My friend Dr. Thorn[661] sees deeper into my mystery. By the way, he still
sends an occasional touch at the old {361} subject; and he wants me
particularly to tell my readers that the Latin numeral letters, if M be
left out, give 666. And so they do: witness DCLXVI. A person who thinks of
the origin of symbols will soon see that 666 is our number because we have
five fingers on each hand: had we had but four, our mystic number would
have been expressed by 555, and would have stood for our present 365. Had n
been the number on each hand, the great number would have been
(n + 1) (4n^2 + 2n + 1)
With no finger on each hand, the number would have been 1: with one finger
less than none at all on each hand, it would have been 0. But what does
this mean? Here is a question for an algebraical paradoxer! So soon as we
have found out how many fingers the inhabitants of any one planet have on
each hand, we have the means of knowing their number of the Beast, and
thence all about them. Very much struck with this hint of discovery, I
turned my attention to the means of developing it. The first point was to
clear my vision of all the old cataracts. I propose the following
experiment, subject of course to the consent of parties. Let Dr. Thorn
Double-Vahu Mr. James Smith, and Thau Mr. Reddie: if either be deparadoxed
by the treatment, I will consent to undergo it myself. Provided always that
the temperature required be not so high as the Doctor hints at: if the
Turkish Baths will do for this world, I am content.
The three paradoxers last named and myself have a pentasyllable convention,
under which, though we go far beyond civility, we keep within civilization.
Though Mr. James Smith pronounced that I must be dishonest if I did not see
his argument, which he knew I should not do [to say nothing of recent
accusation]; though Dr. Thorn declared me a competitor for fire and
brimstone--and my wife, too, which doubles the joke: though Mr. Reddie
{362} was certain I had garbled him, evidently on purpose to make falsehood
appear truth; yet all three profess respect for me as to everything but
power to see truth, or candor to admit it. And on the other hand, though
these were the modes of opening communication with me, and though I have no
doubt that all three are proper persons of whom to inquire whether I should
go up-stairs or down-stairs, etc., yet I am satisfied they are thoroughly
respectable men, as to everything but reasoning. And I dare say our several
professions are far more true in extent than in many which are made under
more parliamentary form. We find excuses for each other: they make
allowances for my being hoodwinked by Aristotle, by Newton, by the Devil;
and I permit them to feel, for I know they cannot get on without it, that
their reasons are such as none but a knave or a sinner can resist. But
_they_ are content with cutting a slice each out of my character: neither
of them is more than an uncle, a Bone-a-part; I now come to a dreadful
nephew, Bone-the-whole.
I will not give the name of the poor fellow who has fallen so far below
both the _honestum_ and the _utile_, to say nothing of the _decorum_ or the
_dulce_.[662] He is the fourth who has taken elaborate notice of me; and my
advice to him would be, _Nec quarta loqui persona laboret_.[663] According
to him, I scorn humanity, scandalize learning, and disgrace the press; it
admits of no manner of doubt that my object is to mislead the public and
silence truth, at the expense of the interests of science, the wealth of
the nation, and the lives of my fellow men. The only thing left to be
settled is, whether this is due to ignorance, natural distaste for truth,
personal malice, a wish to curry favor with the Astronomer Royal, or mere
toadyism. The only accusation which has truth in it is, that I have made
myself a "public scavenger of science": the assertion, which is the {363}
most false of all is, that the results of my broom and spade are "shot
right in between the columns of" the _Athenaeum_. I declare I never in my
life inserted a word between the columns of the _Athenaeum_: I feel huffed
and miffed at the very supposition. I _have_ made myself a public
scavenger; and why not? Is the mud never to be collected into a heap? I
look down upon the other scavengers, of whom there have been a few--mere
historical drudges; Montucla, Hutton, etc.--as not fit to compete with me.
I say of them what one crossing-sweeper said of the rest: "They are well
enough for the common thing; but put them to a bit of fancy-work, such as
sweeping round a post, and see what a mess they make of it!" Who can touch
me at sweeping round a paradoxer? If I complete my design of publishing a
separate work, an old copy will be fished up from a stall two hundred years
hence by the coming man, and will be described in an article which will end
by his comparing our century with his own, and sighing out in the best New
Zealand pronunciation--
"Dans ces tems-la
C'etait deja comme ca!"[664]