THE WANTS OF HIM THAT WANTS NOTHING.
ON the next day, his old instructor, imagining that he had now made
himself acquainted with his disease of mind, was in hope of curing it by
counsel, and officiously sought an opportunity of conference, which the
Prince, having long considered him as one whose intellects were
exhausted, was not very willing to afford. “Why,” said he, “does this
man thus intrude upon me? Shall I never be suffered to forget these
lectures, which pleased only while they were new, and to become new again
must be forgotten?” He then walked into the wood, and composed himself
to his usual meditations; when, before his thoughts had taken any settled
form, he perceived his pursuer at his side, and was at first prompted by
his impatience to go hastily away; but being unwilling to offend a man
whom he had once reverenced and still loved, he invited him to sit down
with him on the bank.
The old man, thus encouraged, began to lament the change which had been
lately observed in the Prince, and to inquire why he so often retired
from the pleasures of the palace to loneliness and silence. “I fly from
pleasure,” said the Prince, “because pleasure has ceased to please: I am
lonely because I am miserable, and am unwilling to cloud with my presence
the happiness of others.” “You, sir,” said the sage, “are the first who
has complained of misery in the Happy Valley. I hope to convince you
that your complaints have no real cause. You are here in full possession
of all the Emperor of Abyssinia can bestow; here is neither labour to be
endured nor danger to be dreaded, yet here is all that labour or danger
can procure or purchase. Look round and tell me which of your wants is
without supply: if you want nothing, how are you unhappy?”
“That I want nothing,” said the Prince, “or that I know not what I want,
is the cause of my complaint: if I had any known want, I should have a
certain wish; that wish would excite endeavour, and I should not then
repine to see the sun move so slowly towards the western mountains, or to
lament when the day breaks, and sleep will no longer hide me from myself.
When I see the kids and the lambs chasing one another, I fancy that I
should be happy if I had something to pursue. But, possessing all that I
can want, I find one day and one hour exactly like another, except that
the latter is still more tedious than the former. Let your experience
inform me how the day may now seem as short as in my childhood, while
nature was yet fresh, and every moment showed me what I never had
observed before. I have already enjoyed too much: give me something to
desire.” The old man was surprised at this new species of affliction,
and knew not what to reply, yet was unwilling to be silent. “Sir,” said
he, “if you had seen the miseries of the world, you would know how to
value your present state.” “Now,” said the Prince, “you have given me
something to desire. I shall long to see the miseries of the world,
since the sight of them is necessary to happiness.”