"But are not thy companions," said Babouc, "a little better informed

than thee?"

"No," said the officer, "there are none but our principal satraps that

know the true cause of our cutting one another's throats."

Babouc, struck with astonishment, introduced himself to the generals,

and soon became familiarly acquainted with them. At last one of them

said:

"The cause of this war, which for twenty years past hath desolated Asia,

sprang originally from a quarrel between a eunuch belonging to one of

the concubines of the great king of Persia, and the clerk of a factory

belonging to the great king of India. The dispute was about a claim

which amounted nearly to the thirtieth part of a daric. Our first

minister, and the representative of India, maintained the rights of

their respective masters with becoming dignity. The dispute grew warm.

Both parties sent into the field an army of a million of soldiers. This

army must be recruited every year with upwards of four hundred thousand

men. Massacres, burning of houses, ruin and devastation, are daily

multiplied; the universe suffers; and their mutual animosity still

continues. The first ministers of the two nations frequently protest

that they have nothing in view but the happiness of mankind; and every

protestation is attended with the destruction of a town, or the

desolation of a province."

Next day, on a report being spread that peace was going to be concluded,

the Persian and Indian generals made haste to come to an engagement. The

battle was long and bloody. Babouc beheld every crime, and every

abomination. He was witness to the arts and stratagems of the principal

satraps, who did all that lay in their power to expose their general to

the disgrace of a defeat. He saw officers killed by their own troops,

and soldiers stabbing their already expiring comrades in order to strip

them of a few bloody garments torn and covered with dirt. He entered the

hospitals to which they were conveying the wounded, most of whom died

through the inhuman negligence of those who were well paid by the king

of Persia to assist these unhappy men.

"Are these men," cried Babouc, "or are they wild beasts? Ah! I plainly

see that Persepolis will be destroyed."

Full of this thought, he went over to the camp of the Indians, where,

according to the prediction of the genii, he was as well received as in

that of the Persians; but he saw there the same crimes which had already

filled him with horror.

"Oh!" said he to himself, "if the angel Ithuriel should exterminate the

Persians, the angel of India must certainly destroy the Indians."

But being afterward more particularly informed of all that passed in

both armies, he heard of such acts of generosity, humanity, and

greatness of soul, as at once surprised and charmed him:

"Unaccountable mortals! as ye are," cried he, "how can you thus unite so

much baseness and so much grandeur, so many virtues and so many vices?"

Meanwhile the peace was proclaimed; and the generals of the two armies,

neither of whom had gained a complete victory, but who, for their own

private interest, had shed the blood of so many of their

fellow-creatures, went to solicit their courts for rewards. The peace

was celebrated in public writings which announced the return of virtue

and happiness to the earth.

"God be praised," said Babouc, "Persepolis will now be the abode of

spotless innocence, and will not be destroyed, as the cruel genii

intended. Let us haste without delay to the capital of Asia."

* * * * *

He entered that immense city by the ancient gate, which was entirely

barbarous, and offended the eye by its disagreeable rusticity. All that

part of the town savored of the time when it was built; for,

notwithstanding the obstinacy of men in praising ancient at the expense

of modern times, it must be owned that the first essays in every art are

rude and unfinished.

Babouc mingled in a crowd of people composed of the most ignorant, dirty

and deformed of both sexes, who were thronging with a stupid air into a

large and gloomy inclosure. By the constant hum; by the gestures of the

people; by the money which some persons gave to others for the liberty

of sitting down, he imagined that he was in a market, where chairs were

sold: but observing several women fall down on their knees with an

appearance of looking directly before them, while in reality they were

leering at the men by their sides, he was soon convinced that he was in

a temple. Shrill, hoarse, savage and discordant voices made the vault

re-echo with ill articulated sounds, that produced the same effect as

the braying of asses, when, in the plains of Pictavia, they answer the

cornet that calls them together. He stopped his ears; but he was ready

to shut his mouth and hold his nose, when he saw several laborers enter

into the temple with picks and spades, who removed a large stone, and

threw up the earth on both sides, from whence exhaled a pestilential

vapor. At last some others approached, deposited a dead body in the

opening, and replaced the stone upon it.

"What!" cried Babouc, "do these people bury their dead in the place

where they adore the deity? What! are their temples paved with

carcasses? I am no longer surprised at those pestilential diseases

that frequently depopulate Persepolis. The putrefaction of the dead, and

the infected breath of such numbers of the living, assembled and crowded

together in the same place, are sufficient to poison the whole

terrestial globe. Oh! what an abominable city is Persepolis! The angels

probably intend to destroy it in order to build a more beautiful one in

its place, and to people it with inhabitants who are more virtuous and

better singers. Providence may have its reasons for so doing; to its

disposal let us leave all future events."

[Illustration: Burying the dead in churches.--"What!" cried Babouc, "do

these people bury their dead in the place where they adore the deity?

What! are their temples paved with carcasses?"]

* * * * *

Meanwhile the sun approached his meridian height. Babouc was to dine at

the other end of the city with a lady for whom her husband, an officer

in the army, had given him some letters: but he first took several turns

in Persepolis, where he saw other temples, better built and more richly

adorned, filled with a polite audience, and resounding with harmonious

music. He beheld public fountains, which, though ill-placed, struck the

eye by their beauty; squares where the best kings that had governed

Persia seemed to breathe in bronze, and others where he heard the people

crying out:

"When shall we see our beloved master?"

He admired the magnificent bridges built over the river; the superb and

commodious quays; the palaces raised on both sides; and an immense

house, where thousands of old soldiers, covered with scars and crowned

with victory, offered their daily praises to the god of armies. At last

he entered the house of the lady, who, with a set of fashionable people,

waited his company to dinner. The house was neat and elegant; the repast

delicious; the lady young, beautiful, witty, and engaging; and the

company worthy of her; and Babouc every moment said to himself:

"The angel Ithuriel has little regard for the world, or he would never

think of destroying such a charming city."

* * * * *

In the meantime he observed that the lady, who had begun by tenderly

asking news about her husband, spoke more tenderly to a young magi,

toward the conclusion of the repast. He saw a magistrate, who, in

presence of his wife, paid his court with great vivacity to a widow,

while the indulgent widow held out her hand to a young citizen,

remarkable for his modesty and graceful appearance.

Babouc then began to fear that the genius Ithuriel had but too much

reason for destroying Persepolis. The talent he possessed of gaining

confidence let him that same day into all the secrets of the lady. She

confessed to him her affection for the young magi, and assured him that

in all the houses in Persepolis he would meet with similar examples of

attachment. Babouc concluded that such a society could not possibly

survive: that jealousy, discord, and vengeance must desolate every

house; that tears and blood must be daily shed; and, _in fine_, that

Ithuriel would do well to destroy immediately a city abandoned to

continual disasters.

* * * * *

Such were the gloomy ideas that possessed his mind, when a grave man in

a black gown appeared at the gate and humbly begged to speak to the

young magistrate. Phis stripling, without rising or taking the least

notice of the old gentleman, gave him some papers with a haughty and

careless air, and then dismissed him. Babouc asked who this man was. The

mistress of the house said to him in a low voice:

"He is one of the best advocates in the city, and hath studied the law

these fifty years. The other, who is but twenty-five years of age, and

has only been a satrap of the law for two days, hath ordered him to make

an extract of a process he is going to determine, though he has not as

yet examined it."

"This giddy youth acts wisely," said Babouc, "in asking counsel of an

old man. But why is not the old man himself the judge?"

"Thou art surely in jest," said they; "those who have grown old in

laborious and inferior posts are never raised to places of dignity. This

young man has a great post, because his father is rich; and the right of

dispensing justice is purchased here like a farm."

"O unhappy city!" cried Babouc, "this is surely the height of anarchy

and confusion. Those who have thus purchased the right of judging will

doubtless sell their judgments; nothing do I see here but an abyss of

iniquity!"

While he was thus expressing his grief and surprise, a young warrior,

who that very day had returned from the army, said to him:

"Why wouldst thou not have seats in the courts of justice offered for

sale? I myself purchased the right of braving death at the head of two

thousand men who are under my command. It has this year cost me forty

daracs of gold to lie on the earth thirty nights successively in a red

dress, and at last to receive two wounds with an arrow, of which I still

feel the smart. If I ruin myself to serve the emperor of Persia, whom I

never saw, the satrap of the law may well pay something for enjoying the

pleasure of giving audience to pleaders."

Babouc was filled with indignation, and could not help condemning a

country, where the highest posts in the army and the law were exposed

for sale. He at once concluded that the inhabitants must be entirely

ignorant of the art of war, and the laws of equity; and that, though

Ithuriel should not destroy them, they must soon be ruined by their

detestable administration.

He was still further confirmed in his bad opinion by the arrival of a

fat man, who, after saluting all the company with great familiarity,

went up to the young officer and said:

"I can only lend thee fifty thousand darics of gold; for indeed the

taxes of the empire have this year brought me in but three hundred

thousand."

Babouc inquired into the character of this man who complained of having

gained so little, and was informed that in Persepolis there were forty

plebian kings who held the empire of Persia by lease, and paid a small

tribute to the monarch.

* * * * *

After dinner he went into one of the most superb temples in the city,

and seated himself amidst a crowd of men and women, who had come thither

to pass away the time. A magi appeared in a machine elevated above the

heads of the people, and talked a long time of vice and virtue. He

divided into several parts what needed no division at all: he proved

methodically what was sufficiently clear, and he taught what everybody

knew. He threw himself into a passion with great composure, and went

away perspiring and out of breath. The assembly then awoke and imagined

they had been present at a very instructive discourse. Babouc said:

"This man had done his best to tire two or three hundred of his

fellow-citizens; but his intention was good, and there is nothing in

this that should occasion the destruction of Persepolis."

Upon leaving the assembly he was conducted to a public entertainment,

which was exhibited every day in the year. It was in a kind of great

hall, at the end of which appeared a palace. The most beautiful women of

Persepolis and the most considerable satraps were ranged in order, and

formed so fine a spectacle that Babouc at first believed that this was

all the entertainment. Two or three persons, who seemed to be kings and

queens, soon appeared in the vestibule of their palace. Their language

was very different from that of the people; it was measured, harmonious,

and sublime. Nobody slept. The audience kept a profound silence which

was only interrupted by expressions of sensibility and admiration. The

duty of kings, the love of virtue, and the dangers arising from

unbridled passions, were all described by such lively and affecting

strokes, that Babouc shed tears. He doubted not but that these heroes

and heroines, these kings and queens whom he had just heard, were the

preachers of the empire; he even purposed to engage Ithuriel to come and

hear them, being content that such a spectacle would forever reconcile

him to the city.

As soon as the entertainment was finished, he resolved to visit the

principal queen, who had recommended such pure and noble morals in the

palace. He desired to be introduced to her majesty, and was led up a

narrow staircase to an ill-furnished apartment in the second story,

where he found a woman in a mean dress, who said to him with a noble and

pathetic air:

"This employment does not afford me a sufficient maintenance. I want

money, and without money there is no comfort."

Babouc gave her an hundred darics of gold, saying:

"Had there been no other evil in the city but this, Ithuriel would have

been to blame for being so much offended."

From thence he went to spend the evening at the house of a tradesman

who dealt in magnificent trifles. He was conducted thither by a man of

sense, with whom he had contracted an acquaintance. He bought whatever

pleased his fancy; and the toy man with great politeness sold him

everything for more than it was worth. On his return home his friends

showed him how much he had been cheated. Babouc set down the name of the

tradesman in his pocket-book, in order to point him out to Ithuriel as

an object of peculiar vengeance on the day when the city should be

punished. As he was writing, he heard somebody knock at the door: this

was the toy man himself, who came to restore him his purse, which he had

left by mistake on the counter.

"How canst thou," cried Babouc, "be so generous and faithful, when thou

hast had the assurance to sell me these trifles for four times their

value?"

"There is not a tradesman," replied the merchant, "of ever so little

note in the city, that would not have returned thee thy purse; but

whoever said that I sold thee these trifles for four times their value

is greatly mistaken: I sold them for ten times their value; and this is

so true, that wert thou to sell them again in a month hence, thou

wouldst not get even this tenth part. But nothing is more just. It is

the variable fancies of men that set a value on these baubles; it is

this fancy that maintains an hundred workmen whom I employ; it is this

that gives me a fine house and a handsome chariot and horses; it is

this, in fine, that excites industry, encourages taste, promotes

circulation, and produces abundance.

"I sell the same trifles to the neighboring nation at a much higher rate

than I have sold them to thee, and by these means I am useful to the

empire."

Babouc, after having reflected a moment, erased the tradesman's name

from his tablets.

* * * * *

Babouc, not knowing as yet what to think of Persepolis, resolved to

visit the magi and the men of letters; for, as the one studied wisdom

and the other religion, he hoped that they in conjunction would obtain

mercy for the rest of the people. Accordingly, he went next morning into

a college of magi. The archimandrite confessed to him, that he had an

hundred thousand crowns a year for having taken the vow of poverty, and

that he enjoyed a very extensive empire in virtue of his vow of

humility; after which he left him with an inferior brother, who did him

the honors of the place.

While the brother was showing him the magnificence of this house of

penitence, a report was spread abroad that Babouc was come to reform all

these houses. He immediately received petitions from each of them, the

substance of which was, "Preserve us and destroy all the rest." On

hearing their apologies, all these societies were absolutely necessary:

on hearing their mutual accusations, they all deserved to be abolished.

He was surprised to find that all the members of these societies were so

extremely desirous of edifying the world, that they wished to have it

entirely under their dominion.

Soon after a little man appeared, who was a demi-magi, and who said to

him:

"I plainly see that the work is going to be accomplished: for Zerdust is

returned to earth; and the little girls prophecy, pinching and whipping

themselves. We therefore implore thy protection against the great lama."

"What!" said Babouc, "against the royal pontiff, who resides at Tibet?"

"Yes, against him, himself."

"What! you are then making war upon him, and raising armies!"

"No, but he says that man is a free agent, and we deny it. We have

written several pamphlets against him, which he never read. Hardly has

he heard our name mentioned. He has only condemned us in the same manner

as a man orders the trees in his garden to be cleared from

caterpillars."

Babouc was incensed at the folly of these men who made profession of

wisdom; and at the intrigues of those who had renounced the world; and

at the ambition, pride and avarice of such as taught humility and a

disinterested spirit: from all which he concluded that Ithuriel had good

reason to destroy the whole race.

* * * * *

On his return home, he sent for some new books to alleviate his grief,

and in order to exhilarate his spirits, invited some men of letters to

dine with him; when, like wasps attracted by a pot of honey, there came

twice as many as he desired. These parasites were equally eager to eat

and to speak; they praised two sorts of persons, the dead and

themselves; but none of their contemporaries, except the master of the

house. If any of them happened to drop a smart and witty expression, the

rest cast down their eyes and bit their lips out of mere vexation that

it had not been said by themselves. They had less dissimulation than the

magi, because they had not such grand objects of ambition. Each of them

behaved at once with all the meanness of a valet and all the dignity of

a great man. They said to each other's face the most insulting things,

which they took for strokes of wit. They had some knowledge of the

design of Babouc's commission; one of them entreated him in a low voice

to extirpate an author who had not praised him sufficiently about five

years before; another requested the ruin of a citizen who had never

laughed at his comedies; and the third demanded the destruction of the

academy because he had not been able to get admitted into it. The repast

being ended, each of them departed by himself; for in the whole crowd

there were not two men that could endure the company or conversation of

each other, except at the houses of the rich, who invited them to their

tables. Babouc thought that it would be no great loss to the public if

all these vermin were destroyed in the general catastrophe.

* * * * *

Having now got rid of these men of letters, he began to read some new

books, where he discovered the true spirit by which his guests had been

actuated. He observed with particular indignation those slanderous

gazettes, those archives of bad taste, dictated by envy, baseness, and

hunger; those ungenerous satires, where the vulture is treated with

lenity, and the dove torn in pieces; and those dry and insipid romances,

filled with characters of women to whom the author was an utter

stranger.

All these detestable writings he committed to the flames, and went to

pass the evening in walking. In this excursion he was introduced to an

old man possessed of great learning, who had not come to increase the

number of his parasites. This man of letters always fled from crowds;

he understood human nature, availed himself of his knowledge, and

imparted it to others with great discretion. Babouc told him how much he

was grieved at what he had seen and read.

"Thou hast read very despicable performances," said the man of letters;

"but in all times, in all countries, and in all kinds of literature, the

bad swarm and the good are rare. Thou hast received into thy house the

very dregs of pedantry. In all professions, those who are least worthy

of appearing are always sure to present themselves with the greatest

impudence. The truly wise live among themselves in retirement and

tranquillity; and we have still some men and some books worthy of thy

attention."

While he was thus speaking, they were joined by another man of letters;

and the conversation became so entertaining and instructive, so elevated

above vulgar prejudices, and so conformable to virtue, that Babouc

acknowledged he had never heard the like.

"These are men," said he to himself, "whom the angel Ithuriel will not

presume to touch, or he must be a merciless being indeed."

Though reconciled to men of letters, he was still enraged against the

rest of the nation.

"Thou art a stranger," said the judicious person who was talking to him;

"abuses present themselves to thy eyes in crowds, while the good, which

lies concealed, and which is even sometimes the result of these very

abuses, escapes thy observation."

He then learned that among men of letters there were some who were free

from envy; and that even among the magi themselves there were some men

of virtue. In fine, he concluded that these great bodies, which by their

mutual shocks seemed to threaten their common ruin, were at bottom very

salutary institutions; that each society of magi was a check upon its

rivals; and that though these rivals might differ in some speculative

points, they all taught the same morals, instructed the people, and

lived in subjection to the laws; not unlike to those preceptors who

watch over the heir of a family while the master of the house watches

over them. He conversed with several of these magi, and found them

possessed of exalted souls. He likewise learned that even among the

fools who pretended to make war on the great lama there had been some

men of distinguished merit; and from all these particulars he

conjectured that it might be with the manners of Persepolis as it was

with the buildings; some of which moved his pity, while others filled

him with admiration.

* * * * *

He said to the man of letters:

"I plainly see that these magi, whom I at first imagined to be so

dangerous, are in reality extremely useful; especially when a wise

government hinders them from rendering themselves too necessary; but

thou wilt at least acknowledge that your young magistrates, who purchase

the office of a judge as soon as they can mount a horse, must display in

their tribunals the most ridiculous impertinence and the most iniquitous

perverseness. It would doubtless be better to give these places

gratuitously to those old civilians who have spent their lives in the

study of the law."

The man of letters replied:

"Thou hast seen our army before thy arrival at Persepolis; thou knowest

that our young officers fight with great bravery, though they buy their

posts; perhaps thou wilt find that our young magistrates do not give

wrong decisions, though they purchase the right of dispensing justice."

He led him next day to the grand tribunal, where an affair of great

importance was to be decided. The cause was known to all the world. All

the old advocates that spoke on the subject were wavering and unsettled

in their opinions. They quoted an hundred laws, none of which were

applicable to the question. They considered the matter in a hundred

different lights, but never in its true point of view. The judges were

more quick in their decisions than the advocates in raising doubts. They

were unanimous in their sentiments. They decided justly, because they

followed the light of reason. The others reasoned falsely because they

only consulted their books.

Babouc concluded that the best things frequently arose from abuses. He

saw the same day that the riches of the receivers of the public revenue,

at which he had been so much offended, were capable of producing an

excellent effect; for the emperor having occasion for money, he found in

an hour by their means what he could not have procured in six months by

the ordinary methods. He saw that those great clouds, swelled with the

dews of the earth, restored in plentiful showers what they had thence

derived. Besides, the children of these new gentlemen, who were

frequently better educated than those of the most ancient families, were

sometimes more useful members of society; for he whose father hath been

a good accountant may easily become a good judge, a brave warrior, and

an able statesman.

* * * * *

Babouc was insensibly brought to excuse the avarice of the farmer of the

revenues, who in reality was not more avaricious than other men, and

besides was extremely necessary. He overlooked the folly of those who

ruined themselves in order to obtain a post in the law or army; a folly

that produces great magistrates and heroes. He forgave the envy of men

of letters, among whom there were some that enlightened the world; and

he was reconciled to the ambitious and intriguing magi, who were

possessed of more great virtues than little vices. But he had still many

causes of complaint. The gallantries of the ladies especially, and the

fatal effects which these must necessarily produce, filled him with fear

and terror.

As he was desirous of prying into the characters of men of every

condition, he went to wait on a minister of state; but trembled all the

way, lest some wife should be assassinated by her husband in his

presence. Having arrived at the statesman's, he was obliged to remain

two hours in the anti-chamber before his name was sent in, and two hours

more after that was done. In this interval, he resolved to recommend to

the angel Ithuriel both the minister and his insolent porters. The

anti-chamber was filled with ladies of every rank, magi of all colors,

judges, merchants, officers, and pedants, and all of them complained of

the minister. The miser and the usurer said:

"Doubtless this man plunders the provinces."

The capricious reproached him with fickleness; the voluptuary said:

"He thinks of nothing but his pleasure."

The factious hoped to see him soon ruined by a cabal; and the women

flattered themselves that they should soon have a younger minister.

Babouc heard their conversation, and could not help saying:

"This is surely a happy man; he hath all his enemies in his

anti-chamber; he crushes with his power those that envy his grandeur; he

beholds those who detest him groveling at his feet."

At length he was admitted into the presence-chamber, where he saw a

little old man bending under the weight of years and business, but still

lively and full of spirits.

The minister was pleased with Babouc, and to Babouc he appeared a man of

great merit. The conversation became interesting. The minister confessed

that he was very unhappy; that he passed for rich, while in reality he

was poor; that he was believed to be all-powerful, and yet was

constantly contradicted; that he had obliged none but a parcel of

ungrateful wretches; and that, in the course of forty years labor, he

had hardly enjoyed a moment's rest. Babouc was moved with his

misfortunes; and thought that if this man had been guilty of some

faults, and Ithuriel had a mind to banish him, he ought not to cut him

off, but to leave him in possession of his place.

* * * * *

While Babouc was talking to the minister, the beautiful lady with whom

he had dined entered hastily, her eyes and countenance showing all the

symptoms of grief and indignation. She burst into reproaches against the

statesman; she shed tears; she complained bitterly that her husband had

been refused a place to which his birth allowed him to aspire, and which

he had fully merited by his wounds and his service. She expressed

herself with such force; she uttered her complaints with such a graceful

air; she overthrew objections with so much address, and enforced her

arguments with so much eloquence, that she did not leave the chamber

till she had made her husband's fortune.

Babouc gave her his hand, and said: "Is it possible, madam, that thou

canst take so much pains to serve a man whom thou dost not love, and

from whom thou hast everything to fear?"

"A man whom I do not love!" cried she "know, sir, that my husband is the

best friend I have in the world; and there is nothing I would not

sacrifice for him, except my own inclinations."

The lady conducted Babouc to her own house. The husband, who had at last

arrived overwhelmed with grief, received his wife with transports of joy

and gratitude. He embraced by turns his wife, the little magi, and

Babouc. Wit, harmony, cheerfulness, and all the graces, embellished the

repast.

Babouc, though a Scythian, and sent by a geni, found, that should he

continue much longer in Persepolis, he would forget even the angel

Ithuriel. He began to grow fond of a city, the inhabitants of which were

polite, affable, and beneficent, though fickle, slanderous, and vain. He

was much afraid that Persepolis would be condemned. He was even afraid

to give in his account.

This, however, he did in the following manner. He caused a little

statue, composed of different metals, of earth, and stones, the most

precious and the most vile, to be cast by one of the best founders in

the city, and carried it to Ithuriel.

"Wilt thou break," said he, "this pretty statue, because it is not

wholly composed of gold and diamonds?"

Ithuriel immediately understood his meaning, and resolved to think no

more of punishing Persepolis, but to leave "The world as it goes."

"For," said he, "if all is not well, all is passable."

Thus Persepolis was suffered to remain; nor did Babouc complain like

Jonas, who, [according to the scriptures,] was highly incensed at the

preservation of Nineveh.

[1] When Babouc visited the college of the magi, "the archimandrite [the

chief of the monks] confessed to him, that he had an hundred thousand

crowns a year for having taken the vow of poverty, and that he enjoyed a

very extensive empire in virtue of his vow of humility." (See page

365.)--E.

[Illustration: The scales of justice.]

THE BLACK AND THE WHITE.

[Illustration: Procession of Souls to Judgment with Good and Evil

Genii. From Frieze in the Grotto del Cardinale.]

The adventure of the youthful Rustan is generally known throughout the

whole province of Candahar. He was the only son of a Mirza of that

country. The title of Mirza there is much the same as that of Marquis

among us, or that of Baron among the Germans. The mirza, his father, had

a handsome fortune. Young Rustan was to be married to a mirzasse, or

young lady of his own rank. The two families earnestly desired their

union. Rustan was to become the comfort of his parents, to make his wife

happy, and to live blest in her possession.

But he had unfortunately seen the princess of Cachemire at the fair of

Kaboul, which is the most considerable fair in the world, and much more

frequented than those of Bassora and Astracan. The occasion that brought

the old prince of Cachemire to the fair with his daughter was as

follows:

He had lost the two most precious curiosities of his treasury; one of

them was a diamond as thick as a man's thumb, upon which the figure of

his daughter was engraved by an art which was then possessed by the

Indians, and has since been lost; the other was a javelin, which went of

itself wherever its owner thought proper to send it. This is nothing

very extraordinary among us, but it was thought so at Cachemire.

A fakir belonging to his highness stole these two curiosities; he

carried them to the princess:

"Keep these two curiosities with the utmost care; your destiny depends

upon them;" said he, and then departed.

The Duke of Cachemire, in despair, resolved to visit the fair of Kaboul,

in order to see whether there might not, among the merchants who go

thither from all quarters of the world, be some one possessed of his

diamond and his weapon. The princess carried his diamond well fastened

to her girdle; but the javelin, which she could not so easily hide, she

had carefully locked up at Cachemire, in a large chest.

Rustan and she saw each other at Kaboul. They loved one another with all

the sincerity of persons of their age, and all the tenderness of

affection natural to those of their country. The princess gave Rustan

her diamond as a pledge of her love, and he promised at his departure to

go incognito to Cachemire, in order to pay her a visit.

The young mirza had two favorites, who served him as secretaries,

grooms, stewards, and valets de chambre. The name of one was Topaz; he

was handsome, well-shaped, fair as a Circassian beauty, as mild and

ready to serve as an Armenian, and as wise as a Gueber. The name of the

other was Ebene; he was a very beautiful negro, more active and

industrious than Topaz, and one that thought nothing difficult. The

young mirza communicated his intention of traveling to these. Topaz

endeavored to dissuade him from it, with the circumspect zeal of a

servant who was unwilling to offend him. He represented to him the great

danger to which he exposed himself. He asked him how he could leave two

families in despair? how he could pierce the hearts of his parents? He

shook the resolution of Rustan; but Ebene confirmed it anew, and

obviated all his objections.

The young man was not furnished with money to defray the charge of so

long a voyage. The prudent Topaz would not have lent him any; Ebene

supplied him. He with great address stole his master's diamond, made a

false one exactly like it which he put in its place, and pledged the

true one to an Armenian for several thousand rupees.

As soon as the marquis possessed these rupees, all things were in

readiness for his departure. An elephant was loaded with his baggage.

His attendants mounted on horseback.

Topaz said to his master: "I have taken the liberty to expostulate with

you upon your enterprise, but after expostulating it is my duty to obey.

I am devoted to you, I love you, I will follow you to the extremity of

the earth; but let us by the way consult the oracle that is but two

parasongs distant from here."

Rustan consented. The answer returned by the oracle, was:

"If you go to the east you will be at the west."

Rustan could not guess the meaning of this answer. Topaz maintained that

it boded no good. Ebene, always complaisant to his master, persuaded him

that it was highly favorable.

There was another oracle at Kaboul; they went to it. The oracle of

Kaboul made answer in these words:

"If you possess, you will cease to possess; if you are conqueror, you

will not conquer, if you are Rustan, you will cease to be so."

This oracle seemed still more unintelligible than the former.

"Take care of yourself," said Topaz.

"Fear nothing," said Ebene; and this minister, as may well be imagined,

was always thought in the right by his master, whose passions and hopes

he encouraged. Having left Kaboul, they passed through a vast forest.

They seated themselves upon the grass in order to take a repast, and

left their horses grazing. The attendants were preparing to unload the

elephant which carried the dinner, the table, cloth, plates, &c., when,

all on a sudden, Topaz and Ebene were perceived by the little caravan to

be missing. They were called, the forest resounded with the names of

Topaz and Ebene; the lackeys seek them on every side, and fill the

forest with their cries; they return without having seen anything, and

without having received any answer.

"We have," said they to Rustan, "found nothing but a vulture that fought

with an eagle, and stripped it of all its feathers."

The mention of this combat excited the curiosity of Rustan; he went on

foot to the place; he perceived neither vulture nor eagle; but he saw

his elephant, which was still loaded with baggage, attacked by a huge

rhinoceros: one struck with its horn, the other with its proboscis. The

rhinoceros desisted upon seeing Rustan; his elephant was brought back,

but his horses were not to be found.

"Strange things happen in forests to travelers," cried Rustan.

The servants were in great consternation, and the master in despair from

having at once lost his horse, his dear negro, and the wise Topaz, for

whom he still entertained a friendship, though always differing from him

in opinion.

The hope of being soon at the feet of the beautiful princess still

consoled the mirza, who, journeying on, now met with a huge streaked

ass, which a vigorous two-handed country clown beat with an oaken

cudgel. The asses of this sort are extremely beautiful, very scarce, and

beyond comparison swift in running. The ass resented the repeated blows

of the clown by kicks which might have rooted up an oak. The young

mirza, as was reasonable, took upon him the defence of the ass, which

was a charming creature, the clown betook himself to flight, crying to

the ass, "You shall pay for this."

The ass thanked her deliverer in her own language, and approaching him,

permitted his caresses and caressed him in her turn. After dinner,

Rustan mounted her, and took the road to Cachemire with his servants,

who followed him, some on foot and some upon the elephant. Scarce had he

mounted his ass, when that animal turned toward Kaboul, instead of

proceeding to Cachemire. It was to no purpose for her master to turn the

bridle, to kick, to press the sides of the beast with his knees, to

spur, to slacken the bridle, to pull toward him, to whip both on the

right and the left. The obstinate animal persisted in running toward

Kaboul.

Rustan in despair fretted and raved, when he met with a dealer in

camels, who said to him:

"Master, you have there a very malicious beast, that carries you where

you do not choose to go. If you will give it to me, I will give you the

choice of four of my camels."

Rustan thanked providence for having thrown so good a bargain in the

way.

"Topaz was very much in the wrong," said he, "to tell me that my journey

would prove unprosperous."

He mounts the handsome camel, the others follow; he rejoins his caravan

and fancies himself on the road to happiness.

Scarce had he journeyed four parasongs, when he was stopped by a deep,

broad, and impetuous torrent, which rolled over huge rocks white with

foam. The two banks were frightful precipices which dazzled the sight

and made the blood run cold. To pass was impracticable; to go to the

right or to the left was impossible.

"I am beginning to be afraid," said Rustan, "that Topaz was in the right

in blaming my journey, and that I was in the wrong in undertaking it. If

he were still here he might give me good advice. If I had Ebene with me,

he would comfort me and find expedients; but everything fails me."

This perplexity was increased by the consternation of his attendants.

The night was dark, and they passed it in lamentations. At last fatigue

and dejection made the amorous traveler fall asleep. He awoke at

day-break, and saw, spanning the torrent, a beautiful marble bridge

which reached from shore to shore.

Nothing was heard but exclamations, cries of astonishment and joy. Is it

possible? Is this a dream? What a prodigy is this! What an enchantment!

Shall we venture to pass? The whole company kneeled, rose up, went to

the bridge, kissed the ground, looked up to heaven, stretched out their

hands, set their feet on it with trembling, went to and fro, fell into

ecstasies; and Rustan said:

"At last heaven favors me. Topaz did not know what he was saying. The

oracles were favorable to me. Ebene was in the right, but why is he not

here?"

Scarce had the company got beyond the torrent, when the bridge sunk into

the water with a prodigious noise.

"So much the better, so much the better," cried Rustan. "Praised be God,

blessed be heaven; it would not have me return to my country, where I

should be nothing more than a gentleman. The intention of heaven is,

that I should wed her I love. I shall become prince of Cachemire; thus

in possessing my mistress I shall cease to possess my little marquisate

at Candahar. 'I shall be Rustan, and I shall not be Rustan,' because I

shall have become a great prince: thus is a great part of the oracle

clearly explained in my favor. The rest will be explained in the same

manner. I am very happy. But why is not Ebene with me? I regret him a

thousand times more than Topaz."

He proceeded a few parasongs farther with the greatest alacrity

imaginable; but, at the close of day, a chain of mountains more rugged

than a counterscarp, and higher than the tower of Babel would have been

had it been finished, stopped the passage of the caravan, which was

again seized with dread.

All the company cried out: "It is the will of God that we perish here!

he broke the bridge merely to take from us all hopes of returning; he

raised the mountain for no other reason than to deprive us of all means

of advancing. Oh, Rustan! oh, unhappy marquis! we shall never see

Cachemire; we shall never return to the land of Candahar."

The most poignant anguish, the most insupportable dejection, succeeded

in the soul of Rustan, to the immoderate joy which he had felt, to the

hopes with which he had intoxicated himself. He was no longer disposed

to interpret the prophecies in his favor.

"Oh, heavens! oh, God of my fathers!" said he, "must I then lose my

friend Topaz!"

As he pronounced these words, fetching deep sighs and shedding tears in

the midst of his disconsolate followers, the base of the mountain

opened, a long gallery appeared to the dazzled eyes in a vault lighted

with a hundred thousand torches. Rustan immediately begins to exult, and

his people to throw themselves upon their knees and to fall upon their

backs in astonishment, and cry out, "A miracle! a miracle! Rustan is the

favorite of Witsnow, the well-beloved of Brahma. He will become the

master of mankind."

Rustan believed it; he was quite beside himself; he was raised above

himself.

"Alas, Ebene," said he, "my dear Ebene, where are you? Why are you not

witness of all these wonders? How did I lose you? Beauteous princess of

Cachemire, when shall I again behold your charms!"

He advances with his attendants, his elephants, and his camels, under

the hollow of the mountain; at the end of which he enters into a meadow

enameled with flowers and encompassed with rivulets. At the extremity of

the meadows are walks of trees to the end of which the eye cannot reach,

and at the end of these alleys is a river, on the sides of which are a

thousand pleasure houses with delicious gardens. He everywhere hears

concerts of vocal and instrumental music; he sees dances; he makes haste

to go upon one of the bridges of the river; he asks the first man he

meets what fine country that is?

He whom he addressed himself to answered:

"You are in the province of Cachemire; you see the inhabitants immersed

in joy and pleasure. We celebrate the marriage of our beauteous

princess, who is going to be married to the lord Barbabou, to whom her

father promised her. May God perpetuate their felicity!"

At these words Rustan fainted away, and the Cachemirian lord thought he

was troubled with the falling sickness. He caused him to be carried to

his house, where he remained a long time insensible. He sent in search

of the two most able physicians in that part of the country. They felt

the patient's pulse, who having somewhat recovered his spirits, sobbed,

rolled his eyes, and cried from time to time, "Topaz, Topaz, you were

entirely in the right!"

One of the two physicians said to the Cachemirian lord:

"I perceive, by this young man's accent, that he is from Candahar, and

that the air of this country is hurtful to him. He must be sent home. I

perceive by his eyes that he has lost his senses. Entrust me with him, I

will carry him back to his own country, and cure him."

The other physician maintained that grief was his only disorder; and

that it was proper to carry him to the wedding of the princess, and make

him dance. Whilst they were in consultation, the patient recovered his

health. The two physicians were dismissed, and Rustan remained along

with his host.

"My lord," said he, "I ask your pardon for having been so free as to

faint in your presence. I know it to be a breach of politeness. I

entreat you to accept of my elephant, as an acknowledgment of the

kindness you have shown me."

He then related to him all his adventure, taking particular care to

conceal from him the occasion of his journey.

"But, in the name of Witsnow and Brahma," said he to him, "tell me who

is this happy Barbabou, who is to marry the princess of Cachemire? Why

has her father chosen him for his son-in-law, and why has the princess

accepted of him for an husband?"

"Sir," answered the Cachemirian, "the princess has by no means accepted

of Barbabou. She is, on the contrary, in tears, whilst the whole

province joyfully celebrates her marriage. She has shut herself up in a

tower of her palace. She does not choose to see any of the rejoicings

made upon the occasion."

Rustan, at hearing this, perceived himself revived. The bloom of his

complexion, which grief had caused to fade, appeared again upon his

countenance.

"Tell me, I entreat you," continued he, "why the prince of Cachemire is

obstinately bent upon giving his daughter to lord Barbabou whom she does

not love?"

"This is the fact," answered the Cachemirian. "Do you know that our

august prince lost a large diamond and a javelin which he considered as

of great value?"

"Ah! I very well know that," said Rustan.

"Know then," said his host, "that our prince, being in despair at not

having heard of his two precious curiosities, after having caused them

to be sought for all over the world, promised his daughter to whoever

should bring him either the one or the other. A lord Barbabou came who

had the diamond, and he is to marry the princess to-morrow."

Rustan turned pale, stammered out a compliment, took leave of his host,

and galloped upon his dromedary to the capital city, where the ceremony

was to be performed. He arrives at the palace of the prince, he tells

him he has something of importance to communicate to him, he demands an

audience. He is told that the prince is taken up with the preparations

for the wedding.

"It is for that very reason," said he, "that I am desirous of speaking

to him." Such is his importunity, that he is at last admitted.

"Prince," said he, "may God crown all your days with glory and

magnificence! Your son-in-law is a knave."

"What! a knave! how dare you speak in such terms? Is that a proper way

of speaking to a duke of Cachemire of a son-in-law of whom he has made

choice?"

"Yes, he is a knave," continued Rustan; "and to prove it to your

highness, I have brought you back your diamond."

The duke, surprised at what he heard, compared the two diamonds; and as

he was no judge of precious stones, he could not determine which was the

true one.

"Here are two diamonds," said he, "and I have but one daughter, I am in

a strange perplexity."

He sent for Harbabou, and asked him if he had not imposed upon him,

Harbabou swore he had bought his diamond from an Armenian; the other did

not tell him who he had his from; but he proposed an expedient, which

was that he should engage his rival in single combat.

"It is not enough for your son-in-law to give a diamond," said he, "he

should also give proofs of valor. Do not you think it just that he who

kills his rival should marry the princess?"

"Undoubtedly," answered the prince. "It will be a fine sight for the

court. Fight directly. The conqueror shall take the arms of the

conquered according to the customs of Cachemire, and he shall marry my

daughter."

The two pretenders to the hand of the princess go down into the court.

Upon the stairs there was a jay and a raven. The raven cried, "Fight,

fight." The jay cried, "Don't fight."

This made the prince laugh; the two rivals scarce took any notice of it.

They begin the combat. All the courtiers made a circle round them. The

princess, who kept herself constantly shut up in her tower, did not

choose to behold this sight. She never dreampt that her lover was at

Cachemire, and she hated Barbabou to such a degree, that she could not

bear the sight of him. The combat had the happiest result imaginable.

Barbabou was killed outright; and this greatly rejoiced the people,

because he was ugly and Rustan was very handsome. The favor of the

public is almost always determined by this circumstance.

The conqueror put on the coat of mail, scarf, and the casque of the

conquered, and came, followed by the whole court, to present himself

under the windows of his mistress. The multitude cried aloud: "Beautiful

princess, come and see your handsome lover, who has killed his ugly

rival." These words were re-echoed by her women. The princess unluckily

looked out of the window, and seeing the armor of a man she hated, she

ran like one frantic to her strong box and took out the fatal javelin,

which flew to pierce Rustan, notwithstanding his cuirass. He cried out

loudly, and at this cry the princess thought she again knew the voice of

her unhappy lover.

She ran down stairs, with her hair disheveled, and death in her eyes as

well as her heart. Rustan had already fallen, all bloody, into the arms

of his attendants. She sees him. Oh, moment! oh, sight! oh, discovery of

inexpressible grief, tenderness and horror! She throws herself upon him,

and embraces him.

"You receive," said she, "the first and last kisses of your mistress and

your murderer."

She pulls the dart from the wound, plunges it in her heart, and dies

upon the body of the lover whom she adores. The father, terrified, in

despair, and ready to die like his daughter, tries in vain to bring her

to life. She was no more. He curses the fatal dart, breaks it to pieces,

throws away the two fatal diamonds; and whilst he prepared the funeral

of his daughter instead of her marriage, he caused Rustan, who weltered

in his blood and had still some remains of life, to be carried to his

palace.

He was put into bed. The first objects he saw on each side of his

deathbed were Topaz and Ebene. This surprise made him in some degree

recover his strength.

"Cruel men," said he, "why did you abandon me? Perhaps the princess

would still be alive if you had been with the unhappy Rustan."

"I have not forsaken you a moment," said Topaz.

"I have always been with you," said Ebene.

"Ah! what do you say? why do you insult me in my last moments?" answered

Rustan, with a languishing voice.

"You may believe me," said Topaz. "You know I never approved of this

fatal journey, the dreadful consequences of which I foresaw. I was the

eagle that fought with the vulture and stripped it of its feathers; I

was the elephant that carried away the baggage, in order to force you to

return to your own country; I was the streaked ass that carried you,

whether you would or no, to your father; it was I that made your horses

go astray; it was I that caused the torrent that prevented your passage;

it was I that raised the mountain which stopped up a road so fatal to

you; I was the physician that advised you to return to your own country;

I was the jay that cried to you not to fight."

"And I," said Ebene, "was the vulture that he stripped of his feathers,

the rhinoceros who gave him a hundred strokes with the horn, the clown

that beat the streaked ass, the merchant who made you a present of

camels to hasten you to your destruction; I dug the cavern that you

crossed, I am the physician that encouraged you to walk, the raven that

cried out to you to combat."

"Alas!" said Topaz, "remember the oracles: 'If you go to the east you

will be at the west.'"

"Yes," said Ebene, "here the dead are buried with their faces turned to

the west. The oracle was plain enough, though you did not understand it.

You possessed, and you did not possess; for though you had the diamond,

it was a false one, and you did not know it. You are conqueror, and you

die; you are Rustan, and you cease to be so: all has been accomplished."

Whilst he spoke thus, four white wings covered the body of Topaz, and

four black ones that of Ebene.

"What do I see?" cried Rustan.

Topaz and Ebene answered together: "You see your two geniuses."

"Good gentlemen," cried the unhappy Rustan, "how came you to meddle; and

what occasion had a poor man for two geniuses?"

"It is a law," answered Topaz; "every man has too geniuses. Plato was

the first man who said so, and others have repeated it after him. You

see that nothing can be more true. I who now speak to you, am your good

genius. I was charged to watch over you to the last moment of your life.

Of this task I have faithfully acquitted myself."

"But," said the dying man, "if your business was to serve me, I am of a

nature much superior to yours. And then how can you have the assurance

to say you are my good genius, since you have suffered me to be deceived

in everything I have undertaken, and since you suffer both my mistress

and me to die miserably?"

"Alas!" said Topaz, "it was your destiny."

"If destiny does all," answered the dying man, "what is a genius good

for? And you, Ebene, with your four black wings, you are, doubtless, my

evil genius."

"You have hit it," answered Ebene.

"Then I suppose you were the evil genius of my princess likewise," said

Rustan.

"No," replied Ebene, "she had an evil genius of her own, and I seconded

him perfectly."

"Ah! cursed Ebene," said Rustan, "if you are so malicious, you don't

belong to the same master with Topaz: you have been formed by two

different principles, one of which is by nature good, the other evil."

"That does not follow," said Ebene, "this is a very knotty point."

"It is not possible," answered the dying man, "that a benevolent being

could create so destructive a genius."

"Possible or not possible," replied the genius, "the thing is just as I

say."

"Alas!" said Topaz, "my poor unfortunate friend, don't you see that that

rogue is so malicious as to encourage you to dispute, in order to

inflame your blood and hasten your death?"

"Get you gone," said the melancholy Rustan, "I am not much better

satisfied with you than with him. He at least acknowledges that it was

his intention to hurt me; and you, who pretended to defend me, have done

me no service at all."

"I am very sorry for it," said the good genius.

"And I too," said the dying man; "there is something at the bottom of

all this which I cannot comprehend."

"Nor I neither," said the good genius.

"I shall know the truth of the matter in a moment," said Rustan. "We

shall see that," said Topaz.

The whole scene then vanished. Rustan again found himself in the house

of his father, which he had not quitted, and in his bed, where he had

slept an hour.

He awakes in astonishment, perspiring all over, and quite wild. He rubs

himself, he calls, he rings the bell. His valet de chambre, Topaz, runs

in, in his nightcap, and yawning.

"Am I dead or alive?" cried out Rustan, "shall the beauteous princess of

Cachemire escape?

"Does your lordship rave?" answered Topaz, coldly.

"Ah!" cried Rustan, "what then is become of this barbarous Ebene, with

his four black wings! It is he that makes me die by so cruel a death."

"My lord," answered Topaz, "I left him snoring up stairs. Would you have

me bid him come down?"

"The villain," said Rustan, "has persecuted me for six months together.

It was he who carried me to the fatal fair of Kaboul; it is he that

cheated me of the diamond which the princess presented me; he is the

sole cause of my journey, of the death of my princess, and of the wound

with a javelin, of which I die in the flower of my age."

"Take heart," said Topaz, "you were never at Kaboul; there is no

princess of Cachemire; her father never had any children but two boys,

who are now at college; you never had a diamond; the princess cannot be

dead, because she never was born; and you are in perfect health."

"What! is it not then true that you attended me whilst dying, and in the

bed of the prince of Cachemire? Did you not acknowledge to me, that, in

order to preserve me from so many dangers, you were an eagle, an

elephant, a streaked ass, a physician, and a jay?"

"My lord, you have dreampt all this," answered Topaz; "our ideas are no

more of our own creating whilst we are asleep than whilst we are awake.

God has thought proper that this train of ideas should pass in your

head, most probably to convey some instruction to you, of which you may

make a good use."

"You make a jest of me," replied Rustan, "how long have I slept?"

"My lord," said Topaz, "you have not yet slept an hour."

"Cursed reasoner," returned Rustan, "how is it possible that I could be

in the space of an hour at the fair of Kaboul six months ago; that I

could have returned from thence, have traveled to Cachemire, and that

Barbabou, the princess, and I, should have died?"

"My lord," said Topaz, "nothing can be more easy and more common; and

you might have traveled around the world, and have met with a great many

more adventures in much less time. Is it not true that you can, in an

hour's time, read the abridgment of the Persian history, written by

Zoroaster? yet this abridgment contains eight hundred thousand years.

All these events pass before your eyes one after another, in an hour's

time. Now you must acknowledge, that it is as easy to Brahma to confine

them to the space of an hour, as to extend them to the space of eight

hundred thousand years. It is exactly the same thing. Imagine to

yourself that time turns upon a wheel whose diameter is infinite. Under

this vast wheel is a numerous multitude of wheels one within another.

That in the centre is imperceptible, and goes round an infinite number

of times, whilst the great wheel performs but one revolution. It is

evident that all the events which have happened from the beginning of

the world, to its end, might have happened in much less time than the

hundred thousandth part of a second; and one may even go so far as to

assert that the thing is so."

"I cannot comprehend all this," said Rustan.

"If you want information," said Topaz, "I have a parrot that will easily

explain it to you. He was born some time before the deluge; he has been

in the ark; he has seen a great deal; yet he is but a year and a half

old. He will relate to you his history, which is extremely interesting."

"Go fetch your parrot," said Rustan, "it will amuse me till I again find

myself disposed to sleep."

"It is with my sister, the nun," said Topaz: "I will go and fetch it. It

will please you; its memory is faithful, it relates in a simple manner,

without endeavoring to show wit at every turn."

"So much the better," said Rustan, "I like that manner of telling

stories."

The parrot being brought to him, spoke in this manner:

* * * * *

N.B. Mademoiselle Catherine Vade could never find the history of the

parrot in the commonplace-book of her late cousin Anthony Vade, author

of that tale. This is a great misfortune, considering what age that

parrot lived in.

[Illustration: The parrot.]

[Illustration: Young Memnon.[1]]

MEMNON THE PHILOSOPHER.

Memnon one day took it into his head to become a great philosopher. "To

be perfectly happy," said he to himself, "I have nothing to do but to

divest myself entirely of passions; and nothing is more easy, as

everybody knows. In the first place, I will never be in love; for, when

I see a beautiful woman, I will say to myself, these cheeks will one day

grow sallow and wrinkled, these eyes be encircled with vermilion, that

bosom become lean and emaciated, that head bald and palsied. Now I have

only to consider her at present in imagination as she will afterwards

appear in reality, and certainly a fair face will never turn my head.

"In the second place, I shall always be temperate. It will be in vain to

tempt me with good cheer, with delicious wines, or the charms of

society, I will have only to figure to myself the consequences of

excess--an aching head, a loathing stomach, the loss of reason, of

health, and of time: I will then only eat to supply the waste of nature;

my health will be always equal, my ideas pure and luminous. All this is

so easy that there is no merit in accomplishing it."

"But," says Memnon, "I must think a little of how I am to regulate my

fortune: why, my desires are moderate, my wealth is securely placed with

the Receiver General of the finances of Nineveh. I have wherewithal to

live independent; and that is the greatest of blessings. I shall never

be under the cruel necessity of dancing attendance at court. I will

never envy any one, and nobody will envy me. Still all this is easy. I

have friends, and I will preserve them, for we shall never have any

difference. I will never take amiss anything they may say or do; and

they will behave in the same way to me. There is no difficulty in all

this."

Having thus laid this little plan of philosophy in his closet, Memnon

put his head out of the window. He saw two women walking under the

plane-trees near his house. The one was old, and appeared quite at her

ease. The other was young, handsome, and seemingly much agitated. She

sighed, she wept, and seemed on that account still more beautiful. Our

philosopher was touched, not, to be sure, with the lady, (he was too

much determined not to feel any uneasiness of that kind) but with the

distress which he saw her in. He came down stairs, and accosted the

young Ninevite, designing to console her with philosophy. That lovely

person related to him, with an air of the greatest simplicity, and in

the most affecting manner, the injuries she sustained from an imaginary

uncle--with what art he had deprived her of some imaginary property, and

of the violence which she pretended to dread from him.

"You appear to me," said she, "a man of such wisdom, that if you will

come to my house and examine into my affairs, I am persuaded you will be

able to relieve me from the cruel embarrassment I am at present involved

in."

Memnon did not hesitate to follow her, to examine her affairs

philosophically, and to give her sound counsel.

The afflicted lady led him into a perfumed chamber, and politely made

him sit down with her on a large sofa, where they both placed themselves

opposite to each other, in the attitude of conversation; the one eager

in telling her story, the other listening with devout attention. The

lady spoke with downcast eyes, whence there sometimes fell a tear, and

which, as she now and then ventured to raise them, always met those of

the sage Memnon. Their discourse was full of tenderness, which redoubled

as often as their eyes met. Memnon took her affairs exceedingly to

heart, and felt himself every instant more and more inclined to oblige a

person so virtuous and so unhappy. By degrees, in the warmth of

conversation they drew nearer. Memnon counseled her with great wisdom,

and gave her most tender advice.

At this interesting moment, as may easily be imagined, who should come

in but the uncle. He was armed from head to foot, and the first thing he

said was, that he would immediately sacrifice, as was just, both Memnon

and his niece. The latter, who made her escape, knew that he was

disposed to pardon, provided a good round sum were offered to him.

Memnon was obliged to purchase his safety with all he had about him. In

those days people were happy in getting so easily quit. America was not

then discovered, and distressed ladies were not then so dangerous as

they are now.

Memnon, covered with shame and confusion, got home to his own house. He

there found a card inviting him to dinner with some of his intimate

friends.

"If I remain at home alone," said he, "I shall have my mind so occupied

with this vexatious adventure, that I shall not be able to eat a bit,

and I shall bring upon myself some disease. It will therefore be prudent

in me to go to my intimate friends and partake with them of a frugal

repast. I shall forget, in the sweets of their society, the folly I have

this morning been guilty of."

Accordingly he attends the meeting; he is discovered to be uneasy at

something, and he is urged to drink and banish care.

"A little wine, drank in moderation, comforts the heart of God and man:"

so reasoned Memnon the philosopher, and he became intoxicated. After the

repast, play is proposed.

"A little play, with one's intimate friends, is a harmless pastime." He

plays and loses all in his purse, and four times as much on his word. A

dispute arises on some circumstance in the game, and the disputants grow

warm. One of his intimate friends throws a dice-box at his head, and

strikes out one of his eyes. The philosopher Memnon is carried home

drunk and penniless, with the loss of an eye.

He sleeps out his debauch, and, when his head becomes clear, he sends

his servant to the Receiver General of the finances of Nineveh, to draw

a little money to pay his debt of honor to his intimate friends. The

servant returns and informs him, that the Receiver General had that

morning been declared a fraudulent bankrupt, and that by this means an

hundred families are reduced to poverty and despair. Memnon, almost

beside himself, puts a plaster on his eye and a petition in his pocket,

and goes to court to solicit justice from the king against the bankrupt.

In the saloon he meets a number of ladies, all in the highest spirits,

and sailing along with hoops four-and-twenty feet in circumference. One

of them, slightly acquainted with him, eyed him askance, and cried

aloud: "Ah! what a horrid monster!"

Another, who was better acquainted with him, thus accosts him:

"Good-morrow, Mr. Memnon, I hope you are well, Mr. Memnon. La! Mr.

Memnon, how did you lose your eye?" and turning upon her heel, she

tripped unconcernedly away.

Memnon hid himself in a corner, and waited for the moment when he could

throw himself at the feet of the monarch. That moment at last arrived.

Three times he kissed the earth, and presented his petition. His

gracious majesty received him very favorably, and referred the paper to

one of his satraps. The satrap takes Memnon aside, and says to him with

a haughty air and satirical grin:

"Hark ye, you fellow with the one eye, you must be a comical dog indeed,

to address yourself to the king rather than to me: and still more so, to

dare to demand justice against an honest bankrupt, whom I honor with my

protection, and who is also a nephew to the waiting-maid of my mistress.

Proceed no further in this business, my good friend, if you wish to

preserve the eye you have left."

Memnon having thus, in his closet, resolved to renounce women, the

excess of the table, play, and quarreling, but especially having

determined never to go to court, had been in the short space of

four-and-twenty hours duped and robbed by a gentle dame, had got drunk,

had gamed, had been engaged in a quarrel, had got his eye knocked out,

and had been at court, where he was sneered at and insulted.

Petrified with astonishment, and his heart broken with grief, Memnon

returns homeward in despair. As he was about to enter his house, he is

repulsed by a number of officers who are carrying off his furniture for

the benefit of his creditors. He falls down almost lifeless under a

plane-tree. There he finds the fair dame of the morning, who was walking

with her dear uncle; and both set up a loud laugh on seeing Memnon with

his plaster. The night approached, and Memnon made his bed on some straw

near the walls of his house. Here the ague seized him, and he fell

asleep in one of the fits, when a celestial spirit appeared to him in a

dream.

It was all resplendent with light: it had six beautiful wings, but

neither feet, nor head, and could be likened to nothing.

"What art thou?" said Memnon.

"Thy good genius," replied the spirit.

"Restore me then my eye, my health, my fortune, my reason," said Memnon;

and he related how he had lost them all in one day. "These are

adventures which never happen to us in the world we inhabit," said the

spirit.

"And what world do you inhabit?" said the man of affliction.

"My native country," replied the other, "is five hundred millions of

leagues distant from the sun, in a little star near Sirius, which you

see from hence."

"Charming country!" said Memnon. "And are there indeed with you no jades

to dupe a poor devil, no intimate friends that win his money and knock

out an eye for him, no fraudulent bankrupts, no satraps, that make a

jest of you while they refuse you justice?"

"No," said the inhabitant of the star, "we have nothing of the kind. We

are never duped by women, because we have none among us; we never commit

excesses at table, because we neither eat nor drink; we have no

bankrupts, because with us there is neither silver nor gold; our eyes

cannot be knocked out, because we have not bodies in the form of yours;

and satraps never do us injustice, because in our world we are all

equal."

"Pray my lord," said Memnen, "without women and without eating how do

you spend your time?"

"In watching, over the other worlds that are entrusted to us; and I am

now come to give you consolation."

"Alas!" replied Memnon, "why did you not come yesterday to hinder me

from committing so many indiscretions?"

"I was with your elder brother Hassan," said the celestial being. "He is

still more to be pitied than you are. His most gracious majesty, the

sultan of the Indies, in whose court he has the honor to serve, has

caused both his eyes to be put out for some small indiscretion; and he

is now in a dungeon, his hands and feet loaded with chains."

"'Tis a happy thing, truly," said Memnon, "to have a good genius in

one's family, when out of two brothers, one is blind of an eye, the

other blind of both; one stretched upon straw, the other in a dungeon."

"Your fate will soon change," said the spirit of the star. "It is true

you will never recover your eye; but, except that, you may be

sufficiently happy if you never again take it into your head to be a

perfect philosopher."

"Is it then impossible?" said Memnon.

"As impossible as to be perfectly wise, perfectly strong, perfectly

powerful, perfectly happy. We ourselves are very far from it. There is a

world indeed where all this takes place; but, in the hundred thousand

millions of worlds dispersed over the regions of space, everything goes

on by degrees. There is less philosophy and less enjoyment in the second

than in the first, less in the third than in the second, and so forth

till the last in the scale, where all are completely fools."

"I am afraid," said Memnon, "that our little terraqueous globe here is

the madhouse of those hundred thousand millions of worlds, of which your

lordship does me the honor to speak."

"Not quite," said the spirit, "but very nearly; everything must be in

its proper place."

"But are those poets and philosophers wrong, then, who tell us that

everything is for the best?"

"No, they are right, when we consider things in relation to the

gradation of the whole universe."

"Oh! I shall never believe it till I recover my eye again," said the

unfortunate Memnon.

[1] The above engraving from Chamber's Guide to the British Museum,

represents a head and bust of Memnon, "formed of a single block of fine

syene granite, one piece of which is red, while the rest is blue or

grayish. The sculptor, with admirable taste, used the red part for the

head, and the darker part for the breast. Although the statue has all

the characteristics of Egyptian sculpture--the projecting eyes, thick

lips, high ears, and small chin--yet such is the beauty of the

execution, so much sweetness and mildness is there in the expression of

the countenance, that the effect is, on the whole, extremely pleasing.

Here, in short, we have the masterpiece of some Egyptian sculptor of

superior genius, whose name has perished. Here also, if we are to accept

the statue as a genuine likeness, we behold the features of the great

Egyptian Pharaoh, at whose name, some fourteen centuries before Christ,

the Mediterranean nations trembled. Doubtless on such a subject the

sculptor would do his best; striving, while transmitting the features of

the hero to posterity, to produce also a countenance that would be the

ideal of Egyptian beauty."--E.

[Illustration: Memnon and the distressed Ninevite.--"The afflicted lady

led him into a perfumed chamber, where they both placed themselves

opposite to each other, in the attitude of conversation; the one eager

in telling her story, the other listening with devout attention.]

[Illustration: Destouches and Croutef.]

ANDRÉ DES TOUCHES AT SIAM.

André Des Touches was a very agreeable musician in the brilliant reign

of Louis XIV. before the science of music was perfected by Rameau; and

before it was corrupted by those who prefer the art of surmounting

difficulties to nature and the real graces of composition.

Before he had recourse to these talents he had been a musketeer, and

before that, in 1688, he went into Siam with the Jesuit Tachard, who

gave him many marks of his affection, for the amusement he afforded on

board the ship; and Des Touches spoke with admiration of father Tachard

for the rest of his life.

At Siam he became acquainted with the first commissary of Barcalon,

whose name was Croutef; and he committed to writing most of those

questions which he asked of Croutef, and the answers of that Siamese.

They are as follows:

DES TOUCHES.--How many soldiers have you?

CROUTEF.--Fourscore thousand, very indifferently paid.

DES TOUCHES.--And how many Talapolins?

CROUTEF.--A hundred and twenty thousand, very idle and very rich. It is

true that in the last war we were beaten, but our Talapolins have lived

sumptuously, and built fine houses.

DES TOUCHES.--Nothing could have discovered more judgment. And your

finances, in what state are they?

CROUTEF.--In a very bad state. We have, however, about ninety thousand

men employed to render them prosperous, and if they have not succeeded,

it has not been their fault; for there is not one of them who does not

honorably seize all that he can get possession of, and strip and plunder

those who cultivate the ground for the good of the state.

DES TOUCHES.--Bravo! And is not your jurisprudence as perfect as the

rest of your administration?

CROUTEF.--It is much superior. We have no laws, but we have five or six

thousand volumes on the laws. We are governed in general by customs; for

it is known that a custom, having been established by chance, is the

wisest principle that can be imagined. Besides, all customs being

necessarily different in different provinces, the judges may choose at

their pleasure a custom which prevailed four hundred years ago, or one

which prevailed last year. It occasions a variety in our legislation,

which our neighbors are forever admiring. This yields a certain fortune

to practitioners. It is a resource for all pleaders who are destitute of

honor, and a pastime of infinite amusement for the judges, who can with

safe consciences decide causes without understanding them.

DES TOUCHES.--But in criminal cases--you have laws which may be depended

upon.

CROUTEF.--God forbid! We can condemn men to exile, to the galleys, to be

hanged; or we can discharge them, according to our own fancy. We

sometimes complain of the arbitrary power of the Barcalon; but we choose

that all our decisions should be arbitrary.

DES TOUCHES.--That is very just. And the torture--do you put people to

the torture?

CROUTEF.--It is our greatest pleasure. We have found it an infallible

secret to save a guilty person, who has vigorous muscles, strong and

supple hamstrings, nervous arms, and firm loins; and we gaily break on

the wheel all those innocent persons to whom nature has given feeble

organs. It is thus we conduct ourselves with wonderful wisdom and

prudence. As there are half proofs, I mean half truths, it is certain

there are persons who are half innocent and half guilty. We commence,

therefore, by rendering them half dead; we then go to breakfast;

afterwards ensues entire death, which gives us great consideration in

the world, which is one of the most valuable advantages of our offices.

DES TOUCHES.--It must be allowed that nothing can be more prudent and

humane. Pray tell me what becomes of the property of the condemned?

CROUTEF.--The children are deprived of it. For you know that nothing can

be more equitable than to punish the single fault of a parent on all his

descendants.

DES TOUCHES.--Yes. It is a great while since I have heard of this

jurisprudence.

CROUTEF.--The people of Laos, our neighbors, admit neither the torture,

nor arbitrary punishments, nor the different customs, nor the horrible

deaths which are in use among us; but we regard them as barbarians who

have no idea of good government. All Asia is agreed that we dance the

best of all its inhabitants, and that, consequently, it is impossible

they should come near us in jurisprudence, in commerce, in finance, and,

above all, in the military art.

DES TOUCHES.--Tell me, I beseech you, by what steps men arrive at the

magistracy in Siam.

CROUTEF.--By ready money. You perceive that it may be impossible to be a

good judge, if a man has not by him thirty or forty thousand pieces of

silver. It is in vain a man may be perfectly acquainted with all our

customs; it is to no purpose that he has pleaded five hundred causes

with success--that he has a mind which is the seat of judgment, and a

heart replete with justice; no man can become a magistrate without

money. This, I say, is the circumstance which distinguishes us from all

Asia, and particularly from the barbarous inhabitants of Laos, who have

the madness to recompense all kinds of talents, and not to sell any

employment.

André des Touches, who was a little off his guard, said to the Siamese,

that most of the airs which he had just sung sounded discordant to him;

and wished to receive information concerning real Siamese music. But

Croutef, full of his subject, and enthusiastic for his country,

continued in these words:

"What does it signify that our neighbors, who live beyond our mountains,

have better music than we have, or better pictures; provided we have

always wise and humane laws? It is in that circumstance we excel. For

example:

"If a man has adroitly stolen three or four hundred thousand pieces of

gold, we respect him, and we go and dine with him. But if a poor servant

gets awkwardly into his possession three or four pieces of copper out of

his mistress's box, we never fail of putting that servant to a public

death; first, lest he should not correct himself; secondly, that he may

not have it in his power to produce a great number of children for the

state, one or two of whom might possibly steal a few little pieces of

copper, or become great men; thirdly, because it is just to proportion

the punishment to the crime, and that it would be ridiculous to give any

useful employment in a prison to a person guilty of so enormous a crime.

"But we are still more just, more merciful, more reasonable in the

chastisements which we inflict on those who have the audacity to make

use of their legs to go wherever they choose. We treat those warriors so

well who sell us their lives, we give them so prodigious a salary, they

have so considerable a part in our conquests, that they must be the most

criminal of all men to wish to return to their parents on the recovery

of their reason, because they had been enlisted in a state of

intoxication. To oblige them to remain in one place, we lodge about a

dozen leaden balls in their heads; after which they become infinitely

useful to their country.

"I will not speak of a great number of excellent institutions, which do

not go so far as to shed the blood of men, but which render life so

pleasant and agreeable that it is impossible the guilty should avoid

becoming virtuous. If a farmer has not been able to pay promptly a tax

which exceeds his ability, we sell the pot in which he dresses his food;

we sell his bed, in order that, being relieved of all his superfluities,

he may be in a better condition to cultivate the earth."

DES TOUCHES.--That is extremely harmonious!

CROUTEF.--To comprehend our profound wisdom, you must know that our

fundamental principle is to acknowledge in many places as our sovereign,

a shaven-headed foreigner who lives at the distance of nine hundred

miles from us. When we assign some of our best territories to any of our

Talapolins, which it is very prudent in us to do, that Siamese Talapolin

must pay the revenue of his first year to that shaven-headed Tartar,

without which it is clear our lands would be unfruitful.

But the time, the happy time, is no more, when that tonsured priest

induced one half of the nation to cut the throats of the other half, in

order to decide whether Sammonocodom had played at leap-frog or at some

other game; whether he had been disguised in an elephant or in a cow; if

he had slept three hundred and ninety days on the right side, or on the

left. Those grand questions, which so essentially affect morality,

agitated all minds; they shook the world; blood flowed plentifully for

it; women were massacred on the bodies of their husbands; they dashed

out the brains of their little infants on the stones, with a devotion,

with a grace, with a contrition truly angelic. Woe to us! degenerate

offspring of pious ancestors, who never offer such holy sacrifices! But,

heaven be praised, there are yet among us at least a few good souls, who

would imitate them if they were permitted.

DES TOUCHES.--Tell me, I beseech you, sir, if at Siam you divide the

tone major into two commas, or into two semi-commas; and if the progress

of the fundamental sounds are made by one, three, and nine?

CROUTEF. By Sammonocodom, you are laughing at me. You observe no bounds.

You have interrogated me on the form of our government, and you speak to

me of music!

DES TOUCHES.---Music is everything. It was at the foundation of all the

politics of the Greeks. But I beg your pardon; you have not a good ear;

and we will return to our subject. You said, that in order to produce a

perfect harmony--

CROUTEF.--I was telling you, that formerly the tonsured Tartar pretended

to dispose of all the kingdoms of Asia; which occasioned something very

different from perfect harmony. But a very considerable benefit resulted

from it; for people were then more devout toward Sammonocodom and his

elephant than they are now; for, at the present time, all the world

pretends to common sense, with an indiscretion truly pitiable. However,

all things go on; people divert themselves, they dance, they play, they

dine, they sup, they make love; this makes every man shudder who

entertains good intentions.

DES TOUCHES.--And what would you have more? You only want good music. If

you had good music, you might call your nation the happiest in the

world.

THE BLIND PENSIONERS AT QUINZE VINGT.

A SHORT DIGRESSION.--When the hospital of the Quinze Vingt was first

founded, the pensioners were all equal, and their little affairs were

concluded upon by a majority of votes. They distinguished perfectly by

the touch between copper and silver coin; they never mistook the wine of

Brie for that of Burgundy. Their sense of smelling was finer than that

of their neighbors who had the use of two eyes. They reasoned very well

on the four senses; that is, they knew everything they were permitted to

know, and they lived as peaceably and as happily as blind people could

be supposed to do. But unfortunately one of their professors pretended

to have clear ideas in respect to the sense of seeing, he drew

attention; he intrigued; he formed enthusiasts; and at last he was

acknowledged chief of the community. He pretended to be a judge of

colors, and everything was lost.

This dictator of the Quinze Vingt chose at first a little council, by

the assistance of which he got possession of all the alms. On this

account, no person had the resolution to oppose him. He decreed, that

all the inhabitants of the Quinze Vingt were clothed in white. The blind

pensioners believed him; and nothing was to be heard but their talk of

white garments, though, in fact, they possessed not one of that color.

All their acquaintance laughed at them. They made their complaints to

the dictator, who received them very ill; he rebuked them as innovators,

freethinkers, rebels, who had suffered themselves to be seduced by the

errors of those who had eyes, and who presumed to doubt that their chief

was infallible. This contention gave rise to two parties.

To appease the tumult, the dictator issued a decree, importing that all

their vestments were red. There was not one vestment of that color in

the Quinze Vingt. The poor men were laughed at more than ever.

Complaints were again made by the community. The dictator rushed

furiously in; and the other blind men were as much enraged. They fought

a long time; and peace was not restored until the members of the Quinze

Vingt were permitted to suspend their judgments in regard to the color

of their dress.

A deaf man, reading this little history, allowed that these people,

being blind, were to blame in pretending to judge of colors; but he

remained steady to his own opinion, that those persons who were deaf

were the only proper judges of music.

[Illustration: Boodh resting "upon the face of the waters," supported by

serpents.][1]

[1] Boodhism, is described in _Webster's Dictionary_ as "a system of

religion in Eastern Asia, embraced by more than one third of the human

race. It teaches that, at distant intervals, a Boodh, or deity, appears,

to restore the world from a state of ignorance and decay, and then sinks

into a state of entire non-existence, or rather, perhaps, of bare

existence without attributes, action, or consciousness. This state,

called _Nirvana_, or _Nicban_, is regarded as the ultimate supreme good,

and the highest reward of virtue among men. Four Boodhs have thus

appeared in the world, and passed into _Nirvana_, the last of whom,

Gaudama, became incarnate about 500 years before Christ, from his death,

in 543 B.C., many thousand years will elapse before the appearance of

another; so that the system, in the mean time, is practically one of

pure atheism."

The serpent has ever been a significant emblem in religion and

mythology. Being "the most subtle beast of the field," it was naturally

accepted as the emblem of wisdom. With its tail in its mouth it formed a

circle, which was regarded by the ancients as the emblem of eternity.

Moses set up a brazen serpent on a cross in the wilderness as an emblem

of healing. Æsculapius, the god of medicine, is seen on ancient statues

with a serpent twining around a staff by his side, symbolizing health,

prudence and foresight. Hygiea, the goddess of health, is represented in

works of art as a virgin dressed in a long robe and feeding a serpent

from a cup. Mercury is always shown holding in his right hand a wand

with two twined serpents. The nine coiled serpents in the above

engraving, correspond with the nine muses in the Grecian mythology. The

cobra, whose poison is death, is an emblem of the destroying power, and

destruction, or rather change, symbolizes new formation, renovation or

creation. Thus eternal formation, proceeds from eternal destruction. The

serpent also figures in a beautiful allegory concerning the introduction

of knowledge among mankind, _i.e._, "the knowledge of good and

evil."--E.

BABABEC.

When I was in the city of Benarez, on the borders of the Ganges, the

country of the ancient Brahmins, I endeavored to instruct myself in

their religion and manners. I understood the Indian language tolerably

well. I heard a great deal, and remarked everything. I lodged at the

house of my correspondent Omri, who was the most worthy man I ever knew.

He was of the religion of the Brahmins: I have the honor to be a

Mussulman. We never exchanged one word higher than another about Mahomet

or Brahma. We performed our ablutions each on his own side; we drank of

the same sherbet, and we ate of the same rice, as if we had been two

brothers.

One day we went together to the pagoda of Gavani. There we saw several

bands of Fakirs. Some of whom were Janguis, that is to say,

contemplative Fakirs; and others were disciples of the ancient

Gymnosophists, who led an active life. They all have a learned language

peculiar to themselves; it is that of the most ancient Brahmins; and

they have a book written in this language, which they call the _Shasta_.

It is, beyond all contradiction, the most ancient book in all Asia, not

excepting the _Zend_.

I happened by chance to cross in front of a Fakir, who was reading in

this book.

"Ah! wretched infidel!" cried he, "thou hast made me lose a number of

vowels that I was counting, which will cause my soul to pass into the

body of a hare instead of that of a parrot, with which I had before the

greatest reason to flatter myself."

I gave him a rupee to comfort him for the accident. In going a few paces

farther, I had the misfortune to sneeze. The noise I made roused a

Fakir, who was in a trance.

"Heavens!" cried he, "what a dreadful noise. Where am I? I can no longer

see the tip of my nose,--the heavenly light has disappeared."

"If I am the cause," said I, "of your not seeing farther than the length

of your nose, here is a rupee to repair the great injury I have done

you. Squint again, my friend, and resume the heavenly light."

Having thus brought myself off discreetly enough, I passed over to the

side of the Gymnosophists, several of whom brought me a parcel of mighty

pretty nails to drive into my arms and thighs, in honor of Brahma. I

bought their nails, and made use of them to fasten down my boxes. Others

were dancing upon their hands, others cut capers on the slack rope, and

others went always upon one foot. There were some who dragged a heavy

chain about with them, and others carried a packsaddle; some had their

heads always in a bushel--the best people in the world to live with. My

friend Omri took me to the cell of one of the most famous of these. His

name was Bababec: he was as naked as he was born, and had a great chain

about his neck, that weighed upwards of sixty pounds. He sat on a wooden

chair, very neatly decorated with little points of nails that penetrated

into his flesh; and you would have thought he had been sitting on a

velvet cushion. Numbers of women flocked to him to consult him. He was

the oracle of all the families in the neighborhood; and was, truly

speaking, in great reputation. I was witness to a long conversation that

Omri had with him.

[Illustration: The Fakir.]

RELIGIOUS ZEAL.

The most earnest and zealous advocates of modern Christianity are,

undoubtedly, to be found in the ranks of that grotesque

organization known as the "Salvation Army"; but the wildest efforts

of these misguided propagandists fall far short of the intense

religious fervor displayed by the zealous followers of Brahma.

A contributor to Cassell's _Illustrated Travels_ describes a

religious festival which he witnessed a few years ago at Hurdwar on

the Ganges, while on an elephant shooting expedition in the Dehra

Dhoon, Northern India, which vividly illustrates the folly and

fanaticism of these degraded religious devotees, and which is only

second in repulsiveness to the horrible ceremonies of Juggernaut.

"There is," says this writer, "a religious festival every year at

Hurdwar, but every sixth year the ceremonies are more holy and the

crowd of pilgrims larger. The _Koom Mela_, a religious feast of

great holiness in native eyes, occurs every eleven years, and the

pilgrims on such occasions arrive from every part of India. The

crowd usually numbers over two millions. But it is when the

festivals occurring at intervals of six years and at intervals of

eleven years happen to meet in the same year that the crowd is the

largest, the importance of the fair greatest, and the concourse of

fanatic fakirs and holy Brahmins, from every hole and corner of

India, the most striking and remarkable. Merchants arrive from the

most distant countries; not from different parts of India only, but

from Persia, Thibet, China, Afghanistan, and even from Russia. It

was one of these festivals and giant fairs that we had the good

fortune to see.

"As the day of the great festival approaches, the fakirs--who by

the way are always stark naked, and generally as disgusting

specimens of humanity as it is possible to conceive--and the

Brahmins, excite their hearers by increasingly-fervent speeches, by

self-applied tortures, frightful contortions, and wild dances and

gestures, to which the crowd loudly responds by shouts and wild

yells. Early on the morning of the day which to their mind is more

holy than any other in their whole lifetime, the assembled people

to the number of two or even three millions, repair to the ghauts

and patiently wait for the signal, to begin their work of

regeneration and salvation. This desirable end is attained by each

and every individual who within a certain time, during the tinkling

of a well-known bell, precipitates himself into the river, washes

himself thoroughly, and repeats a short prayer. This done, the

pilgrim must leave the river again, and if he has not entered it

until the bell began to tinkle, and has succeeded in going through

his performance and left the water again before the sound of the

bell has ceased, his sins from his birth are remitted and washed

away, and his happy future after death is assured, unless he

commits some specifically named and very enormous sins. The other

pilgrims, who by reason of the great crowd cannot reach the water

in time to go through the whole performance as required by the

Brahmins, receive blessings commensurate with the length of their

stay in the water while the bell was ringing. Even the unfortunate

pilgrims who altogether fail to enter the water at the right

moment, are consoled by the partial removal of their load of

wickedness; but the blessings which accompany a full performance of

what the Brahmins require, are so superior to the favors following

an incomplete or tardy immersion, that it is not strange

extraordinary efforts are made to enter the water at the first

sound of the bells and gongs.

"The crowd was made up of men and women of half-a-hundred tribes of

nations, in every variety of dress and partial nakedness. Many men

wore their loincloths only; the women's hair was loose and flying

to the wind; all were newly and hideously painted; many were

intoxicated, not only with opium and spirits, but with religious

frenzy and impatient waiting. As the exciting moment approached

shouts rent the air; the priests harangued louder and louder; the

fakirs grew wilder and more incoherent; then gradually the great

noise subsided, when suddenly a single bell, immediately followed

by a hundred more, broke the silence, and with one accord, shouting

like madmen, the people rushed forward and the foremost ranks threw

themselves into the water. Then there arose a mighty shout, the

many gongs joined in, and the bells redoubled their efforts. But

the confusion, the crushing, the struggling for very life, the

surging of the mad masses at the water's edge, defy all

description.

"As the first rows of men and women reached the water they were

upset and overturned by the people in their rear, who passed over

them into still deeper water, and in their turn suffered the same

fate at the bands of the on-rushing crowd behind them, until deep

water was reached.... The shouts of excitement were changed to

shrieks and passionate cries for help; the men under water

struggled with those above them: weak women were carried out by the

stream or trampled on; men pulled each other down, and in their mad

fear exerted their utmost strength without object or purpose. Then

the survivors, trying to escape from the water, met the yet dry

crowd still charging down to death, and this increased the dire

confusion. It was a horrid sight, and one I was quite unprepared

for, notwithstanding all I had heard before."--E.

"Do you think, father," said my friend, "that after having gone through

seven metempsichoses, I may at length arrive at the habitation of

Brahma?"

"That is as it may happen," said the Fakir. "What sort of life do you

lead?"

"I endeavor," answered Omri, "to be a good subject, a good husband, a

good father, and a good friend. I lend money without interest to the

rich who want it, and I give it to the poor: I always strive to preserve

peace among my neighbors."

"But have you ever run nails into your flesh?" demanded the Brahmin.

"Never, reverend father."

"I am sorry for it," replied the father; "very sorry for it, indeed. It

is a thousand pities; but you will certainly not reach above the

nineteenth heaven."

"No higher!" said Omri. "In truth, I am very well contented with my lot.

What is it to me whether I go into the nineteenth or the twentieth,

provided I do my duty in my pilgrimage, and am well received at the end

of my journey? Is it not as much as one can desire, to live with a fair

character in this world, and be happy with Brahma in the next? And pray

what heaven do you think of going to, good master Bababec, with your

chain?"

"Into the thirty-fifth," said Bababec.

"I admire your modesty," replied Omri, "to pretend to be better lodged

than me. This is surely the result of an excessive ambition. How can

you, who condemn others that covet honors in this world, arrogate such

distinguished ones to yourself in the next? What right have you to be

better treated than me? Know that I bestow more alms to the poor in ten

days, than the nails you run into your flesh cost for ten years? What is

it to Brahma that you pass the whole day stark naked with a chain about

your neck? This is doing a notable service to your country, doubtless! I

have a thousand times more esteem for the man who sows pulse or plants

trees, than for all your tribe, who look at the tips of their noses, or

carry packsaddles, to show their magnanimity."

Having finished this speech, Omri softened his voice, embraced the

Brahmin, and, with an endearing sweetness, besought him to throw aside

his nails and his chain, to go home with him, and live with decency and

comfort.

The Fakir was persuaded, he was washed clean, rubbed with essences and

perfumes, and clad in a decent habit; he lived a fortnight in this

manner, behaved with prudence and wisdom, and acknowledged that he was a

thousand times happier than before; but he lost his credit among the

people, the women no longer crowded to consult him; he therefore quitted

the house of the friendly Omri, and returned to his nails and his chain,

_to regain his reputation_.

[Illustration: Sphinx.]

[Illustration: The study of nature.]

THE STUDY OF NATURE.

I.

INTRODUCTION.

There can be no doubt that everything in the world is governed by

fatality. My own life is a convincing proof of this doctrine. An English

lord, with whom I was a great favorite, had promised me that I should

have the first living that fell to his gift. An old incumbent of eighty

happened to die, and I immediately traveled post to London to remind the

earl of his promise. I was honored with an immediate interview, and was

received with the greatest kindness. I informed his lordship of the

death of the rector, and of the hope I cherished relative to the

disposal of the vacant living. He replied that I really looked very ill.

I answered that, thanks to God, my greatest affliction was poverty. I am

sorry for you, said his lordship, and he politely dismissed me with a

letter of introduction to a Mr. Sidrac, who dwelt in the vicinity of

Guildhall. I ran as fast as I could to this gentleman's house, not

doubting but that he would immediately install me in the wished for

living. I delivered the earl's letter, and Mr. Sidrac, who had the honor

to be my lord's surgeon, asked me to sit down, and, producing a case of

surgical instruments, began to assure me that he would perform an

operation which he trusted would very soon relieve me.

You must know, that his lordship had understood that I was suffering

from some dreadful complaint, and that he generously intended to have me

cured at his own expense. The earl had the misfortune to be as deaf as a

post, a fact with which I, alas! had not been previously acquainted.

During the time which I lost in defending myself against the attacks of

Mr. Sidrac, who insisted positively upon curing me, whether I would or

no, one out of the fifty candidates who were all on the lookout, came to

town, flew to my lord, begged the vacant living--and obtained it.

I was deeply in love with an interesting girl, a Miss Fidler, who had

promised to marry me upon condition of my being made rector. My

fortunate rival not only got the living, but also my mistress into the

bargain!

My patron, upon being told of his mistake, promised to make me ample

amends, but alas! he died two days afterwards.

Mr. Sidrac demonstrated to me that, according to his organic structure,

my good patron could not have lived one hour longer. He also clearly

proved that the earl's deafness proceeded entirely from the extreme

dryness of the drums of his ears, and kindly offered, by an application

of spirits of wine, to harden both of my ears to such a degree that I

should, in one month only, become as deaf as any peer of the realm.

I discovered Mr. Sidrac to be a man of profound knowledge. He inspired

me with a taste for the study of nature, and I could not but be sensible

of the valuable acquisition I had made in acquiring the friendship of a

man who was capable of relieving me, should I need his services.

Following his advice, I applied myself closely to the study of nature,

to console myself for the loss of the rectory and of my enchanting Miss

Fidler.

II.

THE STUDY OF NATURE.

After making many profound observations upon nature, (having employed in

the research, my five senses, my spectacles, and a very large

telescope,) I said one day to Mr. Sidrac, unless I am much deceived,

philosophy laughs at us. I cannot discover any trace of what the world

calls nature; on the contrary, everything seems to me to be the result

of art. By art the planets are made to revolve around the sun, while the

sun revolves on its own axis. I am convinced that some genius has

arranged things in such a manner, that the square of the revolutions of

the planets is always in proportion to the cubic root from their

distance to their centre, and one had need be a magician to find out how

this is accomplished. The tides of the sea are the result of art no less

profound and no less difficult to explain.

All animals, vegetables and minerals are arranged with due regard to

weight and measure, number and motion. All is performed by springs,

levers, pullies, hydraulic machines, and chemical combinations, from the

insignificant flea to the being called man, from the grass of the field

to the far spreading oak, from a grain of sand to a cloud in the

firmament of heaven. Assuredly, everything is governed by art, and the

word _nature_ is but a chimera.

What you say, answered Mr. Sidrac, has been said many years ago, and so

much the better, for the probability is greater that your remark is

true. I am always astonished when I reflect, that a grain of wheat cast

into the earth will produce in a short time above a handful of the same

corn. Stop, said I, foolishly, you forget that wheat must die before it

can spring up again, at least so they say at college. My friend Sidrac,

laughing heartily at this interruption, replied. That assertion went

down very well a few years ago, when it was first published by an

apostle called Paul; but in our more enlightened age, the meanest

laborer knows that the thing is altogether too ridiculous even for

argument.

My dear friend, said I, excuse the absurdity of my remark, I have

hitherto been a theologian, and one cannot divest one's self in a moment

of every silly opinion.

III.

GOOD ADVICE.

Some time after this conversation between the disconsolate person, whom

we shall call Goodman, and the clever anatomist, Mr. Sidrac, the latter,

one fine morning, observed his friend in St. James's Park, standing in

an attitude of deep thought. What is the matter? said the surgeon. Is

there anything amiss? No, replied Goodman, but I am left without a

patron in the world since the death of my friend, who had the misfortune

to be so deaf. Now supposing there be only ten thousand clergymen in

England, and granting these ten thousand have each two patrons, the odds

against my obtaining a bishopric are twenty thousand to one; a

reflection quite sufficient to give any man the blue-devils. I remember,

it was once proposed to me, to go out as cabin-boy to the East Indies. I

was told that I should make my fortune. But as I did not think I should

make a good admiral, whenever I should arrive at the distinction, I

declined; and so, after turning my attention to every profession under

the sun, I am fixed for life as a poor clergyman, good for nothing.

Then be a clergyman no longer! cried Sidrac, and turn philosopher: what

is your income? Only thirty guineas a year, replied Goodman; although at

the death of my mother, it will be increased to fifty. Well, my dear

Goodman, continued Sidrac, that sum is quite sufficient to support you

in comfort. Thirty guineas are six hundred and thirty shillings, almost

two shillings a day. With this fixed income, a man need do nothing to

increase it, but is at perfect liberty to say all he thinks of the East

India Company, the House of Commons, the king and all the royal family,

of man generally and individually, and lastly, of God and his

attributes; and the liberty we enjoy of expressing our thoughts upon

these most interesting topics, is certainly very agreeable and amusing.