"No," said he, "the little one is very well, and so is my wife; but I

was summoned to give evidence against a miller, who has been put to the

torture, ordinary and extraordinary, and who has been found innocent. I

saw him faint away under redoubled tortures. I heard the crash of his

bones. His outcries and screams of agony are not yet out of my ears;

they haunt me. I shed tears for pity, and shudder with horror."

His tears drew mine. I trembled, too, like him; for I have naturally an

extreme sensibility.

My memory then represented to me the dreadful fate of the Calas family!

A virtuous mother in irons,--her children in tears, and forced to fly,

her house given up to pillage,--a respectable father of a family broken

with torture, agonizing on a wheel, and expiring in the flames; a son

loaded with chains, and dragged before the judges, one of whom said to

him:

_"We have just now broken your father on the wheel; we will break you

alive too."_

I remembered the family of Sirven, who one of my friends met with among

the mountains covered with ice, as they were flying from the persecution

of a judge as ignorant as he was unjust. This judge (he told me) had

condemned an innocent family to death on a supposition, without the

least shadow of proof, that the father and mother, assisted by two of

their daughters, had cut the throat of the third, and drowned her

besides, for going to mass. I saw in judgments of this kind, at once an

excess of stupidity, of injustice, and of barbarity.

The Man of Forty Crowns joined with me in pitying human nature. I had in

my pocket the discourse of an attorney-general of Dauphiny, which turned

upon very important matters. I read to him the following passages:

"Certainly those must have been truly great men, who, at first, dared to

take upon themselves the office of governing their fellow creatures, and

to set their shoulders to the burthen of the public welfare; who, for

the sake of the good they meant to do to men, exposed themselves to

their ingratitude, and for the public repose renounced their own; who

made themselves, as one may say, middle-men between their

fellow-creatures and Providence, to compose for them, by artifice, a

happiness which Providence seems otherwise to have refused to them by

any other means.

"What magistrate, was ever so careless of his responsibilities and

duties to humanity as to entertain such ideas? Could he, in the solitude

of his closet, without shuddering with horror and pity, cast his eyes on

those papers, the unfortunate monuments of gilt or of innocence? Should

he not think he hears a plaintive voice and groans issue from those

fatal writings, and press him to decide the destiny of a subject, of a

husband, of a father, or of a whole family? What judge can be so

unmerciful (if he is charged with but one single process) as to pass in

cold blood before the door of a prison? Is it I (must he say to himself)

who detain in that execrable place my fellow-creature, perhaps my

countryman, one of humankind, in short? Is it I that confine him every

day,--that shut those execrable doors upon him? Perhaps despair will

have seized him. He sends up to heaven my name loaded with his curses;

and doubtless calls to witness against me that great Judge of the world,

who observes us, and will judge us both."

"Here a dreadful sight presents itself on a sudden to my eyes: The

judge, tired with interrogating bywords, has recourse to interrogation

by tortures. Impatient in his inquiries and researches, and perhaps

irritated at their inutility, he has brought to him torches, chains,

levers, and all those instruments invented for producing pain. An

executioner comes to interpose in the functions of the magistracy, and

terminates by violence a judicial interrogation.

"Gentle philosophy! Thou who never seekest truth but with attention and

patience, couldst thou expect, in an age that takes thy name, that such

instruments would be employed to discover that truth?

"Can it be really true, that our laws approve this inconceivable method,

and that custom consecrates it?

"Their laws imitate their prejudices; their public punishments are as

cruel as their private vengeance; and the acts of their reason are

scarce less unmerciful than those of their passions. What can be the

cause of this strange contrariety? It is because our prejudices are

ancient, and our morality new; it is because we are as penetrated with

our opinions as we are inattentive to our ideas; it is because our

passion for pleasures hinders us from reflecting on our wants, and that

we are more eager to live than to direct ourselves right; it is, in a

word, because our morals are gentle without being good; it is because we

are polite, and are not so much as humane."

These fragments, which eloquence had dictated to humanity, filled the

heart of my friend with a sweet consolation. He admired with tenderness.

"What!" said he, "are such masterpieces as these produced in a province?

I had been told that Paris was all the world, or the only place in it."

"It is," said I, "the only place for producing comic operas; but there

are at this time, in the provinces, magistrates who think, with the same

virtue and express themselves with the same force. Formerly, the oracles

of justice, like those of morality, were nothing but matter of mere

ridicule. Dr. Balordo declaimed at the bar, and Harlequin in the pulpit.

Philosophy has at length come, and has said, 'Do not speak in public,

unless to set forth new and useful truths, with the eloquence of

sentiment and of reason.'"

But, say the praters, if we have nothing new to say, what then? Why,

hold your tongues, replies philosophy. All those vain discourses for

parade, that contain nothing but phrases, are like the fire on the eve

of St. John's, kindled on that day of the year in which there is the

least want of it to heat one's self--it causes no pleasure, and not so

much as the ashes of it remain.

Let all France read good books. But notwithstanding all the progress of

the human understanding, there are few that read; and among those who

sometimes seek instruction, the reading for the most part is very ill

chosen. My neighbors, men and women, pass their time, after dinner, at

playing an English game, which I have much difficulty to pronounce,

since they call it whist. Many good citizens, many thick heads, who take

themselves for good heads, tell you, with an air of importance, that

books are good for nothing. But, Messieurs, the critics, do not you know

that you are governed only by books? Do not you know that the statutes,

the military code, and the gospel, are books on which you continually

depend? Read; improve yourselves. It is reading alone that invigorates

the understanding; conversation dissipates it; play contracts it.

Thus it was that the Man of Forty Crowns proceeded to form, as one may

say, his head and his heart. He not only succeeded to the inheritance of

his two fair cousins, but he came also to a fortune left by a very

distant relation, who had been a sub-farmer of the military hospitals,

where he had fattened himself on the strict abstinence to which he had

put the wounded soldiers. This man never would marry, he never would own

any of his relations. He lived in the height of debauchery, and died at

Paris of a surfeit. He was, as any one may see, a very useful member of

the state.

Our new philosopher was obliged to go to Paris to get possession of the

inheritance of this relative. At first, the farmers of the domain

disputed it with him. He had the good luck, however, to gain his cause,

and the generosity to give to the poor of his neighborhood, who had not

their contingent of forty crowns a year, a part of the spoils of the

deceased son of fortune. After which he set himself about satisfying his

passion for having a library.

He read every morning and made extracts. In the evening, he consulted

the learned to know in what language the serpent had talked to our good

mother; whether the soul is in the callous body, or in the pineal gland;

whether St. Peter lived five and twenty years at Rome; what specific

difference there is between a throne and a dominion; and why the negroes

have a flat nose. He proposed to himself, besides, never to govern the

state, nor to write any pamphlets against new dramatic pieces. He was

called Mr. Andrew, which was his Christian name. Those who have known

him, do justice to his modesty and to his qualities, both natural and

acquired.

IX.

A GREAT QUARREL.

During the stay of Mr. Andrew at Paris, there happened a very important

quarrel. The point was, to decide whether Marcus Antoninus was an honest

man, and whether he was in hell, or in purgatory, or in limbo, waiting

till the day of resurrection. All the men of sense took the part of

Marcus Antoninus. They said: Antoninus has been always just, temperate,

chaste, and beneficent. It is true, he has not so good a place in

paradise as St. Anthony; for proportions ought to be observed, as has

been before recommended. But certainly the soul of Antoninus is not

roasting on a spit in hell. If he is in purgatory, he ought to be

delivered out of it; there need only be masses said for him. Let the

Jesuits, who have no longer anything to do, say three thousand masses

for the repose of the soul of Marcus Antoninus. Putting each mass at

fifteen pence, they will get two thousand two hundred and fifty livres

by it. Besides, some respect is owing to a crowned head. He should not

be lightly damned.

The party opposed to these good people pretended, on the contrary, that

no compounding for salvation ought to be allowed to Marcus Antoninus;

that he was a heretic; that the Carpocratians and the Alcgi were not so

bad as he; that he had died without confession; that it was necessary to

make an example; that it was right to damn him, if but to teach better

manners to the emperors of China and Japan,--to those of Persia, Turkey,

and Morocco,--to the kings of England, Sweden, Denmark, and Prussia, to

the stadtholder of Holland,--to the avoyers of the Canton of Berne, who

no more go to confession than did the Emperor Marcus Antoninus; that, in

short, there is an unspeakable pleasure in passing sentence against a

dead sovereign, which one could not fulminate against him in his

lifetime, for fear of losing one's ears.

This quarrel became as furious as was formerly that of the Ursulines and

the Annonciades. In short, it was feared that it would come to a schism,

as in the time of the hundred and one Mother Goose's tales, and of

certain bills payable to the bearer in the other world. To be sure, a

schism is something very terrible. The meaning of the word is a division

in opinion, and till this fatal moment all men had been agreed to think

the same thing.

Mr. Andrew, who was an excellent member of society, invited the chiefs

of the two parties to sup with him. He is one of the best companions

that we have. His humor is gentle and lively; his gaiety is not noisy;

he is open, frank, and easy. He has not that sort of wit which seems to

aim at stifling that of others. The authority which he conciliates to

himself is due to nothing but his graceful manner, to his moderation,

and to a round good-natured face, which is quite persuasive. He could

have brought to sup cheerfully together a Corsican and a Genoese,--a

representative of Geneva and a negative man, the mufti and an

archbishop. He managed so dextrously, as to make the first stroke that

the disputants of both parties aimed at each other fall to the ground,

by turning off the discourse, and by telling a very diverting tale,

which pleased equally the damning and the damned. In short, when they

had got a little good-humored and elevated with wine, he made them sign

an agreement, that the soul of Marcus Antoninus should remain in _status

quo_--that is to say, nobody knows where,--till the day of final

judgment.

The souls of the doctors of divinity returned quietly to their limbos

after supper, and all was calm. This adjustment of the quarrel did great

honor to the Man of Forty Crowns; and, since then, whenever any very

peevish virulent dispute arose among men of letters, or among men not of

letters, the advice given was, "_Gentlemen, go and sup at Master

Andrew's!_"

X.

A RASCAL REPULSED.

The reputation which Mr. Andrew had acquired for pacifying quarrels,--by

giving good suppers,--drew upon him last week a singular visit. A dark

complexioned man, shabbily enough dressed, rather crook-backed, with his

head leaning toward one shoulder, a haggard eye, and dirty hands, asked

to be invited to a supper with his enemies.

"Who are your enemies?" said Mr. Andrew, "and who are you?"

"Alas, sir," said he, "I am forced to confess that I am taken for one of

those wretches that compose libels to get bread, and who are forever

crying out,--'Religion,--Religion,--Religion,' in order to come at some

little benefice. I am accused of having caluminated some of the most

truly religious subjects, the most sincere adorers of divinity, and the

most honest men of the kingdom. It is true, sir, that in the heat of

composition, there often fall from the pen of those of my trade, certain

little inadvertencies or slips, which are taken for gross errors; and

some liberties taken with the truth, which are termed impudent lies. Our

zeal is looked upon in the light of a horrid mixture of villainy and

fanaticism. It has been alleged, that while we are insnaring the easy

faith of some silly old women, we are the scorn and execration of all

the men of worth who can read.

"My enemies are the principal members of the most illustrious academies

of Europe, writers much esteemed, and beneficent members of society. I

have but just published a book under the title of _Anti-philosophical_.

I had nothing but the best intentions, and yet no one would buy my book.

Those to whom I made presents of it, threw it into the fire, telling me

it was not only anti-reasonable, but anti-christian, and extremely

anti-decent."

"Well, then!" said Mr. Andrew to him, "follow the example of those to

whom you presented your libel, throw it into the fire, and let no more

be said of it. It is unnecessary to ask you to sup with men of wit, who

can never be your enemies, since they will never read you."

"Could not you, sir, at least," said the hypocrite to him, "reconcile me

with the relations of the deceased Monsieur de Montesquieu, to whose

memory I offered an indignity, that I might give honor and glory to the

reverend father Rout."

"Zounds!" said Mr. Andrew, "the reverend father Rout has been dead this

long time; go and sup with him."

XI.

THE GOOD SENSE OF MR. ANDREW.

But how greatly did the sense of Mr. Andrew improve in vigor from the

time he procured a library! He lives with books as with men, and is

careful in his choice of them. What a pleasure it is to gain

instruction, to enlarge one's mind by studying the best works of the

greatest authors.

He congratulates himself on being born at a time when human reason is

tending toward perfection. "How unhappy should I have been," he used to

say, "if the age I live in had been that in which they used to condemn

to the galleys those who wrote against the categories of Aristotle."

Distress had weakened the springs of Mr. Andrew's soul; but good fortune

restored their elasticity. There are many Andrews in the world to whom

nothing is wanting but a turn of the wheel of fortune to make of them

men of true merit. He is now well acquainted with all the affairs of

Europe, and especially with the progress of the human understanding.

He recently remarked to me, that Reason travels by slow journeys from

north to south, in company with her two intimate friends, Experience and

Toleration. Agriculture and Commerce attend them. When Reason presented

herself in Italy, the congregation of the Index sternly repulsed her.

All she could do, was to secretly send some of her agents, who, in spite

of her enemies, do some good. Let but some years more pass, and it is to

be hoped that the country of the Scipios will no longer be that of

harlequins in monks' habits.

She has sometimes met with cruel foes in France; but she has now so many

friends in that kingdom, that she stands a good chance of at length

becoming first minister there.

When she presented herself in Bavaria and Austria, she found two or

three great wig-blocks that stared at her with stupid and astonished

eyes. Their greeting was: "Madam, we never heard of you; we do not know

you." Her answer to which was: "Gentlemen, in time you will come to know

me, and to love me. I have been well received at Berlin, at Moscow, at

Copenhagen, at Stockholm. It is long ago that I have been naturalized by

Act of Parliament in England, through the labors of Locke, Gordon,

Trenchard, Lord Shaftsbury, and a number of others of the same nation.

You will, some day or other, confer on me the like grant. I am the

daughter of Time. I expect every thing from my father."

When she passed over the frontiers of Spain and Portugal, she blessed

God on observing that the fires of the Inquisition were less frequently

kindled. She rejoiced on seeing the Jesuits expelled; but was afraid

that, while the country had been cleared of the foxes, it was still left

exposed to the ravages of wolves.

If she makes any fresh attempts to gain entrance into Italy it is

thought she will begin by establishing herself at Venice; and that she

will take up her abode in the kingdom of Naples, in spite of the

liquefaction of the saint's blood in that country, which awakens in her

mind mournful reflections on human credulity. It is pretended, that she

has an infallible secret for untying the strings of a crown, which are

entangled, nobody knows how, in those of a mitre.

XII.

The GOOD SUPPER AT MR. ANDREW'S.

We supped at Mr. Andrew's yesterday, together with a Doctor Sorbonne,

with Monsieur Pinto, the celebrated Jew, with the Chaplain of the

Protestant chapel of the Dutch Embassador, the secretary of the Prince

Galitzin of the Greek church, a Calvinist Swiss Captain, two

philosophers, and three Ladies of great wit.

The supper was a very long one; and yet, so polite it must be owned we

are grown--so much is one afraid at supper to give any cause of offence

to one's brethren, that there was no more disputing upon religion than

as if not one of those at table had ever had any. It is not so with the

Regent Coge, and the ex-Jesuit Patouillet, and with all the animals of

that kind. Those pitiful creatures will say more stupidly abusive things

in one pamphlet of two pages, than the best company in Paris can say

agreeable and instructive ones in a supper of four hours. And what is

stranger yet, they dare not tell a man to his face, what they have the

impudence to print.

The conversation turned at first on a piece of pleasantry in the Persian

Letters, in which it is repeated, after a number of grave personages,

that the world is not only growing worse, but that it is becoming

depopulated, so that if the proverb should have any truth in it, that

"the more fools there are," "the more laughter," laughing is likely to

be soon banished from the face of the earth.

The Doctor of Sorbonne assured us that, in fact, the world was almost

reduced to nothing. He quoted the Father Petavius, who demonstrates that

in less than three hundred years, the descendants of one of the sons of

Noah (I forget whether it was Shem or Japhet), amounted to six hundred

and twelve millions three hundred and fifty-eight thousand true

believers within two hundred and eighty-five years after the universal

deluge.

Mr. Andrew asked, why in the time of Philip de Bel, that is to say,

about three hundred years after Hugh Capet, there were not six hundred

and twenty-three thousand millions of princes of the royal family?

"It is," said the Doctor of Sorbonne, "because the stock of faith has

greatly decreased."

A great deal was said about Thebes and its hundred gates, and of the

million of soldiers that issued out of those gates with the twenty

thousand chariots of war.

"Shut the book there," said Mr. Andrew. "Since I have taken to reading,

I beg to suspect that the same genius that wrote Garagantua, used of

yore to write all the histories."

"But, in short," said one of the company, "Thebes, Memphis, Babylon,

Nineveh, Troy, Seleucia, were great cities once, and now no longer

exist."

"Granted," answered the secretary of the Prince Galitzin; "but Moscow,

Constantinople, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Lyons, (which is better than

ever Troy was,) and all the towns of France, Germany, Spain, and the

North, were then deserts."

The Swiss captain, a gentleman of great knowledge, owned to us, that

when his ancestors took it into their heads to quit their mountains and

their precipices, to go and take forcible possession, as was but

reasonable, of a finer country, Cæsar, who saw with his own eyes the

list of those emigrants, found that their number amounted to three

hundred and sixty-eight thousand, inclusive of the old, the children,

and the women. At this time, the single canton of Berne possesses as

many inhabitants, which is not quite the half of Switzerland, and I can

assure you, that the thirteen cantons have above seven hundred and

twenty thousand souls, including the natives who are serving or carrying

on business in other countries. From such data, gentlemen of learning

make absurd calculations, and they base fallacious systems on no better

footing.

The question next agitated was, whether the citizens of Rome, in the

time of the Cæsars, were richer than the citizens of Paris, in the time

of Monsieur Silhouette?

"Oh," says Mr. Andrew, "this is a point on which I have some call to

speak. I was a long time the Man of Forty Crowns; but I conceive that

the citizens of Rome had more. Those illustrious robbers on the highway

pillaged the finest countries of Asia, of Africa, and of Europe. They

lived splendidly on the produce of their rapines; but yet there were

doubtless some beggars at Rome. I am persuaded that, among those

conquerors of the world, there were some reduced to an income of forty

Crowns a year, as I formerly was."

"Do you know," said a learned member of the Academy of Inscriptions and

Belles Lettres, "that it cost Lucullus for every supper he gave in the

saloon of Apollo, thirty-nine thousand three hundred and twelve livres

of our money; but that the celebrated epicurean Atticus did not expend

above two hundred and thirty livres a month for his table."

"If that be true," said I, "he deserved to be president of the

Miser-society, lately established in Italy. I have read, as you have

done, in Florus, that incredible anecdote; but, perhaps Florus had never

supped with Atticus, or else his text, like so many others, has been

corrupted by copyists. No Florus shall ever make me believe that the

friend of Cæsar and of Pompey, of Cicero and of Antony, all of whom were

often entertained at his house, got off for something less than ten

Louis d'ors a month. _But thus exactly 'tis that history is written._"

Madam Andrew, for her part, told the learned member of the Academy, that

if he would keep her table for ten times as much, she would be greatly

obliged to him.

I am persuaded, that this evening at Mr. Andrew's cost him as much as

the monthly expense of Atticus. As for the ladies, they expressed a

doubt whether the suppers of Rome were more agreeable than those of

Paris. The conversation was very gay, though leaning a little to the

learned. There was no talk of new fashions, nor of the ridiculous part

of any one's character or conduct, nor of the scandalous history of the

day.

The question upon luxury was discussed and searched to the bottom. It

was mooted whether or not luxury had been the ruin of the Roman empire;

and it was proved that the two empires of the east and west owed their

destruction to nothing but to religious controversies, and to the monks;

and, in fact, when Alaric took Rome, its whole attention was engrossed

by theological disputes; when Mahomet took Constantinople, the monks

defended much better the eternity of the light of Mount Thabor, which

they saw on their navel,[1] than they defended the town against the

Turks.

One of our men of learning made a very significant remark. It was that

those two great empires were annihilated, but that the works of Virgil,

Horace, and Ovid still exist.

From the age of Augustus, they made but one skip to the age of Louis the

XIVth. A lady put the question, why it was that with a great deal of wit

there was no longer produced scarcely any work of genius?

Mr. Andrew answered, that it was because such works had been produced in

the last age. This idea was fine spun, and yet solidly true. It bore a

thorough handling. After that, they fell with some harshness upon a

Scotchman, who had taken it into his head to give rules to taste, and to

criticise the most admirable passages of Racine, without understanding

French. But there was one Denina still more severely treated. He had

abused Montesquieu's _Spirit of Laws_, without comprehending him, and

had especially censured what is the most liked and approved in that

work.

This recalled to my mind Boileau's making a parade of his affected

contempt of Tasso. One of the company advanced that Tasso, with all his

faults, was as superior to Homer, as Montesquieu, with his still greater

imperfections, was above the farrago of Grotius. But there was presently

a strong opposition made to these false criticisms, dictated by national

hatred and prejudice. The Seignior Denina was treated as he deserved,

and as pedants ought to be by men of wit.

It was especially remarked, with much sagacity, that the greatest part

of the literary works of this age, as well as of the conversations,

turned on the examination of the masterpieces of the last century; in

which we are like disinherited children, who are taking an estimate of

their father's estate. It was confessed that philosophy had made great

progress, but that the language and style was somewhat corrupted.

It is the nature of all these conversations, to make transitions from

one subject to another. All these objects of curiosity, of science, and

of taste, soon vanished, to give way to the great scene which the

Empress of Russia, and the King of Poland, were giving to the world.

They had been just raising up and restoring the rights of oppressed

humanity, and establishing liberty of conscience in a part of the globe

of a much greater extent than the old Roman Empire. This service done

to human kind, this example given to so many courts, was mentioned with

the applause it deserved. Healths were drank to the philosophical

empress, to the royal philosopher, and to the philosophical primate,

with the wish of their having many imitators. Even the doctors of

Sorbonne admired them; for there are some persons of good sense in that

body, as there were formerly some men of wit among the Bœotians.

The Russian secretary astonished us with a recital of the great

establishments they were forming in Russia. It was asked, why people

were in general more fond of reading the history of Charles the XIIth,

who passed his life in destroying, than that of Peter the Great, who

consumed his in creating? On this we concluded, that weakness and a

frivolous turn of mind are the causes of this preference; that Charles

the XIIth was the Don Quixote, and Peter the Solon of the North; that

superficial understandings prefer a wild extravagant heroism, to the

great views of a legislator: that the particulars of the foundation of a

town are less pleasing to them, than the rashness of a man, who, at the

head of only his domestics, braves an army of ten thousand Turks; and

that, in short, most readers love amusement better than instruction.

Thence it is, that a hundred women read _The Thousand and One Arabian

Nights_, for one that reads two chapters of Locke.

What was not talked of at this supper? of which I shall long retain the

remembrance. It was also in course to say a word of the actors and

actresses, that eternal subject of the table-talk of Versailles and of

Paris. It was agreed, that a good declaimer was as rare as a good poet.

For my part, I must own that Plato's banquet could not have given me

more pleasure than that of Monsieur and Madame Andrew.

Our very pretty gentlemen, and our very fine ladies, would, doubtless,

have found it dull, and been tired with it. They pretend to be the only

good company: but neither Mr. Andrew nor I ever willingly sup with that

kind of good company.

[1] See Gibbon's _History of Christianity_, page 777, for an account of

the monks of Mount Athos, who adored the divine light, as above

stated.--E.

[Illustration: The Priory entrance]

THE HURON; OR, PUPIL OF NATURE.[1]

I.

THE HURON ARRIVES IN FRANCE.

One day, Saint Dunstan, an Irishman by nation, and a saint by trade,

left Ireland on a small mountain, which took its route toward the coast

of France, and set his saintship down in the bay of St. Malo. When he

had dismounted, he gave his blessing to the mountain, which, after some

profound bows, took its leave, and returned to its former place.

Here St. Dunstan laid the foundation of a small priory, and gave it the

name of the Priory Mountain, which it still keeps, as every body knows.

In the year 1689, the fifteenth day of July, in the evening, the abbot

Kerkabon, prior of our Lady of the Mountain, happened to take the air

along the shore with Miss Kerkabon, his sister. The prior, who was

becoming aged, was a very good clergyman, beloved by his neighbors. What

added most to the respect that was paid him, was, that among all his

clerical neighbors, he was the only one that could walk to his bed after

supper. He was tolerably read in theology; and when he was tired of

reading St. Augustin, he refreshed himself with Rabelais. All the world

spoke well of him.

Miss Kerkabon, who had never been married, notwithstanding her hearty

wishes so to be, had preserved a freshness of complexion in her

forty-fifth year. Her character was that of a good and sensible woman.

She was fond of pleasure, and was a devotee.

As they were walking, the prior, looking on the sea, said to his sister:

"It was here, alas! that our poor brother embarked with our dear

sister-in-law, Madam Kerkabon, his wife, on board the frigate 'Swallow,'

in 1669, to serve the king in Canada. Had he not been killed, probably

he would have written to us."

"Do you believe," says Miss Kerkabon, "that our sister-in-law has been

eaten by the Cherokees, as we have been told?"

"Certain it is, had she not been killed, she would have come back. I

shall weep for her all my lifetime. She was a charming woman; and our

brother, who had a great deal of wit, would no doubt have made a

fortune."

Thus were they going on with mutual tenderness, when they beheld a small

vessel enter the bay of Rence with the tide. It was from England, and

came to sell provisions. The crew leaped on shore without looking at the

prior or Miss, his sister, who were shocked at the little attention

shown them.

That was not the behavior of a well-made youth, who, darting himself

over the heads of his companions, stood on a sudden before Miss

Kerkabon. Being unaccustomed to bowing, he made her a sign with his

head. His figure and his dress attracted the notice of brother and

sister. His head was uncovered, and his legs bare. Instead of shoes, he

wore a kind of sandals. From his head his long hair flowed in tresses, A

small close doublet displayed the beauty of his shape. He had a sweet

and martial air.[2] In one hand he held a small bottle of Barbadoes

water, and in the other a bag, in which he had a goblet, and some sea

biscuit. He spoke French very intelligibly. He offered some of his

Barbadoes to Miss Kerkabon and her brother. He drank with them, he made

them drink a second time, and all this with an air of such native

simplicity, that quite charmed brother and sister. They offered him

their service, and asked him who he was, and whither going? The young

man answered: That he knew not where he should go; that he had some

curiosity; that he had a desire to see the coast of France; that he had

seen it, and should return.

The prior, judging by his accent that he was not an Englishman, took the

liberty of asking of what country he was.

"I am a Huron," answered the youth.

Miss Kerkabon, amazed and enchanted to see a Huron who had behaved so

politely to her, begged the young man's company to supper. He complied

immediately, and all three went together to the priory of our Lady of

the Mountain. This short and round Miss devoured him with her little

eyes, and said from time to time to her brother:

"This tall lad has a complexion of lilies and roses. What a fine skin he

has for a Huron!"

"Very true, sister," says the prior.

She put a hundred questions, one after another, and the traveler

answered always pertinently.

The report was soon spread that there was a Huron at the priory. All the

genteel company of the country came to supper. The abbot of St. Yves

came with Miss, his sister, a fine, handsome, well-educated girl. The

bailiff, the tax-gatherer, and their wives, came all together. The

foreigner was seated between Miss Kerkabon and Miss St. Yves. The

company eyed him with admiration. They all questioned him together.

This did not confound the Huron. He seemed to have taken Lord

Bolingbroke's motto, _Nil admirari_. But at last, tired out with so much

noise, he told them in a sweet, but serious tone:

"Gentlemen, in my country one talks after another. How can I answer you,

if you will not allow me to hear you?"

Reasoning always brings people to a momentary reflection. They were all

silent.

Mr. Bailiff, who always made a property of a foreigner wherever he found

him, and who was the first man for asking questions in the province,

opening a mouth of large size, began:

"Sir, what is your name?"

"I have always been called the _Ingenu_," answered the Huron; "and the

English have confirmed that name, because I always speak as I think, and

act as I like."

"But, being born a Huron, how could you come to England?"

"I have been carried thither. I was made prisoner by the English after

some resistance, and the English, who love brave people, because they

are as brave and honest as we, proposed to me, either to return to my

family, or go with them to England. I accepted the latter, having

naturally a relish for traveling."

"But, sir," says the bailiff, with his usual gravity, "how could you

think of abandoning father and mother?"

"Because I never knew either father or mother," says the foreigner.

This moved the company; they all repeated:

"Neither father nor mother!"

"We will be in their stead," says the mistress of the house, to her

brother, the prior: "How interesting this Huron gentleman is!"

The _Ingenu_ thanked her with a noble and proud cordiality, and gave her

to understand, that he wanted the assistance of nobody.

"I perceive, Mr. Huron," said the huge bailiff, "that you talk better

French than can be expected from an Indian."

"A Frenchman," answered he, "whom they had made prisoner when I was a

boy, and with whom I contracted a great friendship, taught it me. I

rapidly learn what I like to learn. When I came to Plymouth, I met with

one of your French refugees, whom you, I know not why, call Huguenots.

He improved my knowledge of your language; and as soon as I could

express myself intelligibly, I came to see your country, because I like

the French well enough, if they do not put too many questions."

Notwithstanding this candid remark, the abbé of St. Yves asked him,

which of the three languages pleased him best, the Huron, English, or

French?

"The Huron, to be sure," answered the _Ingenu_.

"Is it possible?" cried Miss Kerkabon. "I always thought the French was

the first of all languages, after that of Low Britany."

Then all were eager to know how, in Huron, they asked for snuff? He

replied:

"_Taya_."

"What signifies to eat?"

"_Essenten_."

Miss Kerkabon was impatient to know how they called, to make love?

He informed her, _Trovander_; and insisted on it, not without reason,

that these words were well worth their synonyms in French and English.

_Trovander_, especially, seemed very pretty to all the company. The

prior, who had in his library a Huron grammar, which had been given him

by the Rev. Father Sagar Theodat, a Recollet and famous missionary, rose

from the table to consult it. He returned quite panting with tenderness

and joy. He acknowledged the foreigner for a true Huron. The company

speculated a little on the multiplicity of languages; and all agreed,

that had it not been for the unfortunate affair of the Tower of Babel,

all the world would have spoken French.

The inquisitive bailiff, who till then had some suspicions of the

foreigner, conceived the deepest respect for him. He spoke to him with

more civility than before, and the Huron took no notice of it.

Miss St. Yves was very curious to know how people made love among the

Hurons.

"In performing great actions to please such as resemble you." All the

company admired and applauded. Miss St. Yves blushed, and was extremely

well pleased. Miss Kerkabon blushed likewise, but was not so well

pleased. She was a little piqued that this gallantry was not addressed

to her; but she was so good-natured, that her affection for the Huron

was not diminished at all. She asked him, with great complacency, how

many mistresses he had at home.

"Only one," answered the foreigner; "Miss Abacaba, the good friend of my

dear nurse. The reed is not straighter, nor is ermine whiter,--no lamb

meeker, no eagle fiercer, nor a stag swifter, than was my Abacaba. One

day she pursued a hare not above fifty leagues from my habitation: a

base Algonquin, who dwells an hundred leagues further, took her hare

from her. I was told of it; I ran thither, and with one stroke of my

club leveled him with the ground. I brought him to the feet of my

mistress, bound hand and foot. Abacaba's parents were for burning him,

but I always had a disrelish for such scenes. I set him at liberty. I

made him my friend. Abacaba was so pleased with my conduct, that she

preferred me to all her lovers. And she would have continued to love me,

had she not been devoured by a bear! I slew the bear, and wore his skin

a long while; but that has not comforted me."

Miss St. Yves felt a secret pleasure at hearing that Abacaba had been

his only mistress, and that she was no more; yet she understood not the

cause of her own pleasure. All eyes were riveted on the Huron, and he

was much applauded for delivering an Algonquin from the cruelty of his

countrymen.

The merciless bailiff had now grown so furious, that he even asked the

Huron what religion he was of; whether he had chosen the English, the

French, or that of the Huguenots?

"I am of my own religion," said he, "just as you are of yours."

"Lord!" cried Miss Kerkabon, "I see already that those wretched English

have not once thought of baptizing him!"

"Good heavens," said Miss St. Yves, "how is it possible? How is it

possible the Hurons should not be Roman Catholics? Have not those

reverend fathers, the Jesuits, converted all the world?"

The Huron assured her, that no true American had ever changed his

opinion, and that there was not in their language a word to express

inconstancy.

These last words extremely pleased Miss St. Yves.

"Oh! we'll baptize him, we'll baptize him," said Miss Kerkabon to the

prior. "You shall have that honor, my dear brother, and I will be his

god-mother. The Abbot St. Yves shall present him to the font. It will

make a fine appearance: it will be talked of all over Britany, and do us

the greatest honor."

The company were all of the same mind with the mistress of the house;

they all cried:

"We'll baptize him."

The Huron interrupted them by saying, that in England every one was

allowed to live as he pleased. He rather showed some aversion to the

proposal which was made, and could not help telling them, that the laws

of the Hurons were to the full as good as those of Low Britany. He

finished with saying, that he should return the next day. The bottles

grew empty, and the company went to bed.

After the Huron had been conducted to his room, they saw that he spread

the blankets on the floor, and laid himself down upon them in the finest

attitude in the world.

[1] _Le Huron_ was dramatized, under the name of _Civilization_, by Mr.

John H. Wilkins, and successfully produced at the City of London

Theatre, on Wednesday, November 10, 1852. Mr. James Anderson enacted the

part of _Hercule, the Huron_, and added to his well-earned reputation by

his correct conception and representation of the Indian character.

Mr. James Wallack, Jr., afterward introduced the play to a New York

audience at Burton's old Chambers Street Theatre, where it was also

received with great favor. Unfortunately for dramatic literature, the

promising young author of _Civilisation_ did not long survive his

success, but soon filled an early grave.--E.

[2] In Mr. Wilkins's dramatic version of this romance, the Huron is

described as

"A modell'd Hercules! Mien, stature, glance,

That are the blazons of the inner man,

And voice it to the stars! A hero born,

Whose air commands respect above a king's;

Bearing the stamp from the great mint of heaven,

And current to the world!"--E.

II.

THE HURON, CALLED THE INGENU, ACKNOWLEDGED BY HIS RELATIONS.

The _Ingenu_, according to custom, awoke with the sun, at the crowing of

the cock, which is called in England and Huronia, "the trumpet of the

day." He did not imitate what is styled good company, who languish in

the bed of indolence till the sun has performed half its daily journey,

unable to sleep, but not disposed to rise, and lose so many precious

hours in that doubtful state between life and death, and who

nevertheless complain that life is too short.

He had already traversed two or three leagues, and killed fifteen brace

of game with his rifle, when, upon his return, he found the prior of the

Lady of the Mountain, with his discreet sister, walking in their

nightcaps in their little garden. He presented them with the spoils of

his morning labor, and taking from his bosom a kind of little talisman,

which he constantly wore about his neck, he entreated them to accept of

it as an acknowledgment for the kind reception they had given him.

"It is," said he, "the most valuable thing I am possessed of. I have

been assured that I shall always be happy whilst I carry this little toy

about me; and I give it you that you may be always happy."

The prior and Miss smiled with pity at the frankness of the _Ingenu_.

This present consisted of two little portraits, poorly executed, and

tied together with a greasy string.

Miss Kerkabon asked him, if there were any painters in Huronia?

"No," replied the _Ingenu_, "I had this curiosity from my nurse. Her

husband had obtained it by conquest, in stripping some of the French of

Canada, who had made war upon us. This is all I know of the matter."

The prior looked attentively upon these pictures, whilst he changed

color; his hands trembled, and he seemed much affected.

"By our Lady of the Mountain," he cried out, "I believe these to be the

faces of my brother, the captain, and his lady."

Miss, after having consulted them with the like emotion, thought the

same. They were both struck with astonishment and joy blended with

grief. They both melted, they both wept, their hearts throbbed, and

during their disorder, the pictures were interchanged between them at

least twenty times in a second. They seemed to devour the Huron's

pictures with their eyes. They asked one after another, and even both at

once, at what time, in what place, and how these miniatures fell into

the hands of the nurse? They reckoned and computed the time from the

captain's departure; they recollected having received notice that he had

penetrated as far as the country of the Hurons; and from that time they

had never heard anything more of him.

The Huron had told them, that he had never known either father or

mother. The prior, who was a man of sense, observed that he had a little

beard, and he knew very well that the Hurons never had any. His chin was

somewhat hairy; he was therefore the son of an European. My brother

and sister-in-law were never seen after the expedition against the

Hurons, in 1669. My nephew must then have been nursing at the breast.

The Huron nurse has preserved his life, and been a mother to him. At

length, after an hundred questions and answers, the prior and his sister

concluded that the Huron was their own nephew. They embraced him, whilst

tears streamed from their eyes: and the Huron laughed to think that an

Indian should be nephew to a prior of Lower Britany.

[Illustration: The Huron identified.--"By our Lady of the Mountain," he

cried out, "I believe these to be the faces of my brother, the captain,

and his lady."]

All the company went down stairs. Mr. de St. Yves, who was a great

physiognomist, compared the two pictures with the Huron's countenance.

They observed, very skillfully, that he had the mother's eyes, the

forehead and nose of the late Captain Kerkabon, and the cheeks common to

both.

Miss St. Yves, who had never seen either father or mother, was

strenuously of opinion, that the young man had a perfect resemblance of

them. They all admired Providence, and wondered at the strange events of

this world. In a word, they were so persuaded, so convinced of the birth

of the Huron, that he himself consented to be the prior's nephew,

saying, that he would as soon have him for his uncle as another.

The prior went to return thanks in the church of our Lady of the

Mountain; whilst the Huron, with an air of indifference, amused himself

with drinking in the house.

The English who had brought him over, and who were ready to set sail,

came to tell him that it was time to depart.

"Probably," said he to them, "you have not met with any of your uncles

and aunts. I shall stay here. Go you back to Plymouth. I give you all my

clothes, as I have no longer occasion for anything in this world, since

I am the nephew of a prior."

The English set sail, without being at all concerned whether the Huron

had any relations or not in Lower Britany.

After the uncle, the aunt, and the company had sung _Te Deum_; after the

bailiff had once more overwhelmed the Huron with questions, after they

had exhausted all their astonishment, joy, and tenderness, the prior of

the Mountain and the Abbé of St. Yves concluded that the Huron should be

baptized with all possible expedition. But the case was very different

with a tall robust Indian of twenty-two, and an infant who is

regenerated without his knowing anything of the matter. It was necessary

to instruct him, and this appeared difficult; for the Abbé of St. Yves

supposed that a man who was not born in France, could not be endowed

with common sense.

The prior, indeed, observed to the company, that though, in fact, the

ingenious gentleman, his nephew, was not so fortunate as to be born in

Lower Britany, he was not, upon that account, any way deficient in

sense; which might be concluded from all his answers; and that,

doubtless, nature had greatly favored him, as well on his father's as on

his mother's side?

He then was asked if he had ever read any books? He said, he had read

Rabelais translated into English, and some passages in Shakespeare,

which he knew by heart; that these books belonged to the captain, on

board of whose ship he came from America to Plymouth; and that he was

very well pleased with them. The bailiff failed not to put many

questions to him concerning these books.

"I acknowledge," said the Huron, "I thought, in reading them, I

understood some things, but not the whole."

The Abbé of St. Yves reflected upon this discourse, that it was in this

manner he had always read, and that most men read no other way.

"You have," said he, to the Huron, "doubtless read the bible?"

"Never, Mr. Abbé: it was not among the captain's books. I never heard it

mentioned."

"This is the way with those cursed English," said Miss Kerkabon; "they

think more of a play of Shakespeare's, a plum pudding, or a bottle of

rum, than they do of the Pentateuch. For this reason they have never

converted any Indians in America. They are certainly cursed by God; and

we shall conquer Jamaica and Virginia from them in a very short time."

Be this as it may, the most skillful tailor in all St. Malo was sent for

to dress the Huron from head to foot. The company separated, and the

bailiff went elsewhere to display his inquisitiveness. Miss St. Yves, in

parting, returned several times to observe the young stranger, and made

him lower courtesies than ever she did any one in her life.

The bailiff, before he took his leave, presented to Miss St. Yves a

stupid dolt of a son, just come from college; but she scarce looked at

him, so much was she taken up with the politeness of the Huron.

III.

THE HURON CONVERTED.

The prior finding that he was somewhat advanced in years, and that God

had sent him a nephew for his consolation, took it into his head that he

would resign his benefice in his favor, if he succeeded in baptizing him

and of making him enter into orders.

The Huron had an excellent memory. A good constitution, inherited from

his ancestors of Lower Britany, strengthened by the climate of Canada,

had made his head so vigorous that when he was struck upon it he scarce

felt it; and when any thing was graven in it, nothing could efface it.

Nothing had ever escaped his memory. His conception was the more sure

and lively, because his infancy had not been loaded with useless

fooleries, which overwhelm ours. Things entered into his head without

being clouded. The prior at length resolved to make him read the New

Testament. The Huron devoured it with great pleasure; but not knowing at

what time, or in what country all the adventures related in this book

had happened, he did not in the least doubt that the scene of action had

been in Lower Britany; and he swore, that he would cut off Caiphas and

Pontius Pilate's ears, if ever he met those scoundrels.

His uncle, charmed with this good disposition, soon brought him to the

point. He applauded his zeal, but at the same time acquainted him that

it was needless, as these people had been dead upwards of 1690 years.

The Huron soon got the whole book by heart. He sometimes proposed

difficulties that greatly embarrassed the prior. He was often obliged to

consult the Abbé St. Yves, who, not knowing what to answer, brought a

Jesuit of Lower Britany to perfect the conversion of the Huron.

Grace, at length, operated; and the Huron promised to become a

Christian. He did not doubt but that the first step toward it was

circumcision.

"For," said he, "I do not find in the book that was put into my hands a

single person who was not circumcised. It is therefore evident, that I

must make a sacrifice to the Hebrew custom, and the sooner the better."

He sent for the surgeon of the village, and desired him to perform the

operation. The surgeon, who had never performed such an operation,

acquainted the family, who screamed out. The good Miss Kerkabon trembled

lest her nephew, whom she knew to be resolute and expeditious, should

perform the operation unskillfully himself; and that fatal consequences

might ensue.

The prior rectified the Huron's mistake, representing to him, that

circumcision was no longer in fashion; that baptism was much more gentle

and salutary; that the law of grace was not like the law of rigor. The

Huron, who had much good sense, and was well disposed, disputed, but

soon acknowledged his error, which seldom happens in Europe among

disputants. In a word, he promised to let himself be baptized whenever

they pleased.

But before baptism it was necessary that he should go to confession, and

this was the greatest difficulty to surmount. The Huron had still in his

pocket the book his uncle gave him. He did not there find that a single

apostle had ever been confessed, and this made him very restive. The

prior silenced him, by showing him, in the epistle of St. James the

Minor, these words: "Confess your sins to one another." The Huron was

mute, and confessed his sins to a Recollet. When he had done, he dragged

the Recollet from the confessional chair, and seizing him with a

vigorous arm, placed himself in his seat, making the Recollet kneel

before him:

"Come, my friend, it is said, 'we must confess our sins to one another;'

I have related to you my sins, and you shall not stir till you recount

yours."

Whilst he said this, he fixed his great knee against his adversary's

stomach. The Recollet roared and groaned, till he made the church

re-echo. The noise brought people to his assistance, who found the

catechumen cuffing the monk in the name of St. James the Minor. The joy

diffused at the baptizing at once a Low-Breton, a Huron, and an

Englishman, surmounted all these singularities. There were even some

theologians of opinion that confession was not necessary, as baptism

supplied the place of every thing.

The Bishop of St. Malo was chosen for the ceremony, who flattered, as

may be believed, at baptizing a Huron, arrived in a pompous equipage,

followed by his clergy. Miss St. Yves put on her best gown to bless God,

and sent for a hair dresser from St. Malo's, to shine at the ceremony.

The inquisitive bailiff brought the whole country with him. The church

was magnificently ornamented. But when the Huron was summoned to attend

the baptismal font, he was not to be found.

His uncle and aunt sought for him every where. It was imagined that he

had gone a hunting, according to his usual custom. Every one present at

the festival, searched the neighboring woods and villages; but no

intelligence could be obtained of the Huron. They began to fear he had

returned to England. Some remembered that he had said he was very fond

of that country. The prior and his sister were persuaded that nobody was

baptized there, and were troubled for their nephew's soul. The bishop

was confounded, and ready to return home. The prior and the Abbé St.

Yves were in despair. The bailiff interrogated all passengers with his

usual gravity. Miss Kerkabon melted into tears. Miss St. Yves did not

weep, but she vented such deep sighs, as seemed to testify her

sacramental disposition. They were walking in this melancholy mood,

among the willows and reeds upon the banks of the little river Rence,

when they perceived, in the middle of the stream, a large figure,

tolerably white, with its two arms across its breast. They screamed out,

and ran away. But, curiosity being stronger than any other

consideration, they advanced softly amongst the reeds; and when they

were pretty certain they could not be seen, they were willing to descry

what it was.

IV.

THE HURON BAPTIZED.

The prior and the abbé having run to the river side, they asked the

Huron what he was doing?

"In faith," said he, "gentlemen, I am waiting to be baptized. I have

been an hour in the water, up to my neck, and I do not think it is civil

to let me be quite exhausted."

"My dear nephew," said the prior to him, tenderly, "this is not the way

of being baptized in Lower Britany. Put on your clothes, and come with

us."

Miss St. Yves, listening to the discourse, said in a whisper to her

companion:

"Miss, do you think he will put his clothes on in such a hurry?"

The Huron, however, replied to the prior:

"You will not make me believe now as you did before. I have studied very

well since, and I am very certain there is no other kind of baptism. The

eunuch of Queen Candace was baptized in a rivulet. I defy you to show

me, in the book you gave me, that people were ever baptized in any other

way. I either will not be baptized at all, or the ceremony shall be

performed in the river."

It was in vain to remonstrate to him that customs were altered. He

always recurred to the eunuch of Queen Candace. And though Miss and his

aunt, who had observed him through the willows, were authorized to tell

him, that he had no right to quote such a man, they, nevertheless, said

nothing;--so great was their discretion. The bishop came himself to

speak to him, which was a great thing; but he could not prevail. The

Huron disputed with the bishop.

"Show me," said he, "in the book my uncle gave me, one single man that

was not baptized in a river, and I will do whatever you please."

His aunt, in despair, had observed, that the first time her nephew

bowed, he made a much lower bow to Miss St. Yves, than to any one in the

company--that he had not even saluted the bishop with so much respect,

blended with cordiality, as he did that agreeable young lady. She

thought it advisable to apply to her in this great embarrassment. She

earnestly entreated her to use her influence to engage the Huron to be

baptized according to the custom of Britany, thinking that her nephew

could never be a Christian if he persisted in being christened in the

stream.

[Illustration: The Huron baptized.--"I have been an hour in the water,

up to my neck, and I do not think it is civil to let me be quite

exhausted."]

Miss St. Yves blushed at the secret joy she felt in being appointed to

execute so important a commission. She modestly approached the Huron,

and squeezing his hand in quite a noble manner, she said to him.

"What, will you do nothing to please me?"

And in uttering these words, she raised her eyes from a downcast look,

into a graceful tenderness.

"Oh! yes, Miss, every thing you require, all that you command, whether

it is to be baptized in water, fire, or blood;--there is nothing I can

refuse you."

Miss St. Yves had the glory of effecting, in two words, what neither the

importunities of the prior, the repeated interrogations of the bailiff,

nor the reasoning of the bishop, could effect. She was sensible of her

triumph; but she was not yet sensible of its utmost latitude.

Baptism was administered, and received with all the decency,

magnificence, and propriety possible. His uncle and aunt yielded to the

Abbé St. Yves and his sister the favor of supporting the Huron upon the

font. Miss St. Yves's eyes sparkled with joy at being a god-mother. She

was ignorant how much this high title compromised her. She accepted the

honor, without being acquainted with its fatal consequences.

As there never was any ceremony that was not followed by a good dinner,

the company took their seats at table after the christening. The

humorists of Lower Britany said, "they did not choose to have their wine

baptized." The prior said, "that wine, according to Solomon, cherished

the heart of man." The bishop added, "that the Patriarch Judah ought to

have tied his ass-colt to the vine, and steeped his cloak in the blood

of the grape; and that he was sorry the same could not be done in Lower

Britany, to which God had not allotted vines." Every one endeavored to

say a good thing upon the Huron's christening, and strokes of gallantry

to the god-mother. The bailiff, ever interrogating, asked the Huron, "if

he was faithful in keeping his promises?"

"How," said he, "can I fail keeping them, since I have deposited them in

the hands of Miss St. Yves?"

The Huron grew warm; he had drank repeatedly his god-mother's health.

"If," said he, "I had been baptized with your hand, I feel that the

water which was poured on the nape of my neck would have burnt me."

The bailiff thought that this was too poetical, being ignorant that

allegory is a familiar figure in Canada. But his god-mother was very

well pleased.

The Huron had, at his baptism, received the name of Hercules. The bishop

of St. Malo frequently enquired, who was this tutelar saint, whom he had

never heard mentioned before? The Jesuit, who was very learned, told

him, "that he was a saint who had wrought twelve miracles." There was a

thirteenth, which was well worth the other twelve, but it was not proper

for a Jesuit to mention it. This was the marriage of fifty girls at one

time--the daughters of king Thespius. A wag, who was present, related

this miracle very feelingly. And all judged, from the appearance of the

Huron, that he was a worthy representative of the saint whose name he

bore.

V.

THE HURON IN LOVE.

It must be acknowledged, that from the time of this christening and this

dinner, Miss St. Yves passionately wished that the bishop would again

make her an assistant with Mr. Hercules in some other fine

ceremony--that is, the marriage ceremony. However, as she was well

brought up, and very modest,--she did not entirely agree with herself in

regard to these tender sentiments; but if a look, a word, a gesture, a

thought, escaped from her, she concealed it admirably under the veil of

modesty. She was tender, lively, and sagacious.

As soon as the bishop was gone, the Huron and Miss St. Yves met

together, without thinking they were in search of one another. They

spoke together, without premeditating what they said. The sincere youth

immediately declared, "that he loved her with all his heart; and that

the beauteous Abacaba, with whom he had been desperately in love in his

own country, was far inferior to her." Miss replied, with her usual

modesty, "that the prior, her uncle, and the lady, her aunt, should be

spoken to immediately; and that, on her side, she would say a few words

to her dear brother, the Abbé of St. Yves, and that she flattered

herself it would meet with no opposition."

The youth replied: "that the consent of any one was entirely

superfluous; that it appeared to him extremely ridiculous to go and ask

others what they were to do; that when two parties were agreed, there

was no occasion for a third, to accomplish their union."

"I never consult any one," said he, "when I have a mind to breakfast, to

hunt, or to sleep. I am sensible, that in love it is not amiss to have

the consent of the person whom we wish for; but as I am neither in love

with my uncle nor my aunt, I have no occasion to address myself to them

in this affair; and if you will believe me, you may equally dispense

with the advice of the Abbé of St. Yves."

It may be supposed that the young lady exerted all the delicacy of her

wit, to bring her Huron to the terms of good breeding. She was very

angry, but soon softened. In a word, it cannot be said how this

conversation would have ended, if the declining day had not brought the

Abbé to conduct his sister home. The Huron left his uncle and aunt to

rest, they being somewhat fatigued with the ceremony, and long dinner.

He passed part of the night in writing verses in the Huron language,

upon his well-beloved; for it should be known, that there is no country

where love has not rendered lovers poets.[1]

The next day his uncle spoke to him in the following manner. "I am

somewhat advanced in years. My brother has left only a little bit of

ground, which is a very small matter. I have a good priory. If you will

only make yourself a sub-deacon, as I hope you will, I will resign my

priory in your favor; and you will live quite at your ease, after

having been the consolation of my old age."

The Huron replied:

"Uncle, much good may it do you; live as long as you can. I do not know

what it is to be a sub-deacon, or what it is to resign, but every thing

will be agreeable to me, provided I have Miss St. Yves at my disposal."

"Good heavens, nephew! what is it you say? Do you love that beautiful

young lady so earnestly?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Alas! nephew, it is impossible you should ever marry her."

"It is very possible, uncle; for she did not only squeeze my hand when

she left me, but she promised she would ask me in marriage. I certainly

shall wed her."

"It is impossible, I tell you, she is your god-mother. It is a dreadful

sin for a god-mother to give her hand to her god-son. It is contrary to

all laws, human and divine."

"Why the deuce, uncle, should it be forbidden to marry one's god-mother,

when she is young and handsome? I did not find, in the book you gave me,

that it was wrong to marry young women who assisted at christenings. I

perceive, every day, that an infinite number of things are done here

which are not in your book, and nothing is done that is said in it. I

must acknowledge to you, that this astonishes and displeases me. If I am

deprived of the charming Miss St. Yves on account of my baptism, I give

you notice, that I will run away with her and unbaptize myself."

The prior was confounded; his sister wept.

"My dear brother," said she, "our nephew must not damn himself; our holy

father the pope can give him a dispensation, and then he may be happy,

in a christian-like manner, with the person he likes."

The ingenuous Hercules embraced his aunt:

"For goodness sake," said he, "who is this charming man, who is so

gracious as to promote the amours of girls and boys? I will go and speak

to him this instant."

The dignity and character of the pope was explained to him, and the

Huron was still more astonished than before.

"My dear uncle," said he, "there is not a word of all this in your

book; I have traveled, and am acquainted with the sea; we are now upon

the coast of the ocean, and I must leave Miss St. Yves, to go and ask

leave to marry her of a man who lives toward the Mediterranean, four

hundred leagues from hence, and whose language I do not understand! This

is most incomprehensibly ridiculous! But I will go first to the Abbé St.

Yves, who lives only a league from hence; and I promise you I will wed

my mistress before night."

Whilst he was yet speaking, the bailiff entered, and, according to his

usual custom, asked him where he was going?

"I am going to get married," replied the ingenuous Hercules, running

along; and in less than a quarter of an hour he was with his charming

dear mistress, who was still asleep.

"Ah! my dear brother," said Miss Kerkabon to the prior, "you will never

make a sub-deacon of our nephew."

The bailiff was very much displeased at this journey; for he laid claim

to Miss St. Yves in favor of his son, who was a still greater and more

insupportable fool than his father.

[1] "Love," says Robert G. Ingersoll, "writes every poem, sings every

song, paints every picture, chisels every statue--makes kings and queens

of common clay, and is the perfume of that wondrous flower, the human

heart."--E.

VI.

THE HURON FLIES TO HIS MISTRESS, AND BECOMES QUITE FURIOUS.

No sooner had the ingenuous Hercules reached the house, than having

asked the old servant, which was his mistress's apartment, he forced

open the door, which was badly fastened, and flew toward the bed. Miss

St. Yves, startled out of her sleep, cried.

"Ah! what, is it you! Stop, what are you about?" He answered:

"I am going to marry."

She opposed him with all the decency of a young lady so well educated;

but the Huron did not understand raillery, and found all evasions

extremely disagreeable.

"Miss Abacaba, my first mistress," said he, "did not behave in this

manner; you have no honesty; you promised me marriage, and you will not

marry; this is being deficient in the first laws of honor."

The outcries of the lady, brought the sagacious Abbé de St. Yves with

his housekeeper, an old devotee servant, and the parish priest. The

sight of these moderated the courage of the assailant.

"Good heavens!" cried the Abbé, "my dear neighbor, what are you about?"

"My duty," replied the young man, "I am fulfilling my promises, which

are sacred."

Miss St. Yves adjusted herself, not without blushing. The lover was

conducted into another apartment. The Abbé remonstrated to him on the

enormity of his conduct. The Huron defended himself upon the privileges

of the law of nature, which he understood perfectly well. The Abbé

maintained, that the law positive should be allowed all its advantages;

and that without conventions agreed on between men, the law of nature

must almost constantly be nothing more than natural felony. Notaries,

priests, witnesses, contracts, and dispensations, were absolutely

necessary.

The ingenuous Hercules made answer with the observation constantly

adopted by savages:

"You are then very great rogues, since so many precautions are

necessary."

This remark somewhat disconcerted the Abbé.

"There are, I acknowledge, libertines and cheats among us, and there

would be as many among the Hurons, if they were united in a great city:

but, at the same time, we have direct, honest, enlightened people; and

these are the men who have framed the laws. The more upright we are, the

more readily we should submit to them, as we thereby set an example to

the vicious, who respect those bounds which virtue has given herself."

This answer struck the Huron. It has already been observed, that his

mind was well disposed. He was softened by flattering speeches, which

promised him hopes; all the world is caught in these snares; and Miss

St. Yves herself appeared, after having been at her toilet. Every thing

was now conducted with the utmost good breeding.

[Illustration: The separation.]

It was with much difficulty that Hercules was sent back to his

relations. It was again necessary for the charming Miss St. Yves to

interfere; the more she perceived the influence she had upon him, the

more she loved him. She made him depart, and was much affected at it. At

length, when he was gone, the Abbé, who was not only Miss St. Yves's

elder brother by many years, but was also her guardian, endeavored to

wean his ward from the importunities of this dreadful lover. He went to

consult the bailiff, who had always intended his son for the Abbé's

sister, and who advised him to place the poor girl in a convent. This

was a terrible stroke. Such a measure would, to a young lady unaffected

with any particular passion, have been inexpressible punishment; but to

a love-sick maid, equally sagacious and tender, it was despair itself.

When the ingenuous Hercules returned to the Prior's, he related all that

had happened with his usual frankness. He met with the same

remonstrances, which had some effect upon his mind, though none upon his

senses; but the next day, when he wanted to return to his mistress, in

order to reason with her upon the law of nature and the law of

convention, the bailiff acquainted him, with insulting joy, that she was

in a convent.

"Very well," said he, "I'll go and reason with her in this convent."

That cannot be, said the bailiff; and then entered into a long

explanation of the nature of a convent, telling him that this word was

derived from _conventus_, in the Latin, which signifies "an assembly;"

and the Huron could not comprehend, why he might not be admitted into

this assembly. As soon as he was informed that this assembly was a kind

of prison, in which girls were shut up, a shocking institution, unknown

in Huronia and England; he became as furious as was his patron Hercules,

when Euritus, king of Œchalia, no less cruel than the Abbé of St.

Yves, refused him the beauteous Iola, his daughter, not inferior in

beauty to the Abbé's sister. He was upon the point of going to set fire

to the convent to carry off his mistress, or be burnt with her. Miss

Kerkabon, terrified at such a declaration, gave up all hopes of ever

seeing her nephew a sub-deacon; and, sadly weeping, she exclaimed: "The

devil has certainly been in him since he has been christened."

VII.

THE HURON REPULSES THE ENGLISH.

The ingenuous Hercules walked toward the sea-coast wrapped in deep and

gloomy melancholy, with his double charged fusee upon his shoulder, and

his cutlass by his side, shooting now and then a bird, and often tempted

to shoot himself; but he had still some affection for life, for the sake

of his dear mistress; by turns execrating his uncle and aunt, all Lower

Britany, and his christening; then blessing them, as they had introduced

him to the knowledge of her he loved. He resolved upon going to burn the

convent, and he stopped short for fear of burning his mistress. The

waves of the Channel are not more agitated by the easterly and westerly

winds, than was his heart by so many contrary emotions.

He was walking along very fast, without knowing whither he was going,

when he heard the beat of a drum. He saw, at a great distance, a vast

multitude, part of whom ran toward the coast, and the other part in the

opposite direction.

A thousand shrieks re-echoed on every side. Curiosity and courage

hurried him, that instant, toward the spot where the greatest clamor

arose, which he attained in a few leaps. The commander of the militia,

who had supped with him at the Prior's, knew him immediately, and he ran

to the Huron with open arms:

"Ah! it is the sincere American: he will fight for us."

Upon which the militia, who were almost dead with fear, recovered

themselves, crying with one voice:

"It is the Huron, the ingenuous Huron."

"Gentlemen," said he, "what is the matter? Why are you frightened? Have

they shut your mistresses up in convents?"

Instantly a thousand confused voices cried out:

"Do you not see the English, who are landing?"

"Very well," replied the Huron, "they are a brave people; they never

proposed making me a sub-deacon; they never carried off my mistress."

The commander made him understand, that they were coming to pillage the

Abbé of the Mountain, drink his uncle's wine, and perhaps carry off

Miss St. Yves; that the little vessel which set him on shore in Britany

had come only to reconnoitre the coast; that they were committing acts

of hostility, without having declared war against France; and that the

province was entirely exposed to them.

"If this he the case," said he, "they violate the law of nature: let me

alone; I lived a long time among them; I am acquainted with their

language, and I will speak to them. I cannot think they can have so

wicked a design."

During this conversation the English fleet approached; the Huron ran

toward it, and having jumped into a little boat, soon rowed to the

Admiral's ship, and having gone on board, asked "whether it was true,

that they were come to ravage the coast, without having honestly

declared war?"

The Admiral and all his crew burst out into laughter, made him drink

some punch, and sent him back.

The ingenuous Hercules, piqued at this reception, thought of nothing

else but beating his old friends for his countrymen and the Prior. The

gentlemen of the neighborhood ran from all quarters, and joined them;

they had some cannon, and he discharged them one after the other. The

English landed, and he flew toward them, when he killed three of them

with his own hand. He even wounded the Admiral, who had made a joke of

him. The entire militia were animated with his prowess. The English

returned to their ships, and went on board; and the whole coast

re-echoed with the shouts of victory, "Live the king! live the ingenuous

Hercules!"

Every one ran to embrace him; every one strove to stop the bleeding of

some slight wounds he had received.

"Ah!" said he, "if Miss St. Yves were here, she would put on a plaster

for me."

The bailiff, who had hid himself in his cellar during the battle, came

to pay his compliments like the rest. But he was greatly surprised, when

he heard the ingenuous Hercules say to a dozen young men, well disposed

for his service, who surrounded him:

"My friends, having delivered the Abbé of the Mountain is nothing; we

must rescue a nymph."

The warm blood of these youths was fired at the expression. He was

already followed by crowds, who repaired to the convent. If the bailiff

had not immediately acquainted the commandant with their design, and he

had not sent a detachment after the joyous troop, the thing would have

been done. The Huron was conducted back to his uncle and aunt, who

overwhelmed him with tears and tenderness.

"I see very well," said his uncle, "that you will never be either a

sub-deacon or a prior; you will be an officer, and one still braver than

my brother the Captain, and probably as poor."

Miss Kerkabon could not stop an incessant flood of tears, whilst she

embraced him, saying, "he will be killed too, like my brother; it were

much better he were a sub-deacon."

The Huron had, during the battle, picked up a purse full of guineas,

which the Admiral had probably lost. He did not doubt but that this

purse would buy all Lower Britany, and, above all, make Miss St. Yves a

great lady. Every one persuaded him to repair to Versailles, to receive

the recompense due to his services. The commandant, and the principal

officers, furnished him with certificates in abundance. The uncle and

aunt also approved of this journey. He was to be presented to the king

without any difficulty. This alone would give him great weight in the

province. These two good folks added to the English purse a considerable

present out of their savings. The Huron said to himself, "When I see the

king, I will ask Miss St. Yves of him in marriage, and certainly he will

not refuse me." He set out accordingly, amidst the acclamations of the

whole district, stifled with embraces, bathed in tears by his aunt,

blessed by his uncle, and recommending himself to the charming Miss St.

Yves.

VIII.

THE HURON GOES TO COURT. SUPS UPON THE ROAD WITH SOME HUGUENOTS.

The ingenuous Hercules took the Saumur road in the coach, because there

was at that time no other convenience. When he came to Saumur, he was

astonished to find the city almost deserted, and to see several families

going away. He was told, that half a dozen years before, Saumur

contained upwards of fifty thousand inhabitants, and that at present

there were not six thousand. He mentioned this at the inn, whilst at

supper. Several Protestants were at table; some complained bitterly,

others trembled with rage, others, weeping, said, _Nos dulcia linquimus

arva, nos patriam fugimus_. The Huron, who did not understand Latin, had

these words explained to him, which signified, "We abandon our sweet

fields;--We fly from our country."

"And why do you fly from your country, gentlemen?"

"Because we must otherwise acknowledge the Pope."

"And why not acknowledge him? You have no god-mothers, then, that you

want to marry; for, I am told it is he that grants this permission."

"Ah! sir, this Pope says, that he is master of the domains of kings."

"But, gentlemen, what religion are you of?"

"Why, sir, we are for the most part drapers and manufacturers."

"If the Pope, then, is not the master of your clothes and manufactures,

you do very well not to acknowledge him; but as to kings, it is their

business, and why do you trouble yourselves about it?"

Here a little black man took up the argument, and very learnedly set

forth the grievances of the company. He talked of the revocation of the

edict of Nantes with so much energy; he deplored, in so pathetic a

manner, the fate of fifty thousand fugitive families, and of fifty

thousand others converted by dragoons; that the ingenuous Hercules could

not refrain from shedding tears.

"Whence arises it," said he, "that so great a king, whose renown expands

itself even to the Hurons, should thus deprive himself of so many hearts

that would have loved him, and so many arms that would have served him."

"Because he has been imposed upon, like other great kings," replied the

little orator, "He has been made to believe, that as soon as he utters a

word, all people think as he does; and that he can make us change our

religion, just as his musician Lulli, in a moment, changes the

decorations of his opera. He has not only already lost five or six

hundred thousand very useful subjects, but he has turned many of them

into enemies; and King William, who is at this time master of England,

has formed several regiments of these identical Frenchmen, who would

otherwise have fought for their monarch.

"Such a disaster is more astonishing, as the present Pope, to whom Louis

XIV. sacrifices a part of his people, is his declared enemy. A violent

quarrel has subsisted between them for nearly nine years. It has been

carried so far, that France was in hopes of at length casting off the

yoke, by which it has been kept in subjection for so many ages to this

foreigner, and, more particularly, of not giving him any more money,

which is the _primum mobile_ of the affairs of this world. It,

therefore, appears evident, that this great king has been imposed on, as

well with respect to his interest, as the extent of his power, and that

even the magnanimity of his heart has been struck at."

The Huron, becoming more and more interested, asked:

"Who were the Frenchmen who thus deceived a monarch so dear to the

Hurons?"

"They are the Jesuits," he was answered, "and, particularly, Father la

Chaise, the kings confessor. It is to be hoped that God will one day

punish them for it, and that they will be driven out, as they now drive

us. Can any misfortune equal ours? Mons. de Louvois besets us on all

sides with Jesuits and dragoons."

"Well gentlemen," replied the Huron, "I am going to Versailles to

receive the recompense due to my services; I will speak to Mons. de

Louvois. I am told it is he who makes war from his closet. I shall see

the king, and I will acquaint him with the truth. It is impossible not

to yield to this truth, when it is felt. I shall return very soon to

marry Miss St. Yves, and I beg you will be present at our nuptials."

These good people now took him for some great Lord, who traveled

_incognito_ in the coach. Some took him for the king's fool.

There was at table a disguised Jesuit, who acted as a spy to the

Reverend Father de la Chaise. He gave him an account of everything that

passed, and Father de la Chaise reported it to M. de Louvois. The spy

wrote. The Huron and the letter arrived almost at the same time at

Versailles.

IX.

THE ARRIVAL OF THE HURON AT VERSAILLES. HIS RECEPTION AT COURT.

The ingenuous Hercules was set down from a public carriage, in the court

of the kitchens. He asks the chairmen, what hour the king can be seen?

The chairmen laugh in his face, just as the English Admiral had done:

and he treated them in the same manner--he beat them. They were for

retaliation, and the scene had like to have proved bloody, if a soldier,

who was a gentleman of Britany, had not passed by, and who dispersed the

mob.

"Sir," said the traveler to him, "you appear to me to be a brave man. I

am nephew to the Prior of our Lady of the Mountain. I have killed

Englishmen, and I am come to speak to the king. I beg you will conduct

me to his chamber."

The soldier, delighted to find a man of courage from his province, who

did not seem acquainted with the customs of the court, told him it was

necessary to be presented to M. de Louvois.

"Very well, then, conduct me to M. de Louvois, who will doubtless

conduct me to the king."

"It is more difficult to speak to M. de Louvois than the king. But I

will conduct you to Mr. Alexander, first commissioner of war, and this

will be just the same as if you spoke to the minister."

They accordingly repair to Mr. Alexander's, who is first clerk, but they

cannot be introduced, he being closely engaged in business with a lady

of the court, and no person is allowed admittance.

"Well," said the soldier, "there is no harm done, let us go to Mr.

Alexander's first clerk. This will be just the same as if you spoke to

Mr. Alexander himself."

The Huron quite astonished, followed him. They remained together half an

hour in a little anti-chamber.

"What is all this?" said the ingenuous Hercules. "Is all the world

invisible in this country? It is much easier to fight in Lower Britany

against Englishmen, than to meet with people at Versailles, with whom

one hath business."

He amused himself for some time with relating his amours to his

countryman; but the clock striking, recalled the soldier to his post,

when a mutual promise was given of meeting on the morrow.

The Huron remained another half hour in the anti-chamber, meditating

upon Miss St. Yves, and the difficulty of speaking to kings and first

clerks.

At length the patron appeared.

"Sir," said the ingenuous Hercules, "If I had waited to repulse the

English as long as you have made me wait for my audience, they would

certainly have ravaged all Lower Britany without opposition."

These words impressed the clerk. He at length said to the inhabitant of

Britany, "What is your request?"

"A recompense," said the other: "these are my titles;" showing his

certificates.

The clerk read, and told him, "that probably he might obtain leave to

purchase a lieutenancy."

"Me? what, must I pay money for having repulsed the English? Must I pay

a tax to be killed for you, whilst you are peaceably giving your

audience here? You are certainly jesting. I require a company of cavalry

for nothing. I require that the king shall set Miss St. Yves at liberty

from the convent, and give her to me in marriage. I want to speak to the

king in favor of fifty thousand families, whom I propose restoring to

him. In a word, I want to be useful. Let me be employed and advanced."

"What is your name, sir, who talk in such a high style?"

"Oh! oh!" answered the Huron; "you have not then read my certificates?

This is the way they are treated. My name is _Hercules de Kerkabon_. I

am christened, and I lodge at the Blue Dial." The clerk concluded, like

the people at Saumur, that his head was turned, and did not pay him any

further attention.

The same day, the Reverend Father de la Chaise, confessor to Louis XIV.,

received his spy's letter, which accused the Breton Kerkabon of favoring

in his heart the Huguenots, and condemning the conduct of the Jesuits.

M. de Louvois had, on his side, received a letter from the inquisitive

bailiff, which depicted the Huron as a wicked, lewd fellow, inclined to

burn convents, and carry off the nuns.

Hercules, after having walked in the gardens of Versailles, which had

become irksome to him; after having supped like a native of Huronia and

Lower Britany: had gone to rest, in the pleasant hope of seeing the king

the next day; of obtaining Miss St. Yves in marriage; of having, at

least, a company of cavalry; and of setting aside the persecution

against the Huguenots. He was rocking himself asleep with these

flattering ideas, when the _Marechaussée_ entered his chamber, and

seized upon his double-charged fusee and his great sabre.

They took an inventory of his ready money, and then conducted him to the

castle erected by King Charles V., son to John II., near the street of

St. Antoine, at the gate des Tournelles.

What was the Huron's astonishment in his way thither the reader is left

to imagine. He at first fancied it was all a dream; and remained for

some time in a state of stupefaction. Presently, transported with rage,

that gave him more than common strength, he collared two of his

conductors who were with him in the coach, flung them out of the door,

cast himself after them, and then dragged the third, who wanted to hold

him. He fell in the attempt, when they tied him, and replaced him in the

carriage.

"This, then," said he, "is what one gets for driving the English out of

Lower Britany! What wouldst thou say, charming Miss St. Yves, if thou

didst see me in this situation?"

They at length arrived at the place of their destination. He was carried

without any noise into the chamber in which he was to be locked up, like

a dead corpse going to the grave. This room was already occupied by an

old solitary student of Port Royal, named Gordon, who had been

languishing here for two years.

"See," said the chief of the Marechaussée, "here is company I bring

you;" and immediately the enormous bolts of this strong door, secured

with large iron bars, were fastened upon them. These two captives were

thus separated from all the universe besides.

X.

THE HURON IS SHUT UP IN THE BASTILE WITH A JANSENIST.

Mr. Gordon was a healthy old man, of a serene disposition, who was

acquainted with two great things; the one was, to bear adversity; the

other, to console the afflicted. He approached his companion with an

open sympathizing air, and said to him, whilst he embraced him:

"Whoever thou art that is come to partake of my grave, be assured, that

I shall constantly forget myself to soften thy torments in the infernal

abyss where we are plunged. Let us adore Providence that has conducted

us here. Let us suffer in peace, and trust in hope."

These words had the same effect upon the youth as cordial drops, which

recall a dying person to life, and show to his astonished eyes a glimpse

of light.

After the first compliments were over, Gordon, without urging him to

relate the cause of his misfortune, inspired him by the sweetness of his

discourse and by that interest which two unfortunate persons share with

each other, with a desire of opening his heart and of disburdening

himself of the weight which oppressed him; but he could not guess the

cause of his misfortune, and the good man Gordon was as much astonished

as himself.

"God must, doubtless," said the Jansenist to the Huron, "have great

designs upon you, since he conducted you from Lake Ontario into England,

from thence to France; caused you to be baptized in Lower Britany, and

has now lodged you here for your salvation."

"I' faith," replied Hercules, "I believe the devil alone has interfered

in my destiny.[1] My countrymen in America would never have treated me

with the barbarity that I have here experienced; they have not the least

idea of it. They are called savages;--they are good people, but rustic,

and the men of this country are refined villains. I am indeed, greatly

surprised to have come from another world, to be shut up in this, under

four bolts with a priest; but I consider what an infinite number of men

set out from one hemisphere to go and get killed in the other, or are

cast away in the voyage, and are eaten by the fishes. I cannot discover

the gracious designs of God over all these people."

Their dinner was brought them through a wicket. The conversation turned

upon Providence, _lettres de cachet_, and upon the art of not sinking

under disgrace, to which all men in this world are exposed.

"It is now two years since I have been here," said the old man, "without

any other consolation than myself and books; and yet I have never been a

single moment out of temper."

"Ah! Mr. Gordon," cried Hercules, "you are not then in love with your

god-mother. If you were as well acquainted with Miss St. Yves as I am,

you would be in a state of desperation."

At these words he could not refrain from tears, which greatly relieved

him from his oppression.

"How is it then that tears solace us?" said the Huron, "It seems to me

that they should have quite an opposite effect."

"My son," said the good old man, "every thing is physical about us; all

secretions are useful to the body, and all that comforts it, comforts

the soul. We are the machines of Providence."

The ingenuous Huron, who, as we have already observed more than once,

had a great share of understanding, entered deeply into the

consideration of this idea, the seeds whereof appeared to be in himself.

After which he asked his companion.

"Why his machine had for two years been confined by four bolts?"

"By effectual grace," answered Gordon; "I pass for a Jansenist; I know

Arnaud and Nicole; the Jesuits have persecuted us. We believe that the

Pope is nothing more than a bishop, like another, and therefore Father

la Chaise has obtained from the king, his penitent, an order for

robbing me without any form of justice, of the most precious inheritance

of man--liberty!"

"This is very strange," said the Huron, "all the unhappy people I have

met with have been made so solely by the Pope. With respect to your

effectual grace, I acknowledge I do not understand what you mean. But I

consider it as a very great favor, that God has let me, in my

misfortunes, meet with a man, who pours into my heart such consolation

as I thought myself incapable of receiving."

The conversation became each day more interesting and instructive. The

souls of the two captives seemed to unite in one body. The old man had

acquired knowledge, and the young man was willing to receive

instruction. At the end of the first month, he eagerly applied himself

to the study of geometry. Gordon made him read _Rohault's Physics_,

which book was still in fashion, and he had good sense enough to find in

it nothing but doubts and uncertainties.

He afterward read the first volume of the _Enquiry After Truth_. This

instructive work gave him new light.

"What!" said he, "do our imagination and our senses deceive us to that

degree? What, are not our ideas formed by objects, and can we not

acquire them by ourselves?"

When he had gone through the second volume, he was not so well

satisfied; and he concluded it was much easier to destroy than to build.

His colleague, astonished that a young ignoramus should make such a

remark, conceived a very high opinion of his understanding, and was more

strongly attached to him.

"Your Malebranche," said he to Gordon one day, "seems to have written

half his book whilst he was in possession of his reason, and the other

half with the assistance only of imagination and prejudice."

Some days after, Gordon asked him what he thought of the soul, and the

manner in which we receive our ideas of volition, grace, and free

agency.

"Nothing," replied the Huron. "If I think sometimes, it is that we are

under the power of the Eternal Being, like the stars and the

elements--that he operates everything in us--that we are small wheels of

the immense machine, of which he is the soul--that he acts according to

general laws, and not from particular views. This is all that appears to

me intelligible; all the rest is to me a dark abyss."

"But this, my son, would be making God the author of sin!"

"But, father, your effectual grace would equally make him the author of

sin; for certainly all those to whom this grace was refused, would sin;

and is not an all-powerful being who permits evil, virtually the author

of evil?"

This sincerity greatly embarrassed the good man; he found that all his

endeavors to extricate himself from this quagmire were ineffectual; and

he heaped such quantities of words upon one another, which seemed to

have meaning, but which in fact had none, that the Huron could not help

pitying him. This question evidently determined the origin of good and

evil; and poor Gordon was reduced to the necessity of recurring to

Pandora's box--Oromasdes's egg pierced by Arimanes--the enmity between

Typhon and Osiris--and, at last, original sin; and these he huddled

together in profound darkness, without their throwing the least

glimmering light upon one another. However, this romance of the soul

diverted their thoughts from the contemplation of their own misery; and,

by a strange magic, the multitude of calamities dispersed throughout the

world diminished the sensation of their own miseries. They did not dare

complain when all mankind was in a state of sufferance.

But in the repose of night, the image of the charming Miss St. Yves

effaced from the mind of her lover every metaphysical and moral idea. He

awoke with his eyes bathed in tears; and the old Jansenist forgot his

effectual grace, and the Abbé of St. Cyran, and even Jansenius himself,

to afford consolation to a youth whom he had judged guilty of a mortal

sin.

After these lectures and their reasonings were over, their adventures

furnished them with subjects of conversation; after this store was

exhausted, they read together, or separately. The Huron's understanding

daily increased; and he would certainly have made great progress in

mathematics, if the thought of Miss St. Yves had not frequently

distracted him.

He read histories, which made him melancholy. The world appeared to him

too wicked and too miserable. In fact, history is nothing more than a

picture of crimes and misfortunes. The crowd of innocent and peaceable

men are always invisible upon this vast theatre. The _dramatis personæ_

are composed of ambitious, perverse men. The pleasure which history

affords is derived from the same source as tragedy, which would languish

and become insipid, were it not inspired with strong passions, great

events, and piteous misfortunes. Clio must be armed with a poniard as

well as Melpomene.

Though the history of France is not less filled with horror than those

of other nations, it nevertheless appeared to him so disgusting in the

beginning, so dry in the continuation, and so trifling in the end, (even

in the time of Henry IV.); ever destitute of grand monuments, or foreign

to those fine discoveries which have illustrated other nations; that he

was obliged to resolve upon not being tired, in order to go through all

the particulars of obscure calamities confined to a little corner of the

world.

Gordon thought like him. They both laughed with pity when they read of

the sovereigns of Fezensacs, Fesansaguet, and Astrac: such a study could

be relished only by their heirs, if they had any. The brilliant ages of

the Roman Republic made him sometimes quite indifferent as to any other

part of the globe. The spectacle of victorious Rome, the lawgiver of

nations, engrossed his whole soul. He glowed in contemplating a people

who were governed for seven hundred years by the enthusiasm of liberty

and glory.

Thus rolled days, weeks, and months; and he would have thought himself

happy in the sanctuary of despair, if he had not loved.

The natural goodness of his heart was softened still more when he

reflected upon the Prior of our Lady of the Mountain, and the sensible

Kerkabon.

"What must they think," he would often repeat, "when they can get no

tidings of me? They must think me an ungrateful wretch." This idea

rendered him inconsolable. He pitied those who loved him much more than

he pitied himself.

[1] In the play called _Civilization_, Hercules uses the following

language:

"In my barbarian days, I spoke the truth:

Wrong'd not my neighbor: paid back benefits,

With benefit and gratitude to boot;

Dealt justly: held a friend to be a gift,

Precious as stars dropt down from heaven: bowed

Before the works of God: beheld in them

His presence, palpable, as at an altar:

And worshipp'd heaven at the mountain's foot.

But this

Was Barbarism, I am wiser now;

More civilized. I know the way to lie,

To cheat, deceive, and be a zealous Christian!"--E.

XI.

HOW THE HURON DISCLOSES HIS GENIUS.

Reading aggrandizes the soul, and an enlightened friend affords

consolation. Our captive had these two advantages in his favor which he

had never expected.

"I shall begin to believe in the Metamorphoses," said he, "for I have

been transformed from a brute into a man."

He formed a chosen library with part of the money which he was allowed

to dispose of. His friend encouraged him to commit to writing such

observations as occurred to him. These are his notes upon ancient

history:

"I imagine that nations were for a long time like myself; that they did

not become enlightened till very late; that for many ages they were

occupied with nothing but the present moment which elapsed: that they

thought very little of what was past, and never of the future. I have

traversed five or six hundred leagues in Canada, and I did not meet with

a single monument: no one is the least acquainted with the actions of

his predecessors. Is not this the natural state of man? The human

species of this continent appears to me superior to that of the other.

They have extended their being for many ages by arts and knowledge. Is

this because they have beards upon their chins and God has refused this

ornament to the Americans? I do not believe it; for I find the Chinese

have very little beard, and that they have cultivated arts for upwards

of five thousand years. In effect, if their annals go back upwards of

four thousand years, the nation must necessarily have been united and in

a flourishing state more than five hundred centuries.

"One thing particularly strikes me in this ancient history of China,

which is, that almost every thing is probable and natural. I admire it

because it is not tinctured with anything of the marvelous.

"Why have all other nations adopted fabulous origins? The ancient

chronicles of the history of France, which, by the by, are not very

ancient, make the French descend from one Francus, the son of Hector.

The Romans said they were the issue of a Phrygian, though there was not

in their whole language a single word that had the least connection

with the language of Phrygia. The gods had inhabited Egypt for ten

thousand years, and the devils Scythia, where they had engendered the

Huns. I meet with nothing before Thucydides but romances similar to the

Amadis, and far less amusing. Apparitions, oracles, prodigies, sorcery,

metamorphoses, are interspersed throughout with the explanation of

dreams, which are the bases of the destiny of the greatest empires and

the smallest states. Here are speaking beasts, there brutes that are

adored, gods transformed into men, and men into gods. If we must have

fables, let us, at least, have such as appear the emblem of truth. I

admire the fables of philosophers, but I laugh at those of children, and

hate those of impostors."

He one day hit upon a history of the Emperor Justinian. It was there

related, that some Appedeutes of Constantinople had delivered, in very

bad Greek, an edict against the greatest captain of the age, because

this hero had uttered the following words in the warmth of conversation:

"Truth shines forth with its proper light, and people's minds are not

illumined with flaming piles." The Appedeutes declared that this

proposition was heretical, bordering upon heresy, and that the contrary

action was catholic, universal, and Grecian: "The minds of the people

are enlightened but with flaming piles, and truth cannot shine forth

with its own light." These Linostolians thus condemned several

discourses of the captain, and published an edict.

"What!" said the Huron, with much emotion, "shall such people publish

edicts?"

"They are not edicts," replied Gordon: "they are contradictions, which

all the world laughed at in Constantinople, and the Emperor the first.

He was a wise prince, who knew how to reduce the Linostolian Appedeutes

to a state incapable of doing anything but good. He knew that these

gentlemen, and several other Pastophores, had tired the patience of the

Emperors, his predecessors, with contradictions in more serious

matters."

"He did quite right," said the Huron, "the Pastophores should not be

supported, but constrained."

He committed several other observations to paper, which astonished old

Gordon. "What," said he to himself, "have I consumed fifty years in

instruction and not attained to the degree of natural good sense of this

child, who is almost a savage? I tremble to think I have so arduously

strengthened prejudices, and he listens to simple nature only."

The good man had some little books of criticism, some of those

periodical pamphlets wherein men, incapable of producing anything

themselves, blacken the productions of others; where a Vise insults a

Racine, and a Faidit a Fénelon. The Huron ran over some of them. "I

compare them," said he, "to certain gnats that lodge their eggs in the

nostrils of the finest horses, which do not, however, retard their

speed."

The two philosophers scarce deigned to cast their eyes upon these dregs

of literature.

They soon after went through the elements of astronomy. The Huron sent

for some globes: he was ravished at this great spectacle.