PART II.

Page

CHAP. I. THE REPAST 201

CHAP. II. THE KERNELS 212

CHAP. III. ANTIENT LOVE 215

CHAP. IV. THE GRAFTS 221

CHAP. V. VOLUPTAS 228

CHAP. VI. PERPETUAL YOUTH 233

CHAP. VII. THE ITCHINGS 239

CHAP. VIII. THE COMPENSATIONS 249

CHAP. IX. NIL ADMIRARI 253

CHAP. X. THE FANTASTICAL TREE 259

CHAP. XI. THE PREDICTIONS 265

CHAP. XII. THE SYSTEM 274

CHAP. XIII. EPISTLE TO THE EUROPEANS 292

CHAP. XIV. THE MAXIMS 302

CHAP. XV. THE THERMOMETERS 306

CHAP. XVI. THE LENTILS 312

CHAP. XVII. THE SUBTERRANEOUS ROAD 318

GIPHANTIA.

PART THE SECOND.

CHAP. I. THE REPAST.

My zeal has carried me farther than I should have imagined, added the Prefect; it is time to think of what concerns thee. The air of Giphantia is lively and full of active corpuscles; it keeps up the spirits; and, in spite of the fatigues, thou hast endured in the desart, it does not suffer thee to have the least sense of weariness, However, thou hast need of a more solid food. I have ordered thee a Repast, and I will regale thee after the manner of the elementary spirits.

We went out of the gallery; and the Prefect conducted me to a grotto, of which the architecture was so strange, that I dare not venture to describe it. The whole furniture was a marble table and a cane-chair, on which he bid me sit down.

Whatever I saw at Giphantia was extraordinary, the Repast to which I was invited was not less so. Thirty salt-sellers filled with salts of different colours, were placed on the table in a circle round a fruit, much like our melons. There was also a glass decanter full of water, round which other salt-sellers formed another circle.

These preparations were not very tempting; I never had less appetite. However, not to affront a host, to whom I was so much obliged, I tasted the fruit that he offered me. The purest chymical earth purged of all foreign matter, would have more taste. I forced myself to swallow a few bits. I drank a glass of water: And I told the Prefect, that my strength was more than sufficiently recruited, and if he pleased, we would continue to visit the rarities of Giphantia.

Thou hast had (said he) the complaisance to taste the fruit and the liquor, thou wilt farther oblige me to season them both. The salts which stand round them have, perhaps, more virtue than thou art aware of. I invite thee to try.

Upon these words, I viewed the salt-sellers more attentively, I saw that each had a label; and I read upon those that surrounded the insipid fruit, salt of woodcock, salt of quail, salt of wild-duck, salt of trout, _&c._ Upon the others, I read, concrete juice of Rhenish, of Champagne, of Burgundy, of Usquebaugh, of oil of Venus, of Citron, _&c._

Having taken a small slice of the fruit, I spread upon it a grain of one of those salts; and putting it to my mouth I took it for the wing of an ortolan. I looked upon the salt-seller from whence I had the salt, and saw the word _ortolan_ on the label. Astonished at this phænomenon, I spread upon another slice salt of turbot, and I thought I was eating one of the finest turbots the channel ever produced. I tried the same experiment upon the water; according to the salt I dissolved in it, I drank wine of Beaune, of Nuis, of Chambertin, _&c._

My lord, (said I to the Prefect) you have shewn me the columns, the globe, the mirrour, the pictures; I have admired the mechanism of these masterpieces, and the wonderful skill of the elementary spirits; but now, my admiration is turned to desire. Is a mortal allowed to enter into the physical mysteries of the spirits? May I learn from you, this invaluable secret of your saline powders.

Now-a-days more than ever, (added I) men (especially the Babylonians) seek with eagerness whatever can please the senses; and one of the things which raises the greatest emulation, is to have a table covered with exquisite dainties. Their fore-fathers did not look upon a good cook as a _person divine_. The most simple preparations sufficed for their food: they thought no wines excelled those of their own country; and sometimes those good men made a little too free with them. The modern Babylonians disgusted at this simplicity, and hating hard drinking, have taken a different method. They are become sober, but of a sensual and ambitious sobriety, which, by unheard of extracts and mixtures, perpetually creates new tastes. They search in the smallest fibres of the animals for the purest substance, and, under the name of essences, they inclose in a little phial the produce of what would suffice for the nourishment of the most numerous families. The most exquisite wines cannot satisfy their palate; they esteem nothing but what is owing to a violence done to the order of nature’s productions. They extract the most active spirit of wine, and thereto add all the spices of India: And, with such liquors, seeds of fire, collected from all the countries of the world, flow in their veins.

You see (continued I) that with the secret of your savoury crystalizations, I should be able to satisfy the nicest palates, and please the most curious lovers of variety. But what is much more important, these saline extracts, which are not prepared by the pernicious arts of the distiller and cook, these extracts, I say, would not spoil the stomach in pleasing the taste; high health would revive among us; the primitive constitutions would be restored by degrees; and mankind would resume a new youthful vigour; in all respects, a man might be a glutton without danger, and, that is saying a great deal of a vice, which is become incorrigible.

I was not refused: In less than half an hour, the Prefect taught me the whole art; I actually resolve the savours, with the same ease that Newton did the colours. From all the fruits that go to decay, from all the plants of no use, from even the herbs of the field, in a word, from all bodies whatever, I extract all their savoury parts; I analyze these parts; I reduce them to their primitive particles; and then uniting them again in all imaginable proportions, I form saline powders, which give such a taste as is desired. I can inclose in a small snuff-box, wherewith to make in an instant a complete entertainment, courses, ragouts, fricassees, deserts, coffee, tea, with all kinds of wine and other liquors. From a single bit, though ever so insipid, I produce at pleasure the wing of a partridge, the thigh of a woodcock, the tongue of a carp, _&c._ From a decanter of water, I draw Tomar, Ai, Muscadine, Malmsey, Chian wine, Lacryma Christi, and a thousand others.

My secret should have been publick before now; but all the advantages accruing from it do not remove a fear, which, as will be seen, is surely not without foundation. I am apprehensive that certain gentlemen, incessantly busied to open new channels to convey to them the substance of the people, may lay their greedy hands upon my salt, and undertake to distribute it, charged with some light tax. These light taxes are known always to grow heavier, and end with crushing; much like those snow-balls, which, rolling down from the top of the mountains, and soon growing immensely large, root up trees, throw down houses, and destroy the fields. Let these gentlemen give in our newspapers, a positive assurance that they will never meddle with the management of my savours; the next day, I will publish my secret, distribute my powders, and regale all Babylon.

I think I know the world: these gentlemen, you will see, will keep silence, and I my salt, and so nobody will be regaled.

CHAP. II. THE KERNELS.

My dinner ended and my lesson learnt, we sate out again. Let us (said the Prefect) take the benefit of this long shady walk, and go to the grove at the end of it. By the way, I will explain some matters relating to what I am going to show thee.

Adam had just been driven out of Paradise, (continued the Prefect:) The tree, from which the fatal apple was gathered, disappeared: Innocence, everlasting peace, unmixt pleasure vanished; and death covered the earth with her mournful vail. Witnesses of Adam’s sin and punishment, the elementary spirits remained in a consternation mixt with astonishment and fear. All was silent, like the dreadful calm, which, in a gloomy night, succeeds the flashes of lightening.

One of our spirits perceiving on the ground the remains of the fatal apple, hastily took them up, and found three Kernels: these were so many treasures.

The forbidden tree, which was the cause of Man’s misery, was to have been the cause of his happiness. It contained the shoots of the sciences, arts, and pleasures. The little, men know of these things, is nothing in comparison of what this mysterious tree would have disclosed in their favour. It was to vegetate, blossom, and bear seed for ever; and the least of these seeds would have been the source of more delights than ever existed among the children of men.

We took great care of the three Kernels, which had escaped the total ruin just then befallen mankind; this was not sufficient to repair their unhappy fate, but it helped to soften it. As soon as we were returned to Giphantia, we consulted upon what we could do in favour of mankind so terribly fallen. Most of the spirits took the office of governing the elements, and, as far as lay in their power, of directing their motions, according to the wants of men. Those that remained at Giphantia, were entrusted with the sowing of the three Kernels, and carefully to mind what they produced.

CHAP. III. ANTIENT LOVE.

As we were talking we entered into a pretty large grove, in the midst of which, I perceived a star formed by most beautiful shrubs. From every part of these shrubs there darted forth a luminous matter, whereon were painted all the colours of the rain-bow. Thus the sun, viewed through the boughs of a thick tree, seems crowned with sparkling rays, on which shine the liveliest and most variegated colours.

The first Kernel taken from the fatal apple and committed to the ground, (said the Prefect of Giphantia) produced a shrub of the nature of those thou seest. Its leaves were like those of the myrtle. Its purple blossoms, speckled with white, were raised round their stalks in form of pyramids. Its boughs were thick and interwoven with one another in a thousand different ways. It was the most beautiful tree, nature had ever produced, therefore it was her most favorite object. A soft zephyr, gently moving its leaves, seemed to animate them; and never were they ruffled by the impetuous north winds; never was the course of its sap obstructed by winter’s frost, or its moisture exhausted by summer’s scorching heats; an eternal spring reigned around it. This singular tree, was the Tree of Love.

It is well known what influence the extraneous particles of the air have upon us. Some accelerate or retard the motions of the blood, others dull or raise the spirits, sometimes they brighten the imagination, and sometimes they cloud it with the gloomy vapours of melancholy. Those that were exhaled from the tree of Love, and dispersed over the earth, brought the seeds of the most alluring pleasure. Till then, men, left to a blind instinct, which inclined them to propagate their species, shared that advantage (if it is one) with the rest of the animals. But, like a flower which opens to the first rays of the sun, their hearts soon yielded to the first impressions of love, and instinct gave place to sentiment.

With that passion they received a new life; the face of nature seemed changed; every thing became ingaging; every thing touched them.

The other passions disappeared, or were, in respect of this, like brooks to a river in which they are going to be lost.

Superior to all events, love heightened pleasure, asswaged pain, and gave a charm to things the most indifferent. It enlivened the graces of youth, alleviated the infirmities of age, and lasted as long as life.

Its power was not confined to the creating a tender and unchangeable attachment to the object beloved; it inspired also a certain sentiment of sweetness, which was infused into all men, and united them together. Society was then as an endless chain, each link was composed of two hearts joined by love.

The pleasure of others was a torment to none: Gloomy jealousy had not possessed the human heart, nor envy shed her venom there. Concord multiplied pleasures: A man was not more pleased with his own, than with the happiness of others.

Mankind was yet in infancy, and unacquainted with excesses. Adversity did not depress them to annihilation, nor prosperity puff them up to the loss of their senses. Their wants were few, the arts had not increased them. Frightful poverty appeared not among them, because they knew not riches; every one had necessaries, because none had superfluities. Utter strangers to the ridiculousness of rank, they were not exalted with insolence, nor did they servilely cringe; no man was low, because no man was high. All was in order, and men were as happy as their state would admit of. O nature! why dost thou not still enlighten us with those days of peace, harmony, and love!

CHAP. IV. THE GRAFTS.

The stinging nettle and wild briar increase and are renewed, (continued the Prefect) the tree of Love had not that privilege. Its blossoms vanished without leaving a kernel, and its shoots planted in the ground did not take root; they died and nature groaned.

Mean while, this only tree was going to decay; its sap withdrew from most of the branches, and the faded leaves withered on their boughs.

The elementary spirits were sensible how valuable the treasure was, that the sons of men were going to lose, and were under the deepest concern for them. They studied therefore to find the means to fix love upon earth, and imagined they had succeeded.

They took from the languishing and exhausted tree, its best shoots and grafted them upon different stocks. This precaution saved love, but at the same time, altered its nature. Nourished by an extraneous sap, these shoots and their emanations quickly degenerated: So the exotic plants which grow in our gardens by the assiduous care of the gardiner, change their nature, and lose almost all their virtues.

Love then existed among men; but what love? It sprung from caprice, was attached without choice, and vanished with levity: It became such as it is at this day amongst you. It is no longer that common band which united mankind, and rendered them happy; it is on the contrary, an inexhaustible fountain of discord. Formerly, it was stronger alone than all the passions together; it was subject only to reason: Now, it is overcome by the weakest passion, and hearkens to any thing but reason.

To say the truth; it is no longer Love: Phantoms have taken its place, and receive the homage of men. One in the highest ranks only finds objects worthy his vows; he thinks it love, it is only ambition. Another fixes his heart where fortune is lavish of her gifts, he imagines, love directs him, but it is thirst of riches. Another flies from where delicateness of sentiments calls for his care and regard, and runs where an easy object hardly gives him time to desire. What is the ground of his haste? a depraved appetite for pleasure. Of pure, sincere, and unmixt love there is none left; the grafts are quite spoiled.

At Babylon, degenerated love varied with the fashions, the manners, and every thing else. At first it gave into the Romantick: This was in the days of our good Knights Errant. It was all fire, transport, extasy. The eye of the fair was a sun, the heart of the lover was a volcano, and the rest of the same stamp.

In time, it was found, that all this was departing a little from nature; in order therefore, to make it more natural, love was dressed like a shepherd with a flock and pipe; and spoke the language of a swain. In the heart of his noisy and tumultuous city, a Babylonian sung the refreshing coolness of the groves, invited his mistress to drive her flock thither, and offered to guard it against the wolves.

The pastoral language being drained, the sentiment was refined, and the heart analysed. Never had love appeared so subtilised. To make a tolerable compliment to a girl beloved, a man must have been a pretty good metaphysician.

The Babylonians, weary of thinking so deeply, from the height of these sublime metaphysicks fell into free speeches, double-meanings, and wanton stories. Their behaviour was agreeable to their talk; and love, after having been a valiant knight-errant, a whining shepherd and a sublime metaphysician, is at last grown a libertine. It will soon become a debauchee, if it is not so already; after which, nothing remains but to turn religious; and this is what I expect.

Moreover, the Babylonians flatter themselves with being a people the most respectful to the ladies, and boast of having it from their ancestors. In this respect, as in all others, two things must be distinguished at Babylon, the appearance and the reality. In appearance, no place where women are more honoured; in reality, no place where they are less esteemed. Outwardly, nothing but homages, inwardly, nothing but contempt. It is even a principle at Babylon, that the men cannot have, in an assembly, too much respect for the sex, nor, in private too little.

CHAP. V. VOLUPTAS or PLEASURE.

We came out of the grove. Men (said I to the Prefect) are highly indebted to you for preserving love, degenerated as it is. If you did but know what a void there is among them now-a-days! Their amusements are so few, that the least of all must be to them very valuable. Love no longer makes their happiness; but it diverts them at least. What would the Babylonians do, if love did not put in motion all those walking statues, which you see so busy about the women? They sigh, they complain, they request, they press, they obtain, they are happy or dupes; it is just the same thing: But time passes, and that is enough for the Babylonians.

“In the beginning (continued the Prefect) nature, ever attentive to the welfare of men, begot Voluptas. She was an unadorned native beauty, but full of those charms which characterises whatever comes out of the hands of the common parent of all Beings. Nature gave her a golden cup, and said: Go among men; draw pleasure out of my works; present it without distinction to all mortals; quench their thirst, but make them not drunk.”

Voluptas appeared upon earth. Men flocked together in crowds; all drank largely of her cup; all quenched their thirst, none were intoxicated. Voluptas made herself desired, presented herself seasonably, and was always received with joy. As she offered herself with restriction, she was always cherished and never cloyed. Men, not being enervated by excess, preserved to a very advanced age, all their organs in vigor; their taste remained; and old age still drank of Voluptas’s cup.

Nature has a rival, called Art, who, incessantly employed in rendering himself useful or agreeable to society, strives to supply what nature cannot or will not do for men. He resumes nature’s works, retouches them, sometimes embellishes, often disguises and degrades them.

Art failed not to observe the conduct of Voluptas, and to refine whatever she offered to mankind. He could not bear an interval between pleasures, and would have them succeed one another without intermission. He ransacked all the countries of the world, united all the objects of sensuality, and multiplied a thousand ways the pleasures of sense. Men, surrounded with so many alluring objects, thought themselves happy, and in their intoxication, said: _Without Art, Nature is nothing_. But very soon their senses were cloyed; satiety bred disgust, and disgust made them indifferent to all kinds of pleasure. Neither Art nor Nature could affect them to any degree. From that time, they have hardly been able to amuse or divert themselves. Voluptas has no longer any charms for them.

CHAP. VI. PERPETUAL YOUTH.

There is no place (continued the Prefect) where these dissipations, supposed to supply the room of pure pleasure, are more necessary than at Babylon; so there is no place where they are more frequent.

The Babylonians are known not to be made for much thinking, and, for good reason, it is not desired they should think. A wise policy has always proposed to keep as many employed as possible, and to amuse the rest.

For these last it is, that the arts of amusement are incouraged, that publick walks are kept up at a great charge, that spectacles of all kinds are exhibited, and so many places tolerated, where gaming, drinking, and licentiousness serve for food to these heedless men, who, without these avocations, would not fail to disturb the society.

These various avocations fill up the moments of life to such a degree, that there is no time for recollection, and for counting the years that insensibly fly away. A man declines, decays, is bent under the load of years, and he has not once thought of it.

Rather let us say, there is no old-age at Babylon, for men of this kind: A perpetual Youth runs through their life; the same agitations in the heart, the same dullness in the soul, and the same void in the mind. Youths of twenty-five and of sixty, march with an equal pace to the same end. The desires, eagernesses, sallies, excesses are the same. All forgetful of themselves, still go on; and death alone is capable to stop the career of these decrepid youths.

It is remarkable, that one day, one of those young old men, bethought himself to make reflections. “When a man (said he) is come, like me, to a certain age, he does not fully live, he dies by degrees, and he ought successively to renounce whatever does not suit his state. There are things that become nobody, which however are connived at in youth; but which make an old man ridiculous. What business have I now with this costly furniture, these splendid equipages, with this table served with so much profusion? Am I excusable for keeping a mistress, whose luxuriousness will not fail to ruin me in the end? does it become me to appear still in those places, where licentiousness carries inconsiderate youth? I will forsake a world for which I am no longer fit, and will embrace that peaceful and retired life to which my declining age invites me. What I shall retrench from my expences, I will give to my nephew, who is coming; into the world, and should set out with some figure. Since I am dying by degrees, so by degrees he ought to inherit.”

This resolution being taken and well taken, a friend of his comes to visit him, sees him thoughtful, asks the reason and learns his design. “What, (says he to him) have you not still spirit enough to withstand reason? She knocks, and it is going to be opened! what do you mean? Reason may be of use to a young man, to curb the fury of his passions; but must be fatal to an old one, in totally extinguishing the little relish he has left for pleasures. What a fine sight will it be, to see Plutarch’s morals, Nicole’s essays, and Pascal’s thoughts lodged in thy brain, close by Bocace’s novels, La Fontaine’s tales, and Rousseau’s epigrams! Believe me: Reason is good only for those, who have cultivated it long ago; heads made like ours cannot suit it. Our maxims and reason’s are too contradictory; and instead of regulating, it would throw all into disorder and confusion.”

“But (replied our new convert) dost thou know what thou art doing with thy extraordinary eloquence? never was so much reason used to prove, that we must act against reason. Come, let us go, my dear marquis, a free supper waits us at the ... where the nymph, thou knowest, will compleat my conviction: From thence we will go to the ball. Tomorrow, champagne at your cousin the countess’s, and lansquenet, at our friend the President’s.”

CHAP. VII. THE ITCHINGS.

We walked toward the south. On this side, Giphantia ends in a point, and forms a little promontory, from whence there is a large prospect. This promontory is covered all over with a plant, whose boughs descend and creep every way. This is the production of the second Kernel. The plant never bears either leaves or blossoms, or fruit: It is formed by an infinite number of very thin small fibres, which branch out of one another.

View carefully the fibres (says the Prefect to me.) Dost thou see at their extremity, little longish bodies, which move so briskly? They are small maggots, which this plant breeds; whether vegetation, carried beyond its usual bounds, produces them; or whether there comes at the extremity of the fibres, a sort of corruption, by which they are engendered. In time, these maggots waste away so as to become invisible: But withal they get wings, and growing flies, they disperse themselves over the earth. There, they stick fast to men, and cease not to infest them with a sting given them by nature. And as the tarantula, with the poison which she leaves in the wound she has made, inspires an immoderate desire to leap and dance, just so these small insects cause, according to their different kinds, different Itchings. Such are the itch of talking, the itch of writing, the itch of knowing, the itch of shining, the itch of being known, with a hundred others. Hence, all the motions, men put themselves into, all the efforts they make, all the passions that stir them.

The sensation they feel on these occasions, is so manifestly such as we are describing, that when any one is seen in an uncommon agitation of body or mind, it is very usual to say, _What fly stings? what maggot bites?_ Though nothing can be seen, it is perceived that the cause of so many motions is a stinging: A man often finds it by experience, and knows what it is owing to.

When once men are troubled with these restless prickings, they cannot be quiet. He, for instance, that is stung with the itch of talking, is continually discoursing with every body, correcting those that do not need it, informing those that know more than himself. His visage opens, lengthens, and shortens at pleasure: He laughs with those that laugh, weeps with those that weep, without sharing the joy of the one, or the grief of the other. If by chance he gives you room to say any thing, speak fast and stop not; for, in an instant, he would begin again, and take care not to be interrupted. Never does he lend an ear to any one; and even when he seems to hold his tongue, he is still muttering to himself. He despises nothing so much as those silent animals, who hear little and speak still less; and he thinks no men more worthy of envy than those, who have the talent of drawing a circle of admirers, of raising the voice in the midst of them, and of saying nothings incessantly applauded.

Sometimes the itch of talking is turned into the itch of writing; which comes to the same thing; for writing, is talking to the whole world. Then those torrents of words, which flow from the mouth, change their course and flow from the pen ... what numbers of bablers in these silent libraries! Oh how must those who have ears, and run over these immense collections, be stunned with what they hear! They are like great fairs, where each author cries up his wares to the utmost of his power, and spares nothing to promote the sale. Come (says an Antient) come and learn of me to practice virtue and become happy; come and draw from these pure fountains, whose streams are polluted by the corruption of men.... Come rather to me (cries a Modern) time and observation have opened our eyes; we see things, and only want to show them to you.... Mind them not (says a Romancer) seek not truth there; truth still lies in the bottom of Democritus’s well. Come therefore to me for amusement, and I will help you to it. Come and read the life and exploits of the duke of * * * *, the model of the court; he never attacked a girl without debauching her; he has embroiled above fifty families, and thrown whole towns into confusion: He must, it is plain, be one of the most accomplished men of the age.... I have things to offer you, much more interesting than all this, (says a Versifier) I have the prettiest odes and finest songs in the world, little soft verses, nosegays for Iris, and a complete collection of all the riddles and symbolical letters, which for these ten years have puzzled the sagacity of the strongest heads in Babylon.... Away with those trifles (says a Tragic Poet) and come to me: I manage the passions as I please: I will force tears from your eyes, transport you out of your senses, and make your hair stand an end.... That is very kind indeed, (says a Comic Poet) but I believe, it will be better to come to me, who will make you laugh at all others and even at yourselves. I pity you all, (says a Man-hater) burn me all those books there and mine too; and let there be no mention of learning, arts, sciences, and the like wretched things; for it is I that tell you, as long as you have any reason, you shall have neither wisdom, nor conduct, nor happiness.

I say nothing of the itch of knowledge, which should always precede that of writing, and which commonly follows it at a good distance, and often never comes at all.

At Babylon, the itch of being singular, is like an epidemical disease. It is pretty well known wherein the Babylonians are alike, but it would be the work of an age, to say wherein they differ. Every one distinguishes himself by some remarkable stroke. Hence comes the mode of portraits, and the facility of drawing them. Draw them by fancy, you are sure they will meet with a likeness; draw them after nature, you will never fail of originals. There are some for the pulpit, for the use of the orators who want grace, there are some for the theatre, for the use of poets who want genius, there are some for writings of all kinds, for the use of the authors who want ideas.

The most troublesome of all the itches produced by these insects, is the itch of being known. Thou canst not conceive, what efforts are made by all the men stung with this itch. I say all the men; for, who has not a view to reputation and fame? The Artisan shows his work, the Gamester his calculations, the Poet his images, the Orator his grand strokes, the Scholar his discoveries, the General his campaigns, the Minister his schemes. And even he that sees the nothingness of this chimæra, still contemplates its charms, and sighs after it: Just so a lover, with a troubled heart, strives to abandon a faithless mistress, from whom he cannot bear to part. What designs, what efforts of imagination to make one’s self talked of! how many things attempted and dropt! what hopes, fears, cares, and follies of every kind!

CHAP. VIII. COMPENSATIONS.

What you tell me (says I) is very extraordinary. But I cannot see why the elementary spirits raise and cultivate this plant with so great care. They who wish us so much good, in this respect do us very little. To behold men, stung to the quick, acting like madmen, losing their senses for chimeras, is a thing, in my opinion, deserving pity; but perhaps it may be an amusement to the elementary spirits.

Like many others (replied the Prefect) thou judgest and seest things but in one view. The itches have their inconveniences; but that is nothing in comparison of their advantages. Without the itch of talking and writing, would eloquence be known? Would the sciences have been transmitted and improved from generation to generation? Would not you be like so many untaught children, without ideas, without knowledge, without principles? Was it not for the itch of being known, who would take the pains to amuse you, to instruct you, to be useful to you by the most interesting discoveries? Without the itch of ruling, who would busy themselves in unravelling the chaos of the laws, in hearing and judging your quarrels, in watching for your safety? Without the itch of shining, in what kingdom would policy find a vent for those respectable knick-knacks wherewith she adorns those she is pleased to distinguish? And yet, this kind of nothings are, for the good of the state, to be acquired at the price even of blood. Thanks to our flies, there are some mad enough to sacrifice all for their sake, and others fools enough to behold them with veneration.

Take away our insects, and men stand stupidly ranged by one another, like so many statues; let our insects fly, and these statues receive new life, and are as busy as bees. One sings, another dances, this reads his verses and falls into an extasy, that hears him and is tired: The Chymist is at his furnace, the Speculatist in his study, the Merchant at sea, the Astronomer discovers a new satellite, the Physician a new medicine, the soldier a new manœuvre; in fine, the statues are men; and all this is owing to this plant and our care.

I beg (said I to the Prefect) we may stand at a distance from this admirable plant; I dread more than I can express, the neighbourhood of these volatiles. I rejoice much to see them authors of so many benefits; but I fear still more, the uneasiness they create.

CHAP. IX. NIL ADMIRARI.

Your fearfulness, (says the Prefect) surprises me. Tell me, I pray, what idea hast thou of what is called grandeur, dignities, and high rank in a state?

I am in this world (answered I) like a traveller, who goes on his way curiously observing the objects, but desiring none, because he is but a passenger. Moreover, if things are estimated according to the happiness they procure, I do not think that the highest places should be much valued; for, I see, they make no man happy, and are a misfortune to many.

What of riches? added the Prefect.

Pleasure (said I) is like a very rare commodity, which, however, every one would fain purchase. Among those that succeed, the rich buy it very dear, it comes cheap to the rest: One may as well be among the last as the first. Of the few pleasures that exist, the lower class enjoy as large a share as the highest.

What of wit, genius, talents? says the Prefect.

One half of the world, replied I, study to amuse the other. The first class is formed of men of talents; whose brains are wound up by nature higher than ordinary. They are incessantly striving to please: If they fail, they waste away with grief; if they succeed, it is never fully, and a single censure creates them more pain than all the encomiums together give them pleasure. It is, therefore, better to be of the second class, I mean among those who are amused by the others.

As far as I see, said the Prefect, the aspect of the great and their pomp, of the scholar and his extensive genius, of the rich and his vast possessions, makes little or no impression on thy mind.

I confess, replied I, that no man was ever less dazzled with all this than myself. Wrapt in a certain coolness of sense, I am guarded against all strong impressions. I behold with the same eye the ignorant who know nothing, and the learned who know all, except truth; the protector who plans, though he knows his weakness, and the protected who cringes, though he perceives his superiority; the peasant that is disgusted with the simplicity of his diet, and the rich sensual, who with thirty niceties, can hardly make a dinner; the duchess, loaded with diamonds, and the shepherdess decked with flowers; vanity, which dwells in the cottage as well as in the palace, and upholds the low as well as the high; care, which sits on the throne by the king, or follows the philosopher in his retirement. All the parts on the stage of this world, seem to me one no better than another: but I do not desire to act any. I would observe all and be taken up with nothing. Hence it is, that I dreaded the neighbourhood of these restless flies....

And hence it is precisely, interrupted the Prefect, that thou hadst nothing to fear from them. Thou admirest nothing; it is sufficient: The flies can take no hold of thee. The first impression they must make, is the impression of surprise and admiration; if they make not that, they miss their aim. But the moment admiration is admitted, a crowd of passions quickly follow. For, in the object of wonder, great hurt or great good is expected. Hence Love or Aversion, and all their attendants; restless Desire which never sleeps; Joy, which embraces and devours its objects; Melancholy, which, at a distance, and with weeping eyes, contemplates and calls for what it dreads: Confidence, which walks with head erect, and often meets a fall; Despair, which is preceded by fear and followed by madness, and a thousand others. If thou wilt rest secure from their attacks, cherish thy coolness of sense, and never lose sight of the grand principle,

NIL ADMIRARI.

CHAP. X. THE FANTASTICAL TREE.

After having walked some time by the side of a rivulet, we came into a beautiful and spacious meadow. It was enamelled with a thousand sorts of flowers, whose various colours were, at a distance, blended together and formed shining carpets, such as art has never woven. The meadow was bounded by a piece of rock, like a wall; against which grew a tree, like an espalier. It did not rise above a man’s height, but spread itself to the right and left, the length of the rock, above three hundred paces. Its leaves were very thin and very narrow, but in such abundance, that it was not possible to see the least part, either of the trunk or of the branches, or of the surface of the rock.

Thou seest, said the Prefect, the product of the third and last Kernel; we give it the name of the Fantastical Tree.

From this precious tree it is, that inventions, discoveries, arts and sciences take their original; and that by a mechanism, which will surprise thee.

Thou knowest that the fibres of the leaves of a tree, are ranged uniformly on each of them; to see one, is to see all the rest. Here, this uniformity has no place; each leaf has its fibres ranged in a particular manner; there are not two alike in the Fantastical Tree. But, what is most wonderful, the fibres, on each leaf, are ranged with symmetry, and represent distinctly a thousand sorts of objects; one while a colonnade, an obelisk, a decoration; another while mechanical instruments; here, geometrical diagrams, algebraical problems, astronomical systems; there, physical machines, chymical instruments, plans of all kinds of works, verse, prose, conversation, history, romances, songs, and the like.

These leaves do not fade. When come to perfection they grow by degrees prodigiously small, and roll themselves up in a thousand folds. In this state, they are so light, that the wind blows them away; and so small, that they enter through the pores of the skin. Once admitted into the blood, they circulate with the humours, and generally stop at the brain, where they cause a singular malady, the progress of which is thus:

When one of the leaves is settled in the brain, it is imbibed, dilated, opened, becomes such as it was on the Fantastical Tree, and presents to the mind the images wherewith it is covered. During the operation, the patient appears with his eyes fixed, and a pensive air. He seems to hear and see what passes about him, but his thoughts are otherways employed. He walks sometimes at a great rate, and sometimes stands stock-still. He rubs his forehead, stamps with his foot, and bites his nails. They who have seen a geometrician upon the solution of a problem, or a naturalist on the first glimpse of a physical explication, must have observed these symptoms.

This violent state proceeds from the efforts of the soul, to discern what is traced on the leaf; it holds longer or shorter, according as the leaf takes up more or less time in displaying, and aptly presenting itself.

The abatement of the malady appears by light emanations from the brain, such as some ideas suddenly conceived, some designs hastily thrown upon paper, some scheme sketched in a hurry. The soul begins to discern the objects, and contemplate at leisure the Fantastical leaf.

These last symptoms declare an approaching crisis, which quickly shows itself in a general evacuation of all that has been transmitted to the brain. Then verses flow, difficulties are cleared, problems are resolved, phenomena are explained, dissertations are multiplied, chapters are heaped upon chapters; and the whole takes the form of a book, and the patient is cured. Of all the accidents which afflicted him, there only remains an immoderate affection for the offspring of his brain, of which he was delivered with so much pain.

CHAP. XI. PREDICTIONS.

Behold, added the Prefect, showing me the extent of the Fantastical Tree, behold leaves for a century of designs, of discoveries, and of writings. Thou mayest examine at thy leisure what, during that space, will torment above a million of heads.

I drew near, and attentively viewed a good while the wonderful tree, especially those branches on which the sciences vegetated; and after having examined it to the last boughs with all the attention and exactness I am capable of, I think myself qualified to make here some Predictions.

The historical branch has an admirable effect; all the events are painted like a camayeu[14], as by the hand of the greatest masters. So many leaves, so many little pictures. What will most surprise, is, that these pictures, seen in different points of view, represent the same subject, but represent it very variously: And, according to the manner of beholding it, the same action appears courageous or rash, zealous or fanatical, rational or silly, proud or magnanimous. So, according to the point of view, wherein these leaves present themselves to the brain of an historian, he will see things in a good or bad light, and will write accordingly. I would not have such works entitled, _The history of what passed in such a time_, but rather, _The manner in which such an author saw what passed_. Moreover this branch is plentifully furnished, and should be so. As long as there are men, there will be ambition, traitors, disturbers of the publick peace, merit will be forgotten and the worthless preferred, virtue will be oppressed, vice will be triumphant, countries will be ravaged, cities will be sacked, and thrones will be dyed in blood; and these are the food of history; excellent school, for youth to learn lessons of humanity, candor, and sincerity!

The metaphysical branch is almost equally furnished: But its leaves are very thin, and their fibres so excessively small, that they are hardly perceivable. I greatly pity the brains where they will settle. I see but one way to give them ease: And that is, to treat the most thorny questions after the modern manner; I mean to supply the want of clear ideas and deep reflections, by bold and confident assertions, which may serve to impose.

The moral branch droops, and receives scarce any sap; its withered leaves declare an approaching decay; alas! it is dying. The plans on it are quite effaced. This is too visible from the works that are published of this kind. The ideas of good and evil are confounded; virtue is so disguised as hardly to be known, nor is it easy to discern what is to be called vice. And yet, the whole is not said. There remains many arguments to be published against the obsolete notion of justice; many jests to be passed upon those who still talk of probity in the old fashioned stile; many fresh proofs to demonstrate, that national, private, and especially personal interest, should be the sole rule of conduct. At these so fine lessons, the Babylonians will clap their hands and cry: “In truth, all the world was blind; and men did not see clearly till this present time.”

The poetical branch is in a very bad state; there are only a few boughs left, among others, the dramatic bough, and that so very weak, it can hardly support itself. There will appear from time to time at Babylon some tragic poets, but no comic. I suspect the reason. Formerly the Babylonians were only ridiculous; they were brought upon the stage and people laughed: Now, they are almost all vicious, but vicious upon principle; and such objects by no means raise laughter. The manners begin to be no longer theatrical.

The panegyrical branch is very considerable, and bends under its load. There will be panegyricks applicable to a great man from whom some favour is expected; to an author who having flattered, receives homage for homage; to another, who is flattered, in order that he may flatter again. There will be some commercial ones, which will be sold, to one for his protection, to another for his table, to a third for his money. There will be also some, and in great plenty for those, who beg them: But there will be hardly any for those that deserve them the most.

With good-sense alone, and the simplest notions which a bough of the philosophical branch furnishes, and which teach to estimate the things of this life according to their value, there will be formed, among the people, a number of practical philosophers; whilst, among the men of letters, all the penetration imaginable, all the knowledge they think they have, all the wit in the world will form only imperfect philosophers. They will avoid praises, but so as to attain them by some round-about way. They will profess the most ardent zeal for all the citizens, nay, for all men in general; but they will care only for themselves. They will decide upon the most complicated, the most obscure, the most important questions, with an astonishing confidence; but in deciding everything they will clear up nothing. They will wear outwardly the most reserved modesty; inwardly they will be eaten up by ambition. Now, shall we call such persons philosophers? It is thus that we give the name of stars to those meteors, which kindle sometimes in the upper region of the air, make a blaze, and instantly vanish.

In general, I thought, I saw upon a great number of leaves, things entirely contradictory. The century will slide away, and the sentiments upon the same objects will not be reconciled. According to custom, each will speak his opinion, and attack the rest. Disputes will arise; and the most bitter ironies, the strongest invectives, the most cutting railleries, nothing will be spared to raise the laughter of the crowd, and the pity of the wise.

CHAP. XII. THE SYSTEM.

Of an infinite number of plans of different works, that I saw drawn on the leaves of the Fantastical Tree, I remember three. In the first, the point in question is very abstract, but treated in so singular a manner, that perhaps it will not be disagreeable to give here a slight sketch of it.

“When I have examined matter, it has appeared to me, that it could not think, and I have readily admitted Beings purely spiritual. It is true, the least ideas of such substances have never been formed. This proves the sagacity of man does not reach very far: But does it prove there is nothing beyond?

“When I have considered the animals, I have not been able to help thinking them intelligent, and that so much ingenuity was not without some understanding. They are, therefore, said I, provided with a spiritual substance. But what! these insects, these worms, these microscopical animals, who increase without number in the shortest space, have they each a spiritual, that is to say, an unchangeable, immortal soul? I do not imagine, any such thought ever entered into a sound head.

“Then calling to mind that intelligent Being diffused through the whole earth, and perhaps farther, that immense spirit of whom some antient philosophers have talked, under the name of the universal soul; I have thought that, without multiplying infinitely spiritual substances, that soul was very proper to supply their place, and alone sufficient to give life to all the animals. I have therefore embraced the opinion of the antients, but with one restriction.

“They were persuaded that every thinking organized Being, is animated by a particle of the universal soul; That cannot be. If this soul is capable of perceptions, it is spiritual, and indivisible, and if it is indivisible, it cannot separate from itself any part to go and animate any Being whatever. If this spirit informs different bodies, it is because it operates at the same time in different places; and not because it sends any where some emanation of its substance.

“Farther: The antients believed that man, like the animals, derived from the universal soul all the intelligence he is endowed with; another mistake. If we consider in man, that hidden principle which carries him so efficaciously to follow the impressions of sense, though ever so repugnant to reason, we shall agree, with the antients, that this principle must be the same with that which animates, rules, and directs the animals; the pure sensitive nature of the universal soul is visible in it. But when I perceive in man another agent, which tends to subject all his actions to the rules of justice; which so often opposes the senses (though seldom with success) which, even when it succeeds not to hinder the sin, never fails to sting him with remorse and repentance; I cannot help thinking, that besides the universal spirit, there is in man another principle of a superior order: A principle known by the name of rational soul. It is manifest by the clashing between the passions and reason, that there are in us two contradictory Beings, which oppose one another. If I may be allowed to compare things of so different a nature, I should say that every thing which partakes of the universal soul is like a spunge soaked in water, and immersed in the sea; and that if, moreover, the body is endued with a reasonable soul (which is the case of man) it is like the same spunge soaked in water, but in which a drop of oil has found its way.

“In fine, the antients believed, that the universal soul was diffused every where; but neither can That be. Perhaps it pervades the terrestrial globe, or, it may be, the whole solar system, or even farther: But still it is certain, it has its bounds, it is God alone that fills immensity.

“But how shall the existence of a thinking Being be admitted, which, bounded as it is, has however so prodigious an extension? What ideas can be formed of its capaciousness and its limits? How can it animate so many bodies physically separated one from the other, and forming so many individuals? Let us fathom, as far as in us lies, these depths of obscurity.

“Since spiritual substances have no solidity, they are penetrable, and take up no room. From their penetrability it follows, that several spirits may exist in one and the same space, and that a body may also be in the same place. From their taking up no room it follows, that they have neither length, nor breadth, nor depth; that they have no extension properly so called. But still a spirit is a real Being, a substance: Though it takes up no room, it is necessarily some-where; and, though it has no extension properly so called, it has necessarily its bounds. So, in a metaphysical sense, all spiritual Beings may be said to be more or less extended, to contain, and to be contained: And then we may return to our companion of the spunge, penetrated by a drop of oil, impregnated with water, and immersed in the sea.”

“On the other hand, by virtue of the laws of combination, the result of the unions necessarily differs from the substances that are united; and it does not appear, that the soul and the body should make an exception. When the spirit and matter are united, think not the spirit the same as before; it is, in some measure, materialized; think not the matter such as it was before; it is, in some measure, spiritualized. From this mixture results a new Being, different from pure spirit, though it retains its noblest virtue; different from brute matter, though it partakes of its qualities: It is a particular Being, forming an individual, and thinking apart; in fine, it is such a Being as you that are reading, such as I that am writing. Therefore, what perceives in us, is properly speaking, neither the universal spirit nor the rational soul, nor organized matter: but a compound of all three. Just as when a lion roars, it is not the universal soul, that is in a rage; it is the compound of that soul and the brain of the lion. Hence it comes, that each animal forms a separate thinking individual, though all the animals think only by virtue of one and the same spirit, the universal soul. Let us proceed without losing sight of the faint light which guides us thro’ these dark paths.

“We have seen that, to form an animal, there needs only a combination of organized matter, and the universal soul; and, to form a man, there must be another union of organized matter, universal spirit, and rational soul. If the universal spirit was wanting; ever obedient to the dictates of the rational soul, we should see none but virtuous and spotless men, such as are no where to be found. If the rational soul was wanting, abandoned to this instinct of the universal spirit, which always follows the allurements of sense, we should see none but monsters of vice and disorder.

“The rational soul is united to the human body, the instant the motion essential to life is settled there, it is separated the instant that motion is destroyed; and, once separated, it is known to return no more, it departs for-ever; and enters into a state of which there is to be no end.

“The universal soul is united and separated in the same circumstances: But it is not always separated for-ever. Let, in any person, the motion essential to life, after having totally ceased, come to be renewed, (a thing which every physician knows to be very possible) and what will be the consequence? The rational soul, which departed upon the ceasing of the vital motion, cannot return; but the universal soul, always present, cannot fail of re-uniting with the organized body set in motion again. The man is dead, for his soul is separated from his body. He preserves, however, the air of a living man; because the universal soul is re-settled in his brain, which it directs tolerably well.

“Such to you appears a person perfectly recovered from an apoplectic or lethargic fit, who is but half come to life; his soul is flown; there remains only the universal spirit. Excess of joy, or of grief, any sudden opposition may occasion death, and does occasion it, in fact, oftener than is imagined. Let a fit of jealousy or passion affect you to a certain degree, your soul, too strongly shocked, quits its habitation for-ever: And, let your friends say what they please, or say what you will yourself, you are dead, positively dead. However, you are not buried: the universal soul acts your part to the deception of the whole world, and even of yourself.

“Do not complain therefore, that a relation forgets you, that a friend forsakes you, that a wife betrays you. Alas! perhaps it is a good while since you had a wife, or relations, or friends; they are dead; their images only remain.

“How many deaths of this kind have I seen at Babylon? Never, for instance, did contagious distemper make such havock as the late pious broils. It is true, the Babylonians are so constituted, that their soul sits very loose; the least shock parts it from the body; this is confirmed by observation. Call to mind their notorious quarrel about musick, their rage, their fury: How few heads were untouched? They are mad, said some reasonable people: But for my part, I knew they were dead.

“God rest the soul of the author of the _Petites Lettres a de grands Philosophes!_ He had long been declining; and at last died some months ago. Instantly, the universal soul, possessed of his brains, dislodged some shreds of verses, jumbled them together, and framed that lifeless comedy, the indecency of which gave offence to all the Babylonians that remained _alive_.

“I shall now speak of the signs by which the living may be distinguished from the dead: And, doubtless, the reader sees already what these signs may be. To behold wickedness with unconcern; to be unmoved by virtue, to mind only self-interest; and without remorse, to be carried away with the torrent of the age, are signs of death. Be assured, no rational soul inhabits such abandoned machines. What numbers of dead amongst us! you will say. What numbers of dead amongst us! will I answer.

“As there are signs which declare that such a particular person, who thinks himself, and whom you think full of life, is however deprived of it; so there are signs which show the ravages, these concealed deaths have made in the world. For instance, there must have been, of late years, a great mortality among the learned: For, if you observe almost all the productions of modern literature, you will find only a playing with words, destructive principles, dangerous assertions, dazzling hints. Alas! our authors are manifestly but machines, actuated by the universal soul.

“And, very lately, have we not had fresh proofs of this mortality? What is meant by these libels unworthy of the light? These _when’s_? These _if’s_? These _what-d’ye-calls_? These _wherefore’s_? And I know not how many more with which we are deluged. Be not persuaded that rational souls are capable of such excesses.

“I will conclude with opening a door to new reflections. Suppose a man, like so many others, vegetates only, and is reduced to the universal soul, I demand whether the race of such a man is not in the same state. If so, I pity our posterity. Rational souls were scarce among our fore-fathers; they are still more so among us; surely there will be none left among our offspring. All are degenerating, and we are very near the last stage.”

CHAP. XIII. LETTER TO THE EUROPEANS.

The second of the works, of which I remember to have seen the plan delineated on the leaves of the Fantastical tree, was digested into the form of a letter, addressed to all the nations of Europe, the substance of which is as follows:

“O ye powerful nations of Europe; nations polished, ingenious, learned, warlike, made to command the rest; nations the most accomplished upon earth; the times are come: Your profound schemes for the happiness of man have prospered: You enjoy it at length, and I congratulate you upon it.

“In nature’s infancy, those uncivilised ages wherein men wandering in the fields, were fed with the products of the earth, a perfect security, easy pleasure, profound peace, or rather languishing indolence benumbed all the faculties of the soul. But when the sweets of property had flattered the human heart; when each had his inclosure and could say, _This is mine_; then all was in motion. A man had too much of one thing, and too little of another; he gave the superfluity for what he wanted: And trade was established. It was at first carried on among neighbours; then, from country to country; and at last, from one of the quarters of the world to the other three. From that time, mankind have formed but one numerous family, whose members are incessantly employed in cheating one another. The spirit of distrust, finess, and fraud, have displayed all the springs of the soul; the talents have shown themselves, the arts have taken birth; and men begin to enjoy the full extent of their understanding.

“How well these profound speculatists have conjectured, who have told us: _Would you have a state flourish? incourage populousness; for real strength and riches consist in a great number of citizens. To incourage populousness, enlarge trade more and more, set up manufactures, introduce arts of every kind; and, to consume superfluities, call in luxury._ Let the names of those who have opened this admirable way, be carefully preserved in our kalendar.

“It is true, by following this method, you have missed your aim, which was populousness. What fortune soever a man may raise, it is consumed by the boundless expence of luxury, which always exceeds the revenues: There is nothing left for the education and settlement of children; and means must be used to have a small number, or even none at all. Long races suit only those remote times when your ancestors, plentifully furnished with necessaries, were so unfortunate as to have no idea of pageantry. It is no wonder, if people so barbarous as not to know silk, lace, tea, chocolate, Burgundy, Champagne, should so increase in the northern regions, as to over-run, like a torrent, all your countries, should found monarchies, and dictate laws, which are revered to this day.

“But what signifies populousness and multitude? Rejoice, O ye fortunate nations; for you have coffee and snuff, cinnamon and musk, sugar and furs, tea and china. How happy are you! and how composed should your minds be!

“It is true, toils, hunger, thirst, shoals, storms, sooner or later destroy these insatiable traders, who traverse the seas to bring you these precious superfluities. But with how many advantages are these petty inconveniences repaid? The face of Europe is entirely new! even to your constitutions all is changed. Thousands of quintals of spices, circulate in your blood, carry fire into your inmost nerves, and give you a new sort of Being. Neither your health, nor your diseases are like those of your fore-fathers. Their robust constitution, simplicity of manners, their native virtues, are they comparable to the advantages you enjoy? That sensibility of the organs, that delicacy of mind and body, those universal lights, those vices of all kinds.... What! will it be said, are vices also to be reckoned among the actual felicities of Europe? Yes, without doubt: Is it not daily proved, that virtue heretofore might be useful to the prudent economy of your ancestors, but that, for enlightened citizens, who no longer walk by the old rules, vice is absolutely necessary, or rather changes its nature and becomes virtue.

“Another advantage that you owe to the depth of your policy and extensiveness of your trade is, that perpetual occasions offer to show your courage, and to practice your military virtues.

“When formerly your countries were under that vast dominion, which swallowed up all the rest, they sunk into indolence; you had only short wars and long intervals of peace, every thing languished. But since, out of the wrecks of that unwieldy empire, a hundred petty states have been formed, every thing has revived. The Europeans have incessantly quarrelled and fought for little spots of land; the grand art of heroism is returned, the art of sacking provinces and shedding blood: And that balance of power so much talked of, is at last established, which puts all Europe in arms at the motion of the least of its parts, and by means of which, a single spark is sufficient to set the whole earth in a flame.

“Let us not regret those times so productive of warriors, when country heroes, each at the head of two or three hundred vassals, continually harrassed one another. The seeds of dissention, which were grown scarce in your climates, have been sought in the farthest parts of the earth; and from the bosom of the two Indias, commerce has brought fresh seeds of enmity, discord, and war.

“These fertile sources are not exhausted; there still remain countries to be discovered. O ye indefatigable nations! is your courage abated? What! should you confine yourselves to your late progresses, as if there remained no unknown lands? Will you never go and hoist your standards, and build forts, directly under the Poles? Rouse yourselves, there are still left riches to plunder, countries to waste, blood to spill.

“But why should you cast your eyes on such objects? Are not your possessions immense? Is not your luxury carried to the utmost height? Are there still new vices to be introduced among you? And do not you begin to shake off the troublesome yoke of every sort of duty? Without doubt, you are very well, nor were you ever better. The little way you have to arrive at perfection, will soon be gone over. When modern wisdom, which timorously conceals herself still in the shade, shall appear in broad day; when she shall have raised her proud head, and shall see all Europe at her feet, universally adopting her maxims, then, you will have neither religious nor moral principles; you will be at the summit of felicity.”

CHAP. XIV. THE MAXIMS.

The third work of which I remember to have seen the sketch on the Fantastical Tree, was entitled, _Rules of Conduct for the Eighteenth Century, addressed to a young Babylonian, who is coming into the world_. It contained the following Maxims.

“Every country has its customs, every age its manners; and, in human wisdom, the only unchangeable Maxim is, to change with the times and places. The most unquestionable Maxims of the Babylonians, and of the present times are such as these:

“To have true merit does not much signify; but to have small talents is essential. To make one’s court, for example, and pretty verses, is sufficient to prosper: and even farther than can be imagined.

“Great faults shall be forgiven you, but the least ridiculous ones are unpardonable. You think right, and say excellent things: But take care you do not sneeze; it will be such an indecorum, that all the Babylonish gravity would not be able to hold; and you might speak still better things, and not a soul hear you.

“Be particularly careful to act entirely with reference to yourself, and to talk always with reference to the publick-good. It is a fine word, that _publick-good_: If you would, it will never enter into your heart; but it must be always in your mouth.

“Seek not the esteem of the Babylonians in place, that leads to nothing; seek to please. What, think you, will esteem do for you? It is so frozen a sentiment, has so distant a relation to _self_! But amuse their highnesses, and their eminencies, you will then be prized, they will not suffer you out of their sight; they will do all for you, and think they can never do enough.

“Wait not to sollicit for a place you may be fit for; probably you will not succeed. But ask, without distinction, for whatever shall offer. It is a secret to you, but you must know, that it often enters into the depth of true policy, to prefer unfit persons, and remove those that are capable.

“In fine, if you will prosper, turn, according to circumstances, flatterer, like a dedication; quack, like a preface; verbose like a book of art or science; enthusiast, like a demi-philosopher; liar, like an historian; fool-hardy, like an author who is resolved to be talked of.

“These are the true principles of wisdom: But remember, it is the Babylonian wisdom of the Eighteenth Century.”

CHAP. XV. THE THERMOMETERS.

As I was attentively examining a leaf of the Fantastical Tree, on which I perceived grand projects, and insufficient means; I saw another, so small and curled as to be almost invisible, fly off from a neighbouring bough, and suddenly disappear. At the same instant I felt a slight pricking in my forehead, and a sort of restlessness in my head, which I cannot describe, and which has not left me ever since.

Certainly this leaf has entered my brain, and is labouring to unfold itself; some new invention will result from it one time or other. I even begin to suspect of what kind; and I imagine, it will be a mechanical affair. If I am not mistaken it is this:

The different tempers, the different talents, the different dispositions depend upon the heat and motion, more or less considerable, of the animal spirits: This is a settled point among the physicians; I shall not appeal from their judgment. The question would be to find a mechanical instrument, to discover in each person the degree of heat and motion of this animal liquid, in order to discern what any one is fit for, and to employ him accordingly. This is what I am seeking, and what the leaf, which is busy in my brain, when unfolded will not fail to show me.

I will compose a quintessence analogous to the animal liquid; and, instead of spirits of wine, I will fill thermometers with it. On the side of the tube, in the room of the different degrees of the temperature of the air, there shall be an enumeration of the objects, about which men are usually employed: Instead of cold, temperate, hot, very hot, _&c._ shall be put, good for history, good for physick, good for poetry, good for the gown, good for the sword, good for the mitre, good for the baton, good for Bedlam, _&c._

When a person shall put his hand upon the phial, the liquor will be condensed, or dilated; and, rising or falling in the tube, will show what the person is good for.

I will present Thermometers to sovereigns, that they may chuse Generals, Ministers, Counsellors, and especially Favourites, who will love them enough to tell them the truth. I will give some to Bishops to fill their Benefices and Dignities, for I observe, that those who are appointed to watch, should themselves be watched. I will give some to Fathers, that their children may be wisely disposed of: We shall not see them gird with a sword a son whom they ought to dedicate to the altar, nor bury in a cloister a daughter who would have been the delight of a husband, and the happiness of a family. I will give some to the Great, that they may discern those who deserve their protection: They will grant it no more to a base flatterer, to a supple intriguer, to an ostentatious mean person, who has pretensions; but to true merit, which is seldom seen by them, and never with all its advantages. I will give some to those tender-hearted virtuous Girls, made to enliven the small number of our pleasures, and to allay the multitude of our troubles. With my Thermometers, they will chuse husbands worthy of their affection, if any such there be; and they will not see themselves given up to men born for the plague of their sex; those men without morals, who marry for life, and espouse only for six months.

In fine, I will give some to particular persons, that each may examine himself, and act accordingly: For I observe, that generally every one does what he should not do; I see none but what are misplaced.

I am now solliciting for a pension, to defray the vast expence, that I must evidently be at in making Thermometers, even though I should give them only to such as most want them.

It is true, that reflection might serve instead of my liquid and glass-tubes, but reflections are known to be very rare. For example, it is now at Babylon as on the real stage; all is action, nothing is thought, and my Thermometers may become a necessary piece of furniture.

CHAP. XVI. THE LENTILS.

The sap which circulates in the Fantastical Tree, said the Prefect, is exhausted in bearing and nourishing leaves. Let it be considered, how many plans, views, projects, come into men’s heads; the prodigious quantity of leaves that this tree must furnish will be astonishing; and it will be no longer wondered, that its whole substance is wasted in their production.

Mean while, the sap, passing into the philosophical branch, makes more progress there than any where else; it produces blossoms, and sometimes fruit. These blossoms are of a singular form and colour, that is to say, admirable to some eyes, and very odd to others. Their odour is very penetrating; few love it, many cannot bear it: To like it, requires a strong head, and a brain organized on purpose.

These same blossoms are extremely delicate: The least change of the air disorders their economy. They generally fade without leaving any fruit.

In fine, the fruit is very late, and seldom comes to perfect maturity. The shell is almost round, divided within into little cells, and ending at the top in a crown.

The little cells of the philosophical fruit, are full of seeds transparent as crystal, round and flatted like a Lentil, but infinitely smaller. When the fruit is ripe, it bursts; the cells open, the seeds come out. But as they are very light, they are suspended in the air, and the wind blows them every way over the surface of the earth.

One thing would astonish thee if thou wast not a little versed in chymistry and optics, and that is, these philosophical grains have a particular analogy to the eye. They will not stick to any other substance; but, as soon as they come within the reach of certain eyes, they never fail to fasten on them, and that just before the sight of the eye. As they are perfectly transparent, they cannot be perceived: But they are discovered by their effects.

He that has a seed of this kind before his eyes, sees things as they are, and he cannot be imposed upon by chimæras. What used to appear to him _great_, is prodigiously lessened, and what appeared to him _little_, is magnified in the same proportion; so that to his eyes, every thing is upon a level or nearly so.

In general, men appear to him very little, and those lords over others, whom he beheld before as colossuses, seem to him so little above the rest, that he hardly perceives the difference.

He sees the extent of human knowledge, and finds it so near to ignorance, that he does not conceive how learning can breed vanity, or ignorance cause shame.

He sees without disguise the phantom of immortality, the idol of the great and the jest of the wise. He sees the celebrated names penetrate a little more or less into futurity; and then stop like the rest and sink into eternal oblivion.

He sees what is low in the most sublime; the dark part of what casts the most lustre, the weak side in what appears the strongest: And his imagination presents to him nothing dazzling, but wherein his reason discovers all the defects.

He sees the earth, as a point in the boundless space; the series of ages, as an instant in eternal duration; and the chain of human actions, as the traces of a cloud of flies in the aerial plains.

In fine, he respects virtue; and, as to the rest, whatever he perceives all around him, even to the most minute things, seems to him all alike. He esteems nothing, he despises nothing, he prefers nothing, and accommodates himself to every thing.

Such a man cannot be conceived to be susceptible of all those little sallies of joy which affect others, but then he is screened from those little mortifications which trouble them so much, and in my opinion, he is a gainer.

CHAP. XVII. THE SUBTERRANEOUS ROAD.

I have one thing more (said the Prefect) to show thee; prepare thy eyes and thy ears; and be frightened at nothing.

The rivulet, by the side of which we walked to the Fantastical Tree, receives several streams as it flows along; and, as if it left with regret so beautiful a residence, after forming a thousand serpentine windings in the meadow, it glides gently towards its mouth. In that place, a hole, formed by an opening of the earth, receives and transmits it through subterraneous channels.

We came to the place where it was broadest. The bottom was of smooth gravel, and the water not above an inch deep. The Prefect went in and I followed him.

I had gone but a few paces, when the bottom gave way: I sunk, but it was only to my waste; and I remained in that posture, without being able to get to one side or the other. Fear nothing, says the Prefect, calmly enjoy the last spectacle I have reserved for thee.

I then gave myself up to the efforts of the waters, which carried me away, and I soon entered into the subterraneous cavities, where they were lost. At a little distance, the rivulet flowed into another, and soon after, both ran into a river. I was carried from stream to stream; I crossed gulphs, lakes, and seas.

As long as a faint light permitted, I contemplated the internal frame of the earth. It is a labyrinth of immense caverns, deep grottos, irregular crevices, which have a communication with one another. The waters that flow in these subterranean places, spread themselves sometimes into vast basons, and seem to stagnate; sometimes they run with a rapid stream through narrow straits; and dash against the rocks with such impetuosity, as to produce the phosporus and flashes of lightening; very often they fall from the top of the vaults with a dreadful noise. The dazzled eye sees, as it imagines, the foundations of the earth shake; one would think, that the whole was turned upside down, and falling into chaos.

When the glimmering light, which I had enjoyed some time, came to fail, I found myself buried in profound darkness, which increased the horror, I had conceived at what I had seen. A hideous noise, mixed with the murmuring of the streams, with the whistling of the gulfs, with the roaring of the torrents, threw me into great perturbation of mind; and my troubled fancy formed to itself a thousand frightful images.

I went on a good while in this darkness; and I know not how far I had gone when a faint light struck my eyes. It was not like that which precedes sun-rising, or follows sun-set; but that melancholy light, which a town on fire spreads at a distance in the shade of the night. I was some time before I saw whence it came: At last, I found myself close to the most terrible of all the sights.

A vast opening exposed to my eyes in an immense cavern, an abyss of fire. The devouring flame rapidly consumed the combustible matter with which the arched roofs of the abyss were impregnated. A thick smoke mixed with fiery sparks, diffused itself to a great distance. From time to time, the calcined stones fell down by pieces, and the liquified metals formed flaming streams. Sometimes whole rocks, rent from the tops of the vaults, gave passage to water, which poured down in boiling streams. The moment the water touched the calcined matters and melted minerals, it caused most shocking detonations: The concavities of the globe resounded, their foundations were shaken: And I conceived that such was the cause of those terrible earth-quakes, that have destroyed so many countries, and swallowed up so many cities.

I was soon in darkness again; for I still went on. Every moment I should have been destroyed, if the Prefect of Giphantia had not watched over me. I saw him no more: But his promise was with me: And the dangers, I had escaped, heartened me against those I had still to undergo. By degrees I took courage, and became so easy as to make some reflections.

Alas! said I, through a frightful desart I came into the most beautiful mansions in the world, and I am now going thence through gulfs, abysses, and vulcanos. Good and evil closely follow one another. It is thus, the light of the day and darkness of the night, the frosts of the winter and the flowers of the spring, the gentle zephyrs and the raging storms, succeed one another. However, by this strange concatenation, is formed the enchanting prospect of nature. Let us not doubt it: The natural world, notwithstanding its disorders, is the master-piece of infinite wisdom; the moral world, in spite of its stains, is worthy the admiration of the philosopher: And Babylon, with all its faults, is the chief city of the world.

At last, after many days of subterraneous navigation, I once more saw the light; I came out of these terrible vaults, and the last current landed me upon a maritime coast. The serenity of the air was not ruffled with the wind; the calm sea shone with the rays of the rising-sun; and, like a tender wife who stretches out her arms, and sweetly smiles on a beloved husband, the earth seemed to resume new life at the return of that glorious orb, from whence springs all its fertility. By degrees, my troubled senses were calmed: I looked round me, and found myself in my own country, six hundred furlongs north-west from Babylon, to which city I address and dedicate this narrative of my hazardous travels.

_FINIS._

Footnote 1:

The Jansenists (so called from Jansenius bishop of Ypres) explained the Doctrine of Grace after the Calvinistical or rather Methodistical manner, whilst the Molinists (so named from Molina a Spanish Jesuit) explained it after the Arminian or rather Semi-pelagian way. The Gallican clergy were divided between these two Opinions.

The reader may remember, there are three opinions concerning Grace. Says the Calvinist and Methodist, Grace does ALL. Says the Arminian and Semi-pelagian, Grace does HALF. Says the Pelagian, Grace does NOTHING.

Footnote 2:

The city of Ombi stood on the eastern side of the Nile, and Tentyra or Tentyris on the western; both in Thebais part of Upper Egypt. The Tentyrites were professed enemies of the Crocodiles, whilst the rest of the Egyptians held them in great veneration, especially the Ombites, who for their sake waged war with the Tentyrites.

Footnote 3:

Our author in this and the following chapter gives a very lively summary of the four great monarchies of the world.

I. The Assyrian or Babylonian founded by Nimrod (or Belus I.) soon after the dispersion at Babel, and which ended with the taking of Babylon (A. C. 538) by Cyrus who founded II. The Persian empire which ended with the defeat of Darius Codomannus (A. C. 334) by Alexander the Great who founded III. The Grecian or Macedonian empire which in about five years was divided among his successors, and at length (after the battle of Actium and death of Cleopatra) became subject to IV. The Roman empire under Augustus Cæsar, of which there are still some remains.

Footnote 4:

Arbaces governour of Media, and Belesis of Babylon.

Footnote 5:

After the death of Sardanapalus (who is said to burn himself, his wives and concubines, his eunuchs and riches, in one of the courts of his palace) the empire was divided into the Median over which Arbaces reigned at Nineveh, and the Assyrian over which Belesis reigned at Babylon. These were united under Cyrus about 210 years after. Belesis (the Baladan of Scripture) is called also Nabonassar. From the first year of his reign begins the famous Astronomical Æra of Nabonassar, containing 908 years from February 26 before Christ 747, to the 23d year of Antoninus Pius in the year of our Lord 161.

Footnote 6:

Nebuchadnezzer (A. C. 589) utterly destroyed Jerusalem, put out king Zedekiah’s eyes, killed his sons and erected the golden image in the plains of Dura.

Footnote 7:

By a solemn treaty Ptolemy had Egypt, _&c._ Cassander had Macedonia and Greece. Lysimachus had Thrace, Bithynia, _&c._ Seleucus had Syria, _&c._ Of these, the kingdom of Egypt (under 14 monarchs including Cleopatra) and of Syria (under 27 kings) subsisted till subdued by the Romans. The rest soon fell to pieces.

Footnote 8:

His Library is said to consist of above 200,000 volumes. Among the rest was the Septuagint or Greek translation of the Old Testament A. C. 267. done by Ptolemy’s order. This library was at last destroyed by fire.

Footnote 9:

This man who from a huntsman raised himself to the throne of Lusitania (now Portugal) defeated the Romans in several battles; so that Cepion the consul was forced at last to have him murdered by treachery. He was (says Livy) much lamented and honorably buried.

Footnote 10:

Rome was taken by Alaric king of the Goths in 410. By Genseric the Vandal in 455. By Odoacer king of the Heruli in 465, and by Totila the Goth in 546, by whom it was miserably plundered.

Footnote 11:

Attila king of the Huns, (called _the scourge of God_) after his other devastations entered Gaul with 500,000 Men and was defeated in the plains of Chalons in 451, with the loss of 200,000 Huns. After which he wasted Italy and destroyed Aquileia and other places. Then returning home, he died on his wedding night. The Huns were the most terrible of all the northern swarms. By the very terror of their countenances they are said to over-run the Scythians, Alans and Goths. They were so ignorant as not to know letters.

Footnote 12:

Mahomet was born at Mecca in Arabia, May 5, 570. He is thought by some to be persuaded that he was really inspired to propagate the belief of one God, and to overthrow the idolatrous religion of his country. If he retained some absurd notions, it was (say they) to induce his countrymen to embrace his religion. The Mahometan æra begins July 16, 622, when he fled from Mecca to Medina. He died Jan. 17, 631, after having reduced Arabia to his obedience. His religion has since spread itself over Asia, Africa, and great part of Europe.

Footnote 13:

Soliman, father of the Othman race, came out of Scythia with 50,000 men in the year 1214, and pushed his conquests to the Euphrates. In attempting to pass that river he was drowned in 1219. Othman his grandson was declared sultan in 1300. Mahomet II. the seventh emperor of the Turks, put an end to the Eastern empire by taking Constantinople in 1453. The Turks embraced the religion of Mahomet.

Footnote 14:

Camayeu, is a stone, whereon are found various figures formed by nature. It is the name the orientals give the onyx, on which and on agate, these natural figures are often found. When the figures are perfected by art, it is still called a camayeu, as is also a painting in one colour, representing basso relievos.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Changed all long ſ to short s. 2. Added 200 to all page numbers in Part 2 to avoid conflicts with Part 1 numbering. 3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 4. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. 5. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together at the end of the last chapter. 6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. 7. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.