maxims, then,

you will have neither religious nor moral principles; you will be at the

summit of felicity.”

CHAP. XIV.

THE MAXIMS.

The third work of which I remember to have seen the sketch on the

Fantastical Tree, was entitled, _Rules of Conduct for the Eighteenth

Century, addressed to a young Babylonian, who is coming into the world_.

It contained the following Maxims.

“Every country has its customs, every age its manners; and, in human

wisdom, the only unchangeable Maxim is, to change with the times and

places. The most unquestionable Maxims of the Babylonians, and of the

present times are such as these:

“To have true merit does not much signify; but to have small talents is

essential. To make one’s court, for example, and pretty verses, is

sufficient to prosper: and even farther than can be imagined.

“Great faults shall be forgiven you, but the least ridiculous ones are

unpardonable. You think right, and say excellent things: But take care

you do not sneeze; it will be such an indecorum, that all the Babylonish

gravity would not be able to hold; and you might speak still better

things, and not a soul hear you.

“Be particularly careful to act entirely with reference to yourself, and

to talk always with reference to the publick-good. It is a fine word,

that _publick-good_: If you would, it will never enter into your heart;

but it must be always in your mouth.

“Seek not the esteem of the Babylonians in place, that leads to nothing;

seek to please. What, think you, will esteem do for you? It is so frozen

a sentiment, has so distant a relation to _self_! But amuse their

highnesses, and their eminencies, you will then be prized, they will not

suffer you out of their sight; they will do all for you, and think they

can never do enough.

“Wait not to sollicit for a place you may be fit for; probably you will

not succeed. But ask, without distinction, for whatever shall offer. It

is a secret to you, but you must know, that it often enters into the

depth of true policy, to prefer unfit persons, and remove those that are

capable.

“In fine, if you will prosper, turn, according to circumstances,

flatterer, like a dedication; quack, like a preface; verbose like a book

of art or science; enthusiast, like a demi-philosopher; liar, like an

historian; fool-hardy, like an author who is resolved to be talked of.

“These are the true principles of wisdom: But remember, it is the

Babylonian wisdom of the Eighteenth Century.”

CHAP. XV.

THE THERMOMETERS.

As I was attentively examining a leaf of the Fantastical Tree, on which

I perceived grand projects, and insufficient means; I saw another, so

small and curled as to be almost invisible, fly off from a neighbouring

bough, and suddenly disappear. At the same instant I felt a slight

pricking in my forehead, and a sort of restlessness in my head, which I

cannot describe, and which has not left me ever since.

Certainly this leaf has entered my brain, and is labouring to unfold

itself; some new invention will result from it one time or other. I even

begin to suspect of what kind; and I imagine, it will be a mechanical

affair. If I am not mistaken it is this:

The different tempers, the different talents, the different dispositions

depend upon the heat and motion, more or less considerable, of the

animal spirits: This is a settled point among the physicians; I shall

not appeal from their judgment. The question would be to find a

mechanical instrument, to discover in each person the degree of heat and

motion of this animal liquid, in order to discern what any one is fit

for, and to employ him accordingly. This is what I am seeking, and what

the leaf, which is busy in my brain, when unfolded will not fail to show

me.

I will compose a quintessence analogous to the animal liquid; and,

instead of spirits of wine, I will fill thermometers with it. On the

side of the tube, in the room of the different degrees of the

temperature of the air, there shall be an enumeration of the objects,

about which men are usually employed: Instead of cold, temperate, hot,

very hot, _&c._ shall be put, good for history, good for physick, good

for poetry, good for the gown, good for the sword, good for the mitre,

good for the baton, good for Bedlam, _&c._

When a person shall put his hand upon the phial, the liquor will be

condensed, or dilated; and, rising or falling in the tube, will show

what the person is good for.

I will present Thermometers to sovereigns, that they may chuse Generals,

Ministers, Counsellors, and especially Favourites, who will love them

enough to tell them the truth. I will give some to Bishops to fill their

Benefices and Dignities, for I observe, that those who are appointed to

watch, should themselves be watched. I will give some to Fathers, that

their children may be wisely disposed of: We shall not see them gird

with a sword a son whom they ought to dedicate to the altar, nor bury in

a cloister a daughter who would have been the delight of a husband, and

the happiness of a family. I will give some to the Great, that they may

discern those who deserve their protection: They will grant it no more

to a base flatterer, to a supple intriguer, to an ostentatious mean

person, who has pretensions; but to true merit, which is seldom seen by

them, and never with all its advantages. I will give some to those

tender-hearted virtuous Girls, made to enliven the small number of our

pleasures, and to allay the multitude of our troubles. With my

Thermometers, they will chuse husbands worthy of their affection, if any

such there be; and they will not see themselves given up to men born for

the plague of their sex; those men without morals, who marry for life,

and espouse only for six months.

In fine, I will give some to particular persons, that each may examine

himself, and act accordingly: For I observe, that generally every one

does what he should not do; I see none but what are misplaced.

I am now solliciting for a pension, to defray the vast expence, that I

must evidently be at in making Thermometers, even though I should give

them only to such as most want them.

It is true, that reflection might serve instead of my liquid and

glass-tubes, but reflections are known to be very rare. For example, it

is now at Babylon as on the real stage; all is action, nothing is

thought, and my Thermometers may become a necessary piece of furniture.

CHAP. XVI.

THE LENTILS.

The sap which circulates in the Fantastical Tree, said the Prefect, is

exhausted in bearing and nourishing leaves. Let it be considered, how

many plans, views, projects, come into men’s heads; the prodigious

quantity of leaves that this tree must furnish will be astonishing; and

it will be no longer wondered, that its whole substance is wasted in

their production.

Mean while, the sap, passing into the philosophical branch, makes more

progress there than any where else; it produces blossoms, and sometimes

fruit. These blossoms are of a singular form and colour, that is to say,

admirable to some eyes, and very odd to others. Their odour is very

penetrating; few love it, many cannot bear it: To like it, requires a

strong head, and a brain organized on purpose.

These same blossoms are extremely delicate: The least change of the air

disorders their economy. They generally fade without leaving any fruit.

In fine, the fruit is very late, and seldom comes to perfect maturity.

The shell is almost round, divided within into little cells, and ending

at the top in a crown.

The little cells of the philosophical fruit, are full of seeds

transparent as crystal, round and flatted like a Lentil, but infinitely

smaller. When the fruit is ripe, it bursts; the cells open, the seeds

come out. But as they are very light, they are suspended in the air, and

the wind blows them every way over the surface of the earth.

One thing would astonish thee if thou wast not a little versed in

chymistry and optics, and that is, these philosophical grains have a

particular analogy to the eye. They will not stick to any other

substance; but, as soon as they come within the reach of certain eyes,

they never fail to fasten on them, and that just before the sight of the

eye. As they are perfectly transparent, they cannot be perceived: But

they are discovered by their effects.

He that has a seed of this kind before his eyes, sees things as they

are, and he cannot be imposed upon by chimæras. What used to appear to

him _great_, is prodigiously lessened, and what appeared to him

_little_, is magnified in the same proportion; so that to his eyes,

every thing is upon a level or nearly so.

In general, men appear to him very little, and those lords over others,

whom he beheld before as colossuses, seem to him so little above the

rest, that he hardly perceives the difference.

He sees the extent of human knowledge, and finds it so near to

ignorance, that he does not conceive how learning can breed vanity, or

ignorance cause shame.

He sees without disguise the phantom of immortality, the idol of the

great and the jest of the wise. He sees the celebrated names penetrate a

little more or less into futurity; and then stop like the rest and sink

into eternal oblivion.

He sees what is low in the most sublime; the dark part of what casts the

most lustre, the weak side in what appears the strongest: And his

imagination presents to him nothing dazzling, but wherein his reason

discovers all the defects.

He sees the earth, as a point in the boundless space; the series of

ages, as an instant in eternal duration; and the chain of human actions,

as the traces of a cloud of flies in the aerial plains.

In fine, he respects virtue; and, as to the rest, whatever he perceives

all around him, even to the most minute things, seems to him all alike.

He esteems nothing, he despises nothing, he prefers nothing, and

accommodates himself to every thing.

Such a man cannot be conceived to be susceptible of all those little

sallies of joy which affect others, but then he is screened from those

little mortifications which trouble them so much, and in my opinion, he

is a gainer.

CHAP. XVII.

THE SUBTERRANEOUS ROAD.

I have one thing more (said the Prefect) to show thee; prepare thy eyes

and thy ears; and be frightened at nothing.

The rivulet, by the side of which we walked to the Fantastical Tree,

receives several streams as it flows along; and, as if it left with

regret so beautiful a residence, after forming a thousand serpentine

windings in the meadow, it glides gently towards its mouth. In that

place, a hole, formed by an opening of the earth, receives and transmits

it through subterraneous channels.

We came to the place where it was broadest. The bottom was of smooth

gravel, and the water not above an inch deep. The Prefect went in and I

followed him.

I had gone but a few paces, when the bottom gave way: I sunk, but it was

only to my waste; and I remained in that posture, without being able to

get to one side or the other. Fear nothing, says the Prefect, calmly

enjoy the last spectacle I have reserved for thee.

I then gave myself up to the efforts of the waters, which carried me

away, and I soon entered into the subterraneous cavities, where they

were lost. At a little distance, the rivulet flowed into another, and

soon after, both ran into a river. I was carried from stream to stream;

I crossed gulphs, lakes, and seas.

As long as a faint light permitted, I contemplated the internal frame of

the earth. It is a labyrinth of immense caverns, deep grottos, irregular

crevices, which have a communication with one another. The waters that

flow in these subterranean places, spread themselves sometimes into vast

basons, and seem to stagnate; sometimes they run with a rapid stream

through narrow straits; and dash against the rocks with such

impetuosity, as to produce the phosporus and flashes of lightening; very

often they fall from the top of the vaults with a dreadful noise. The

dazzled eye sees, as it imagines, the foundations of the earth shake;

one would think, that the whole was turned upside down, and falling into

chaos.

When the glimmering light, which I had enjoyed some time, came to fail,

I found myself buried in profound darkness, which increased the horror,

I had conceived at what I had seen. A hideous noise, mixed with the

murmuring of the streams, with the whistling of the gulfs, with the

roaring of the torrents, threw me into great perturbation of mind; and

my troubled fancy formed to itself a thousand frightful images.

I went on a good while in this darkness; and I know not how far I had

gone when a faint light struck my eyes. It was not like that which

precedes sun-rising, or follows sun-set; but that melancholy light,

which a town on fire spreads at a distance in the shade of the night. I

was some time before I saw whence it came: At last, I found myself close

to the most terrible of all the sights.

A vast opening exposed to my eyes in an immense cavern, an abyss of

fire. The devouring flame rapidly consumed the combustible matter with

which the arched roofs of the abyss were impregnated. A thick smoke

mixed with fiery sparks, diffused itself to a great distance. From time

to time, the calcined stones fell down by pieces, and the liquified

metals formed flaming streams. Sometimes whole rocks, rent from the tops

of the vaults, gave passage to water, which poured down in boiling

streams. The moment the water touched the calcined matters and melted

minerals, it caused most shocking detonations: The concavities of the

globe resounded, their foundations were shaken: And I conceived that

such was the cause of those terrible earth-quakes, that have destroyed

so many countries, and swallowed up so many cities.

I was soon in darkness again; for I still went on. Every moment I should

have been destroyed, if the Prefect of Giphantia had not watched over

me. I saw him no more: But his promise was with me: And the dangers, I

had escaped, heartened me against those I had still to undergo. By

degrees I took courage, and became so easy as to make some reflections.

Alas! said I, through a frightful desart I came into the most beautiful

mansions in the world, and I am now going thence through gulfs, abysses,

and vulcanos. Good and evil closely follow one another. It is thus, the

light of the day and darkness of the night, the frosts of the winter and

the flowers of the spring, the gentle zephyrs and the raging storms,

succeed one another. However, by this strange concatenation, is formed

the enchanting prospect of nature. Let us not doubt it: The natural

world, notwithstanding its disorders, is the master-piece of infinite

wisdom; the moral world, in spite of its stains, is worthy the

admiration of the philosopher: And Babylon, with all its faults, is the

chief city of the world.

At last, after many days of subterraneous navigation, I once more saw

the light; I came out of these terrible vaults, and the last current

landed me upon a maritime coast. The serenity of the air was not ruffled

with the wind; the calm sea shone with the rays of the rising-sun; and,

like a tender wife who stretches out her arms, and sweetly smiles on a

beloved husband, the earth seemed to resume new life at the return of

that glorious orb, from whence springs all its fertility. By degrees, my

troubled senses were calmed: I looked round me, and found myself in my

own country, six hundred furlongs north-west from Babylon, to which city

I address and dedicate this narrative of my hazardous travels.

_FINIS._

-----

Footnote 1:

The Jansenists (so called from Jansenius bishop of Ypres) explained

the Doctrine of Grace after the Calvinistical or rather Methodistical

manner, whilst the Molinists (so named from Molina a Spanish Jesuit)

explained it after the Arminian or rather Semi-pelagian way. The

Gallican clergy were divided between these two Opinions.

The reader may remember, there are three opinions concerning Grace.

Says the Calvinist and Methodist, Grace does ALL. Says the Arminian

and Semi-pelagian, Grace does HALF. Says the Pelagian, Grace does

NOTHING.

Footnote 2:

The city of Ombi stood on the eastern side of the Nile, and Tentyra or

Tentyris on the western; both in Thebais part of Upper Egypt. The

Tentyrites were professed enemies of the Crocodiles, whilst the rest

of the Egyptians held them in great veneration, especially the

Ombites, who for their sake waged war with the Tentyrites.

Footnote 3:

Our author in this and the following chapter gives a very lively

summary of the four great monarchies of the world.

I. The Assyrian or Babylonian founded by Nimrod (or Belus I.) soon

after the dispersion at Babel, and which ended with the taking of

Babylon (A. C. 538) by Cyrus who founded II. The Persian empire which

ended with the defeat of Darius Codomannus (A. C. 334) by Alexander

the Great who founded III. The Grecian or Macedonian empire which in

about five years was divided among his successors, and at length

(after the battle of Actium and death of Cleopatra) became subject to

IV. The Roman empire under Augustus Cæsar, of which there are still

some remains.

Footnote 4:

Arbaces governour of Media, and Belesis of Babylon.

Footnote 5:

After the death of Sardanapalus (who is said to burn himself, his

wives and concubines, his eunuchs and riches, in one of the courts of

his palace) the empire was divided into the Median over which Arbaces

reigned at Nineveh, and the Assyrian over which Belesis reigned at

Babylon. These were united under Cyrus about 210 years after. Belesis

(the Baladan of Scripture) is called also Nabonassar. From the first

year of his reign begins the famous Astronomical Æra of Nabonassar,

containing 908 years from February 26 before Christ 747, to the 23d

year of Antoninus Pius in the year of our Lord 161.

Footnote 6:

Nebuchadnezzer (A. C. 589) utterly destroyed Jerusalem, put out king

Zedekiah’s eyes, killed his sons and erected the golden image in the

plains of Dura.

Footnote 7:

By a solemn treaty Ptolemy had Egypt, _&c._ Cassander had Macedonia

and Greece. Lysimachus had Thrace, Bithynia, _&c._ Seleucus had Syria,

_&c._ Of these, the kingdom of Egypt (under 14 monarchs including

Cleopatra) and of Syria (under 27 kings) subsisted till subdued by the

Romans. The rest soon fell to pieces.

Footnote 8:

His Library is said to consist of above 200,000 volumes. Among the

rest was the Septuagint or Greek translation of the Old Testament A.

C. 267. done by Ptolemy’s order. This library was at last destroyed by

fire.

Footnote 9:

This man who from a huntsman raised himself to the throne of Lusitania

(now Portugal) defeated the Romans in several battles; so that Cepion

the consul was forced at last to have him murdered by treachery. He

was (says Livy) much lamented and honorably buried.

Footnote 10:

Rome was taken by Alaric king of the Goths in 410. By Genseric the

Vandal in 455. By Odoacer king of the Heruli in 465, and by Totila the

Goth in 546, by whom it was miserably plundered.

Footnote 11:

Attila king of the Huns, (called _the scourge of God_) after his other

devastations entered Gaul with 500,000 Men and was defeated in the

plains of Chalons in 451, with the loss of 200,000 Huns. After which

he wasted Italy and destroyed Aquileia and other places. Then

returning home, he died on his wedding night. The Huns were the most

terrible of all the northern swarms. By the very terror of their

countenances they are said to over-run the Scythians, Alans and Goths.

They were so ignorant as not to know letters.

Footnote 12:

Mahomet was born at Mecca in Arabia, May 5, 570. He is thought by some

to be persuaded that he was really inspired to propagate the belief of

one God, and to overthrow the idolatrous religion of his country. If

he retained some absurd notions, it was (say they) to induce his

countrymen to embrace his religion. The Mahometan æra begins July 16,

622, when he fled from Mecca to Medina. He died Jan. 17, 631, after

having reduced Arabia to his obedience. His religion has since spread

itself over Asia, Africa, and great part of Europe.

Footnote 13:

Soliman, father of the Othman race, came out of Scythia with 50,000

men in the year 1214, and pushed his conquests to the Euphrates. In

attempting to pass that river he was drowned in 1219. Othman his

grandson was declared sultan in 1300. Mahomet II. the seventh emperor

of the Turks, put an end to the Eastern empire by taking

Constantinople in 1453. The Turks embraced the religion of Mahomet.

Footnote 14:

Camayeu, is a stone, whereon are found various figures formed by

nature. It is the name the orientals give the onyx, on which and on

agate, these natural figures are often found. When the figures are

perfected by art, it is still called a camayeu, as is also a painting

in one colour, representing basso relievos.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Changed all long ſ to short s.

2. Added 200 to all page numbers in Part 2 to avoid conflicts with Part

1 numbering.

3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.

4. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as

printed.

5. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together

at the end of the last chapter.

6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

7. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript

character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in

curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.