Come and dine at my table every day. That will save you some little

money. We will afterwards amuse ourselves with conversation, and your

thinking faculty will have the pleasure of communicating with mine by

means of speech, which is certainly a very wonderful thing, though its

advantages are not duly appreciated by the greater part of mankind.

[Illustration: The poor clergyman.--"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."]

IV.

DIALOGUE UPON THE SOUL AND OTHER TOPICS.

GOODMAN.--But my dear Sidrac, why do you always say _my thinking

faculty_ and not _my soul_? If you used the latter term I should

understand you much better.

SIDRAC.--And for my part, I freely confess, I should not understand

myself. I _feel_, I _know_, that God has endowed me with the faculties

of thinking and speaking, but I can neither _feel_ nor _know_ that God

has given me a thing called a soul.

GOODMAN.--Truly upon reflection, I perceive that I know as little about

the matter as you do, though I own that I have, all my life, been bold

enough to believe that I knew. I have often remarked that the eastern

nations apply to the soul the same word they use to express life. After

their example, the Latins understood the word _anima_ to signify the

life of the animal. The Greeks called the breath the soul. The Romans

translated the word breath by _spiritus_, and thence it is that the word

spirit or soul is found in every modern nation. As it happens that no

one has ever seen this spirit or breath, our imagination has converted

it into a being, which it is impossible to see or touch. The learned

tell us, that the soul inhabits the body without having any place in it,

that it has the power of setting our different organs in motion without

being able to reach and touch them, indeed, what has not been said upon

the subject? The great Locke knew into what a chaos these absurdities

had plunged the human understanding. In writing the only reasonable book

upon metaphysics that has yet appeared in the world, he did not compose

a single chapter on the soul; and if by chance he now and then makes use

of the word, he only introduces it to stand for intellect or mind.

In fact, every human being, in spite of Bishop Berkeley, is sensible

that he has a mind, and that this mind or intellect is capable of

receiving ideas; but no one can feel that there is another being--a

soul,--within him, which gives him motion, feeling and thought. It is,

in fact, ridiculous to use words we do not understand, and to admit the

existence of beings of whom we cannot have the slightest knowledge.

SIDRAC.--We are then agreed upon a subject which, for so many centuries,

has been a matter of dispute.

GOODMAN.--And I must observe that I am surprised we should have agreed

upon it so soon.

SIDRAC. Oh! that is not so astonishing. We really wish to know what is

truth. If we were among the Academies, we should argue like the

characters in Rabelais. If we had lived in those ages of darkness, the

clouds of which so long enveloped Great Britain, one of us would very

likely have burned the other. We are so fortunate as to be born in an

age comparatively reasonable; we easily discover what appears to us to

be truth, and we are not afraid to proclaim it.

GOODMAN.--You are right, but I fear, that, after all, the truth we have

discovered is not worth much. In mathematics, indeed, we have done

wonders; from the most simple causes we have produced effects that would

have astonished Apollonius or Archimedes: but what have we proved in

metaphysics? Absolutely nothing but our own ignorance.

SIDRAC.--And do you call that nothing? You grant the supreme Being has

given you the faculties of feeling and thinking, he has in the same

manner given your feet the faculty of walking, your hands their

wonderful dexterity, your stomach the capability of digesting food, and

your heart the power of throwing arterial blood into all parts of your

body. Everything we enjoy is derived from God, and yet we are totally

ignorant of the means by which he governs and conducts the universe. For

my own part, as Shakespeare says, I thank him for having taught me that,

of the principles of things, I know absolutely nothing. It has always

been a question, in what manner the soul acted upon the body. Before

attempting to answer this question, I must be convinced that I have a

soul. Either God has given us this wonderful spark of intellect, or he

has gifted us with some principle that answers equally well. In either

case, we are still the creatures of his divine will and goodness, and

that is all I know about the matter.

GOODMAN.--But if you do not know, tell me at least, what you are

inclined to think upon the subject. You have opened skulls, and

dissected the human fœtus. Have you ever, in these, dissections,

discovered any appearance of a soul?

SIDRAC.--Not the least, and I have not been able to understand how an

immortal and spiritual essence, could dwell for months together in a

membrane. It appears to me difficult to conceive that this pretended

soul existed before the foundation of the body; for in what could it

have been employed during the many ages previous to its mysterious union

with flesh? Again! how can we imagine a spiritual principle waiting

patiently in idleness during a whole eternity, in order to animate a

mass of matter for a space of time, which, compared with eternity, is

less than a moment?

It is worse still, when I am told that God forms immortal souls out of

nothing, and then cruelly dooms them to an eternity of flames and

torments. What? burn a spirit, in which there can be nothing capable of

burning; how can he burn the sound of a voice, or the wind that blows?

though both the sound and wind were material during the short time of

their existence; but a pure spirit--a thought--a doubt--I am lost in the

labyrinth; on whichever side I turn, I find nothing but obscurity and

absurdity, impossibility and contradiction. But I am quite at ease when

I say to myself God is master of all. He who can cause each star to hold

its particular course through the broad expanse of the firmament, can

easily give to us sentiments and ideas, without the aid of this atom,

called the soul. It is certain that God has endowed all animals, in a

greater or lesser degree, with thought, memory, and judgment; he has

given them life; it is demonstrated that they have feeling, since they

possess all the organs of feeling; if then they have all this without a

soul, why is it improbable that we have none? and why do mankind flatter

themselves that they alone are gifted with a spiritual and immortal

principle?

GOODMAN.--Perhaps this idea arises from their inordinate vanity. I am

persuaded that if the peacock could speak, he would boast of his soul,

and would affirm that it inhabited his magnificent tail. I am very much

inclined to believe with you, that God has created us thinking

creatures, with the faculties of eating, drinking, feeling, &c., without

telling us one word about the matter. We are as ignorant as the peacock

I just mentioned, and he who said that we live and die without knowing

how, why, or wherefore, spoke nothing but the truth.

SIDRAC.--A celebrated author, whose name I forget, calls us nothing more

than the puppets of Providence, and this seems to me to be a very good

definition. An infinity of movements are necessary to our existence, but

we did not ourselves invent and produce motion. There is a Being who

has created light, caused it to move from the sun to our eyes in about

seven minutes. It is only by means of motion that my five senses are put

in action, and it is only by means of my senses that I have ideas, hence

it follows that my ideas are derived from the great author of motion,

and when he informs me how he communicates these ideas to me, I will

most sincerely thank him.

GOODMAN.--And so will I. As it is I constantly thank him for having

permitted me, as Epictetus says, to contemplate for a period of some

years this beautiful and glorious world. It is true that he could have

made me happier by putting me in possession of Miss Fidler and a good

rectory; but still, such as I am, I consider myself as under a great

obligation to God's parental kindness and care.

SIDRAC.--You say that it is in the power of God to give you a good

living, and to make you still happier than you are at present. There are

many persons who would not scruple flatly to contradict this proposition

of yours. Do you forget that you yourself sometimes complain of

fatality? A man, and particularly a priest, ought never to contradict

one day an assertion he has perhaps made the day before. All is but a

succession of links, and God is wiser than to break the eternal chain of

events, even for the sake of my dear friend Goodman.

GOODMAN.--I did not foresee this argument when I was speaking of

fatality; but to come at once to the point, if it be so, God is as much

a slave as myself.

SIDRAC.--He is the slave of his will, of his wisdom, and of the laws

which he has himself instituted; and it is impossible that he can

infringe upon any of them; because it is impossible that he can become

either weak or inconsistent.

GOODMAN.--But, my friend, what you say would tend to make us

irreligious, for, if God cannot change any of the affairs of the world,

what is the use of teasing him with prayers, or of singing hymns to his

praise?

SIDRAC.--Well! who bids you worship or pray to God? We praise a man

because we think him vain; we entreat of him when we think him weak and

likely to change his purpose on account of our petitions. Let us do our

duty to God, by being just and true to each other. In that consists our

real prayers, and our most heartfelt praises.

[Illustration: Kwan-yin, the goddess of mercy.--Burmese Buddha.--Chinese

figure in ivory.][1]

A CONVERSATION WITH A CHINESE.

In the year 1723, there was a Chinese in Holland, who was both a learned

man and a merchant, two things that ought by no means to be

incompatible; but which, thanks to the profound respect that is shown to

money, and the little regard that the human species pay to merit, have

become so among us.

This Chinese, who spoke a little Dutch, happened to be in a bookseller's

shop at the same time that some literati were assembled there. He asked

for a book; they offered him Bossuet's _Universal History_, badly

translated. At the title _Universal History_--

"How pleased am I," cried the Oriental, "to have met with this book. I

shall now see what is said of our great empire; of a nation that has

subsisted for upwards of fifty thousand years; of that long dynasty of

emperors who have governed us for such a number of ages. I shall see

what these Europeans think of the religion of our literati, and of that

pure and simple worship we pay to the Supreme Being. What a pleasure

will it be for me to find how they speak of our arts, many of which are

of a more ancient date with us than the eras of all the kingdoms of

Europe! I fancy the author will be greatly mistaken in relation to the

war we had about twenty-two thousand five hundred and fifty-two years

ago, with the martial people of Tonquin and Japan, as well as the solemn

embassy that the powerful emperor of Mogulitian sent to request a body

of laws from us in the year of the world 500000000000079123450000."

"Lord bless you," said one of the literati, "there is hardly any mention

made of that nation in this world, the only nation considered is that

marvelous people, the Jews."

"The Jews!" said the Chinese, "those people then must certainly be

masters of three parts of the globe at least."

"They hope to be so some day," answered the other; "but at present they

are those pedlars you see going about here with toys and nicknacks, and

who sometimes do us the honor to clip our gold and silver."

"Surely you are not serious," exclaimed the Chinese. "Could those people

ever have been in possession of a vast empire?"

Here I joined in the conversation, and told him that for a few years

they were in possession of a small country to themselves; but that we

were not to judge of a people from the extent of their dominions, any

more than of a man by his riches.

"But does not this book take notice of some other nations?" demanded the

man of letters.

"Undoubtedly," replied a learned gentleman who stood at my elbow; "it

treats largely of a small country about sixty leagues wide, called

Egypt, in which it is said that there is a lake of one hundred and fifty

leagues in circumference, made by the hands of man."

"My God!" exclaimed the Chinese, "a lake of one hundred and fifty

leagues in circumference within a spot of ground only sixty leagues

wide! This is very curious!"

"The inhabitants of that country," continued the doctor, "were all

sages."

"What happy times were those!" cried the Chinese; "but is that all?"

"No," replied the other, "there is mention made of those famous people

the Greeks."

"Greeks! Greeks!" said the Asiatic, "who are those Greeks?"

"Why," replied the philosopher, "they were masters of a little province,

about the two hundredth part as large as China, but whose fame spread

over the whole world."

"Indeed!" said the Chinese, with an air of openness and ingenuousness;

"I declare I never heard the least mention of these people, either in

the Mogul's country, in Japan, or in Great Tartary."

"Oh, the barbarian! the ignorant creature!" cried out our sage very

politely. "Why then, I suppose you know nothing of Epaminondas the

Theban, nor of the Pierian Heaven, nor the names of Achilles's two

horses, nor of Silenus's ass? You have never heard speak of Jupiter, nor

of Diogenes, nor of Lais, nor of Cybele, nor of--"

"I am very much afraid," said the learned Oriental, interrupting him,

"that you know nothing of that eternally memorable adventure of the

famous Xixofon Concochigramki, nor of the masteries of the great

Fi-psi-hi-hi! But pray tell me what other unknown things does this

_Universal History_ treat of?"

Upon this my learned neighbor harangued for a quarter of an hour

together about the Roman republic, and when he came to Julius Cæsar the

Chinese stopped him, and very gravely said.

"I think I have heard of him, was he not a Turk?"

"How!" cried our sage in a fury, "don't you so much as know the

difference between Pagans, Christians, and Mahometans? Did you never

hear of Constantine? Do you know nothing of the history of the popes?"

"We have heard something confusedly of one Mahomet," replied the

Asiatic.

"It is surely impossible," said the other, "but that you must have heard

at least of Luther, Zuinglius, Bellarmin, and Œcolampadius."

"I shall never remember all those names," said the Chinese, and so

saying he quitted the shop, and went to sell a large quantity of Pekoa

tea, and fine calico, and then after purchasing what merchandise he

required, set sail for his own country, adoring _Tien_, and recommending

himself to Confucius.

As to myself, the conversation I had been witness to plainly discovered

to me the nature of vain glory; and I could not forbear exclaiming:

"Since Cæsar and Jupiter are names unknown to the finest, most ancient,

most extensive, most populous, and most civilized kingdom in the

universe, it becomes ye well, O ye rulers of petty states! ye pulpit

orators of a narrow parish, or a little town! ye doctors of Salamanca,

or of Bourges! ye trifling authors, and ye heavy commentators!--it

becomes you well, indeed, to aspire to fame and immortality."

[1] According to Chambers' work on _The British Museum_, from which the

above cuts are copied, "the Chinese, are a vast nation of some

300,000,000 of souls, nearly a third part of the whole human race. The

entire population is subject to the supreme and despotic authority of a

single hereditary ruler who resides at Pekin, the chief city of the

whole empire. Under him the government is administered by a descending

hierarchy of officials or mandarins, who are chosen from all ranks of

the people, according to their talents as displayed in the course, first

of their education at school and college, and afterwards of their public

life. The officials are, in short, the men in highest repute for

scholarship and accomplishments in the empire; and the whole system of

the government is that of promotion upwards from the ranks of the

people, according to merit. The Chinese generally are remarkable for

common sense, orderliness, and frugal prudential habits. Printing and

paper being cheap among them, and education universal, they have an

immense literature, chiefly in the departments of the drama, the novel,

and the moral essay; their best writers of fiction are said to resemble

Richardson in style, and their best moralists Franklin. The greatest

name in their literature, or indeed in their history, is that of

Confucius, a philosopher and religious teacher who lived about 500 years

B.C., and who left a number of books expounding and enforcing the great

maxims of morality. During all the revolutions that have since elapsed,

the doctrines of Confucius have retained their hold of the Chinese mind,

and the religion of China consists in little more than an attachment to

these doctrines, and a veneration for their founder. With abstract

notions of the Deity, and of the destiny of man when he quits this life,

the Chinese do not trouble themselves; a moral, correct life, and

especially an honorable discharge of the duties of a son and a citizen,

is the whole aim of their piety. There are, however, some voluntary

sects among them, who superinduce articles of speculative belief on the

prosaic code of morality established by Confucius; and forms of

religious worship are practised over the whole country under the direct

sanction of the government. There are a number of figures, larger and

smaller, of Chinese divinities, some of which are very neatly carved in

ivory, wood, and stone. With what precise feelings the more educated

Chinese address these images in prayer--whether they look upon them as

symbols, or whether, like Polytheists generally, they actually view the

carved figures themselves as gifted with powers--it would be difficult

to say; the mass of the people, however, probably never ask the

question, but, from the mere force of custom, come to regard such

objects as the figure of Kwan-yin, the goddess of mercy, and the larger

gilt figures of the god and goddess, precisely as the Polytheistic

Greeks or Romans regarded their statues in their temples; that is, as

real divinities with power for good or evil. The religious sentiment,

however, sits very lightly on the Chinese. Absence of any feeling of the

supernatural is perhaps the most remarkable feature of the Chinese

character.

"Buddhism, was founded, as is generally believed, some centuries before

Christ by a Hindoo prince and sage named Gautama. As originally

propounded, Buddhism is supposed to have been a purer and more

reasonable form of faith than Brahminism, recognising more clearly the

spiritual and moral aims of religion; but, having been expelled from

Hindostan during the early centuries of our era, after having undergone

severe persecution from the Brahmins--at whose power it struck, by

proscribing the system of castes---it sought refuge in the eastern

peninsula, Ceylon, Thibet, Japan, and China, where it has been modified

and corrupted into various forms."--E.

[Illustration: The Birth of Minerva from the Brain of Jove.]

[Illustration: The Birth of Eve from the Side Of Adam.]

ANDROGYNOUS DEITIES.

The ancients ascribed the existence of the universe to the fiat of

omnipotence. Almighty power conjoined with infinite wisdom had

produced the world and all that it inhabits. Man, the head of

visible creation, was formed in the image of the gods, but the gods

only were endowed with generative or creative power. These gods

were androgynous--that is, male and female--containing in one

person both the paternal and maternal attributes. Plato taught that

mankind, like the gods, were originally androgynous, and Moses

tells us that Eve, in matured wisdom and beauty, sprang forth from

the side of Adam, even as

"From great Jove's head, the armed Minerva sprung

With awful shout."

"The thought of God as the Divine Mother," says a sincere and

intelligent clergyman in a sermon recently published, "is a very

ancient one, found in the most early nature worships." "We thank

Thee O God," says the Rev. Theodore Parker, "that Thou art our

Father and our Mother." "O God," says St. Augustine, "Thou art the

Father, Thou the Mother of Thy children."

The preceding illustration of the birth of Minerva,--the goddess of

wisdom,--_i.e. wisdom issuing from the brain of Jove_, is from

Falkener's _Museum of Classical Antiquities_. It is taken from an

ancient Etruscan patera (mirror), now in the Museum at Bologna, and

is supposed to have been copied from the pediment of the eastern or

main entrance to the Parthenon, or temple of Minerva. This pediment

was the work of Phidias, and, like so many of the former monuments

of ancient art and civilization, is now forever lost to mankind.

"The goddess," says the distinguished architect and antiquary M. De

Quincy, "is shown issuing from the head of Jupiter. She has a

helmet on her head, buckler on her arm, and spear in her hand.

Jupiter is seated, holding a sceptre in one hand and a thunderbolt

in the other. On the right of the new born goddess is Juno, whose

arms are elevated, and who seems to have assisted at the

extraordinary childbirth. On the left of Jupiter is Venus,

recognizable by a sprig of myrtle and a dove. Behind Juno is

Vulcan, still armed with the axe which has cleft the head of the

god, and seeming to regard with admiration the success of his

operations."

The engraving representing the birth of Eve, is from the _Speculum

Salutis, or the Mirror of Salvation_, of which many manuscript

copies were issued, for the instruction of the mendicant friars,

between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. "Heineken describes a

copy in the imperial library of Vienna, which he attributes to the

twelfth century. He says, such was the popularity of the work with

the Benedictines that almost every monastery possessed a copy of

it. Of the four manuscript copies owned by the British Museum, one

is supposed to have been written in the thirteenth century, another

copy is in the Flemish writing of the fifteenth century." This

work, which contains several engravings and forty-five chapters of

barbarous Latin rhymes, presents a good illustration of Christian

art as it existed during the period immediately preceding the

revival of letters, when the barbarism and ignorance of the dark

ages had supplanted the artistic culture of ancient Greece and

Rome.

Unprejudiced readers will doubtless admit that the birth of Minerva

from the brain of Jove greatly resembles the birth of Eve from the

side of Adam, and these myths show the analogy existing between the

Jewish and Pagan mythologies; but the design and execution of the

respective engravings, show the retrogression in art that had taken

place between the time of the immortal Phidias and that of Pope

Innocent III.[1]--between Pagan civilization as it existed prior to

the Christian era, and the medieval barbarism of the successors of

St. Peter.

"God created man in his own image," says Godfrey Higgins in the

_Anacalypsis_, (vol. 2, p. 397.) "Everything was supposed to be in

the image of God; and thus man was created double--the male and

female in one person, or androgynous like God. By some uninitiated

Jews, of about the time of Christ, this double being was supposed

to have been created back to back [see the bearded Bacchus and

Ariadne on the following page]; but I believe, from looking at the

twins in all ancient zodiacs, it was side by side; precisely as we

have seen the Siamese boys,--but still _male_ and _female_.

Besides, the book of Genesis implies that they were side by side,

by the woman being taken from the _side_ of man. Among the Indians

the same doctrine is found, as we might expect."

"We must rise to man," says the eloquent clergyman previously

referred to, "in order to know rightly what God is. Humanity

plainly images a power which is at once the source and pattern of

the womanly as well as of the manly qualities, inasmuch as woman as

well as man is needed to fill out the idea of humanity. The womanly

traits--pity, forgiveness, gentleness, patience, sympathy,

unselfishness--are as worthy of the Divine Being as the manly

traits."--E.

[1] "It was," says Gibbon, "at the feet of his legate that John of

England surrendered his crown; and Innocent may boast of the two most

signal triumphs over sense and humanity, the establishment of

transsubstantiation, and the origin of the inquisition."

[Illustration: Bacchus and Ariadne.][1]

PLATO'S DREAM.

Plato was a great dreamer, as many others have been since his time. He

dreampt that mankind were formerly double; and that, as a punishment for

their crimes, they were divided into male and female.

He undertook to prove that there can be no more than five perfect

worlds, because there are but five regular mathematical bodies. His

Republic was one of his principal dreams. He dreampt, moreover, that

watching arises from sleep, and sleep from watching; and that a person

who should attempt to look at an eclipse, otherwise than in a pail of

water, would surely lose his sight. Dreams were, at that time, in great

repute.

Here follows one of his dreams, which is not one of the least

interesting. He thought that the great Demiurgos, the eternal geometer,

having peopled the immensity of space with innumerable globes, was

willing to make a trial of the knowledge of the genii who had been

witnesses of his works. He gave to each of them a small portion of

matter to arrange, nearly in the same manner as Phidias and Zeuxis would

have given their scholars a statue to carve, or a picture to paint, if

we may be allowed to compare small things to great.

[Illustration: Envy.]

Demogorgon had for his lot the lump of mould, which we call the Earth;

and having formed it, such as it now appears, he thought he had executed

a masterpiece. He imagined he had silenced Envy herself, and expected to

receive the highest panegyrics, even from his brethren; but how great

was his surprise, when, at his next appearing among them, they received

him with a general hiss.

One among them, more satirical than the rest, accosted him thus:

"Truly you have performed mighty feats! you have divided your world into

two parts; and, to prevent the one from having communication with the

other, you have carefully placed a vast collection of waters between the

two hemispheres. The inhabitants must perish with cold under both your

poles, and be scorched to death under the equator. You have, in your

great prudence, formed immense deserts of sand, so that all who travel

over them may die with hunger and thirst. I have no fault to find with

your cows, your sheep, your cocks, and your hens; but can never be

reconciled to your serpents and your spiders. Your onions and your

artichokes are very good things, but I cannot conceive what induced you

to scatter such a heap of poisonous plants over the face of the earth,

unless it was to poison its inhabitants. Moreover, if I am not mistaken,

you have created about thirty different kinds of monkeys, a still

greater number of dogs, and only four or five species of the human race.

It is true, indeed, you have bestowed on the latter of these animals a

faculty by you called Reason; but, in truth, this same reason is a very

ridiculous thing, and borders very near upon folly. Besides, you do not

seem to have shown any very great regard to this two-legged creature,

seeing you have left him with so few means of defense; subjected him to

so many disorders, and provided him with so few remedies; and formed him

with such a multitude of passions, and so small a portion of wisdom or

prudence to resist them. You certainly was not willing that there should

remain any great number of these animals on the earth at once; for,

without reckoning the dangers to which you have exposed them, you have

so ordered matters that, taking every day through the year, the small

pox will regularly carry off the tenth part of the species, and sister

maladies will taint the springs of life in the nine remaining parts; and

then, as if this was not sufficient, you have so disposed things, that

one-half of those who survive will be occupied in going to law with each

other, or cutting one another's throats.

"Now, they must doubtless be under infinite obligations to you, and it

must be owned you have executed a masterpiece."

Demogorgon blushed. He was sensible there was much moral and physical

evil in this affair; but still he insisted there was more good than ill

in it.

"It is an easy matter to find fault, good folks," said the genii; "but

do you imagine it is so easy to form an animal, who, having the gift of

reason and free-will, shall not sometimes abuse his liberty? Do you

think that, in rearing between nine and ten thousand different plants,

it is so easy to prevent some few from having noxious qualities? Do you

suppose that, with a certain quantity of water, sand, and mud, you could

make a globe that should have neither seas nor deserts?"

"As for you, my sneering friend, I think you have just finished the

planet Jupiter. Let us see now what figure you make with your great

belts, and your long nights, with four moons to enlighten them. Let us

examine your worlds, and see whether the inhabitants you have made are

exempt from follies or diseases."

Accordingly the genii fell to examining the planet Jupiter, when the

laugh went strongly against the laugher. The serious genii who had made

the planet Saturn, did not escape without his share of the censure, and

his brother operators, the makers of Mars, Mercury, and Venus, had each

in his turn some reproaches to undergo.

Several large volumes, and a great number of pamphlets, were written on

this occasion; smart sayings and witty repartees flew about on all

sides; they railed against and ridiculed each other; and, in short, the

disputes were carried on with all the warmth of party heat, when the

eternal Demiurgos thus imposed silence on them all:

"In your several performances there is both good and bad, because you

have a great share of understanding, but at the same time fall short of

perfection. Your works will not endure above an hundred millions of

years, after which you will acquire more knowledge, and perform much

better. It belongs to me alone to create things perfect and immortal."

This was the doctrine Plato taught his disciples. One of them, when he

had finished his harangue, cried out, "_And so you then awoke?_"

[1] The above representation of a bearded Bacchus and Ariadne is from

Falkener's _Museum of Classical Antiquities_. The statue was found at

Pompeii in 1847.--E.

[Illustration: Plato.]

[Illustration: Visiting Seignior Pococurante.]

PLEASURE IN HAVING NO PLEASURE.

"Hitherto," said Candide to Martin, "I have met with none but

unfortunate people in the whole habitable globe, except in El Dorado,

but, observe those gondoliers, are they not perpetually singing?"

"You do not see them," answered Martin, "at home with their wives and

brats. The doge has his chagrin, gondoliers theirs. Nevertheless, in the

main, I look upon the gondolier's life as preferable to that of the

doge; but the difference is so trifling, that it is not worth the

trouble of examining into."

"I have heard great talk," said Candide, "of the Senator Pococurante,

who lives in that fine house at the Brenta, where, they say, he

entertains foreigners in the most polite manner. They pretend this man

is a perfect stranger to uneasiness."

"I should be glad to see so extraordinary a being," said Martin.

Candide thereupon sent a messenger to Seignior Pococurante, desiring

permission to wait on him the next day.

Accordingly, Candide and his friend Martin went in a gondola on the

Brenta, and arrived at the palace of the noble Pococurante. The gardens

were laid out in elegant taste, and adorned with fine marble statues;

his palace was built after the most approved rules in architecture. The

master of the house, who was a man of sixty, and very rich, received our

two travelers with great politeness, but without much ceremony, which

somewhat disconcerted Candide, but was not at all displeasing to Martin.

As soon as they were seated, two very pretty girls, neatly dressed,

brought in chocolate, which was extremely well frothed. Candide could

not help making encomiums upon their beauty and graceful carriage.

"The creatures are well enough," said the senator, "but I am heartily

tired of women, of their coquetry, their jealousy, their quarrels, their

humors, their vanity, their pride, and their folly; I am weary of making

sonnets, or of paying for sonnets to be made on them; and, after all,

those two girls begin to grow very indifferent to me."

After having refreshed himself, Candide walked into a large gallery,

where he was struck with the sight of a fine collection of paintings.

"Pray," said Candide, "by what master are the first two of these?"

"They are Raphael's," answered the senator. "I gave a great deal of

money for them seven years ago, purely out of curiosity, as they were

said to be the finest pieces in Italy; but I cannot say they please me:

the coloring is dark and heavy; the figures do not swell nor come out

enough, and the drapery is very bad. In short, notwithstanding the

encomiums lavished upon them, they are not, in my opinion, a true

representation of nature. I approve of no paintings but where I think I

behold nature herself; and there are very few, if any, of that kind to

be met with. I have what is called a fine collection, but it affords me

no delight."

While dinner was getting ready, Pococurante ordered a concert. Candide

praised the music to the skies.

"This noise," said the noble Venetian, "may amuse one for a little time,

but if it were to last above half an hour, it would grow very tiresome,

though perhaps no one would care to own it. Music has become the art of

executing that which is difficult. Now whatever is difficult cannot long

continue pleasing. I might take more pleasure in an opera if they had

not made that species of dramatic entertainment so shockingly monstrous;

and I am amazed that people can bear to see wretched tragedies set to

music, where the scenes are contrived for no other purpose than to lug

in, as it were by the ears, three or four ridiculous songs, to give a

favorite actress an opportunity of exhibiting her voice. Let who will or

can die away in raptures at the trills of an eunuch quavering the

majestic part of Cæsar or Cato, and strutting in a foolish manner on the

stage; for my part, I have long ago renounced these paltry

entertainments, which constitute the glory of modern Italy, and are so

dearly purchased by crowned heads."

Candide opposed these sentiments; but he did it in a discreet manner; as

for Martin, he was entirely of the old senator's opinion.

Dinner being served up, they sat down to table, and after a very hearty

repast returned to the library. Candide observing Homer richly bound,

commended the noble Venetian's taste.

"This," said he, "is a book that was once the delight of the great

Pangloss, the best philosopher in Germany."

"Homer is no favorite of mine," answered Pococurante, very coolly: "I

was made to believe once that I took a pleasure in reading him; but his

continual repetitions of battles have all such a resemblance with each

other; his gods, that are forever in a hurry and bustle without ever

doing anything; his Helen, that is the cause of the war, and yet hardly

acts in the whole performance; his Troy, that holds out so long, without

being taken; in short, all these things together make the poem very

insipid to me. I have asked some learned men, whether they are not in

reality as much tired as myself with reading this poet? Those who spoke

ingenuously, assured me that he had made them fall asleep; and yet, that

they could not well avoid giving him a place in their libraries; but it

was merely as they would do an antique, or those rusty medals which are

kept only for curiosity, and are of no manner of use in commerce."

"But your excellency does not surely form this same opinion of Virgil?"

said Candide.

"Why, I grant," replied Pococurante, "that the second, third, fourth,

and sixth book, of his Æneid are excellent; but as for his pious Æneas,

his strong Cloanthus, his friendly Achates, his boy Ascanius, his silly

King Latinus, his ill-bred Amata, his insipid Lavinia, and some other

characters much in the same strain, I think there cannot be in nature

anything more flat and disagreeable. I must confess, I much prefer Tasso

to him; nay, even that sleepy tale-teller Ariosto."

"May I take the liberty to ask if you do not receive great pleasure from

reading Horace?" said Candide.

"There are maxims in this writer," replied Pococurante, "from whence a

man of the world may reap some benefit; and the short measure of the

verse makes them more easy to retain in the memory. But I see nothing

extraordinary in his journey to Brundusium, and his account of his bad

dinner; nor in his dirty low quarrel between one Rupilius, whose words,

as he expresses it, were full of poisonous filth; and another, whose

language was dipped in vinegar. His indelicate verses against old women

and witches have frequently given me great offense; nor can I discover

the great merit of his telling his friend Mecænas, that if he will but

rank him in the class of lyric poets, his lofty head shall touch the

stars. Ignorant readers are apt to praise everything by the lump in a

writer of reputation. For my part, I read only to please myself. I like

nothing but that which makes for my purpose."

Candide, who had been brought up with a notion of never making use of

his own judgment, was astonished at what he had heard; but Martin found

there was a good deal of reason in the senator's remarks.

"O! here is a Tully," said Candide: "this great man, I fancy, you are

never tired of reading?"

"Indeed, I never read him at all," replied Pococurante. "What is it to

me whether he pleads for Rabirius or Cluentius? I try causes enough

myself. I had once some liking for his philosophical works; but when I

found he doubted of everything, I thought I knew as much as himself,

_and had no need of a guide to learn ignorance_.

"Ha!" cried Martin, "here are fourscore volumes of the _Memoirs of the

Academy of Sciences_. Perhaps there may be something curious and

valuable in this collection."

"Yes," answered Pococurante, "so there might, if any one of these

compilers of this rubbish had only invented the art of pin-making; but

all these volumes are filled with mere chimerical systems, without one

single article conducive to real utility."

"I see a prodigious number of plays," said Candide, "in Italian,

Spanish, and French."

"Yes," replied the Venetian, "there are, I think, three thousand, and

not three dozen of them good for anything. As to these huge volumes of

divinity, and those enormous collections of sermons, they are not

altogether worth one single page in Seneca; and I fancy you will readily

believe that neither myself, nor any one else, ever looks into them."

Martin, perceiving some shelves filled with English books, said to the

senator:

"I fancy that a republican must be highly delighted with those books,

which are most of them written with a noble spirit of freedom."

"It is noble to write as we think," said Pococurante; "it is the

privilege of humanity. Throughout Italy we write only what we do not

think; and the present inhabitants of the country of the Cæsars and

Antoninuses dare not acquire a single idea without the permission of a

father dominican. I should be enamoured of the spirit of the English

nation, did it not utterly frustrate the good effects it would produce,

by passion and the spirit of party."

Candide, seeing a Milton, asked the senator if he did not think that

author a great man?

"Who?" said Pococurante, sharply; "that barbarian who writes a tedious

commentary in ten books of rambling verse on the first chapter of

Genesis? that slovenly imitator of the Greeks, who disfigures the

creation by making the Messiah take a pair of compasses from heaven's

armory to plan the world; whereas Moses represented the Deity as

producing the whole universe by his fiat? Can I, think you, have any

esteem for a writer who has spoiled Tasso's hell and the devil? who

transforms Lucifer sometimes into a toad, and at others, into a pigmy?

who makes him say the same thing over again an hundred times? who

metamorphoses him into a school-divine? and who, by an absurdly serious

imitation of Ariosto's comic invention of fire-arms, represents the

devils and angels cannonading each other in heaven? Neither I nor any

other Italian can possibly take pleasure in such melancholy reveries;

but the marriage of sin and death, and snakes issuing from the womb of

the former, are enough to make any person sick that is not lost to all

sense of delicacy. This obscene, whimsical, and disagreeable poem, met

with the neglect it deserved at its first publication; and I only treat

the author now as he was treated in his own country by his

contemporaries."

Candide was sensibly grieved at this speech, as he had a great respect

for Homer, and was very fond of Milton.

"Alas!" said he softly to Martin, "I am afraid this man holds our German

poets in great contempt."

"There would be no such great harm in that," said Martin.

"O, what a surprising man!" said Candide still to himself; "what a

genius is this Pococurante! nothing can please him."

After finishing their survey of the library, they went down into the

garden, when Candide commended the several beauties that offered

themselves to his view.

"I know nothing upon earth laid out in such bad taste," said

Pococurante; "everything about it is childish and trifling; but I shall

soon have another laid out upon a nobler plan."

"Well," said Candide to Martin, as soon as our two travelers had taken

leave of his excellency: "I hope you will own, that this man is the

happiest of all mortals, for he is above everything he possesses."

"But do you not see," said Martin, "that he likewise dislikes everything

he possesses? It was an observation of Plato, long since, that those are

not the best stomachs that reject, without distinction, all sorts of

aliments."

"True," said Candide; "but still there must certainly be a pleasure in

criticising everything, and in perceiving faults where others think they

see beauties."

"That is," replied Martin, "there is a pleasure in having no pleasure."

[Illustration: The "yawning oysters" discovered by Pythagoras.]

AN ADVENTURE IN INDIA.

All the world knows that Pythagoras, while he resided in India, attended

the school of the Gymnosophists, and learned the language of beasts and

plants.[1] One day, while he was walking in a meadow near the seashore,

he heard these words:

"How unfortunate that I was born an herb! I scarcely attain two inches

in height, when a voracious monster, an horrid animal, tramples me under

his large feet; his jaws are armed with rows of sharp scythes, by which

he cuts, then grinds, and then swallows me. Men call this monster a

sheep. I do not suppose there is in the whole creation a more detestable

creature."

Pythagoras proceeded a little way and found an oyster yawning on a small

rock. He had not yet adopted that admirable law, by which we are

enjoined not to eat those animals which have a resemblance to us.[2] He

had scarcely taken up the oyster to swallow it, when it spoke these

affecting words:

"O, Nature, how happy is the herb, which is, as I am, thy work! though

it be cut down, it is regenerated and immortal; and we, poor oysters, in

vain are defended by a double cuirass: villains eat us by dozens at

their breakfast, and all is over with us forever. What an horrible fate

is that of an oyster, and how barbarous are men!"

Pythagoras shuddered; he felt the enormity of the crime he had nearly

committed; he begged pardon of the oyster with tears in his eyes, and

replaced it very carefully on the rock.

As he was returning to the city, profoundly meditating on this

adventure, he saw spiders devouring flies; swallows eating spiders, and

sparrow-hawks eating swallows. "None of these," said he, "are

philosophers."

On his entrance, Pythagoras was stunned, bruised, and thrown down by a

lot of tatterdemalions, who were running and crying: "Well done, he

fully deserved it." "Who? What?" said Pythagoras, as he was getting up.

The people continued running and crying: "O how delightful it will be to

see them boiled!"

Pythagoras supposed they meant lentiles, or some other vegetables: but

he was in an error; they meant two poor Indians. "Oh!" said Pythagoras,

"these Indians, without doubt, are two great philosophers weary of their

lives, they are desirous of regenerating under other forms; it affords

pleasure to a man to change his place of residence, though he may be but

indifferently lodged: there is no disputing on taste."[3]

He proceeded with the mob to the public square, where he perceived a

lighted pile of wood, and a bench opposite to it, which was called a

tribunal. On this bench judges were seated, each of whom had a cow's

tail in his hand, and a cap on his head, with ears resembling those of

the animal which bore Silenus when he came into that country with

Bacchus, after having crossed the Erytrean sea without wetting a foot,

and stopping the sun and moon; as it is recorded with great fidelity in

the Orphicks.

Among these judges there was an honest man with whom Pythagoras was

acquainted. The Indian sage explained to the sage of Samos the nature of

that festival to be given to the people of India.

"These two Indians," said he, "have not the least desire to be committed

to the flames. My grave brethren have adjudged them to be burnt; one for

saying, that the substance of Xaca is not that of Brahma; and the other

for supposing, that the approbation of the Supreme Being was to be

obtained at the point of death without holding a cow by the tail;

'Because,' said he, 'we may be virtuous at all times, and we cannot

always have a cow to lay hold of just when we may have occasion.' The

good women of the city were greatly terrified at two such heretical

opinions; they would not allow the judges a moment's peace until they

had ordered the execution of those unfortunate men."

Pythagoras was convinced that from the herb up to man, there were many

causes of chagrin. However, he obliged the judges and even the devotees

to listen to reason, which happened only at that time.

He went afterwards and preached toleration at Crotona; but a bigot set

fire to his house, and he was burnt--the man who had delivered the two

Hindoos from the flames? Let those save themselves who can![4]

[1] Perhaps it would be impossible at the present day to convince

scientists that oysters formerly conversed intelligibly with mankind and

protested eloquently against human injustice; but all men are not

scientists, and there are many worthy people who still have implicit

faith in ancient Semitic records--who firmly believe in miracles and

prodigies--and who would consider it rank heresy to doubt that the

serpent, though now as mute as an oyster, formerly held a very animated

conversation, in the original Edenic language, with the inexperienced

and confiding female who then graced with her charming presence the

bowers of Paradise; and this sacred narrative of the "maiden and the

reptile" is quite as repugnant to modern science as the sentimental fish

story of "Pythagoras and the oyster".

As a matter of fact, the doctrine of the metempsichosis, as taught by

the Samian sage, was formerly held in great repute by the most civilized

nations of antiquity, and it is surely as easy to credit the assertion

of our author, that the ancient Gymnosophists "had learned the language

of beasts and plants" as to believe the unquestioned and orthodox

statement that a certain quadruped, (_Asinus vulgaris_,) --whose

romantic history is recorded in the twenty-second chapter of

Numbers,--was once upon a time able to converse in very good Hebrew with

Monsieur Balaam, an ancient prophet of great merit and renown.--E.

[2] The resemblance of oysters to mankind, here implied, can only be

apparent to the "eye of faith," and lovers of these delicious bivalves

will fail to recognize the family likeness.--E.

[3] Pythagoras was born at Samos, about 590 years before the Christian

era. He received an education well calculated to enlighten his mind and

invigorate his body. He studied poetry, music, eloquence and astronomy,

and became so proficient in gymnastic exercises, that in his eighteenth

year he won the prize for wrestling at the Olympic games. He then

visited Egypt and Chaldea, and gaining the confidence of the priests,

learned from them the artful policy by which they governed the people.

On his return to Samos he was saluted by the name of _Sophist_, or wise

man, but he declined the name, and was satisfied with that of

philosopher, or the _friend of wisdom_. He ultimately fixed his

residence in Magna Græcia, in the town of Crotona, where he founded the

school called _the Italian_.

This school became very prosperous, and hundreds of pupils received the

_secret instructions_ of Pythagoras, who taught by the use of ciphers or

numbers, and hieroglyphic writings. His pupils were thus enabled to

correspond together in unknown characters; and, by the signs and words

employed, they could discover among strangers those who had been

educated in the Pythagorean school. All the pupils of the philosopher

greatly reverenced their teacher, and deemed it a crime to dispute his

word. One of their expressions "_thus saith the Master_," has been

adopted by modern sects.

The Samian sage taught the doctrine of the metempsichosis, or the

transmigration of the soul into different bodies, which he had probably

learned from the Brahmins; who believed that, in these various

peregrinations, the soul or thinking principle was purged from all evil,

and was ultimately absorbed into the Divine substance from which it was

supposed to have emanated.

Godfrey Higgins in the _Anacalypsis_ cites authorities to prove that the

doctrine of the metempsichosis was held by "many of the early fathers of

the Christians, which they defended on several texts of the New

Testament. It was held by Origin, Calcidius, Synesius, and by the

Simonians, Basilidians, Valentiniens, Marcionites, and the Gnostics in

general. It was also held by the Pharisees among the Jews, and by the

most learned of the Greeks, and by many Chinese, Hindoos and Indians.

"When all the circumstances relating to Pythagoras and to his doctrines,

both in moral and natural philosophy, are considered," continues

Higgins, "nothing can be more striking than the exact conformity of the

latter to the received opinions of the moderns, and of the former to the

moral doctrines of Jesus Christ."

"The pupils of Pythagoras," says Eschenburg, _Manual of Classical

Literature_, "soon amounted to 600, dwelt in one public building, and

held their property in common. Under philosophy, the Italic school

included every object of human knowledge. But Pythagoras considered

music and astronomy of special value. He is supposed to have had some

very correct views of astronomy, agreeing with the true Copernican

system. The beautiful fancy of the music of the spheres is attributed to

him. The planets striking on the ether, through which they pass, must

produce a sound; this must vary according to their different magnitudes,

velocities, and relative distances; these differences were all adjusted

with perfect regularity and exact proportions, so that the movements of

the bodies produced the richest tones of harmony; not heard, however, by

mortal ears."

Pythagoras taught, and his followers maintained, the absolute equality

of property, "all their worldly possessions being brought into a common

store". The early Christians had also "all things in common," and the

doctrines of Jesus and Pythagoras have many points of resemblance. Both

were reformers, both sought to benefit the poor and the oppressed, both

taught and practised the doctrines now known as Communism, and both, for

their love to the human race, suffered a cruel martyrdom from an

orthodox and vindictive priesthood.

In obedience to an oracle, the Romans, long after the death of

Pythagoras, erected a statue to his memory as the wisest of mankind.--E.

[4] Godfrey Higgins in the _Anacalypsis_ draws aside the veil of Isis,

and explains in a satisfactory manner the reason why Pythagoras, like

Socrates and Jesus, was condemned to death by the established

priesthood. Each of these great reformers had been initiated into the

_sacred mysteries_, and each taught his followers by secret symbols or

parables that contained a hidden meaning; so "that seeing the

_uninitiated_ might see and not perceive, and hearing might hear and not

understand." The reason that Jesus gave for following this method was

"because it is given unto you (_i.e._ the initiated) to know the

mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them (_i.e._ the people) it

is not given." (Matt. XIII: II.) The mass of mankind, being excluded

from this secret knowledge, were kept in a state of debasement as

compared with the favored few who were acquainted with the jealously

guarded secrets of the Cabala; and the earnest desire of these great

reformers--of these noble men who cheerfully gave their lives to benefit

their race--was, without divulging the secrets of their initiation, to

teach mankind to partake of the forbidden fruit of the tree of

knowledge, and to learn "that a virtuous life would secure eternal

happiness." Such philanthropic doctrines were denounced as wicked and

heretical by the orthodox priesthood, who instinctively oppose human

progress, and who, like the silversmith of Ephesus, described by St.

Paul, felt that "this our craft is in danger" should the people become

enlightened. They therefore, excited a popular clamor, and aroused the

worst passions and prejudices of their followers; who, inspired with

fanatic zeal, cruelly and wickedly burned Pythagoras of Crotona,

poisoned Socrates of Athens, and crucified Jesus of Nazareth.--E.

[Illustration: The school at Issoire.]

JEANNOT AND COLIN.

Many persons, worthy of credit, have seen Jeannot and Colin at school in

the town of Issoire, in Auvergne, France,--a town famous all over the

world for its college and its caldrons.

Jeannot was the son of a dealer in mules of great reputation; and Colin

owed his birth to a good substantial farmer in the neighborhood, who

cultivated the land with four mules; and who, after he had paid all

taxes and duties at the rate of a sol per pound, was not very rich at

the year's end.

Jeannot and Colin were very handsome, considering they were natives of

Auvergne; they dearly loved each other. They had many enjoyments in

common, and certain little adventures of such a nature as men always

recollect with pleasure when they afterwards meet in the world.

Their studies were nearly finished, when a tailor brought Jeannot a

velvet suit of three colors, with a waistcoat from Lyons, which was

extremely well fancied. With these came a letter addressed to Monsieur

de la Jeannotière.

Colin admired the coat, and was not at all jealous; but Jeannot assumed

an air of superiority, which gave Colin some uneasiness. From that

moment Jeannot abandoned his studies; he contemplated himself in a

glass, and despised all mankind.

Soon after, a valet-de-chambre arrived post-haste, and brought a second

letter to the Marquis de la Jeannotière; it was an order from his

father, who desired the young marquis to repair immediately to Paris.

Jeannot got into his chaise, giving his hand to Colin with a smile,

which denoted the superiority of a patron. Colin felt his littleness,

and wept. Jeannot departed in all the pomp of his glory.

Such readers as take a pleasure in being instructed should be informed

that Monsieur Jeannot the father, had, with great rapidity, acquired an

immense fortune by business. You will ask how such great fortunes are

made? My answer is, by luck. Monsieur Jeannot had a good person, so had

his wife; and she had still some freshness remaining. They went to Paris

on account of a law-suit, which ruined them; when fortune, which raises

and depresses men at her pleasure, presented them to the wife of an

undertaker belonging to one of the hospitals for the army. This

undertaker, a man of great talents, might make it his boast, that he had

buried more soldiers in a year than cannons destroy in ten. Jeannot

pleased the wife; the wife of Jeannot interested the undertaker. Jeannot

was employed in the undertaker's business; this introduced him to other

business. When our boat runs with wind and stream, we have nothing to do

but let it sail on. We then make an immense fortune with ease. The poor

creatures who from the shore see you pursue your voyage with full sail,

stare with astonishment; they cannot conceive to what you owe your

success; they envy you instinctively, and write pamphlets against you

which you never read.

This is just what happened to Jeannot the father, who soon became

Monsieur de la Jeannotière; and who having purchased a marquisate in six

months time, took the young marquis, his son, from school, in order to

introduce him to the polite world at Paris.

Colin, whose heart was replete with tenderness, wrote a letter of

compliments to his old companion, and congratulated him on his good

fortune. The little marquis did not reply. Colin was so much affected at

this neglect that he was taken ill.

The father and mother immediately consigned the young marquis to the

care of a governor. This governor, who was a man of fashion, and who

knew nothing, was not able to teach his pupil anything.

The marquis would have had his son learn Latin; this his lady opposed.

They then referred the matter to the judgment of an author, who had at

that time acquired great reputation by his entertaining writings. This

author was invited to dinner. The master of the house immediately

addressed him thus:

"Sir, as you understand Latin, and are a man acquainted with the

court,--"

"I understand Latin! I don't know one word of it," answered the wit,

"and I think myself the better for being unacquainted with it. It is

very evident that a man speaks his own language in greater perfection

when he does not divide his application between it and foreign

languages. Only consider our ladies; they have a much more agreeable

turn of wit than the men, their letters are written with a hundred times

the grace of ours. This superiority they owe to nothing else but their

not understanding Latin."

"Well, was I not in the right?" said the lady. "I would have my son

prove a notable man, I would have him succeed in the world; and you see

that if he was to understand Latin he would be ruined. Pray, are plays

and operas performed in Latin? Do lawyers plead in Latin? Do men court a

mistress in Latin?"

The marquis, dazzled by these reasons, gave up the point, and it was

resolved, that the young marquis should not misspend his time in

endeavoring to become acquainted with Cicero, Horace and Virgil.

"Then," said the father, "what shall he learn? For he must know

something. Might not one teach him a little geography?"

"Of what use will that be?" answered the governor. "When the marquis

goes to his estate, won't the postillion know the roads? They certainly

will not carry him out of his way. There is no occasion for a quadrant

to travel thither; and one can go very commodiously from Paris to

Auvergne without knowing what latitude one is in."

"You are in the right," replied the father; "but I have heard of a

science, called astronomy, if I am not mistaken."

"Bless me!" said the governor, "do people regulate their conduct by the

influence of the stars in this world? And must the young gentleman

perplex himself with the calculation of an eclipse, when he finds it

ready calculated to his hand in an almanac, which, at the same time,

shows him the movable feasts, the age of the moon, and also that of all

the princesses in Europe?"

The lady agreed perfectly with the governor; the little marquis was

transported with joy; the father remained undetermined. "What then is my

son to learn?" said he.

"To become amiable," answered the friend who was consulted, "and if he

knows how to please, he will know all that need be known. This art he

will learn in the company of his mother, without either he or she being

at any trouble."

The lady, upon hearing this, embraced the ignorant flatterer, and said:

"It is easy to see, sir, that you are the wisest man in the world. My

son will be entirely indebted to you for his education. I think,

however, it would not be amiss if he was to know something of history."

"Alas, madam, what is that good for," answered he; "there certainly is

no useful or entertaining history but the history of the day; all

ancient histories, as one of our wits has observed, are only fables that

men have agreed to admit as true. With regard to modern history, it is a

mere chaos, a confusion which it is impossible to make anything of. Of

what consequence is it to the young marquis, your son, to know that

Charlemagne instituted the twelve peers of France, and that his

successor stammered?"

"Admirably said," cried the governor; "the genius of young persons is

smothered under a heap of useless knowledge; but of all sciences, the

most absurd, and that which, in my opinion, is most calculated to stifle

genius of every kind, is geometry. The objects about which this

ridiculous science is conversant, are surfaces, lines, and points, that

have no existence in nature. By the force of imagination, the

geometrician makes a hundred thousand curved lines pass between a circle

and a right line that touches it, when, in reality, there is not room

for a straw to pass there. Geometry, if we consider it in its true

light, is a mere jest, and nothing more."

The marquis and his lady did not well understand the governor's meaning,

yet they were entirely of his opinion.

"A man of quality, like the young marquis," continued he, "should not

rack his brains with useless sciences. If he should ever have occasion

for a plan of the lands of his estate, he may have them correctly

surveyed without studying geometry. If he has a mind to trace the

antiquity of his noble family, which leads the inquirer back to the most

remote ages, he will send for a Benedictine. It will be the same thing

with regard to all other wants. A young man of quality, endowed with a

happy genius, is neither a painter, a musician, an architect, nor a

graver; but he makes all these arts flourish by generously encouraging

them. It is, doubtless, better to patronize than to practice them. It is

enough for the young marquis to have a taste; it is the business of

artists to exert themselves for him; and it is in this sense that it is

said very justly of people of quality, (I mean those who are very rich),

that they know all things without having learnt anything; for they, in

fact, come at last to know how to judge concerning whatever they order

or pay for."

The ignorant man of fashion then spoke to this purpose:

"You have very justly observed, madam, that the grand end which a man

should have in view is to succeed in the world. Can it possibly be said

that this success is to be obtained by cultivating the sciences? Did

anybody ever so much as think of talking of geometry in good company?

Does anyone ever inquire of a man of the world, what star rises with the

sun? Who enquires at supper, whether the long-haired Clodio passed the

Rhine?"

"No, doubtless," cried the marchioness, whom her charms had in some

measure initiated into the customs of the polite world; "and my son

should not extinguish his genius by the study of all this stuff. But

what is he, after all, to learn? for it is proper that a young person of

quality should know how to shine upon an occasion, as my husband

observes. I remember to have heard an abbé say, that the most delightful

of all the sciences, is something that begins with a _B_."

"With a B, madam? Is it not botany you mean?"

"No, it was not botany he spoke of; the name of the science he mentioned

began with _B_, and ended with _on_."

"Oh, I comprehend you, madam," said the man of fashion; "it is _Blason_

you mean. It is indeed a profound science; but it is no longer in

fashion, since the people of quality have ceased to cause their arms to

be painted upon the doors of their coaches. It was once the most useful

thing in the world, in a well regulated state. Besides, this study would

be endless. Now-a-days there is hardly a barber that has not his coat of

arms; and you know that whatever becomes common is but little esteemed."

In fine, after they had examined the excellencies and defects of all the

sciences, it was determined that the young marquis should learn to

dance.

Nature, which does all, had given him a talent that quickly displayed

itself surprisingly; it was that of singing ballads agreeably. The

graces of youth, joined to this superior gift, caused him to be looked

upon as a young man of the brightest hopes. He was admired by the women;

and having his head full of songs, he composed some for his mistress. He

stole from the song "_Bacchus and Love_" in one ballad; from that of

"_Night and Day_" in another; from that of "_Charms and Alarms_" in a

third. But as there were always in his verses some superfluous feet, or

not enough, he had them corrected for twenty louis-d'ors a song; and in

the annals of literature he was put upon a level with the La Fares,

Chaulieus, Hamiltons, Sarrazins, and Voitures.

The marchioness then looked upon herself as the mother of a wit, and

gave a supper to the wits of Paris. The young man's brain was soon

turned; he acquired the art of speaking without knowing his own meaning,

and he became perfect in the habit of being good for nothing. When his

father found he was so eloquent, he very much regretted that his son had

not learned Latin; for he would have bought him a lucrative place among

the gentry of the long robe. The mother, who had more elevated

sentiments, undertook to procure a regiment for her son; and in the

meantime, courtship was his occupation. Love is sometimes more expensive

than a regiment. He was very improvident, whilst his parents exhausted

their finances still more, by expensive living.

A young widow of fashion, their neighbor, who had but a moderate

fortune, had an inclination to secure the great wealth of Monsieur and

Madame de la Jeannotière, and appropriating it to herself, by a marriage

with the young marquis. She allured him to visit her; she admitted his

addresses; she showed that she was not indifferent to him; she led him

on by degrees; she enchanted and captivated him without much difficulty.

Sometimes she lavished praises upon him, sometimes she gave him advice.

She became the most intimate friend of both the father and mother.

An elderly lady, who was their neighbor, proposed the match. The

parents, dazzled by the glory of such an alliance, accepted the proposal

with joy. They gave their only son to their intimate friend.

The young marquis was now on the point of marrying a woman whom he

adored, and by whom he was beloved; the friends of the family

congratulated them; the marriage articles were just going to be drawn

up, whilst wedding clothes were being made for the young couple, and

their epithalamium composed.

The young marquis was one day upon his knees before his charming

mistress, whom love, esteem, and friendship were going to make all his

own. In a tender and spirited conversation, they enjoyed a foretaste of

their coming happiness, they concerted measures to lead a happy life.

When all on a sudden a valet-de-chambre belonging to the old

marchioness, arrived in a great fright.

"Here is sad news," said he, "officers have removed the effects of my

master and mistress; the creditors have seized upon all by virtue of an

execution; and I am obliged to make the best shift I can to have my

wages paid."

"Let's see," said the marquis, "what is this? What can this adventure

mean?"

"Go," said the widow, "go quickly, and punish those villains."

He runs, he arrives at the house; his father is already in prison; all

the servants have fled in different ways, each carrying off whatever he

could lay his hands upon. His mother is alone, without assistance,

without comfort, drowned in tears. She has nothing left but the

remembrance of her fortune, of her beauty, her faults, and her

extravagant living.

After the son had wept a long time with his mother, he at length said to

her:

"Let us not give ourselves up to despair. This young widow loves me to

excess; she is more generous than rich, I can answer for her; I will go

and bring her to you."

He returns to his mistress, and finds her in company with a very amiable

young officer.

"What, is it you, M. de la Jeannotière," said she; "what brings you

here? Is it proper to forsake your unhappy mother in such a crisis? Go

to that poor, unfortunate woman, and tell her that I still wish her

well. I have occasion for a chamber-maid, and will give her the

preference."

"My lad," said the officer, "you are well shaped. Enlist in my company;

you may depend on good usage."

The marquis, thunderstruck, and with a heart enraged, went in quest of

his old governor, made him acquainted with his misfortune, and asked his

advice. The governor proposed that he should become a tutor, like

himself.

"Alas!" said the marquis, "I know nothing; you have taught me nothing,

and you are the first cause of my misfortunes." He sobbed when he spoke

thus.

"Write romances," said a wit who was present; "it is an admirable

resource at Paris."

The young man, in greater despair than ever, ran to his mother's

confessor. This confessor was a Theatin of great reputation, who

directed the consciences only of women of the first rank. As soon as he

saw Jeannot, he ran up to him:

"My God, Mr. Marquis," said he, "where is your coach? How is the good

lady your mother?"

The poor unfortunate young man gave him an account of what had befallen

his family. In proportion as he explained himself the Theatin assumed an

air more grave, more indifferent, and more defiant.

"My son," said he, "it is the will of God that you should be reduced to

this condition; riches serve only to corrupt the heart. God, in his

great mercy, has then reduced your mother to beggary?"

[Illustration: Jeannot and Colin.]

"Yes, sir," answered the marquis.

"So much the better," said the confessor, "her election is the more

certain."

"But father," said the marquis, "is there in the mean time no hopes of

some assistance in this world?"

"Farewell, my son," said the confessor; "a court lady is waiting for

me."

The marquis was almost ready to faint. He met with much the same

treatment from all; and acquired more knowledge of the world in half a

day than he had previously learned in all the rest of his life.

Being quite overwhelmed with despair, he saw an old-fashioned chaise

advance, which resembled an open wagon with leather curtains; it was

followed by four enormous carts which were loaded. In the chaise there

was a young man, dressed in the rustic manner, whose fresh countenance

was replete with sweetness and gaiety. His wife, a little woman of a

brown complexion and an agreeable figure, though somewhat stout, sat

close by him. As the carriage did not move on like the chaise of a

petit-maître, the traveler had sufficient time to contemplate the

marquis, who was motionless and immersed in sorrow.

"Good God," cried he, "I think that is Jeannot." Upon hearing this name,

the marquis lifts up his eyes, the carriage stops, and Colin cries out,

"'Tis Jeannot, 'tis Jeannot himself."

The little fat bumpkin gave but one spring from the chaise and ran to

embrace his old companion. Jeannot recollected his friend Colin, while

his eyes were blinded with tears of shame.

"You have abandoned me," said Colin; "but, though you are a great man, I

will love you forever."

Jeannot, confused and affected, related to him with emotion a great part

of his history.

"Come to the inn where I lodge, and tell me the rest of it," said Colin;

"embrace my wife here, and let us go and dine together." They then went

on foot, followed by their baggage.

"What is all this train," said Jeannot; "is it yours?"

"Yes," answered Colin, "it all belongs to me and to my wife. We have

just come in from the country. I am now at the head of a large

manufactory of tin and copper. I have married the daughter of a merchant

well provided with all things necessary for the great as well as the

little. We work a great deal; God blesses us; we have not changed our

condition; we are happy; we will assist our friend Jeannot. Be no longer

a marquis; all the grandeur in the world is not to be compared to a good

friend. You shall return with me to the country. I will teach you the

trade; it is not very difficult; I will make you my partner, and we will

live merrily in the remote corner where we were born."

Jeannot, quite transported, felt emotions of grief and joy, tenderness

and shame; and he said within himself: "My fashionable friends have

betrayed me, and Colin, whom I despised, is the only one who comes to

relieve me." What instruction does not this narrative afford!

Colin's goodness of heart caused the seeds of a virtuous disposition,

which the world had not quite stifled in Jeannot, to revive. He was

sensible that he could not forsake his father and mother.

"We will take care of your mother," said Colin; "and as to the good man

your father, who is now in jail, his creditors, seeing he has nothing,

will compromise matters for a trifle. I know something of business, and

will take the whole affair upon myself."

Colin found means to procure the father's enlargement. Jeannot returned

to the country with his relatives, who resumed their former way of life.

He married a sister of Colin, and she, being of the same temper with her

brother, made him completely happy.

Jeannot the father, Jeannote the mother, and Jeannot the son, were thus

convinced that happiness is not the result of vanity.

[Illustration: Religious emblems.]

THE HISTORY OF THE TRAVELS OF SCARMENTADO.[1]

I was born in Candia, in the year 1600. My father was governor of the

city; and I remember that a poet of middling parts, and of a most

unmusical ear, whose name was Iro, composed some verses in my praise, in

which he made me to descend from Minos in a direct line; but my father

being afterwards disgraced, he wrote some other verses, in which he

derived my pedigree from no nobler an origin than the amours of Pasiphæ

and her gallant. This Iro was a most mischievous rogue, and one of the

most troublesome fellows in the island.

My father sent me at fifteen years of age to prosecute my studies at

Rome. There I arrived in full hopes of learning all kinds of truth; for

I had hitherto been taught quite the reverse, according to the custom of

this lower world from China to the Alps. Monsignor Profondo, to whom I

was recommended, was a man of a very singular character, and one of the

most terrible scholars in the world. He was for teaching me the

categories of Aristotle; and was just on the point of placing me in the

category of his minions; a fate which I narrowly escaped. I saw

processions, exorcisms, and some robberies.

It was commonly said, but without any foundation, that la Signora

Olympia, a lady of great prudence, had deceived many lovers, she being

both inconstant and mercenary. I was then of an age to relish such

comical anecdotes.

A young lady of great sweetness of temper, called la Signora Fatelo,

thought proper to fall in love with me. She was courted by the reverend

father Poignardini, and by the reverend father Aconiti,[2] young monks

of an order now extinct; and she reconciled the two rivals by declaring

her preference for me; but at the same time I ran the risk of being

excommunicated and poisoned. I left Rome highly pleased with the

architecture of St. Peter.

I traveled to France. It was during the reign of Louis the Just. The

first question put to me was, whether I chose to breakfast on a slice of

the Marshal D'Ancre,[3] whose flesh the people had roasted and

distributed with great liberality to such as chose to taste it.

This kingdom was continually involved in civil wars, sometimes for a

place at court, sometimes for two pages of theological controversy. This

fire, which one while lay concealed under the ashes, and at another

burst forth with great violence, had desolated these beautiful provinces

for upwards of sixty years. The pretext was, defending the liberties of

the Gallican church. "Alas!" said I, "these people are nevertheless born

with a gentle disposition. What can have drawn them so far from their

natural character? They joke and keep holy days.[4] Happy the time when

they shall do nothing but joke!"

I went over to England, where the same disputes occasioned the same

barbarities. Some pious Catholics had resolved, for the good of the

church, to blow up into the air with gunpowder the king, the royal

family, and the whole parliament, and thus to deliver England from all

these heretics at once. They showed me the place where Queen Mary of

blessed memory, the daughter of Henry VIII., had caused more than five

hundred, of her subjects to be burnt. An Irish priest assured me that it

was a very good action; first, because those who were burnt were

Englishmen; and secondly, because they did not make use of holy water,

nor believe in St. Patrick. He was greatly surprised that Queen Mary was

not yet canonized; but he hoped she would receive that honor as soon as

the cardinal should be a little more at leisure.

From thence I went to Holland, where I hoped to find more tranquillity

among a people of a more cold and phlegmatic temperament. Just as I

arrived at the Hague, the people were cutting off the head of a

venerable old man. It was the bald head of the prime minister Barnevelt;

a man who deserved better treatment from the republic. Touched with pity

at this affecting scene, I asked what was his crime, and whether he had

betrayed the state.

"He has done much worse," replied a preacher in a black cloak; "he

believed that men may be saved by good works as well as by faith. You

must be sensible," adds he, "that if such opinions were to gain ground,

a republic could not subsist; and that there must be severe laws to

suppress such scandalous and horrid blasphemies."

A profound politician said to me with a sigh: "Alas! sir, this happy

time will not last long; it is only by chance that the people are so

zealous. They are naturally inclined to the abominable doctrine of

toleration, and they will certainly at last grant it." This reflection

set him a groaning. For my own part, in expectation of that fatal period

when moderation and indulgence should take place, I instantly quitted a

country where severity was not softened by any lenitive, and embarked

for Spain.

The court was then at Seville, the galleons had just arrived; and

everything breathed plenty and gladness, in the most beautiful season of

the year. I observed at the end of an alley of orange and citron trees,

a kind of large ring, surrounded with steps covered with rich and costly

cloth. The king, the queen, the infants, and the infantas, were seated

under a superb canopy. Opposite to the royal family was another throne,

raised higher than that on which his majesty sat. I said to a

fellow-traveler: "Unless this throne be reserved for God, I don't see

what purpose it can serve."

This unguarded expression was overheard by a grave Spaniard, and cost me

dear. Meanwhile, I imagined we were going to a carousal, or a match of

bull-baiting, when the grand inquisitor appeared in that elevated

throne, from whence he blessed the king and the people.

Then came an army of monks, who led off in pairs, white, black, grey,

shod, unshod, bearded, beardless, with pointed cowls, and without cowls.

Next followed the hangman; and last of all were seen, in the midst of

the guards and grandees, about forty persons clad in sackcloth, on which

were painted the figures of flames and devils. Some of these were Jews,

who could not be prevailed upon to renounce Moses entirely; others were

Christians, who had married women with whom they had stood sponsors to a

child; who had not adored our Lady of Atocha; or who had refused to part

with their ready money in favor of the Hieronymite brothers. Some pretty

prayers were sung with much devotion, and then the criminals were burnt

at a slow fire; a ceremony with which the royal family seemed to be

greatly edified.

As I was going to bed in the evening, two members of the inquisition

came to my lodging with a figure of St. Hermandad. They embraced me with

great tenderness, and conducted me in solemn silence to a well-aired

prison, furnished with a bed of mat, and a beautiful crucifix. There I

remained for six weeks; at the end of which time the reverend father,

the Inquisitor, sent for me. He pressed me in his arms for some time

with the most paternal affection, and told me that he was sorry to hear

that I had been so ill lodged; but that all the apartments of the house

were full, and hoped I should be better accommodated the next time. He

then asked me with great cordiality if I knew for what reason I was

imprisoned.

I told the reverend father that it was evidently for my sins.

"Very well," said he, "my dear child; but for what particular sin? Speak

freely."

I racked my brain with conjectures, but could not possibly guess. He

then charitably dismissed me. At last I remembered my unguarded

expression. I escaped with a little bodily correction, and a fine of

thirty thousand reals. I was led to make my obeisance to the grand

Inquisitor, who was a man of great politeness. He asked me how I liked

his little feast. I told him it was a most delicious one; and then went

to press my companions to quit the country, beautiful as it was.

They had, during my imprisonment, found time to inform themselves of all

the great things which the Spaniards had done for the interest of

religion. They had read the memoirs of the famous bishop of Chiapa, by

which it appears that they had massacred, or burnt, or drowned, about

ten millions of infidels in America, in order to convert them. I believe

the accounts of the bishop are a little exaggerated; but suppose we

reduce the number of victims to five millions, it will still be a most

glorious achievement.

The impulse for traveling still possessed me. I had proposed to finish

the tour of Europe with Turkey, and thither we now directed our course.

I made a firm resolution not to give my opinion of any public feasts I

might see in the future. "These Turks," said I to my companions, "are a

set of miscreants that have not been baptized, and therefore will be

more cruel than the reverend fathers the inquisitors. Let us observe a

profound silence while we are among the Mahometans." When we arrived

there, I was greatly surprised to see more Christian churches in Turkey

than in Candia. I saw also numerous troops of monks, who were allowed to

pray to the virgin Mary with great freedom, and to curse Mahomet--some

in Greek, some in Latin, and others in Armenian. "What good-natured

people are these Turks," cried I.

The Greek christians, and the Latin christians in Constantinople were

mortal enemies. These sectarians persecuted each other in much the same

manner as dogs fight in the streets, till their masters part them with a

cudgel.

The grand vizier was at that time the protector of the Greeks. The Greek

patriarch accused me of having supped with the Latin patriarch; and I

was condemned in full divan to receive an hundred blows on the soles of

my feet, redeemable for five hundred sequins. Next day the grand vizier

was strangled. The day following his successor, who was for the Latin

party, and who was not strangled till a month after, condemned me to

suffer the same punishment, for having supped with the Greek patriarch.

Thus was I reduced to the sad necessity of absenting myself entirely

from the Greek and Latin churches.

In order to console myself for this loss, I frequently visited a very

handsome Circassian. She was the most entertaining lady I ever knew in a

private conversation, and the most devout at the mosque. One evening she

received me with tenderness and sweetly cried, "Alla, Illa, Alla."

These are the sacramental words of the Turks. I imagined they were the

expressions of love, and therefore cried in my turn, and with a very

tender accent, "Alla, Illa, Alla."

"Ah!" said she, "God be praised, thou art then a Turk?"

I told her that I was blessing God for having given me so much

enjoyment, and that I thought myself extremely happy.

In the morning the inman came to enroll me among the circumcised, and as

I made some objection to the initiation, the cadi of that district, a

man of great loyalty, proposed to have me impaled. I preserved my

freedom by paying a thousand sequins, and then fled directly into

Persia, resolved for the future never to hear Greek or Latin mass, nor

to cry "Alla, Illa, Alla," in a love encounter.

On my arrival at Ispahan, the people asked me whether I was for white or

black mutton? I told them that it was a matter of indifference to me,

provided it was tender. It must be observed that the Persian empire was

at that time split into two factions, that of the white mutton and that

of the black. The two parties imagined that I had made a jest of them

both; so that I found myself engaged in a very troublesome affair at the

gates of the city, and it cost me a great number of sequins to get rid

of the white and the black mutton.

I proceeded as far as China, in company with an interpreter, who assured

me that this country was the seat of gaiety and freedom. The Tartars had

made themselves masters of it, after having destroyed everything with

fire and sword.

The reverend fathers, the Jesuits, on the one hand, and the reverend

fathers, the Dominicans, on the other, alleged that they had gained many

souls to God in that country, without any one knowing aught of the

matter. Never were seen such zealous converters. They alternately

persecuted one another; they transmitted to Rome whole volumes of

slander; and treated each other as infidels and prevaricators for the

sake of one soul. But the most violent dispute between them was with

regard to the manner of making a bow. The Jesuits would have the

Chinese to salute their parents after the fashion of China, and the

Dominicans would have them to do it after the fashion of Rome.

I happened unluckily to be taken by the Jesuits for a Dominican. They

represented me to his Tartarian majesty as a spy of the pope. The

supreme council charged a prime mandarin, who ordered a sergeant, who

commanded four shires of the country, to seize me and bind me with great

ceremony. In this manner I was conducted before his majesty, after

having made about an hundred and forty genuflections. He asked me if I

was a spy of the pope's, and if it was true that that prince was to come

in person to dethrone him. I told him that the pope was a priest of

seventy years of age; that he lived at the distance of four thousand

leagues from his sacred Tartaro-Chinese majesty; that he had about two

thousand soldiers, who mounted guard with umbrellas; that he never

dethroned anybody; and that his majesty might sleep in perfect security.

Of all the adventures of my life this was the least fatal. I was sent to

Macao, and there I took shipping for Europe.

My ship required to be refitted on the coast of Golconda. I embraced

this opportunity to visit the court of the great Aureng-Zeb, of whom

such wonderful things have been told, and which was then in Delphi. I

had the pleasure to see him on the day of that pompous ceremony in which

he receives the celestial present sent him by the Sherif of Mecca. This

was the besom with which they had swept the holy house, the Caaba, and

the Beth Alla. It is a symbol that sweeps away all the pollutions of the

soul.

Aureng-Zeb seemed to have no need of it. He was the most pious man in

all Indostan. It is true, he had cut the throat of one of his brothers,

and poisoned his father. Twenty Rayas, and as many Omras, had been put

to death; but that was a trifle. Nothing was talked of but his devotion.

No king was thought comparable to him, except his sacred majesty Muley

Ismael, the most serene emperor of Morocco, who always cut off some

heads every Friday after prayers.

I spoke not a word. My travels had taught me wisdom. I was sensible that

it did not belong to me to decide between these august sovereigns. A

young Frenchman, a fellow-lodger of mine, was, however, greatly wanting

in respect to both the emperor of the Indies and to that of Morocco. He

happened to say very imprudently, that there were sovereigns in Europe

who governed their dominions with great equity, and even went to church

without killing their fathers or brothers, or cutting off the heads of

their subjects.

This indiscreet discourse of my young friend, the interpreter at once

translated. Instructed by former experience, I instantly caused my

camels to be saddled, and set out with my Frenchman. I was afterwards

informed that the officers of the great Aureng-Zeb came that very night

to seize me, but finding only the interpreter, they publicly executed

him; and the courtiers all claimed, very justly, that his punishment was

well deserved.

I had now only Africa to visit in order to enjoy all the pleasures of

our continent; and thither I went to complete my voyage. The ship in

which I embarked was taken by the Negro corsairs. The master of the

vessel complained loudly, and asked why they thus violated the laws of

nations. The captain of the Negroes thus replied:

"You have a long nose and we have a short one. Your hair is straight and

ours is curled; your skin is ash-colored and ours is of the color of

ebon; and therefore we ought, by the sacred laws of nature, to be always

at enmity. You buy us in the public markets on the coast of Guinea like

beasts of burden, to make us labor in I don't know what kind of

drudgery, equally hard and ridiculous. With the whip held over our

heads, you make us dig in mines for a kind of yellow earth, which in

itself is good for nothing, and is not so valuable as an Egyptian onion.

In like manner wherever we meet you, and are superior to you in

strength, we make you slaves, and oblige you to cultivate our fields, or

in case of refusal we cut off your nose and ears."

To such a learned discourse it was impossible to make any answer. I

submitted to labor in the garden of an old negress, in order to save my

nose and ears. After continuing in slavery for a whole year, I was at

length happily ransomed.

As I had now seen all that was rare, good, or beautiful on earth, I

resolved for the future to see nothing but my own home. I took a wife,

and soon suspected that she deceived me; but, notwithstanding this

doubt, I still found that of all conditions of life this was much the

happiest.

[1] The reader will perceive that this is a spirited satire on mankind

in general, and particularly on persecution for conscience

sake.--_Trans._

[2] Alluding to the infamous practice of poisoning and assassination at

that time prevalent in Rome.--_Trans._

[3] This was the famous Concini, who was murdered on the draw-bridge of

the Louvre, by the intrigues of De Luines, not without the knowledge of

the king, Louis XIII. His body, which had been secretly interred in the

church of St. Germain de l'Auxerrois, was next day dug up by the

populace, who dragged it through the streets, then burned the flesh, and

threw the bones into the river. The marshal's greatest crime was his

being a foreigner.--_Tr._

[4] Referring to the massacre of Protestants, on the eve of St.

Bartholomew.--_Tr._

[Illustration: Brahma, _the Creator_.--Vishnu, _the Preserver_. --Siva,

_the Destroyer_.]

THE GOOD BRAMIN.

DOES HAPPINESS RESULT FROM IGNORANCE OR FROM KNOWLEDGE?

In my travels I once happened to meet with an aged Bramin. This man had

a great share of understanding and prudence, and was very learned. He

was also very rich, and his riches added greatly to his popularity; for,

wanting nothing that wealth could procure, he had no desire to defraud

any one. His family was admirably managed by three handsome wives, who

always studied to please him; and when he was weary of their society, he

had recourse to the study of philosophy.

Not far from his house, which was handsome, well-furnished and

embellished with delightful gardens, dwelt an old Indian woman who was a

great bigot, ignorant, and withall very poor.

"I wish," said the Bramin to me one day, "I had never been born!"

"Why so?" said I.

"Because," replied he, "I have been studying these forty years, and I

find it has been so much time lost. While I teach others I know nothing

myself. The sense of my condition is so humiliating, it makes all things

so distasteful to me, that life has become a burden. I have been born,

and I exist in time, without knowing what time is. I am placed, as our

wise men say, in the confines between two eternities, and yet I have no

idea of eternity. I am composed of matter, I think, but have never been

able to satisfy myself what it is that produces thought. I even am

ignorant whether my understanding is a simple faculty I possess, like

that of walking and digesting, or if I think with my head in the same

manner as I take hold of a thing with my hands. I am not only thus in

the dark with relation to the principles of thought, but the principles

of my motions are entirely unknown to me. I do not know why I exist, and

yet I am applied to every day for a solution of the enigma. I must

return an answer, but can say nothing satisfactory on the the subject. I

talk a great deal, and when I have done speaking remain confounded and

ashamed of what I have said."

"I am in still greater perplexity when I am asked if Brama was produced

by Vishnu, or if they have both existed from eternity. God is my judge

that I know nothing of the matter, as plainly appears by my answers.

'Reverend father,' says one, 'be pleased to inform me how evil is spread

over the face of the earth.' I am as much at a loss as those who ask the

question. Sometimes I tell them that every thing is for the best; but

those who have the gout or the stone--those who have lost their fortunes

or their limbs in the wars--believe as little of this assertion as I do

myself. I retire to my own house full of curiosity, and endeavor to

enlighten my ignorance by consulting the writings of our ancient sages,

but they only serve to bewilder me the more. When I talk with my

brethren upon this subject, some tell me we ought to make the most of

life and laugh at the world. Others think they know something, and lose

themselves in vain and chimerical hypotheses. Every effort I make to

solve the mystery adds to the load I feel. Sometimes I am ready to fall

into despair when I reflect that, after all my researches, I neither

know from whence I came, what I am, whither I shall go, or what is to

become of me."

The condition in which I saw this good man gave me real concern. No one

could be more rational, no one more open and honest. It appeared to me

that the force of his understanding and the sensibility of his heart

were the causes of his misery.

* * * * *

The same day I had a conversation with the old woman, his neighbor. I

asked her if she had ever been unhappy for not understanding how her

soul was made? She did not even comprehend my question. She had not, for

the briefest moment in her life, had a thought about these subjects with

which the good Bramin had so tormented himself. She believed from the

bottom of her heart in the metamorphoses of her god Vishnu, and,

provided she could get some of the sacred water of the Ganges in which

to make her ablutions, she thought herself the happiest of women.

* * * * *

Struck with the happiness of this poor creature, I returned to my

philosopher, whom I thus addressed:

"Are you not ashamed to be thus miserable when, not fifty yards from

you, there is an old automaton who thinks of nothing and lives

contented?"

"You are right," he replied. "I have said to myself a thousand times

that I should be happy if I were but as ignorant as my old neighbor, and

yet it is a happiness I do not desire."

* * * * *

This reply of the Bramin made a greater impression on me than any thing

that had passed. I consulted my own heart and found that I myself should

not wish to be happy on condition of being ignorant.

* * * * *

I submitted this matter to some philosophers, and they were all of my

opinion: and yet, said I, there is something very contradictory in this

manner of thinking; for, after all, what is the question? Is it not to

be happy? What signifies it then whether we have understandings or

whether we are fools? Besides, there is this to be said: those who are

contented with their condition are sure of that content; while those

who have the faculty of reasoning are not always sure of reasoning

right. It is evident then, I continued, that we ought rather to wish not

to have common sense, if that common sense contributes to our being

either miserable or wicked.

They were all of my opinion, and yet not one of them could be found, to

accept of happiness on the terms of being ignorant. From hence I

concluded, that although we may set a great value upon happiness, we set

a still greater upon reason.

But after mature reflection upon this subject I still thought there was

great madness in preferring reason to happiness. How is this

contradiction to be explained? Like all other questions, a great deal

may be said about it.

[Illustration: The happy bigot.]

[Illustration: The comfortors.]

THE TWO COMFORTERS.

The great philosopher Citosile once said to a woman who was

disconsolate, and who had good reason to be so: "Madame, the queen of

England, daughter to Henry IV., was as wretched as you. She was banished

from her kingdom, was in great danger of losing her life at sea, and saw

her royal spouse expire on a scaffold."

"I am sorry for her," said the lady, and began again to lament her own

misfortunes.

"But," said Citosile, "remember the fate of Mary Stuart. She loved, (but

with a most chaste and virtuous affection,) an excellent musician, who

played admirably on the bass-viol. Her husband killed her musician

before her face; and in the sequel, her good friend and relative, queen

Elizabeth, who called herself a virgin, caused her head to be cut off on

a scaffold covered with black, after having confined her in prison for

the space of eighteen years."

"That was very cruel," replied the lady, and presently relapsed into her

former melancholy.

"Perhaps," said the comforter, "you have heard of the beautiful Joan of

Naples, who was taken prisoner and strangled."

"I have a dim remembrance of her," said the afflicted lady.

"I must relate to you," continued the other, "the adventure of a

sovereign princess who, within my recollection, was dethroned after

supper, and who died in a desert island."

"I know her whole history," replied the lady.

"Well, then," said Citosile, "I will tell you what happened to another

great princess whom I instructed in philosophy. She had a lover as all

great and beautiful princesses have. Her father surprised this lover in

her company, and was so displeased with the young man's confused manner

and excited countenance, that he gave him one of the most terrible blows

that had ever been given in his province. The lover seized a pair of

tongs and broke the head of the angry parent, who was cured with great

difficulty, and who still bears the marks of the wound. The lady in a

fright leaped out of the window and dislocated her foot, in consequence

of which she habitually halts, though still possessed in other respects

of a very handsome person. The lover was condemned to death for having

broken the head of a great prince. You can imagine in what a deplorable

condition the princess must have been when her lover was led to the

gallows. I have seen her long ago when she was in prison, and she always

spoke to me of her own misfortunes."

"And why will you not allow me to think of mine?" said the lady.

"Because," said the philosopher, "you ought not to think of them; and

since so many great ladies have been so unfortunate, it ill becomes you

to despair. Think of Hecuba, --think of Niobe."

"Ah!" said the lady, "had I lived in their time, or in that of so many

beautiful princesses, and had you endeavored to console them by a

relation of my misfortunes, would they have listened to you, do you

imagine?"

* * * * *

Next day the philosopher lost his only son, and was entirely prostrated

with grief. The lady caused a catalogue to be drawn up of all the kings

who had lost their children, and carried it to the philosopher. He read

it--found it very exact--and wept nevertheless.

Three months afterwards they chanced to renew their acquaintance, and

were mutually surprised to find each other in such a gay and sprightly

humor. To commemorate this event, they caused to be erected a beautiful

statue to Time, with this inscription: "TO HIM WHO COMFORTS."

[Illustration: The winged dragon.][1]

ANCIENT FAITH AND FABLE.

In order to be successful in their efforts to govern the multitude,

rulers have endeavored to instill all the visionary notions possible

into the minds of their subjects.

The good people who read _Virgil_, or the _Provincial Letters_, do not

know that there are twenty times more copies of the _Almanac of Liège_

and of the _Courier Boiteux_ printed, than of all the ancient and modern

books together. No one can have a greater admiration than myself for the

illustrious authors of these _Almanacs_ and their brethren. I know that

ever since the time of the ancient Chaldeans there have been fixed and

stated days for taking physic, paring our nails, giving battle, and

cleaving wood. I know that the best part of the revenue of an

illustrious academy consists in the sale of these _Almanacs_. May I

presume to ask, with all possible submission, and a becoming diffidence

of my own judgment, what harm it would do to the world if some powerful

astrologer were to assure the peasants and the good inhabitants of

little villages that they might safely pare their nails when they

please, provided it be done with a good intention? The people, I shall

be told, would not buy the _Almanacs_ of this new astrologer. On the

contrary, I will venture to affirm, that there would be found among

your great geniuses many who would make a merit in following this

novelty. Should it be alleged, however, that these geniuses, in their

new born zeal, would form factions and kindle a civil war, I would have

nothing farther to say on the subject, but readily give up for the sake

of peace my too radical and dangerous opinion.

Every body knows the king of Boutan. He is one of the greatest princes

in the universe. He tramples under his feet the thrones of the earth;

and his shoes (if he has any) are provided with sceptres instead of

buckles. He adores the devil, as is well known, and his example is

followed by all his courtiers. He one day sent for a famous sculptor of

my country, and ordered him to make a beautiful statue of Beelzebub. The

sculptor succeeded admirably. Never before was there seen such an

interesting and handsome devil. But, unhappily, our Praxiteles had only

given five clutches to his statue, whereas the devout Boutaniers always

gave him six. This serious blunder of the artist was aggravated by the

grand master of ceremonies to the devil with all the zeal of a man

justly jealous of his master's acknowledged rights, and also of the

established and sacred customs of the kingdom of Boutan. He insisted

that the sculptor should be punished for his thoughtless innovation by

the loss of his head. The anxious sculptor explained that his five

clutches were exactly equal in weight to six ordinary clutches; and the

king of Boutan, who was a prince of great clemency, granted him a

pardon. From that time the people of Boutan no longer believed the dogma

relating to the devil's six clutches.

The same day it was thought necessary that his majesty should be bled,

and a surgeon of Gascony, who had come to his court in a ship belonging

to our East India Company, was appointed to take from him five ounces of

his precious blood. The astrologer of that quarter cried out that the

king would be in danger of losing his life if the surgeon opened a vein

while the heavens were in their present state. The Gascon might have

told him that the only question was about the king's health; but he

prudently waited a few moments and then, taking an _Almanac_ in his

hand, thus addressed the astrologer.

"You was in the right, great man! The king would have died held he been

bled at the instant you mentioned; but the heavens have since changed

their aspect, and now is the favorable moment."

The astrologer assented to the surgeon's observation. The king was

cured; and by degrees it became an established custom among the

Boutaniers to bleed their kings whenever it was considered necessary.

* * * * *

Although the Indian astronomers understood the method of calculating

eclipses, yet the common people obstinately held to the old belief that

the sun, when obscured, had fallen into the throat of a great dragon,

and that the only way to free him from thence was by standing naked in

the water and making a hideous noise to frighten away the monster, and

oblige him to release his hold.[2] This notion, which is quite prevalent

among the orientals, is an evident proof how much the symbols of

religion and natural philosophy have at all times been perverted by the

common people. The astronomers of all ages have been wont to distinguish

the two points of intersection, upon which every eclipse happens, and

which are called the Lunar Nodes, by marking them with a dragon's head

and tail. Now the vulgar, who are equally ignorant in every part of the

world, took the symbol or sign for the thing itself. Thus, when the

astronomers said the sun is in the dragon's head, the common people said

the dragon is going to swallow up the sun; and yet these people were

remarkable for their fondness for astrology. But while we laugh at the

ignorance and credulity of the Indians, we do not reflect that there are

no less than 300,000 _Almanacs_ sold yearly in Europe, all of them

filled with observations and predictions equally as false and absurd as

any to be met with among the Indians. It is surely as reasonable to say

that the sun is in the mouth or the claws of a dragon, as to tell people

every year in print that they must not sow, nor plant, nor take physic,

nor be bled, but on certain days of the moon. It is high time, in an age

like ours, that some men of learning should think it worth their while

to compose a calendar that might be of use to the industrious classes by

instructing instead of deceiving them.

A blustering Dominican at Rome said to an English philosopher with whom

he was disputing:

"You are a dog; you say that it is the earth that turns round, never

reflecting that Joshua made the sun to stand still!"

"Well! my reverend father," replied the philosopher, "ever since that

time hath not the sun been immovable?"

The dog and the Dominican embraced each other, and even the devout

Italians were at length convinced that the earth turns round.

* * * * *

An augur and a senator lamented, in the time of Cæsar, the declining

state of the republic.

"The times, indeed, are very bad," said the senator, "we have reason to

tremble for the liberty of Rome."

"Ah!" said the augur, "that is not the greatest evil; the people now

begin to lose the respect which they formerly had for our order. We seem

barely to be tolerated--we cease to be necessary. Some generals have the

assurance to give battle without consulting us. And, to complete our

misfortunes, even those who sell us the sacred pullets begin to reason."

"Well, and why don't you reason likewise?" replied the senator, "and

since the dealers in pullets in the time of Cæsar are more knowing than

they were in the time of Numa, ought not you modern augurs to be better

philosophers than those who lived in former ages?"

[1] This dragon was of the same species, _Draco Volans_, as the savage

reptile slain by St. George, the patron saint of England, or the

sleepless dragon at Colchis, from which Jason rescued the _golden

fleece_. The bible history abounds with allusions to dragons, and with

prophecies of their coming exploits in the stellar spheres. These

marvels may be considered, however, as more strange than credible, and

more ancient than authentic--E.

[2] In Rev. XII: 3, 4, the Dragon is represented as deftly seizing

one-third of the stars of heaven with his tail, and rudely wresting them

in dire confusion from the celestial spheres.--E.

[Illustration]