'Q CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1 89 1 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE M^m& isp^ ^O 2 t-^TTh'^f m ^ 1^ PRINTED IN U.S. A, 3 1924 088 380 435 The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924088380435 The WORKS of VOLTAIRE "Between two servants of Humanity , who appeared eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation. » * * * Let us say it with a sentiment of profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED. Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the sweetness of the present civilization." VICTOR HUGO. t,.,ir„,,;/ /„ /-l,rU,.,.,„t-R.„hf,~.,,, n ,/r„..„„ /■.. ', /y zf;„,,„. Z.,A,y.' THE CF J= °A°CONnEMPOI?AEY»VEM®N A CR.1TIQVE. a DIOORAPm' BY ii WltCM^ J(0)M MOKIEY NwTfenslksrioinis ^ mid am IrCrodMcfionlt Onehvndredssikty-eight designs, comprising p.eprodvaions of rare OLD CINGRAVIN6&, STEcL PLfiTES, PHO- TOGRAVURES 8( CURIOUS FAC-SirilLESo X Copyright, 1901, By E. R. DuMont Owned by The St. Hubert Guild New York VOLTAIRE INTRODUCTORY AND BIOGRAPHICAL VICTOR HUGO'S ORATION CANDIDE POETICAL DISSERTATIONS Vol. I— Part I CONTENTS Publishers' Preface Introduction The Many-Sided Voltaire . Incidents in His Life . Oliver Goldsmith on Voltaire His Life Purpose . Victor Hugo's Oration Candide; or, The Optimist . Part II . . . - . . Poetical Dissertations: On Equality of Conditions . On Liberty . On the Nature of Man On Moderation in All Things 5 9 14 IS 32 39 44 59 2og 283 289 295 302 LIST OF PLATES Part I F&GB Meeting of Voltaire and Franklin Frontispiece Victor Hugo ....... iA Virtue Triumphant Over Vice . . . 28a PUBLISHER'S PREFACE. Students of Voltaire need not be told that nearly every important circumstance in connection with the history of this extraordinary man, from his birth to the final interment of his ashes in the Pantheon at Paris, is still matter of bitter con- troversy. If, guided in our judgment by the detractors of Voltaire, we were to read only the vituperative pro- ductions of the sentimentalists, the orthodox critics of the schools, the Dr. Johnsons, the Abbe Maynards, Voltaire would still remain the most remarkable man of the eighteenth century. Even the most hostile critics admit that he gave his name to an epoch and that his genius changed the mental, the spiritual, and the political conformation, not only of France but of the civilized world. The anti- Voltairean literature concedes that Voltaire was the greatest literary genius of his age, a master of language, and that his historical writings effected a revolution. Lord Macaulay, an unfriendly critic, says: "Of all the intellectual weapons that have ever been wielded by man, the most terrible was the mockery of Voltaire. Bigots and tyrants who had never been moved by the wailings and cursings of millions, turned pale at his name." That still more 5 6 Publisher's Preface. hostile authority, the evangelical Guizot, the emi- nent French historian, makes the admission that "innate love of justice and horror of fanaticism inspired Voltaire with his zeal in behalf of perse- cuted Protestants," and that Voltaire contributed most powerfully to the triumphs of those concep- tions of Humanity, Justice, and Freedom which did honor to the eighteenth century. Were we to form an estimate of Voltaire's char- acter and transcendent ability through such a tem- perate non-sectarian writer as the Hon. John Mor- ley, we would conclude with him that when the right sense of historical proportion is more fully developed in men's minds, the name of Voltaire will stand out like the names of the great decisive movements in the European advance, like the Re- vival of Learning, or the Reformation, and that the existence, character, and career of Voltaire consti- tute in themselves a new and prodigious era. We would further agree with Morley, that "no sooner did the rays of Voltaire's burning and far-shining spirit strike upon the genius of tiie time, seated dark and dead like the black stone of Memnon's statue, than the clang of the breaking chord was heard through Europe and men awoke in a new day and more spacious air." And we would prob- ably say of Voltaire what he magnanimously said of his contemporary, Montesquieu, that "humanity had lost its title-deeds and he had recovered them." Were we acquainted only with that Voltaire de- Publisher's Preface. , 7 scribed by Goethe, Hugo, Pompery, Bradlaugh, Paine, and Ingersoll, we might believe with Inger- soU that it was Voltaire who sowed the seeds of liberty in the heart and brain of Franklin, Jeffer- son, and Thomas Paine, and that he did more to free the human race than any other of the sons of men. Hugo says that "between two servants of humanity which appeared eighteen hundred years apart, there was indeed a mysterious relation," and we might even agree that the estimate of the young philanthropist fidouard de Pompery was temperate when he said, "Voltaire was the best Christian of his times, the first and most glorious disciple of Jesus." So whatever our authority, no matter how lim- ited our investigation, the fact must be recognized that Voltaire, who gave to France her long-sought national epic in the Henriade, was in the front rank of her poets. For nearly a century his tragedies and dramas held the boards to extravagant ap- plause. Even from his enemies we learn that he kept himself abreast of his generation in all depart- ments of literature, and won the world's homage as a king of philosophers in an age of philosophers and encyclopaedists. He was the father of modern French, clear, un- ambiguous, witty without buffoonery, convincing without truculency, dignified without effort. He constituted himself the defender of humanity, toler- 8 Publisher's Preface. ance, and justice, and his influence, like his popu- larity, increases with the diffusion of his ideas. No matter what the reader's opinion of Voltaire's works may be, it will readily be conceded that with- out these translations of his comedies, tragedies, poems, romances, letters, and incomparable his- tories, the literature of the world would sustain an immeasurable loss, and that these forty-two ex- quisite volumes will endure as a stately monument, alike to the great master and the book-maker's art- craft he did so much to inspire. E. R. D. INTRODUCTION. BY OLIVER H. G. LEIGH. Voltaire wrote of himself, "I, who doubt of everything." If, in this laudable habit of taking second thoughts, some one should ask what were the considerations that prompted this exceptional reproduction of what is a literature rather than a one-man work, they are indicated in these Reasons Why: 1. Because the Voltaire star is in the ascendant. The most significant feature of the literary activity now at its height has been the vindication of famous' historic characters from the misconceptions and calumnies of writers who catered to established pre- judice or mistook biassed hearsay for facts. We have outgrown the weakling period in which we submissively accepted dogmatical portrayals of, for example, Napoleon as a demon incarnate, or Wash- ington as a demi-god. We have learned that great characters are dwarfed or distorted when viewed in any light but that of midday in the open. His- torians and biographers must hereafter be content to gather and exhibit impartially the whole facts concerning their hero, and thus assist their readers as a judge assists his competent jury. 2. Because, among the admittedly great figures 9 lo Introduction. who have suffered from this defective focussing, no modern has surpassed, if indeed any has equalled, Voltaire in range and brilliance of a unique intel- lect, or in long-sustained and triumphant battling with the foes of mental liberty. Every writer of eminence from his day to ours has borne testimony to Voltaire's marvellous qualities ; even his bitterest theological opponents pay homage to his sixty years' ceaseless labors in the service of men and women of all creeds and of none. The time has come when the posterity for whose increased hap- piness he toiled and fought are demanding an op- portunity to know this apostle of progress at first- hand. They wish to have access to the vast body of varied writings which hitherto have been a sealed book except to the few. For this broad reason, in recognition of the growing desire for a closer acquaintance with the great and subtle forces of human progress, it has been determined to place Voltaire, the monarch. of literature, and the man, before the student of character and influence, in this carefully classified form. 3. Because the field of world-literature is being explored as never before, and in it Voltaire's garden has the gayest display of flowers. The French genius has more sparkle and its speech a finer adaptability than ours. Firsfamong the illustrious, most versatile of the vivacious writers of his nation, Voltaire wielded his rapier quill with a dexterity unapproached by his contemporaries or successors. Introduction. 1 1 It still dazzles as it flashes in the sunshine of the wit that charnied even those it cut the deepest. Where his contemporary reformers, and their general clan to this day, deal blows whose effectiveness is blunted by their clumsiness, this champion showed how potent an ally wisely directed ridicule may become in the hands of a master. Every page of his books and brochures exemplifies Lady Wortley Montagu's maxim: Satire should, like a polished razor keen, Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen. But when blood-letting was needed the Voltaire pen became a double-edged lancet. 4. Because biography is coming into higher ap- preciation, as it should. A man's face is the best introduction to his writings, and the facts of his life make the best commentary on them. Where is there the like of that extraordinary, fascinating, enigmat- ical, contradictory physiognomy of Voltaire? And where is there a life so packed with experiences to match? His writings mirror the mind and the life. Philosopher, historian, poet, theologian, statesman, political economist, radical reformer, diplomatist, philanthropist, polemic, satirist, founder of indus- tries, friend of kings and outlaws, letter-writer, knight-errant, and Boccaccio-Chauceresque teller of tales, Voltaire was all these during his sixty-two years of inexhaustible literary activity. "None but himself could be his parallel." No other author's works combine such brilliant persiflage with such 12 Introduction. masculine sense, or exhibit equal fighting powers graced by equal perfection of literary style. 5. Because Voltaire stands as an entertainer in a class apart from others, such as Balzac, Hugo, and his country's novelists and poets. They bring us draughts from the well in their richly chased cups; Voltaire gives us the spring, out of which flows an exhaustless stream of all that makes fiction alluring, poetry beautiful, epigram memorable, common sense uncomrnonly forceful, and cour- ageous truth-speaking contagious. His delicious humor .and mordant sarcasm amuse, but they also inspire. There is moral purpose in every play of his merry fancy. Every stroke tells. A mere story, however charming, has its climax, and then an end, but it is next to impossible to read any page in any book of Voltaire's, be it dry history, grave phi- losophy, plain narrative, or what not, without some chance thought, suggestion, or happy turn of phrase darting out and fixing itself in one's mind, where it breeds a progeny of bright notions which we fondly make believe are our own. 6. Because, lastly, no private library worthy the name is complete without Voltaire. French edi- tions are found upon the most-used book-shelves of collectors who revel in the treasures of French liter- ature, but the present edition has the advantage, besides the prime one of being in strong, nervous English, of a methodical arrangement which will prove helpful to every reader; also it gives closer Introduction. 13 and more acceptable readings of many passages, in original translation and in paraphrase. The original notes by Dr. Smollett, author of "Humphrey Clinker," and other racy novels of eighteenth-century life, are retained where helpful or in his characteristic vein. So are Ireland's lively and edifying commentaries on La Pucelle, rich in historical and antiquarian interest. Lovers of Goldsmith — ^who never had an enemy but himself — will welcome the charming pages here rescued from his least-read miscellanies, in which he draws the mental and personal portrait of Vol- taire, whose genius he cordially admired, and whose character he champions. The critical study of Vol- taire by the Right Honorable John Morley, some time a member of Gladstone's cabinet and his biog- rapher, needs no other commendation than its au- thor's name. Victor Hugo's lofty oration on the hundredth anniversary of Voltaire's death, links the names and fame of the two great modern writers of France. The translations and textual emendations by W. F. Fleming are a feature of this edition. The volumes are illuminated by as artistic and costly pictures as can be procured. The antique flavor of the contemporary illustrations is preserved in a number of original steel engravings, etchings, and woodcuts, besides choice photogravure and later process plates. The volumes, as a whole, will be recognized as an ideal example of typography and chaste binding. THE MANY-SIDED VOLTAIRE. Choose any of Voltaire's writings, from an epi- gram to a book, and it impresses the mind with a unique sense of a quality which it would be absurd to liken to omniscience, though mere versatility falls short on the other side. So the tracing of his life- experiences leaves us puzzled for a conventional term that shall exactly fit the case. The truth is that ordinary terms fail when applied to this man and to his works. It is unprofitable to measure a giant by the standards of average men. The root-cause of all the vilification and harsh criticism hurled at Voltaire by ordinarily respectworthy people has been the hopeless inability of the church-schooled multitude to grasp the free play of a marvellous intellect, which could no more submit to be shackled by the ecclesias- ticism of its day than the brave Reformer of Galilee could trim his conscience to fit the saddles of Jewish or Roman riders. To condense the events of this re- markably chequered career in a few pages is impos- sible without omitting minor items which, unim- portant in themselves, yet reflect the flashings of the lesser facets which contribute to the varied lights of the diamond. Mr. Morley's lucid and powerful study of Voltaire, in this series, leaves room for the following attempt at a reasonably brief outline of the events in this multiform life. The object is to aid in understanding the hidden conditions in which many of the strong, and sometimes apparently ex- travagant, utterances were produced. 14 Incidents in his Life. 15 The narrative is compiled from biographies writ- ten at various periods since 1778, and is enriched in being supplemented by the little-known tributes of the most charming English writer among Voltaire's contemporaries, Oliver Goldsmith, who was person- ally acquainted with the great Frenchman, whose genius he admired as enthusiastically as he cham- pioned his character. Francois Marie Arouet was born at Paris on November 21, 1694. He assumed the name de Voltaire when in his twenty-fifth year. 1 71 1 — From the first, as a schoolboy, Voltaire out- classed his fellows. At the close of his sixth school year he was awarded prize after prize and crown after crown, until he was covered with crowns and staggered under the weight of his prize books. J. B. Rousseau, being present, predicted a glorious future for him. He was a good scholar, a favorite of his teachers, and admired and be- loved by his companions. Left school in August, aged nearly seventeen, tall, thin, with especially bright eyes as his only mark of uncommon good looks. He was welcomed to the Temple by such grand seigniors as the duke de Sully, the duke de Ven- dome, prince de Conti, marquis de Fare, and the other persons of rank forming their circle, who put him on a footing of perfect familiarity. He became a gay leader of fashion, flattered by the ladies, made much of by the men, supping with princes and satirizing the follies of the hour in sparkling verse. 1717 — Voltaire returned in the spring to Paris, where many uncomplimentary squibs were being circulated con- cerning the pleasure-loving regent, of which he was at once suspected, rightly or wrongly; he was arrested in his lodgings in the "Green Basket," sent to the Bastille and assigned a room, which was ever after known as Vol- taire's room. Here he dwelt for eleven months, during 1 6 The Many-Sided Voltaire. which he wrote the "Henriade" and corrected "The CEdipe." 1718— Released April nth, as a result of entertaining the regent with comedy, and changed his name, for luck, as he says himself, to Voltaire, a name found several generations back in the family of his mother. 1722— M. Arouet, Voltaire's father, died January ist, leaving Armand, the orthodox son, his office, worth 13,000 francs a year, and to Voltaire property yielding about 4,000 francs a year. Voltaire was granted a pension of 2,000 francs by the regent. He loaned, money at ten per cent. a year to dukes, princes and other grand seigniors with a determination to become independent. He always lived well within his income. 1726 — It was desirable to leave France for a time, hence Voltaire's visit to England. His letters show' how deeply he was impressed by the characteristics of the nation by whom he was so cordially welcomed. Voltaire having lost 20,000 francs through a Jewish financier, the king of Eng- land presented him with one hundred pounds. 1727 — He studied English so industriously that within six months he could write it well, and within a year was writing English poetry. He made many influential friends, and seems to have known almost every living Englishman of note. He studied Newton, Shakespeare, Milton, Dry- den, Locke, Bacon, Swift, Young, Thomson, Congreve, \Pope, Addison, and others. His two and a half years ir» "England were as a post-graduate university course to hiffli and amidst his studies he still was a producer, completinu unfinished works and preparing others for his London publisher. Newton and Locke — Locke in particular — in- spired in Voltaire his strongest and best trait — the love of justice for its own sake. 1730-1731 — The first year after his return from England was comparatively peaceful, but in March of 1730 his friend, the brilliant actress, Adrienne Lecouvreur, died at the age of twenty-eight, and was refused Christian burial ; Voltaire leaped forward with his accustomed magnanimity as her champion, unhesitatingly endangering his safety in Incidents in his Life. 17 so doing — always a true friend, always the helper of the weak and oppressed, always the advocate of justice, and always first to defend natural rights. In this year, too, he began the mock-heroic poem of ten thousand lines on Joan of Arc {"La Pucelle"), the keeping of which from his enemies caused him anxiety for years. Interferences in his publications by the authorities of Paris marked this year, and, restive and unsubdued, he looked elsewhere, with the result that in March of the next year, under pre- tenfe of going to England, he took up his abode in obscure lodgings in Rouen, where he passed as an exiled English- man. Here he lived for six months— sometimes in a farm- house — and did a prodigious amount of work, besides hav- ing his interdicted works published. Late in the summer of this year he returned to Paris, where, for the first time since returning from England, he took permanent quarters. These were luxurious ones in the hotel of the countess de Fontaine-Martel, at whose invitation he came and with whom KS~^asfriendly. Here were continuous gayeties, here his plays were performed, and here he had Cideville and , Form sat as near friends and helpful critics. 1732 — On August 13th, he had the satisfaction of having "Zaire" successfully produced in Paris, then in Fontaine- bleau, then in London, and soon, amidst applause, in cities throughout all Europe. This October he spent in Fontaine- bleau, and in November he returned to his aged friend, the countess, in Paris. 1733 — During January he acted a leading part in the production of "Zaire" with telling effect, and about this time this happy life was terminated by the death of the countess. Voltaire stayed for three months longer, and in May took lodgings with Demoulin, his man of business, in a dingy and obscure lane,^ H«^wo other poets, Lefejrre and Linaijt, were with him, and here he began to live more the life of a philosopher. He engaged in the importation of grain from Spain and was interested in the manufacture of straw-paper. In company with his friend Paris-Duver- ney, he took contracts for feeding the army, out of which he quickly realized over half a million francs. Business Vol. I — 2 1 8 The Many-Sided Voltaire. never interfered with his literary work, and while he fed the army he also produced verse for it. 1734 — Forty years of age. Voltaire had recently met the marquise du Chatelet. He was doubtless now the most conspicuous, almost the only, literary figure on the conti- nent who wrote in the new, free spirit that began to dom- inate the few great minds of northern Europe. Booksellers in Europe found his writings profitable. Frederick, prince royal of Prussia, was his disciple. Two editions of his collected works had been published in Amsterdam, and he was in demand everywhere ; but more trouble was brewing. J. B. Rousseau, piqued over a quarrel, wrote from his exile disparagingly of Voltaire, who, in his turn, wrote the "Temple of Taste," which an enemy secured and published without the censor's approval, and again Voltaire was in trouble. He dearly loved a fight, and he fought like a man — for truth, toleration, and justice — and he won. At this time he found time to bring about the marriage of the prin- cess de Guise to the duke de Richelieu, and attended, with Madame du Chatelet, the nuptials in Monjeu, 150 miles southeast of Paris. Unlike many writers of our day, Vol- taire could not keep the product of his pen out of print, and some surreptitious publications at this time caused an order for his arrest and the public burning of the book. The sacrifice of papfer took place, but our ever wary author saved himself by flight, supposedly to Lorraine. At this time Voltaire and thfe philosophical Madame du Chatelet became greatly attached to each other, and their friendship lasted sixteen years. She lived in a thirteenth century castle at Cirey, in Champagne. 1736 — On his return to Cirey, he found awaiting him a long letter from Frederick of Prussia. A year or two before, Voltaire had received from the duke of Holstein, heir presumptive to the throne of Russia, husband of Catherine H., an invitation to reside in the Russian capital, on a revenue of 10,000 francs a year, which he declined. He was accustomed to the attention of princes and eulo- giums from the gifted, but the letter of this Prussian prince had an especial importance and effect and opened a volu- Incidents in his Life. 19 minous correspondence, ceasing only with the close of Vol- taire's life. 1740 — This was one of the most interesting years of his life. Frederick's admiration for and devotion to him were at their height, while his fine sentences, so freely and so finely expressed, induced Voltaire to call him the modern Marcus Aurelius, and the Solomon of the North. Frederick made Voltaire his confidant; Voltaire was to him the most devoted teacher, philosopher and friend. The intercourse of these two men constitutes one of the most interesting episodes in history. Frederick William died May 31st, and Voltaire's royal friend occupied the throne of Prussia. This fact promised to be of immense ad- vantage to Voltaire. For ten years a struggle existed between Frederick and Madame du Chatelet for a monopoly of Voltaire's com- pany. This rivalry' was not conducive to his happiness. 1741-1742 — Voltaire and Frederick gradually became disenchanted with each other. There was no longer any in- tellectual sympathy between their strong individualities. Frederick, warlike and aggressive, shedding the blood and disturbing the peace of nations, was not the Frederick ' Voltaire admired, and he hesitated not to reprove the king frequently. Among the Englishmen who visited him in Brussels was Lord Chesterfield, to whom he read hU play, "Mahomet," which was in May produced in Lille by a good French company, Voltaire and Madame du Chatelet being present. It was successful, but its production in Paris was delayed on account of a temporary disfavor in which Voltaire found himself with the Parisians, owing to his intimacy with the king of Prussia, now become the enemy of France. However, in August, 1742, it was produced in the Theatre Frangais, to the most distinguished audience that Paris could furnish — the ministry, magistrates, clergy, d'Alembert, literary men, and the fashionable world, Vol- taire being conspicuovis in the middle of the pit. Its suc- cess was immense, but his old enemy, the Church, tireless as himself, found an excuse for censuring "Mahomet," and ,n 20 The Many-Sided Voltaire. within a week had it taken off the boards. Invited by Frederick, he went in September to Aix-la-Chapelle. There the king again tried to lure him to Prussia. Frederick offered him a handsome house in Berlin, a fine estate in the country, a princely income, and the free enjoyment of his time, all of which to have Voltaire near him; but Vol- taire loved his native country, notwithstanding its per- secutions, its Bastille, its suppression of his dramas, its Jansenists, Convulsionists, pesfontaines, and its frequent exiling of its most illustrious ^oiTPanSiie loved his friends and was faithful; and so, declining the king's bounty, he went back to Paris. He devoted himself for a year to the production of plays, drilling the actors, subjecting every detail to the closest scrutiny, and creating successes that eclipsed even his own earlier efforts. It is said that the "Mirope" drowned the theatre in tears, and caused high excitement. 174s — In January, Voltaire took up his abode in Ver- sailles to superintend rehearsals," and in consideration of his labors at the fete, the king appointed him histori- /Ographer of France, on a yearly salary of 2,000 francs, and jpromised him the next vacant chair in the Academy. Vol- f'taire considered this fair remuneration for a year of much i toil in matters of the court. During these turbulent times, when a skilful pen was needed he was called upon. He was at this time in high favor with the king; Madame de -Pompadour and many other influential persons also fa- vored his aspirations. Voltaire dedicated "Mahomet" to the Pope, and sent a copy and a letter to him, out of which grew an interesting correspondence, the publication of which proclaimed his good standing with the head of i.the Church. He was elected to the Academy in 1746. 'H 1747 — Private theatricals among the nobility were greatly in vogue at this time, and Madame de Pompadour selected Voltaire's comedy, "The Prodigal," to be played in the palace before the king. It was a striking success, and the author, in acknowledgment of the compliment, ad- dressed a poem to Madame de Pompadour in which oc- curred an indiscreet allusion to her relations with the king. Incidents in his Life. 21 As a consequence, the king was induced to sign an order for his exile. This was followed by his hurried flight from court. At midnight, Voltaire, ■ returning to his house in Fontainebleau, ordered the horses hitched to the carriage, and before daybreak left for Paris. He took refuge with the duchess du Maine in Sceaux. 1749 — Madame du Chatelet died under peculiar cir- cumstances in August. Voltaire found solace in play-writ- ing. He set up house in Paris, and invited his niece, Madame Denis, to manage for him, which she did for the remainder of his days, and thus at the age of fifty-six he had a suitable and becoming home in his native city, with an income of 74,000 francs a year, equal to about fifty thousand dollars to-day. Though it was considered fash- ionable in that age to have intrigues with women, there is no evidence to prove that it was not repugnant to Vol- taire. He may at court have pretended to have been con- ventional in this respect, but his retired life with his niece,' his years at Frederick's court, and his more than fatherly treatment of his nieces, Corneille's granddaughter, and other young women, show that he was a good man to women. He owned no land, his investments being almost wholly in bonds, mortgages, and annuities. His letters in- dicate that at this time he considered himself settled for life, his intention being, after spending the winter in Paris, to visit Frederick and Rome, making a tour of Italy, and then to return to Paris. But his reformatory writings were again bringing him into disfavor at court. He provided a theatre in his house, and invited a troupe of amateurs, amongst whom was the soon to be famous Lekain, to perform in it. This little theatre became famous. Voltaire worked like a Trojan, drilled the act- ors, supervised everything, and produced the most artistic effects. His work at this period included "Zadig," "Ba- bouc," and "Memnon," among his best burlesque romances. i750--^The king of Prussia, on the death of his rival, renewed his solicitations that Voltaire should come to live with him. After his wars Frederick was again an indus- trious author, and Voltaire, submitting to his importunities, 22 The M any-Sided Voltaire. again went to him, leaving Madame Denis and Long- champ in charge of his house. He left Paris June 15th, and reached, July loth, Sans-Souci, near Potsdam, the country place o*f the king, seventeen miles from Berlin. Here everybody courted him, and all that the king had was at his disposal. At a grand celebration in Berlin, Vol- taire's appearance caused more enthusiasm than did the king's. Frederick was now thirty-eight years of age, had finished his first war and was devoting himself to making Berlin — a city of 90,000 people — ^attractive and famous. At his nightly concerts were Europe's most famous artists. At his suppers were, besides Voltaire, many of the choice spirits of the literary world. Here, after thirty years of storms, Voltaire felt that he had found a port. Here was no Mirepnix^ tn be despised and feared, no Bull Unigenitus, no offensive body of clergy and courtiers seeking fat pre- N^erment, no billets de confession, nor lettres de cachet, no Fferons to irritate authors, no cabals to damn a play, no more semblance of a Icing. Here for a time Voltaire was so happy that the long prospected trip to Italy was for- gotten, but ere the year- was out Paris, in the distance, to our ' Frenchman grew even more attractive and beautiful than before ; several disagreeable things happened as a result of the decided attachment of Frederick for Voltaire, — jealousy and all forms of littleness ever present at court were repugnant to Voltaire. At this time he had an un- happy misunderstanding with Lessing, and in this and the following year he did much work on his "Age of Louis XIV." In November his propensity for speculation led him into the most deplorable lawsuit of his life. He supplied a Berlin jeweller named Abraham Hirsch with money and sent him to Dresden to buy depreciated banknotes at a large discount. Hirsch attended to his private business, it seems, and neglected Voltaire's. He was recalled and the speculation abandoned; but the wily agent was not easily shaken off, as Voltaire found to his cost. Voltaire had a constitutional persistence that made it all but impos- sible for him to submit to imposition, and he fought in this Incidents in his Life. 23 case an antagonist as persistent as himself, and one utterly unscrupulous, so that after several months of litigation he indeed won his suit, but suffered much humiliation withal and greatly disgusted Frederick, who could not tolerate a lawsuit with a Jew. , 1751 — During this year of trouble, he and the king for a time saw less of each other, and Voltaire found solace, as usual, in his literary labors. He studied German, pub- lished his "Age of Louis XIV." in Berlin and in London. He co-operated with Diderot and d'Alembert on the gi;eat "Encyclopaedia," the first volume of which was prohibited in this year; and so, still toiling in a room adjoining the king's in the chateau in Potsdam, this year glided into the next, in which the famous "Doctor Akakia" looms up. 1752 — In his brochure with this title Voltaire played with the great Maupertuis as a cat might with a mouse. The indulgence of his satirical tendencies endangered his friendship with the king, and in September a letter to Madame Denis revealed the fact that he was preparing to return to Paris. In November the king learned of the printed attack on his president of the Academy and was furious with Voltaire. An interesting correspondence fol- lowed, and partial reconciliation. The court and Voltaire went to Berlin for the Christmas festivities, but in this in- stance to separate houses. Here he had the honor of seeing several copies of his diatribe publicly burned on Sunday, December 24th, the result being that for some time ten German presses were printing the work day and night. I7S3 — On New Year's day Voltaire returned to the king as a New Year's gift the cross of his order and his chamberlain's key, together with a most respectful letter resigning his office and announcing his intended return to Paris. The king sent the insignia back and pressed Vol- taire to stay, but in vain. After a sojourn in Leipsic, Voltaire paid a visit to the duchess of Saxe-Gotha, at Gotha. At her desire he undertook to write the "Annals of the Empire since Charlemagne." In the evenings he delighted the brilliant company with reading his poems on "Natural Religion" and "La Pucelle." Voltaire again irri- 24 The Many-Sided Voltaire. tated by his parting shots at Maupertius. An order was given, and carried out, by which Voltaire was arrested and detained at Frankfort while his boxes were searched for the cross and key, and the more important manuscript of verses by the king, entitled "PMaM^" in which his majesty had burlesqued the Christian faith. The king got his papers and chuckled over the humiliation of the man he had idolized, who took a poet's revenge in this roughly paraphrased epigram on the great Frederick: •"Of incongruities a monstrous pile, Calling men brothers, crushing them the while; With air humane, a misanthropic brute; Ofttimes impulsive, ofttimes too astute; Weakest when angry, modest in his pride; Yearning for virtue, lust personified ; Statesman and author, of the slippery crew ; My patron, pupil, persecutor too." In November of this year he visited his old friend, the duke de Richelieu, in Lyons, a city of great commercial importance about 200 miles from Colmar. Here he was enthusiastically welfcomed by his few friends and the pub- lic, but the Church made it plain to him that he was not welcome to the governing class in France; so that, after a month in Lyons, he loaded his big carriage once more and sought an asylum in Geneva, ninety miles distant. He (would have gone to America had he not feared the long sea journey, and in Switzerland he found the best possible European substitute for the new world of freedom so at- tractive to him. I7SS — In February Voltaire bought a life-lease of a commodious house, with beautiful gardens, on a splendid eminence o^erlooking Geneva, the lake and rivers; and giving an enchanting view of Jura and the Alps. This place he named "Les Delices," the name it still bears. Here, he was in Geneva. Ten minutes' walk placed him in Sar- dinia. He was only half an hour from France and one hour from the Swiss canton of Vaud. The situation pleased Voltaire, and he bought property and houses under four governments, and all within a circuit of a day's ride. Vol- taire describes his retreat thus : "I lean my left on Mount Incidents in his Life, 25 Jura, my right on the Alps, and I have the beautiful lake of Geneva in front of my camp, a beautiful castle on the borders of France, the hermitage of Delices in the terri- tory of Geneva, a good house at Lausanne ; crawling thus from one burrow to another, I escape from kings. Philos- ophers should always have two or three holes underground against the hounds that run them down." From now until the end of his long life he lived like a feudal lord, a landed proprietor and an entertaining host. He kept horses, car- riages, coachmen, postilions, lackeys, a valet, a French cook, a secretary and a boy, besides pet and domestic ani- mals. Nearly every day he entertained at dinner from five to twenty friends. 1756 — On November ist, All Saints' Day, at 9:40 a. m., occurred the Lisbon earthquake, when half the people of that city were in church. In six minutes the city was in ruins and 30,000 people dead or dying. This was food for the thought of Europe and inspired one of Voltaire's best poems. This was followed by "Candide," the most celebrated of his prose burlesques, on Rousseau's "best of all possible worlds," and Dr. Johnson's "Rasselas." At this time the surreptitious publication of "La Pucelle" of- fended the French Calvinists of Geneva, and Voltaire thought it well in 1756 to go to Lausanne, where he inau- gurated private theatricals in his own house. Here Gibbon had the pleasure of hearing a great poet declaim his own production on the stage. In this year his admirable Italian secretary, Collini, left him, and his place was filled by a Genevan na!iie3w/'agnierei_who continued to be his facto- tum for the remamfler of his life. When scarcely three years in Geneva, Voltaire, finding the Genevans — who built their first theatre ten years later — averse to his theatrical performances, bought on French soil the estate of Ferney and built a theatre there. f 1757-1758 — Voltaire never became indifferent to the dis- favor in which he was held at the French court under the dominion of the Jesuits. Fortunately for him, he had for a friend the brilliant and powerful Pompadour, who at this \ time made him again safe on French soil, restored his pen- i6 The Many-Sided Voltaire. sion and had his Ferney estate exempted from taxation. At this time, too, the "old Swiss," as he was sometimes called, received an invitation from Elizabeth, empress of Russia, to come to St. Petersburg to write a history of her father, Peter the Great. Voltaire, now sixty-four, gladly under- took the work, but declining to go to St. Petersburg on ac- count of his health, he had all necessary documents sent to Ferney. While Europe and America were ravaged by war, Voltaire worked industriously on his history, and yet amidst his labors his generous heart, consecrated to justice and humanity, moved him to splendid though un- successful efforts to save Admiral Byng from his perse- cutors. Again the king of Prussia seemed unable to for- get Voltaire, and their correspondence was resumed. Vol- taire hated carnage and cruelty, and begged Frederick, almost piteously, to end the war; but it continued, and the "Swiss Hermit" worked on in his retreat, never letting Europe forget his existence. His outdoor occupations in Switzerland so improved his health that he resolved to become a farmer at his new place, the ancient estate of Ferney. He converted the old chateau into a substantial stone building of fourteen rooms. He improved the estate throughout, and made a life pur- chase of the adjacent seigniory of Tourney. He employed sixteen working oxen in his farming operations, established a breeding stable of ten mares at Les Delices, accepted a present Of a fine stallion from the king's stables, kept thirty men employed, and maintained on his estate more than sixty; and let it be remembered that not only did he make his estates beautif.ulr^Tnt-4iejnade_thesn..£rofi^ble. He had splendid barns, poultry-yards, and sheepfolds, wine- presses, storerooms, and fruit-houses, about soo beehives, and a colony of silkworms. He had a fine nursery and en- couraged tree-planting. He formed a park, three miles in circuit, on the English model, around his house. Near the chateau he built a marble bath-house, supplied with hot and cold water. Everything that Voltaire wished for he had; from 1758 to 1764 he enjoyed good health and spirits and was never less involved in public affairs nor more Incidents in his Life. 27 prolific with his pen. Marmontel and Casanova wrote interestingly of their visits to Voltaire at this time. He finally wearied of the stream of people that visited him at Les Delices, and in 1765 sold it and spent all his time at the less easily reached Ferney. 1759 — In this year his "Natural Religion" was burned by the hangman in Paris. This infamy stirred Voltaire's ;. indignation greatly and impelled him to almost superhuman ' efforts against "L'Infame," the name with which he • branded ecclesiasticism claiming supernatural authority and enforcing that claim with pains and penalties. His ; friends tried to disstiade him, but he had enlisted for the war and would not desert. Though as one against ten '\thousand, he knew no fear, and his watchword became Bcrasez I'Infame. ^1760 — In I7S9 and 1760 appeared in Paris anonymous pamphlets by a well-known pen, in which the Jesuit Berthier and others were smothered in the most mirth-provoking ridicule. In this year he had also much dramatic success in Paris under the management of d'Argental. It was one of his most eventful years, and a rumor of his death having spread over Paris, in writing Madame du Deffand, he said: "I have never been less dead than I am at present. I have not a moment free ; bullocks, cows, sheep, mead- ows, buildings, gardens, occupy me in the morning; all the afternoon is for study, and after supper we rehearse the pieces that are played in my little theatre." This rumor occasioned the noble tribute of Goldsmith appended to this narrative. ,' 1761 — The infamous outrage by the Church on the Calas family of Protestants in Toulouse is referred to by Vol- taire in his work on "Toleration." It stirred his indig- nation so powerfully that he devoted almost superhuman efforts to the duty of undoing the crime so far as possible. 1762-1763 — He undertook to have tlje Calas case re- opened, and devoted himself to this task as if he had no other object or hope in life. He issued seven pamphlets on the case, had them translated' and published in England and Germany. He stirred Europe up to help him. The 28 The Many-Sided Voltaire. queen of England, the archbishop of Canterbury, ten other English bishops, besides seventy-nine lords and forty-seven gentlemen, subscribed; also several German princes and nobles. The Swiss cantons, the empress of Russia, the king of Poland, and many other notables con- tributed money to assist Voltaire in this tremendous battle. It took him three years to win it, but on the 9th of March, 1765, he had the satisfaction of having the Calas family declared innocent and their property restored, amidst the applause of Europe. Voltaire went further, and had the king grant to each member of the family a considerable ,«um in cash, besides other benefits that he secured for them. Known as the savior of the Calas family, others in trouble went to him, till Ferney became a refuge for the distressed. Another celebrated case, that of the Sirven ^family, occurred in this year. Voltaire, learning of it in, 1763, took up the cause of the oppressed as enthusias- tically as in the Calas case. He wrote volumes in their behalf, and labored for nine years for the reversal of their sentence, giving and getting money as required. At length, in January, 1772, he was able to announce the complete success of his efforts on their behalf, and their complete vindication. These are but two of many such cases in which he interested himself. The horrors of French in- justice at this time kept him constantly agitated and at work, and even induced him to attempt, in 1766, the form- ing of a colony of philosophers in a freer land. But fail- ing to find philosophers inclined to self-expatriation, he ^,4ropped the idea. 1768 — On Easter Sunday he communed in his own church and addressed the congregation. 1769 — Again, on Easter of this year, the whim seized him to commune, as he lay in bed. At this time he was draining the swamp lands in the vicinity, leriding money without interest to gentlemen, giving money to the poor, establishing schools, fertilizing lands, and maintaining over a hundred persons, defending the weak and persecuted, and playing jokes on the bishop, besides, after his sixtieth year, writing i6o publications. The difficulty of circulat- Incidents in his Life, 29 / ing his works can be imagined when it is remembered that he found it desirable to use 108 different pseudonyms. The Church watched all his manoeuvres as a cat watches . a mouse, yet he outwitted his enemies, and the eager public V.got the product of his great mind in spite of them. 1770 — By this time Ferney was becoming quite popu- lous. Voltaire could not build houses quickly enough for those that flocked to his shelter. He fitted up his theatre as a watch-factory, and had watches for sale within six weeks. His friend, the duchess of Choiseul, wore the first silk stockings woven on the looms of Ferney. The grandest people bought his watches, and soon great mate- rial prosperity waited upon the industries of Ferney. Vol- taire used all his prestige on behalf of his workmen, and so much was he liked that he could hav« had nearly all the skilled workmen of Geneva had he furnished houses for them. Catherine II. of Russia ordered a large quan- tity of his first product in watches. Voltaire, by his genius, literally forced Ferney's products into the best markets of the world, so that within three years the watches, clocks, and jewelry from Ferney went regularly to Spain, Algiers, Italy, Russia, Holland, Turkey, Morocco, America, China, Portugal, and elsewhere. Voltaire was a city-builder and creator of trade. His charities were numerous and were bestowed without the odious flavor of pauperizing doles. In this year, some of his friends proposed to erect a statue in his honor. Subscriptions came abundantly on the project being known, and the statue now is in the Institute of Paris. He was so overrun with visitors that he face- tiously called himself the innkeeper of Europe. La Harpe, Cramer, Dr. Tronchin, Chabanon, Charles Pongens, Da- milaville, d'Alembert, James Boswell, Charles James Fox, and Dr. Charles Burney were among his visitors. 1774 — On the death of Louis XV., he began to think again of Paris, to take a new interest in and lay plans for a visit to the city he loved so well; but the conditions seemed unfavorable, and the various labors and pleasures in Ferney continued, 1776 — In 1776 a large store-house was fitted up as a JO The M any-Sided Voltaire. theatre and Lekain drew together in Ferney the nineteen cantons. In this year he adopted into his family a lovely girl of eighteen whom he called Belle-et-Bonne. 1777 — In this year he was still, at the age of eighty- three, an active, vigilant, and successful man of business, with ships on the Indian seas, with aristocratic debtors paying him interest, with the industrial "City of Ferney" earning immense revenues, with famous flocks, birds, bees, and silkworms, all receiving his daily attention. His yearly income at this time was more than 200,000 francs, and with nearly .as much purchasing power then as the same number of dollars has with us to-day. In this year his pet, the sweet Belle-et-Bonne, was wooed dnd won by a gay marquis from Paris. Voltaire, though a bachelor, was fond of match-making, and was pleased in telling of the twenty-two marriages that had taken place on his estate of Ferney. The newly married pair remained in the cha- teau and they and Madame Denis conspired to induce him to go to Paris. They adduced a hundred reasons why he should go and these he as cleverly parried; but at length they prevailed and he consented to go for six weeks only. 1778 — On the 3d of February they started. Xhe col- onists and he were weeping. At the stopping-places on the way, in order to get away from the crowd of admirers that would press on him, he found it necessary to lock himself in his room. He made the 300 miles by February loth, and put up at the hotel of Madame de Villette, after an exile of twenty-eight years ! The city was electrified by the news and a tide of visitors set in, and crowds waited outside the hotel for a chance glimpse of the great man. He held a continuous reception and, amidst the tumult of homage, his gayety, tact, and humor never flagged. Among the first to do homage to Voltaire was Dr. Benjamin Frank- lin, with whom he conversed in English. With the Ameri- can ambassador was his grandson, a youth of seventeen, upon whom Franklin asked the venerable philosopher's benediction. Lifting his hands, Voltaire solemnly replied: "My child, God and Liberty, remember those two words." He said to Franklin that he so admired the Constitution Incidents in his Life. 31 of the United States and the Articles of Confederation be- tween them that, "if I were only forty years old, I would immediately go and settle in your happy country." A medal was struck in honor of Washington, at Voltaire's expense, bearing this couplet: Washington reunit, par un rare assemblage, Des talens du guerrier et des vertus du sage. During the first two weeks several thousands of visitors called to welcome their great compatriot. Voltaire busied himself with perfecting his new play, "Irene," and rehearsing it prior to performance. On Feb- ruary 2Sth a fit of coughing caused a haemorrhage. The doctors managed to save him for the grand event. The play was fixed for March 30th. The queen fitted up a box like her own, and adjoining it, for Voltaire. He attended a session of the Academy in the morning, where he was over- whelmed with honors, and elected president. His carriage with difficulty passed through the crowds that filled the streets, hoping to see him. On entering the theatre he thought to hide himself in his box, but the people insisted on his coming to the front. He had to submit, and then the actor Brizard entered the box, and in view of the people placed a laurel crown on his head. He modestly withdrew, it, but all insisted on his wearing it, and he was compelled to let it be replaced. The scene was unparalleled for sustained enthusiasm. The excitement of these months proved fatal to the strong constitution which might easily have carried him through a century if he had remained at Ferney. At ii:is p. m., Saturday, May 30, 1778, aged 83 years, 6 months, and 9 days, he died peacefully and without pain. His body was embalmed and in the evening of June 1st was quietly buried in a near-by abbey, the place being indicated by a small stone, and the inscription: "Here lies Voltaire." The king of Prussia delivered before the Berlin Acad- emy a splendid eulogium and compelled the Catholic clergy of Berlin to hold special services in honor of his friend. The empress Catherine wrote most kindly to Madame 32 Oliver Goldsmith Denis and desired to buy his library of 6,210 volumes, and having done so, invited Wagniere to St. Petersburg to ar- range the books as they were in Ferney. Crowned heads bowed to this great man, and the homage of his native Paris knew no bounds. After thirteen years of rest, his body, by order of the king of France, was removed from the church of the Romiili to that of Sainte-Genevieve, in Paris, thenceforth known as the Pantheon of France. The magnificent cor- tege was the centre of the wildest enthusiasm. On July 10, 1791, the sarcophagus was borne as far as the site of the Bastille, not yet completely razed to the ground. Here it reposed for the night on an altar adorned with laurels and roses, and this inscription; "Upon this spot, where despotism chained thee, Vol- taire, receive the homage of a free people." A hundred thousand people were in the procession. At ten o'clock at night the remains were placed near the tombs of Descartes and Mirabeau. Here they reposed until 1814, when the bones of Voltaire and Rousseau were /sacrilegiously stolen, with the connivance of the clerics, and burned with quicklime pn a piece of waste ground. This miserable act of toothless spite was not publicly known until 1864. OLIVER GOLDSMITH ON VOLTAIRE. IThis appeared as Letter XLIII. in the Chinese letters afterwards published under the title of "The Citizen of the World."] We Have just received accounts here that Vol- taire, the poet and philosopher of Europe, is dead. He is now? beyond the reach of the thousand ene- mies who, while living, degraded his writings and branded his character. Scarce a page of his later productions that does not betray the agonies of a heart bleeding under the scourge of unmerited re- On Voltaire. 33 proach. Happy, therefore, at last in escaping from calumny! happy in leaving a world that was un- worthy of him and his writings ! Let others bestrew the hearses of the great with panegyric ; but such a loss as the world has now suf- fered affects me with stronger emotions. When a philosopher dies I consider myself as losing a patron, an instructor, and a friend. I consider the world as losing one who might serve to console her amidst the desolations of war and ambition. Nature every day produce's in abundance men capable of filling all the requisite duties of authority ; but she is nig- gard in the birth of an exalted mind, scarcely pro- ducing in a century a single genius to bless and en- lighten a degenerate age. Prodigal in the produc- tion of kings, governors, mandarins, chams, and courtiers, she seems to have forgotten, for more than three thousand years, the manner in which she once formed the brain of a Confucius ; and well it is she has forgotten, when a bad world gave him so very bad a reception. Whence, my friend, this malevolence, which has ever pursued the great, even to the tomb? whence this more than fiendlike disposition of embittering the lives of those who would make us more wise and more happy ? When I cast my eye over the fates of several phi- losophers, who have at dififerent periods enlightened mankind, I must confess it inspires me with the most degrading reflections on humanity. When I Vol. 1—3 24 Oliver Goldsmith read of the stripes of Mencius, the tortures of Tchin, the bowl of Socrates, and the bath of Seneca ; when I hear of the persecutions of Dante, the imprison- ment of Galileo, the indignities suffered by Mon- taigne, the banishment of Descartes, the infamy of Bacon, and that even Locke himself escaped not without reproach ; when I think on such subjects, I hesitate whether most to blame the ignorance or tht Villainy of my fellow-creatures. Should you look for the character of Voltaire among the journalists and illiterate writers of the age, you will there find him characterized as a mon- ster, with a head turned to wisdom and a heart in- clining to vice ; the powers of his mind and the base- ness of his principles forming a detestable contrast. But seek for his character among writers like him- self, and you find him very differently described. You perceive him, in their accounts, possessed of good nature, humanity, greatness of soul, fortitude, and almost every virtue; in this description those who might be supposed best acquainted with his character are unanimous. The royal Prussian, d'Argens, Diderot, d'Alembert, and Fontenelle, con- spire in drawing the picture, in describing the friend of man, and the patron of every rising genius. An inflexible perseverance in what he thought was right and a generous detestation of flattery formed the groundwork of this great man's charac- ter. From these principles many strong virtues and few faults arose ; as he was warm in his friendship On Voltaire. 35 and severe in his resentment, all that mention him seem possessed of the same qualities, and speak of him with rapture or detestation. A person of his eminence can have few indififerent as to his charac- ter ; every reader must be an enemy or an admirer. This poet began the course of glory so early as the age of eighteen, and even then was author of a tragedy which deserves applause. Possessed of a small patrimony, he preserved his independence in an age of venality; and supported the dignity of learning by teaching his contemporary writers to live like him, above the favors of the great. He was banished his native country for a satire upon the royal concubine. He had accepted the place of his- torian to the French king, but refused to keep it when he found it was presented only in order that he should be the first flatterer of the state. The great Prussian received him as an ornament to his kingdom, and had sense enough to value his friendship and profit by his instructions. In this court he continued till an intrigue, with which the world seems hitherto unacquainted, obliged him to quit that country. His own happiness, the happi- ness of the monarch, of his sister, of a part of the court, rendered his departure necessary. Tired at length of courts and all the follies of the great, he retired to Switzerland, a country of liberty, where he enjoyed tranquillity and the muse. Here, though without any taste for magnificence himself, he usually entertained at his table the learned and 26 Oliver Goldsmith polite of Europe, who were attracted by a desire of seeing a person from whom they had received so much satisfaction. The entertainment was con- ducted with the utmost elegance, and the conver- sation was that of philosophers. Every country that at once united liberty and science were his peculiar favorites. The being an Englishman was to him a character that claimed admiration and respect. Between Voltaire and the disciples of Confucius there are many differences ; however, being of a dif- ferent opinion does not in the least diminish my es- teem ; I am not displeased with my brother because he happens to ask our Father for favors in a differ- ent manner from me. Let his errors rest in peace ; his excellencies deserve admiration ; let me with the wise admire his wisdom; let the envious and the ignorant ridicule his foibles; the folly of others is ever most ridiculous to those who are themselves most foolish.-^Adieu. [Goldsmith began a memoir of Voltaire which he di<3 not live to finish, from which we take this most interesting picture of Voltaire among his friends.] Some disappointments of this kind served to turn our poet from a passion which only tended to ob- struct his advancement in more exalted pursuits. His mind, which at that time was pretty well bal- anced between pleasure and philosophy, quickly began to incline to the latter. He now thirsted after a more comprehensive knowledge of mankind than On Voltaire. 37 either books or his own country could possibly be- stow. England about this time was coming into repUt6 throughout Europe as the land of philosophers. Newton, Locke, and others began to attract the at- tention of the curious, and drew hither a concourse of learned men from every part of Europe. Not our learning alone, but our politics also began to be re- garded with admiration; a government in which subordination and liberty were blended in such just proportions vfas now generally studied as the finest model of civil society. This was an inducement suf- ficient to make Voltaire pay a visit to this land of philosophers and of liberty. Accordingly, in the year 1726, he came over to England. A previous acquaintance with Atter- bury, bishop of Rochester, and the Lord Eoling- broke, was sufficient to introduce him amoqg the polite, and his fame as a poet got him the ac- quaintance of the learned in a country where for- eigners generally find but a cool reception. He only wanted introduction ; his own merit was enough to procure the rest. As a companion, no man ever ex- ceeded him when he pleased to lead the conversa- tion,; which, however, was not always the case. In company which he either disliked or despised, few could be more reserved than he ; but when he was warmed in discourse and had got over a hesitating manner which sometimes he was subject to, it was 38 Oliver Goldsmith, rapture to hear him. His meagre visage seemed in- sensibly to gather beauty; every muscle in it had meaning, and his eye beamed with unusual bright- ness. The person who writes this memoir, who had the honor and the pleasure of being his acquaintance, remembers to have seen him in a select company of wits of both sexes at Paris, when the subject hap- pened to turn upon English taste and learning. Fon- tenelle, who was of the party, and who, being unac- quainted with the language or authors of the country he undertook to condemn, with a spirit truly vulgar began to revile both. Diderot, who liked the Eng- lish and knewsomethingof their literary pretensions, attetnpted to vindicate their poetry and learning, but with unequal abilities. The company quickly per- ceived that Fontenelle was superior in the dispute, and were surprised at the silence which Voltaire had preserved all the former part of the night, par- ticularly as the conversation happened to turn upon one of his favorite topics. Fontenelle continued his triumph till about 12 o'clock, when Voltaire ap- peared at last roused from his reverie. His whole frame seemed animated. He began his defence with the utmost elegance mixed with spirit, and now and then let fall the finest strokes of raillery upon his antagonist; and his harangue lasted till three in the morning. I must confess, that, whether from national partiality, or from the elegant sensibility of his manner, I never was so much charmed, nor did Voltaire's Life Purpose. 29 I ever remember so absolute a victory as he gained in this dispute. [Another biographer, writing early in the nineteenth century, offers a judicial summary of Voltaire's character, from which we select a few passages.] This simple recital of the incidents of the life of Voltaire has sufficiently developed his character and his mind; the principal features of which were benevolence, indulgence for human foibles, and a hatred of injustice and oppression. He may be numbered among the very few men in whom the love of humanity was a real passion; which, the noblest of all passions, was known only to modern times, and took rise from the progress of knowledge. Its very existence is sufficient to confound the blind partisans of antiquity, and those who calumniate phi- losophy. But the happy qualities of Voltaire were often perverted by his natural restlessness, which the writing of tragedy had but increased. In an instant he would change from anger to affection, from in- dignation to a jest. Born with violent passions, they often hurried him too far ; and his restlessness deprived him of the advantages that usually accom- pany such minds ; particularly of that fortitude to which fear is no obstacle when action becomes a duty, and which is not shaken by the presence of danger foreseen. Often would Voltaire expose him- 4-0 Voltaire's Life Purpose. self to the storm with rashness, but rarely did he brave it with constancy; and these intervals of temerity and weakness have frequently afflicted his friends and afforded unworthy cause of triumph to his cowardly foes. In weighing the peccadilloes of any man due consideration must be had for the period in which he lived, and of the nature of the so- ciety amidst which he was reared. Voltaire was in his twentieth year when Louis XIV. died, and con- sequently his very precocious adolescence was spent during the reign of that pompous and celebrated actor of majesty. How that season was characterized as to morals and the tone of Parisian good company, an epitome of the private life of Louis himself will tell. The decorum and air of state with which Louis sinned was rather edifying than scandalous, and his subjects faithfully copied the grand monarch. Gal- lantry became the order of the day throughout France, with a great abatement of the chivalrous sentiment that attended it under the regency of Anne of Austria, but still exempt from the more gross sensuality that succeeded Louis under the regency of the duke of Orleans. It has been observed that Voltaire was altogether a Frenchman, and the remark will be found just, whether applied to the character of the man or the genius. By increasing to intensity the national char- acteristics, social, constitutional and mental, we create a Voltaire. These are gayety, facility, ad- dress, a tendency to wit, raillery, and equivoque; Voltaire's Life Purpose. 41 light, quick, and spontaneous feelings of humanity, which may be occasionally worked up into enthusi- asm; vanity, irascibility, very slipshod morality in respect to points that grave people are apt to deem of the first consequence; social insincerity, and a pre- dominant spirit of intrigue. Such were the gener- alities of the French character in the days of Vol- taire; and multiply them by his capacity and ac- quirement, and we get at the solid contents of his own. It is, therefore, especially inconsistent to dis- cover such excellence and virtue in the old French regime, and especially in the reign of Louis XIV., and to find so much fault with the tout ensemble of Voltaire; for both his good and his bad qualities were the natural outgrowth of the period. / The most detestable and odious of all political sins is, indisputably, religious persecution ; in this is to be traced the source of the early predisposition of Voltaire, and of the honorable enthusiasm that colored nearly the whole of his long life. By acci- dent, carelessness, or indifference, he was very early allowed to imbibe a large portion of philosophical skepticism, which no after education— ^and he was subsequently educated by Jesuits-^could remove. What was more natural for a brilliant, ardent, and vivacious young man, thus ardently vaccinated— if the figure be allowable — against the smallpox of fanaticism and superstition so prevalent in this coun- try, and born during a reign that revoked the Edict of Nantes, and expatriated half a million of peaceful V 42 Voltaire's Life Purpose. subjects? In what way did his most Christian maj- esty, the magnificent Louis, signalize that part of his kingly career which immediately preceded the birth of Voltaire ? In the famous dragonnades, in which a rude and licentious soldiery were encouraged in every excess of cruelty and outrage, because, to use the language of the minister Louvois, "His majesty was desirous that the heaviest penalties should be put in force against those who are not willing to embrace his religion ; and those who have the false glory to remain longest firm in their opinions, must be driven to the last extremities." They were so driven. It will therefore suffice to repeat that at length the Edict of Nantes was for- mally repealed, Protestants refused liberty of con- science, their temples demolished, their children torn from them, and, to crown all, attempts were even made to impede their emigration. They were to be enclosed like wild beasts and hunted down at leisure. Such were the facts and horrors that must, in the first instance, have encountered and confirmed the incipient skepticism of Voltaire. What calm man, of any or of no religion, can now hear of them with- out shuddering and execration ? and what such feel now it is reasonable to suppose that a mind predis- posed like that of Voltaire must have felt then. Next to fanaticism and superstition, Voltaire ap- pears to have endeavored with the utmost anxiety to rectify the injustice of the public tribunals, espe- Voltaire's Life Purpose. 43 cially in the provinces, which were in the habit of committing legal murders with a facility that could only be equalled by the impunity. Against the exe- crable tyranny of letires de cachet, by which he himself suffered more than once, he occasionally dated his powerful innuendoes. No matter what the religious opinions of Voltaire were, he uniformly in- culcates political moderation, religious tolerance, and general good-will. Looking, therefore, at the general labors of this premier genius of France for the benefit of his fel- low-creatures, he must, at all events, be regarded as a bold, active, and able philanthropist, even by those who in many respects disagree with him. As a philosopher, he was the first to afford an example of a private citizen who, by his wishes and his endeavors, embraced the general history of jnan in every country and in every age, opposing error and oppression of every kind, and defending and promulgating every useful truth. The history of whatever has been done in Europe in favor of reason and humanity is the history of his labor and benefi- cent acts. If the liberty of the press be increased ; if the Catholic clergy have lost their dangerous power, and have been deprived of some of their most scandalous wealth ; if the love of humanity be now J the common language of all governments ; if the \continent of Europe has been taught that men pos- sess a right to the use of reason; if religious pWjudices have been eradicated from the higher 44 Victor Hugo's Oration classes of society, and in part effaced from the hearts of the common people ; if we have beheld the masks stripped from the faces of those religious sectaries who were privileged to impose on the world ; and if reason, for the first time, has begun to shed its clear and uniform light over all Europe — we shall every- where discover, in the history of th.e changes that have been effected? the name of Voltaire. VICTOR HUGO ON VOLTAIRE. [Oration delivered at Paris, May 30, 1878, the one hun- dredth anniversary of Voltaire's death.] A hundred years ago to-day a man died. He died immortal. He departed laden with years, laden with works, laden with the most illustrious and the most fearful of responsibilities, the responsibility of the human conscience informed and rectified. He went cursed and blessed, cursed by the past, blessed by the future ; and these, gentlemen, are the two superb forms of glory. Qn his death-bed he had, on the one hand, the acclaim of contemporaries and of poster- ity; on the other, that triumph of hooting and of hate which the implacable past bestows upon those who have combated it. He was more than a man ; he was an age. He had exercised a function and ful- filled a mission. He had been evidently chosen for the work which he had done, by the Supreme Will, which manifests itself as visibly in the laws of des- tiny as in the laws of nature. On Voltaire. 45 I'he eight)hfour years that this man lived occupy the interval that separates the monarchy at its apogee from the revolution in its dawn. When he was born, Louis XIV. still reigned ; when he died, Louis XVI. reigned already; so that his cradle could see the last rays of the great throne, and his coffin the first gleams from the great abyss. Before going further, let us come to an under- standing, gentlemen, upon the word abyss* There are good abysses ; such are the abysses in which evil is engulfed. Gentlemen, since I have interrupted myself, allow me to complete my thought. .I^o word imprudent or unsound will be pronounced here. We are here to perform an act of civilization. We are here to make affirmation of progress, to pay respect to philoso- phers for the benefits of philosophy, to bring to the eighteenth century the testimony of the nineteenth, to honor magnanimous combatants and good serv- ants, to felicitate the noble effort of peoples, indus- try, science, the valiant march in advance, the toil to cement human concord; in one word, to glorify peace, that sublime, universal desire. Peace is the virtue of civilization; war is its crime. We are here, at this grand moment, in this solemn hour, to bow religiously before the moral law, and to say to the world, which hears France, this : There is only one power, conscience, in the service of justice ; and there is only one glory, genius, in the service of truth. That said, I continue : 4-6 Victor Hugo's Oration Before the Revolution, gentlemen, the sdcial structure was this : At the base, the people; Above .the people, religion represented by the clergy; By the side of religion, justice represented by the magistracy. ' And, at that period of human society, what was the people ? It was ignorance. What was religion ? It was intolerance. And what was justice? It was injustice. Am I going too far in my words ? Judge. I will confine myself to the citation of two facts, but decisive ones. At Toulouse, October 13, 1761, there was found in a lower story of a house a young man hanged. The crowd gathered, the clergy fulminated, the mag- istracy investigated. It was a suicide ; they made of it an assassination. In what interest ? In the inter- est of religion. And who was accused ? The father. He was a Huguenot, and he wished to hinder his son from becoming a Catholic. There was here a moral monstrosity and a material impossibility ; no matter! This father had killed his son; this old man had hanged this young man. Justice travailed, and this was the result. In the month of March, 1762, a man with white hair, Jean Calas, was con- ducted to a public place, stripped naked, stretched on a wheel, the members bound on it, the head hang- ing. Three men are there upon a scaffold ; a magis- trate, named David, charged to superintend the pun- On Voltaire. 47 ishment, a priest to hold the crucifix, and the execu- tioner with a bar of iron in his hand. The patient, stupefied and terrible, regards not the priest, and looks at the executioner. The executioner lifts the bar of iron, and breaks one of his arms. The victim groans and swoons. The magistrate comes for- ward; they make the condemned inhale salts; he returns to life. Then another stroke of the bar; another groan. Calas loses consciousness ; they re- vive him, and the executioner begins again ; and, as each limb before being broken in two places receives two blows, that makes eight punishments. After the eighth swooning the priest offers him the crucifix to kiss ; Calas turns away his head, and the execu- tioner gives him the coup de grace; that is to say, crushes in his chest with the thick end of the bar of iron. So died Jean Calas. That lasted two hours. After his death the evi- dence of the suicide came to light. But an assassina- tion had been committed. By whom? By the judges. Another fact. After the old man, the young man. Three years later, in 1765, in Abbeville, the day after a night of storm and high wind, there was found upon the pavement of a bridge an old crucifix of worm-eaten wood, which for three centuries had been fastened to the parapet. Who had thrown down this crucifix ? Who committed this sacrilege ? It is not known. Perhaps a passer-by. Perhaps the wind. Who is the guilty one? The bishop of 48 Victor Hugo's Oration Ajnie-ns launches a monitoire. Note what a moui- toire was: it was an order to all the faithful, on pain of hell, to declare what they knew or believed they knew of such or such a fact ; a murderous in- junction,, when addressed by fanaticism to ignorance. The monitoire of the bishop of Amiens does its work ; the town gossip assumes the character of the crime charged. Justice discovers, or believes it dis- covers, that on the night when the crucifix was thtown down, two men, two officers, one named La Barre, the other d'fitallonde, passed over the bridge of Abbeville, that they were drunk, and that they sang a guardroom song. The tribunal was the Sen- eschalcy of Abbeville. The Seneschalcy of Abbe- ville was equivalent to the court of the Capitouls of Toulouse;.. It was not less just. Twoi orders for arrest were issued. D'fitallonde escaped, La Barre was taken. Him they delivered to judicial examina- tion. He denied having crossed the bridge ; he con- fessed to having sung the song. The Seneschalcy of Abbeville condemned him; he appealed to the Parliament of Paris. He was conducted to Paris ; the sentence was found good and confirmed. He was conducted back to, Abbeville in chains. I abridg:e,, The monstrous hour arrives. They begin by subjecting the Chevalier de La Barre to the tor- ture, ordinary and extraordinary, to make him re- veal his accomplices. Accomplices in what? In having crossed a bridge and sung a song. During the torture one of his knees was broken; his con- On Voltaire. 49 fessor, on hearing the bones crack, fainted away. The next day^ June 5, 1766, La Barre was drawn to the great square of Abbeville, where flamed a peni- tential firei; the sentence was read to La Barre ; then they cut off one of his hands ; then they tore out his tongue with iron pincers ; then, in mercy, his head, was cut off and thrown into the fire. So died the Chevalier de la Barre. He was nineteen years of age. Then, O Voltaire 1 thou didst utter a cry of hor- ror, and it will be to thine,eternal glory ! Then didst thou enter upon the appalling trial of the past ; thou didst plead against tyrants and mon- sters, the cause of the human race, and thou didst gain it. Great man, blessed bs thou forever. The frightful things that I have recalled were accomplished in the midst of a polite society ; its life was gay and light; people went and came; they looked neither above nor below themselves; their indifference had become carelessness; graceful poets. Saint- Aulaire, Boufflers, Gentil-Bernard, com- posed pretty verses; the court was all festival; Versailles was brilliant; Paris ignored what was passing; and then it was that, through religious fe- rocity, the judges made an old man die upon the wheel, and the priests tore out a child's tongue for a song. In the presence of this society, frivolous and dis- mal, Voltaire alone, having before his eyes those united forces, the court, the nobility, capital; that unccMiscious power, the blind multitude ; that terri- Vol. 1—4 50 Victor Hugo's Oration ble magistracy, so severe to subjects, so docile to the master, crushing and flattering, kneeling on the peo- ple before the king ; that clergy, vile mHange of hyp- ocrisy and fanaticism; Voltaire alone, I repeat it, declared war against that coalition of all the social iniquities, against that enormous and terrible world, and he accepted battle with it. And what was his weapon ? That which has the lightness of the wind and the power of the thunderbolt. A pen. With that weapon he fought; with that weapon he conquered. Gentlemen, let us salute that memory. Voltaire conquered; Voltaire waged the splen- did kind of warfare, the war of one alone against all ; that is to say, the grand warfare. The war of thought against matter, the war of reason against prejudice, the war of the just against the unjust, the war for the oppressed against the oppressor ; the war of goodness, the war of kindness. He had the tenderness of a woman and the wrath of a hero. He was a great mind, and an immense heart. He conquered the old code and the old dogma. He conquered the feudal lord, the Gothic judge, the Roman priest. He raised the populace to the dignity of people. He taught, pacificated, and civilized. He fought for Sirven and Montbailly, as for Galas and La Barre ; he accepted all the menaces, all the out- rages, all the persecutions, calumny, and exile. He was indefatigable and immovable. He conquered violence by a smile, despotism by sarcasm, infalli- On Voltaire. 51 bility by irony, obstinacy by perseverance, ignorance by truth. I have just pronounced the word, smile. I pause at it. Smile ! It is VoUaire. Let us say it, gentlemen, pacification is the great side of the philosopher ; in Voltaire the equilibrium always re-establishes itself at last. Whatever may be his just wrath, it passes, and the irritated Voltaire always gives place to the Voltaire calmed. Then in that profound eye the smile appears. That smile is wisdom. That smile, I repeat, is Voltaire. That smile sometimes becomes laughter, but the philosophic sadness tempers it. Toward the strong it is mockery ; toward the weak it is a caress. It disquiets the oppressor, and reassures the op- pressed. Against the great, it is raillery ; for the lit- tle, it is pity. Ah, let us be moved by that smile ! It had in it the rays of the dawn. It illuminated the true, the just, the good, and what there is of worthy in the useful. It lighted up the interior of superstitions. Those ugly things it is salutary to see ; he has shown them. Luminous, that smile was fruitful also. The new society, the desire for equal- ity and concession, and that beginning of fraternity which called itself tolerance, reciprocal good-will, the just accord of men and rights, reason recognized as the supreme law, the annihilation of prejudices and fixed opinions, the serenity of souls, the spirit of indulgence and of pardon, harmony, peace — ^be- hold, what has come from that great smile ! 52 Victor Hugo's Oration On the day — very near, without any doubt— when the identity of wisdom and clemency will be recog- nized, the day when the amnesty will be proclaimed, I affirm it, up there, in the stars, Voltaire will smile. Gentlemen, between two servants of Humanity, who appeared eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation. ; To combat Pharisaism ; to unmask imposture ; to overthrow tyrannies, usurpations, prejudices, false- hoods, superstitions ; to demolish the temple in order to rebuild it, that is to say, to replace the false by the true ; to attack a ferocious magistracy ; to attack a sanguinary priesthood; to take a whip and drive the money-changers from the sanctuary ; to reclaim the heritage of the disinherited ; to protect the weak, the poor, the suffering, the overwhelmed, to strug- gle for the persecuted and oppressed — that was the war of Jesus Christ ! And who waged that war? It was Voltaire. The completion of the evangelical work is the philosophical work ; the spirit of meekness began, the spirit of tolerance continued. Let us say it with a sentiment of profound respect ; Jesus wept ; Vol- taire SMILED. Of that divine tear and of that hu- man smile is composed the sweetness of the present civilization. Did Voltaire always smile? No. He was often indignant. You remarked it in my first words. Certainly, gentlemen, measure, reserve, propor- tion are reason's supreme law. We can say that On Voltaire. 53 moderation is the very breath of the philosopher. The effort of the wise man ought to be to condense into a sort of serene certainty all the approximations of which philosophy is composed. But at certain moments, the passion for the true rises powerful and violent, and it is within its right in so doing, like the stormy winds which purify. Never, I insist upon it, will any wise man shake those two august sup- ports of social labor, justice and hope; and all will respect the judge if he is embodied justice, and all will venerate the priest if he represents hope. But if the magistracy calls itself torture, if the Church calls itself Inquisition, then Humanity looks them in the face and says to the judge : "I will none of thy law I" and says to the priest : "I will none of thy dogma ! I will none of thy fire on the earth and thy hell in the future !" Then philosophy rises in wrath, and arraigns the judge before justice, and the priest before God ! This is what Voltaire did. It was grand. What Voltaire was, I have said; what his age was, I am about to say. Gentlemen, great men rarely come alone; large trees seem largier when they dominate a forest; there they are at home. There was a forest of minds around Voltaire; that forest was the eighteenth century. Among those minds there were summits : Montesquieu, Buffon, Beaumarchais, and among others, two, the highest after Voltaire, Rousseau and Diderot. Those thinkers taught men to reason ; rea- 54 Victor Hugo's Oration soning well leads to acting well; justness in the mind becomes justice in the heart. Those toilers for progress labored usefully. Buffon founded nat- uralism; Beaumarchais discovered, outside of Mo- liere, a kind of comedy until then unknown almost, the social comedy; Montesquieu made in law some excavations so profound that he succeeded in ex- huming the right. As to Rousseau, as to Diderot, let us pronounce those two names apart; Diderot, a vast intelligence, inquisitive, a tender heart, a thirst for justice, wished to give certain notions as the foundation of true ideas, and created the Encyclo- paedia. Rousseau rendered to woman an admirable service, completing the mother by the nurse, placing near each other those two majesties of the cradle. Rousseau, a writer, eloquent and pathetic, a pro- found oratorical dreamer, often divined and pro- claimed political truth ; his ideal borders on the real ; he had the glory of being the first man in France who called himself citizen. The civic fibre vibrates in Rousseau; that which vibrates in Voltaire is the universal fibre. One can say that in the fruitful eighteenth century, Rousseau represented the peo- ple; Voltaire, still more vast, represented Man. Those powerful writers disappeared, but they left us their soul, the Revolution. Yes, the French Revolution was their soul. It was their radiant manifestation. It came from them ; we find them everywhere in that blessed and superb catastrophe, which formed the conclusion of the On Voltaire. 55 past and the opening of the future. In that clear light, which is peculiar to revolutions) and which be- yond causes permits us to perceive effects, and be- yond the first plan the second, we see behind Dan- ton Diderot, behind Robespierre Rousseau, and be- hind Mirabeau Voltaire. These formed those. Gentlemen, to sum up epochs, by giving them the names of men, to name ages, to make of them in some sort human personages, has only been done by three peoples: Greece, Italy, France. We say, the Age of Pericles, the Age of Augustus, the Age of Leo X., the Age of Louis XIV., the Age of Vol- taire. Those appellations have a great significance. This privilege of giving names to periods belonging exclusively to Greece, to Italy, and to France, is the highest mark of civilization. Until Voltaire, they were the names of the chiefs of states ; Voltaire is more than the chief of a state ; he is a chief of ideas ; with Voltaire a new cycle begins. We feel that henceforth the supreme governmental power is to be thought. Civilization obeyed force; it will obey the ideal. It was the sceptre and the sword broken, to be replaced by the ray of light ; that is to say, au- thority transfigured into liberty. Henceforth, no other sovereignty than the law for the people, and the conscience for the individual. For each of us, the two aspects of progress separate themselves clearly, and they are these : to exercise one's right ; that is to say, to be a man ; to perform one's duty ; that is to say, to be a citizen. 56 Victor Hugo's Oration Such is the signification of that word, the Age of Voltaire ; such is the meaning of that august event, the French Revolution. , The two memorable centuries that preceded the eighteenth, prepared for it; Rabelais warned roy- alty in Gargantua, and Mohere warned the Church in Tartuffe. Hatred of force and respect for right are visible in those two illustrious spirits. Whoever says to-day, might makes right, per- forms an act of the Middle Ages, and speaks to men three hundred years behind their time. Gentlemen, the nineteenth century glorifies the eighteenth century. The eighteenth proposed, the nineteenth concludes. And my last word will be the declaration, tranquil but inflexible, of progress. The time has come. The right has found its formula: human federation. To-day, force is called violence, and begins to be judged; war is arraigned. Civilization, upon the complaint of the human race, orders the trial, and draws up the great criminal indictment of conquer- ors and captains. This witness. History, is sum- , moned. The reality appears. The factitious bril- liancy is dissipated. In many cases the hero is a species of assassin. The peoples begin to compre- hend that increasing the magnitude of a crime can- not be its diminution; that, if to kill is a crime, to kill many cannot be an extenuating circumstance; that, if to steal is a shame, to invade cannot be a glory ; that Te Deums do not count for much in this On Voltaire. 57 matter ; that homicide is homicide ; that bloodshed i? bloodshed ; that it serves nothing to call one's self Caesar or Napoleon; and that, in the eyes, of the eternal God, the figure of a murderer is not changed because, instead of a gallows cap, there is placed upon his head an emperor's crown. Ah ! let us proclaim absolute truths. Let us dis- honor war. No ; glorious war does not exist. No ; it is not good, and it is not useful, to make corpses. No ; it cannot be that life travails for death. No ; oh, mothers that surround me, it cannot be that war, the roljber, should continue to take from yxju your children. No ; it cannot be that women should bear children in pain, that men should be bom, that people should plow and sow, that the farmer should fer- tilize the fields, and the workmen enrich the city, that industry should produce marvels, that genius should produce prodigies, that the vast human activ- ity should in presence of the starry sky, multiply efforts and creations, all to result in that frightful international exposition which is called a field of battle ! The true field of battle, behold it here ! It is this rendezvous of the masterpieces of human labor which Paris offers the world at this moment.* The true victory is the victory of Paris. Alas ! we cannot hide it from ourselves, that the present hour, worthy as it is of admiration and re- spect, has still some mournful aspects.; there are *The exposition of 1878 was then open in Paris. 58 Victor Hugo's Oration. still shadows on the horizon ; the tragedy of the peo- ples is not finished ; war, wicked war, is still there, and it has the audacity to lift its head in the midst of this august festival of peace. Princes for two years past, obstinately adhere to a fatal misunder- standing ; their discord forms an obstacle to our con- cord, and they are ill-inspired to condemn us to the statement of such a contrast. Let this contrast lead us back to Voltaire, In the presence of menacing ^possibilities, let us be more pacific than ever. Let us turn toward that great death, toward that great life, toward that gre^t spirit. Let us bend before the venerated tombs. Let us take counsel of him whose life, useful to men, was ex- tinguished a hundred years ago, but whose work is immortal. Let us take counsel of the other powerful thinkers, the auxiliaries of this glorious Voltaire, of Jean Jacques, of Diderot, of Montesquieu. Let us give the word to those great voices. Let us stop the effusion of human blood. Enough! enough! des- pots ! Ah ! barbarism persists ; very well, let civili- zation be indignant. Let the eighteenth century come to the help of the nineteenth. The philoso- phers, our predecessors, are the apostles of the true ; let us invoke those illustrious shades ; let them, be- fore monarchies meditate wars, proclaim the right of man to life, the right, of conscience to liberty, the sovereignty of reason, the holiness of labor, the beneficence of peace; and since night issues from the thrones, let the light come from the tombs. ' CANDIDE; OR, THE OPTIMIST. [To (.Jiilljrappreciate "Candide," \ tht most exquisite piece of philosophical banter ever penned, it should be re- membered that Rousseau and Pope had been preaching the creed that "whatever is, is right," in this "best of all pos- sible worlds." The terrible earthquake at Lisbon thuri- dered a scathing commentary on this comfortable gospel, Voltaire gave it noble expression in his poem on that ca- lamity, which should be re,ad before "Candide" is en- joyed. The dignified eloquence and force of the poem moved Rousseau to attempt a reply in an ingenious letter upholding the doctrine so shaken in its base. Disdaining a serious rejoinder Voltaire retorted in this, the drollest of profoundly philosophic queer stories, which throws a merciless search-light on the flimsier optimism of the period, and" stands as a perfect example of literary style, razing a Babel tower by the wave of a feather.] CANDIDE; OR, THE OPTIMIST. CHAPTERS. I HOW CANDIDE WAS BROUGHT UP IN A MAGNIFICENT CASTLE AND HOW HE WAS DRIVEN THENCE. In THE country of Westphalia, in the castle of the most noble baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, lived a youth whom nature had endowed with a most sweet disposition. His face was the true index of his mind. He had a solid judgment joined to the most unaffected simplicity; and hence, I presume, he had his name of Candide, The old servants of the house suspected him to have been the son of the baron's sister, by a very good sort of a gentle- man of the neighborhood, whom that young lady re- fused to marry, because he could produce no more than threescore and eleven quarterings in his arms ; the rest of the genealogical tree belonging to the family having been lost through the, injuries of time. The baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia ; for his castle had not only a gate, but even windows ; and his great hall was Jiung with tapestry. He used to hunt with his mastiffs and spaniels instead of greyhounds; his groom served him for huntsman; and the parson of the parish 6i 62 Candide ; or, The Optimist. officiated as his grand almoner. He was called My Lord by all his people, and he never told a story but every one laughed at it. My lady baroness weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, consequently was a person of no small consideration; and then she did the honors of the house with a dignity that commanded universal respect. Her daughter was about seventeen years of age, fresh colored, comely, plump, and desirable. The baron's son seemed to be a youth in every re- spect worthy of the father he sprung from. Pan- gloss, the preceptor, was the oracle of the family, and little Candide listened to his instructions with all the simplicity natural to his age and disposition. Master Pangloss taught the metaphysico-theo- logo-cosmolo-nigology. He could prove to admira- tion that there is no effect without a cause ; and, that in this best of all possible worlds, the baron's castle was the most magnificent of all castles, and my lady the best of all possible baronesses. It is demonstrable, said he, that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end. Observe, for instance, the nose is formed for spectacles, therefore we wear spectacles. The legs are visibly designed for stock- ings, accordingly we wear stockings. Stones were made to be hewn, and to construct castles, therefore My Lord has a magnificent castle ; for the greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged. Candide ; or, The Optimist* 6;^ Swine were intended to be eaten, therefore we eat pork all the year round: and they, who assert that everything is right, do not express themselves cor- rectly ; they should say that everything is best. Candide listened attentively, and believed implic- itly ; » for he thought Miss Cunegund excessively handsome, though he never had the courage to tell her so. He concluded that next to the happiness of being baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, the next was that of being Miss Cunegund, the next that of see- ing her every day, and the last that of hearing the doctrine of Master Pangloss, the greatest philoso- pher of the whole province, and consequently of the whole world. One day when Miss Cunegund went to take a walk in a little neighboring wood which was called a park, she saw, through the bushes, the sage Doc- tor Pangloss giving a lecture in experimental phi- losophy to her mother's chambermaid, a little brown wench, very pi'etty, and very tractable. As Miss Cunegund had a great disposition for the sciences, she observed with the utmost attention the experiments, which were repeated before her eyes ; ' she perfectly well understood the force of the doc- tor's reasoning upon causes and effects. She retired greatly flurried, quite pensive and filled with the de- sire of knowledge, imagining that she mig'ht be a suMcing reason .for. young Candide, and he for her. On her way back she happened to meet the young man ; she blushed, he blushed also ; she wished hiiri 64 Candide ; or. The Optimist. a good morning in a flattering tone, he returned the salute, without knowing what he said. The next day, as they were rising from dinner, Cunegund and Candide slipped behind the screen. The miss dropped her handkerchief, the young man picked it up. She innocently took hold of his hand, and 'he as innocently kissed hers with a warmth, a sensibility, a grace — ^all very particular; their lips met; their eyes sparkled; their knees tren^led; their hands strayed. The baron chanced to come by ; he beheld the cause and effect, and, without hesitation, saluted Candide with some notable kicks on the breech, and drove him out of doors. The lovely Miss Cunegund fainted away, and, as soon as she came to herself, the baroness boxed her ears. Thus a general con- sternation was spr^d over this most magnificent and most agreeable of all possible castles. CHAPTER II. WHAT BEFELL' CANDIDE AMONG THE BULGARIANS. Candide, thus driven out of this terrestrial para- dise, rambled a long time without knowing where he went ; sometimes he raised his eyes, all bedewed with tears, towards heaven, and sometimes he cast a melancholy look towards the magnificent castle, where dwelt the fairest of young baronesses. He laid himself down to sleep in a furrow, heartbroken, and supperless. The snow fell in great flakes, and. Candide ; or. The Optimist. 65 in the morning when he awoke, he was almost frozen to death; however, he made shift to crawl to the next town, which was called Wald-berghoff-trarbk- dikdorff, without a penny in his pocket, and half dead with hunger and fatigue. He took up his stand at the door of an inn. He had not been long there, before two men dressed in blue, fixed their eyes steadfastly upon him. "Faith, comrade," said one of them to the other, "yonder is a well made young fellow, and of the right size." Upon which they made up to Candide, and with the greatest civility and politeness invited him to dine with them. "Gentlemen," replied Candide, with a most engag- ing modesty, "you do me much honor, but upon my word I have no money." "Money, sir !" said one of the blues to him, "young persons of your appearance and merit never pay anything; why, are not you five feet five inches high?" "Yes, gentlemen, that is really my size," replied !he> with a low bow. "Come then, sir, sit down along with us; we will not only pay your reckoning, but will never suffer such a clever young fellow as you to want money. Men were born to assist' one another." "You are perfectly right, gentlemen," said Candide, "this is precisely the doctrine of Master Pangloss ; and I am convinced that everything is for the best." His generous companions next entreated him to accept of si few crowns, which he readily complied with, at the same time oflfering them his note for the pay- ment, which they refused, and sat down to table. Vol. 1—5 66 Candide ; or, The Optimist. "Have you not a great affection for — " "O yes ! I have a great affection for the lovely Miss Cune- gund." "May be so," replied one of the blues, "but that is not the question! We ask you whether you have not a great affection for the king of the Bul- garians ?" "For the king of the Bulgarians ?" said Candide, "oh Lord ! not at all, why I never saw him in my life." "Is it possible ! oh, he is a most charm- ing king ! Come, we must drink his health." "With all my heart, gentlemen," says Candide, and off he tossed his glass. "Bravo !" cry the blues ; "you are now the support, the defender, the hero of the Bul- garians ; your fortune is made ; you are in the high road to glory." So saying, they handcuffed him, and carried him away to the regiment. There he was made to wheel about to the right, to the left, to draw his rammer, to return his rammer, to pre- sent, to fire, to march, and they gave him thirty blows with a cane;, the next day he performed his exercise a little better, and they gave him but twenty; the day following he came off with ten, and was looked upon as a young fellow of surpris- ing genius by all his comrades. Candide was struck with amazement, and could not for the soul of him conceive how he came to be a hero. One fine spring morning, he took it into his head to take a walk, and he marched straight for- ward, conceiving it to be a privilege of the human species, as well as of the brute creation, to make use of their legs how and when they pleased. He had not Candide ; or, The Optimist. 67 gone above two leagues when he was overtaken by four other heroes, six feet high, who bound him neck and heels, and carried him to a dungeon. A court- martial sat upon him, and he was asked which he liked better, to run the gauntlet six and thirty times through the whole regiment, or to have his brains blown out with a dozen musket-balls? In vain did he remonstrate to them thjat the human will is free, 1 and that he chose neither ; they obliged him to make a choice, and he determined, in virtue pi that divine! gift called free will, to run the gauntlet six and thirty| times. He had gone through his discipline twice, and the regiment being composed of 2,000 men, they composed for him exactly 4,000 strokes, which laid bare all his muscles and nerves from the nape of his neck to his stern. As they were preparing to make him set out the third time our young hero, unable to support it any longer, begged as a favor that they would be so obliging as to shoot him through the head ; the favor being granted, a band- age was tied over his eyes, and he was made to kneel down. At that very instant, his Bulgarian majesty happening to pass by made a stop, and inquired into the delinquent's crime, and being a prince of great penetration, he found, from what he heard of Can- dide, that he was a young metaphysician, entirely 1 ignorant of the world; and therefore, out of his ' great clemency, he condescended to pardon him, for which his name will be celebrated in every journal, and in every age. A skilful surgeon made a cure of 68 Candide; or. The Optimist. the flagellated Candide in three weeks by means of emollient unguents prescribed by Dioscorides. His sores were now skinned over and he was able to march, when the king of the Bulgarians gave battle to the king of the Abares. CHAPTER HI. HOW CANDIDE ESCAPED FROM THE BULGARIANS, AND WHAT BEFELL HIM AFTERWARDS. 'Never was anything so gallant, so well accoutred, so brilliant, and so finely disposed as the two armies. The trumpets, fifes, hautboys, drums, and cannon made such harmony as never was heard in hell it- self. The entertainment began by a discharge of cannon, which, in the twinkling of an eye, laid flat about 6,000 men on each side. The musket bullets / swept away, out of the best of all possible worlds, nine or ten thousand scoundrels that infested its sur- face. The bayonet was next the sufiicient reason of i the deaths of several thousands. The whole might amount to thirty thousand souls. Candide trembled like^jghilpsopher, and concealed himself as well as he could during this heroic butchery. At length, while the two kings were causing Te Deums to be sung in their camps, Candide took a resolution to go and reason somewhere else upon causes and effects. After passing over heaps of dead or dying men, the first place he came to was Candide ; or. The Optimist. 69 a neighboring village, in the Abarian territories, which had been burned to the ground by the Bul- garians, ag ffiea bly,||| Q-the law s of \Mar. Here lay a number of old men covered with wounds, who be- held their wives dying with their throats cut, and hugging their children to their breasts, all stained with blood. There several young virgins, whose bodies had been ripped open, after they had satis- fied the natural necessities of the Bulgarian heroes, breathed their last ; while others, half burned in the flames, begged to be despatched out of the world. The ground about them was covered with the brains, arms, and legs of dead men. Candide made alt the haste he could to another village, which belonged to the Bulgarians, and there he found the heroic Abares had enacted the same tragedy. Thence continuing to walk over palpitat- ing limbs, or through ruined buildings, at length he arrived beyond the theatre of war, with a little provision in his budget, and Miss Cunegund's image in his heart. When he arrived in Holland his pro- vision failed him; but having heard that the inhab- itants of that country were all rich and Christians, he made himself sure of being treated by them in the same manner as at the baron's castle, before he had been driven thence through the power of Miss Cunegund's bright eyes. He asked charity of several grave-looking people, who one and all answered him, that if he continued to follow this trade they would have him sent to the yo Candide ; or. The Optimist. house of correction, where he should be taught to get his bread. He next addressed himself to a person who had just come from haranguing a numerous assembly for a whole hour on the subject of charity. The orator, squinting at him under his broad-brimmed hat, asked him sternly, what brought him thither and whether he was for the good old cause? "Sir," said Candide, in a submissive manner, "I conceive there can be no effect without a cause; everything is necessarily concatenated and arranged for the best. It was necessary that I should be banished from the presence of Miss Cunegund ; that I should after- wards run the gauntlet; and it is necessary I should beg my bread, till I am able to get it : all this could not have been otherwise." "Hark ye, friend," said the orator, "do you hold the pope to be Anti- christ?" "Truly, I never heard anything about it," said Candide, "but whether he is or not, I am in want of something to eat." "Thou deservest not to eat or to drink," replied the orator, "wretch, mon- ster, that thou art ! hence | avoid my sight, nor ever come near me again while thou livest." The orator's wife happened to put her head out of the window at that instant, when, seeing a man who doubted whether the pope was Antichrist, she discharged upon his head a utensil full of water. Good heavens, to what excess does religious zeal transport womankind ! A man who h^d nev^r been Qhristened, an hones*-. Candide; or. The Optimist. 71 anabaptist named James, was witness to the cruel and ignominious treatment showed to one of his brethren, to a rational, two-footed, unfledged being. Moved with pity he carried him to his own house, caused him to be cleaned, gave him meat and drink, and made him a present of two florins, at the same time proposing to instruct him in his own trade of weaving Persian silks, which are fabricated in Hol- land. Candide, penetrated with so much goodness, threw himself at his feet, crying, "Now I am con- vinced that my Master Pangloss told me truth when he said that everything was for the best in this world; for I am infinitely more afifected with your extraordinary generosity than with the inhumanity of that gentleman in the black cloak, and his wife." The next day, as Candide was walking outy he met a beggar all covered with scabs, his eyes sunk in his head, the end of his nose eaten oiif, his mouth drawn on one side, his teeth as black as a cloak, snuffling and coughing most violently, and every time he at- tempted to spit out dropped a tooth. CHAPTER IV. HOW CANDIDE FOUND HIS OLD MASTER PANGLOSS AGAIN AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM. Candide, divided between compassion and hor- ror, but giving way to the former, bestowed on this shocking figure the two florins which the honest 72 Candide ; or, The Optimist. anabaptist, James, had just before given to him. The spectre looked at him very earnestly, shed tears and threw his arms about his neck. Candide started back aghast. "Alas!" said the one wretch to the other, "don't you know your dear Pangloss?" "What do I hear? Is it you, my dear master! you I behold in this piteous plight ? What dreadful mis- fortune has befallen you ? What has made you leave the most magnificent and delightful of all castles? What has become of Miss Cunegund, the mirror of young ladies, and nature's masterpiece ?" . "Oh Lord!" cried Pangloss, "I am so weak I cannot stand," upon which Candide instantly led him to the anabaptist's stable, and procured him something to eat. As soon as Pangloss had a little refreshed him- self, Candfde began to repeat his inquiries concern- ing Miss Cunegund. "She is dead," replied the other.. "Dead!" cried Candide, and immediately fainted away; his friend restored him by the help of a little bad vinegar, which he found by chance in the stable. Candide opened his eyes, and again repeated: "Dead! is Miss Cunegund dead? Ah, where is the best of worlds now? But of what illness did she die? Was it of grief on seeing her father kick rne out of his magnificent castle ?" "No," replied Pangloss, " her body was ripped open by the Bulgarian soldiers, after they had subjected her to as much cruelty as a damsel could survive ; they knocked the baron, her father, on the head for attempting to defend her ; my lady, her mother, was Candide ; or. The Optimist. 73 cut in pieces ; my poor pupil was served just in the same manner as his sister, and as for the castle, they have not left one stone upon another; they have destroyed all the ducks, and the sheep, the barns, and the trees ; but we have had our revenge, for the' Abares have done the very same thing in a neigh- boring barony, which belonged to a Bulgarian lord." At hearing this, Candide fainted away a second time, but, having come to himself again, he said all that it became him to say; he inquired into the cause and effect, as well as into the sufficing reason that had reduced Pangloss to so miserable a condi- tion. "Alas," replied the preceptor, "it was love; Jove, the comfort of the human species ; love, the preserver of the universe ; the soul of all sensible beings ; love ! tender love !" "Alas," cried Candide, "I have had some knowledge of love myself, this sovereign of hearts, this soul of souls ; yet it never cost me more than a kiss and twenty kicks on the backside. But how could this beautiful cause pro- duce in you so hideous an effect ?" Pangloss made answer in these terms : "O my dear Candide, you must remember Pacquette, that pretty wench, who waited on our noble baroness; • in her arms I tasted the pleasures of paradise, which produced these hell-torments with which you see me devoured. She was infected with an ailment, and perhaps has since died of it ; she received this pres- ent of a learned cordelier, who derived it from the fountain head; he was indebted for it to an old 74 Candlde ; or, The Optimist. countess, who had it of a captain of horse, who had it of a marchioness, who had it of a page, the page had it of a Jesuit, who, during his novitiate, had it in a direct line from one of the fellow-adv6nturers of Christopher Columbus ; for my part I shall give it to nobody, I am a dying man." "O sage Pangloss," cried Candide, "what a strange genealogy is this ! Is riot the devil the root of it?" "Not at all," replied the great man, "it was a thing unavoidable, a necessary ingredient in the best of worlds ; for if Columbus had not caught in an island in America this disease, which contami- nates the source of generation, and frequently im- pedes propagation itself, and is evidently opposed to the great end of nature, we should have had neither chocolate nor cochineal. It is also to be observed, that, even to the present time, in this continent of ours, this malady, like our religious controversies, is peculiar, to ourselves. The Turks, the Indians, the Persians, the Chinese, the Siamese, and the Japa- nese are entirely unacquainted with it; but there is a sufficing reason for them to know it in a few centuries. In the meantime, it is making prodigious havoc among us, especially in those armies composed of well-disciplined hirelings, who determine the fate of nations ; for we may safely affirm, that, when an army of thirty thousand men engages another equal in size, there are about twenty thousand infected with syphilis on each side." "Very surprising, indeed," said Candide, "but Candida; or. The Optimist 75 you must get cured. "Lord help me, how can I?" said Pangloss ; "my dear friend, I have not a penny in the world ; and you know one cannot be bled or have a clyster without money." This last speech had its effect on Candide; he flew to the charitable anabaptist, James ; he flung himself at his feet, and gave him so striking a pic- ture of the miserable condition of his friend that the good man without any further hesitation agreed to take Doctor Pangloss into his house, and to pay for his cilre. The cure was effected with only the loss of one eye and an ear. As he wrote a good hand, and understood accounts tolerably well, the anabaptist made him his bookkeeper. At the expiration of two months, being obliged by some mercantile affairs to go to Lisbon he took the two philosophers with him in the same ship ; Pangloss, during the course of the voyage, explained to him how everything was so constituted that it could not be better. James did not quite agree with him on this point: '-'Men," said he "must, in some things, have deviated from their original innocence; for they were not born wolves, and yet they worry one another like those beasts of prey. God never gave them twenty-four pounders nor bayonets, and yet they have made can- non and bayonets to destroy one another. To this account I might add not only bankruptcies, but the law which seizes on the effects of bankrupts, only to cheat the creditors." "All this was indispensa- bly necessary," replied the one-eyed doctor, "for 76 Candide; or. The Optimist. private misfortunes are public benefits ; so that the more private misfortunes there are, the greater is the general good." While he was arguing in this manner, the sky was overcast, the winds blew from the four quarters of the compass, and the ship was assailed by a most terrible tempest, within sight of the port of Lisbon. CHAPTER V. A TEMPEST, A SHIPWRECK, AN EARTHQUAKE; AND WHAT ELSE BEFELL DR. PANGLOSS, CANDIDE, AND JAMES THE ANABAPTIST. One-half of the passengers, weakened and half- dead with the inconceivable anxiety and sickness which the rolling of a vessel at sea occasions through the whole human frame, were lost to all sense of the danger that surrounded them. The others made loud outcries, or betook themselves to their prayers ; the sails were blown into shreds, and the masts were brought by the board. The vessel was a total wreck. Every one was busily employed, but nobody could be either heard or obeyed. The anabaptist, being' upon deck, lent a helping hand as well as the rest, when a brutish sailor gave him a blow and laid him speechless; but, with the vio- lence of the blow the tar himself tumbled headfore- most overboard, and fell upon a piece of the broken mast, which he immediately grasped. Honest James, Candide; or. The Optimist. 77 forgetting the injury he had so lately received from him, flew to his assistance, and, with great difficulty, haiiled him in again, but, in the attempt, was, by a sudden jerk of the ship, thrown overboard himself, in sight of the very fellow whom he had risked his life to save, and who took not the least notice of him in this distress. Candide, who beheld all that passed and saw his benefactor one moment rising above water, and the next swallowed up by the merciless waves, was preparing to jump after him, but was prevented by the philosopher Pangloss, who demon- , strated to him that the roadstead of Lisbon- had been, made on purpose for the anabaptist to be drowned there. While he was proving his argument a priori', the ship foundered, and the whole crew perished, except Pangloss, Candide, and the sailor who had been the means of drowning the good anabaptist. The villain swam ashore; but Pangloss and Can- dide reached the land upon a plank. As soon as they had recovered from their sur- prise and fatigue they walked towards Lisbon ; with what little money they had left they thought to save themselves from starving after having escaped drowning. Scarcely had they ceased to lament the loss of their benefactor and set foot in the city, when they perceived that the earth trembled under their feet, and the sea, swelling and foaming in the harbor, was dashing in pieces the vessels that were riding at anchor. Large sheets of flames and cinders covered 78 Candide; or. The Optimist. the streets and public places; the houses tottered, and were tumbled topsy-turvy even to their founda- tions, which were themselves destroyed, and thirty thousand inhabitants of both sexes, young and old, were buried beneath the ruins. The sailor, whis- tling and swearing, cried, "Damn it, there's some- thing to be got here." "What can be the sufficing reason of this phenomenon?" said Pangloss. "It is certainly the day of judgment," said Candide. The sailor, defying death in the pursuit of plunder, rushed into the midst of the ruin, where he found some money, with which he got drunk, and, after he had slept himself sober he purchased the favors of the first good-natured wench, that came in his way, amidst the ruins of demolished houses and the groans of half-buried and expiring persons. Pan- gloss pulled him by the sleeve; "Friend," said he, "this is not right, you trespass against the universal reason, and have mistaken your time." "Death and zounds !" answered the other, "I am a sailor and was born at Batavia, and have trampled* four times upon the crucifix in as many voyages to Japan ; you have come to a good hand with your universal reason." In the meantime, Candide, who had been wounded by some pieces of stone that fell from the houses, lay stretched in the street, almost covered with rubbish. "For God's sake," said he to Pan- gloss, "get me a little wine and oil! I am dying." ♦The Dutch traders to Japan are actually obliged to trample upon a crucifix, in token of their aversion to the Christian religion, which the Japanese abhor. Candide ; or. The Optimist. 79 "This concussion of the earth is no new thing," said Pangloss, "the city of Lima in South America, ex- perienced the same last year; the same cause, the same effects ;■ there is certainly a train of sulphur all the way underground from Lima to Lisbon. "Nothing is more probable," said Candide ; "but for the love of God a little oil and wine." "Probable !" replied the philosopher, "I maintain that the thing is demonstrable." Candide fainted away, and Pangloss fetched him some water from a neighboring spring. The next day, in searching among the ruins, they found some eatables with which they repaired their exhausted strength. After this they assisted the in- habitants in relieving the distressed and wounded. Some, whom they had humanely assisted, gave them as good a dinner as could be expected under such terrible circumstances. The repast, indeed, was mournful, and the company moistened their bread with their tears; but Pangloss endeavored to com- fort them under this afifliction by affirming that things could not be otherwise than, they were: "For," said he, "all this is for the very best end, for if there is a volcano at Lisbon it could be in no other spot; and it is impossible but things should be as they are, for everything is for the best." By the side of the preceptor sat a little man dressed in black, who was one of the familiars of the Inquisition. This person, taking him up with great complaisance, said, "Possibly, my good sir, you dp »Pj: believe iii;i prij:inal sin ; for, if everything 8o Candide; or, The Optimist. is best, there could have been no such thing as the fall or punishment of man." "I humbly ask your excellency's pardon," an- swered Pangloss, still more politely ; "for the fall of man and the curse consequent thereupon necessarily entered into the system of the best of worlds," "That is as much as to say, sir," rejoined the familiar, "you do not believe in free will." "Your excellency will be so good as to excuse me," said Pangloss, "free will is consistent with absolute necessity ; for it was necessary we should be free, for in that the will — " Pangloss was in the midst of his proposition, when the inquisitor beckoned to his attendant to help him to a glass of port wine. CHAPTER V^. HOW THE PORTUGUESE MADE A SUPERB AUTO-DA-FE TO PREVENT ANY FUTURE EARTHQUAKES, AND HOW CANDIDE UNDERWENT PUBLIC FLAGELL-A- TION. After the earthquake, which had destroyed three-fourths of the city of Lisbon, the sages of that country could think of no means more effectual to preserve the kingdom from utter ruin than to enter- tain the people with an auto-da-fe,* it having been *An auto-da-fi was actually to have been celebrated the very day on which the earthquake destroyed Lisbon. Every- body knows than an auto-da-£^ is a general jail delivery from the prisons of the Inquisition, when the wretches con- demned by that tribunal are brought to the stake, or other- wise stigmatized in public. Candide; or. The Optimist. 8i decided by the University of Coimbra, that the turning of a few people ahve by a slow fire, and with great ceremony, is an infallible preventive of earthquakes. In consequence thereof they had seized on a Bis- cayan for marrying his godmother, and on two Portuguese for taking out the bacon of a larded pullet they were eating ; after dinner they came and secured Doctor Pangloss, and his pupil Candide, the one for speaking his mind, and the other for seeming to appr&ve what he had said. They were conducted to separate apartments, extremely cool, where they were never incommoded with the sun. Eight days afterwards they were each dressed in a sanbenito, and their heads were adorned with paper mitres. The mitre and sanbenito worn by Candide were painted with flames reversed and with devils that had neither tails nor claws; but Doctor Pan- gloss's devils had both tails and claws, and his flames were upright. In these habits they marched in pro- cession, and heard a very pathetic sermon, which was followed by an anthem, accompanied by bag- pipes. Candide was flogged to some tune, while the anthem was being sung; the Biscayan and the two men who would not eat bacon were burned, and Pangloss was hanged, which is not a common cus- tom at these solemnities. The same day there was another earthquake, which made most dreadful havoc. Candide, amazed, terrified, confounded, aston- Vol. 1—6 82 Candide ; or. The Optimist. ished, all bloody, and trembling from head to foot, said to himself, "If this as the best of all possible worlds, what are the others? If I had only been whipped, I could have put up with it, as I did among the Bulgarians ; but, olr tny dear Pangloss ! my be- loved master! thou greatest of philosophers! that ever I should live to see thee hanged, without know- ing for whatiyO my dear anabaptist, thou best of men, that it should be thy fate to be drowned in the very harbor! O Miss Cunegund, you mirror of young ladies! that it should be your fate to have yOuf body ripped open ! " He was makitig the best of his way from the place where he had been preached to, whipped, ab- solved and blessed, when he was accosted by an old woman, who said to him : "Take courage, child, and follow me." CHAPTER VII. HOW THE OLD WOMAN TOOK CARE OF CANDIDEj AND HOW HE FOtTND THE OBJECT OF HIS LOVE. Candide followed the old woman, though with- out taking courage, to a decayed house, where she gave him a pot of pomatum to anoint his sores, showed him a very neat bed, with a suit of clothes hanging by it ; and set victuals and drink before him. "There," said she, "eat, drink, and sleep, and may our blessed lady of Atocha, and the great St. Candide ; or. The Optimist. 83 Anthony of Padua, and the illustrious St. James of Compostella, take you under their protection. I shall be back to-morrow." Candide struck with amazement at what he had seen, at what he had suf- fered, and still more with the charity of the old woman, would have shown his acknowledgment by kissing her hand. "It is not my hand you ought to kiss," said the old woman ; "I shall be back to-mor- row. Anoint your back, eat, and take your rest." Candide, notwithstanding so many disasters, ate and slept. The next morning, the old woman brought him his breakfast ; examined his back, and rubbed it herself with another ointment. She re- turned at the proper time, and brought him his din- ner; and at night, she visited him again with his supper. The next day she observed the same cere- monies. "Who are you?" said Candide to her. "Who has inspired you with so much goodness? What return can I make you for this charitable as- sistance?" The good old beldame kept a profound silence. In the evening she returned, but without his supper; "Come along with me," said she, "but do not speak a word." She took him by the arm, and walked with him about a quarter of a mile into the country, till they came to a lonely house sur- rounded with moats and gardens. The old conduct- ress knocked at a little door, which was immediately opened, and she showed him up a pair of back stairs, into a small, but richly furnished apartment. There she made him sit down on a brocaded sofa, shut the 84 Candide; or. The Optimist. door upon him, and left him. Candide thought him- self in a trance ; he looked upon his whole life, hith- erto, as a frightful dream, and the present moment as a very agreeable one. The old woman soon returned, supporting, with great difificulty, a young lady, who appeared scarce able to stand. She was of a majestic mien and stature, her dress Was rich, and glittering with dia- monds, and her face was covered with a veil. "Take off that veil," said the old woman to Candide. The young man approached, and, with a trembling hand, took off her veil. What a happy moment! What surprise! He thought he beheld Miss Cunegund; he did behold her — it was she herself. His strength failed him, he could not utter a word, he fell at her feet. Cunegund fainted upon the sofa. The old woman bedewed them with spirits ; they recovered — ^they began to speak. At first they could express themselves only in broken accents; theii- questions and answers were alternately interrupted with sighs, tears, and exclamations. The old woman desired them to make less noise, and after this prudent ad- monition left them together. "Good heavens V cried Candide, "is it you ? Is it Miss Cunegund I behold, and alive ? Do I find you again in Portugal ? then you have not been ravished? they did not rip open your body, as the philosopher Pangloss informed me?" "Indeed but they did," replied Miss Cune- gund ; "but these two accidents do not always prove mortal." "But were your father and mother killed ?" Candide; or. The Optimist. 85 "Alas !" answered she, "it is but too true !" and she wept. "And your brother ?" "And my brother also." "And how came you into Portugal? And how did you know of my being here? And by what strange adventure did you contrive to have me brought into this house? And how-- — " "I will tell you all," replied the lady, "but first you must acquaint me with all that has befallen you since the innocent kiss you gave me, and the rude kicking you received in consequence of it." Candide, with the greatest submission, prepared to obey the commands of his fair mistress; and though he was still filled with amazement, though his voice was low and tremulous; though his back pained him, yet he gave her a most ingenuous ac- count of everything that had befallen him, since the moment of their separation. Cunegund, with her eyes uplifted to heaven, shed tears when he related the death of the good anabaptist James, and of Pan- gloss; after which she thus related her adventures to Candide, who lost not one syllable she uttered, and seemed to devour her with his eyes all the time she was speaking. t' CHAPTER VIII. cunegund's story. "I WAS in bed, and fast asleep, when it pleased heaven to send the Bulgarians to our delightful castle of Thunder-ten-tronckh, where they mur- 86 Candide ; or. The Optimist. dered my father and brother, and cut my mother in pieces. A tall Bulgarian soldier, six feet high, per- ceiving that I had fainted away at this sight, at- tempted to ravish me ; the operation brought me to my senses. I cried, I struggled, I bit, I scratched, I would have torn the tall Bulgarian's eyes out, not knowing that what had happened at my father's castle was a customary thing. The brutal soldier, enraged at my resistance, gave me a wound in my left leg with his hanger, the mark of which I still carry." "Methinks I long to see it," said Candide,/ with all imaginable simplicity. "You shall," said Cunegund, "but let me proceed." "Pray do," re- plied Candide. She continued. "A Bulgarian captain came in, and saw me weltering in my blood, and the soldier still as busy as if no one had been present. The officer, enraged at the fellow's want of respect to him, killed him with one stroke of his sabre as he lay upon me. This captain took care of me, had me cured, and carried me as a prisoner of war to his quarters. I washed what little linen he possessed, and cooked his victuals : he was very ior\(^ ; of me, that was certain; neither can I deny that he was well made, and had a soft, white skin, but he was very stupid, and knew nothing of philosophy: it might plainly be perceived that he had not been edu- cated under Doctor Pangloss. In three months, having gambled away all his money, and having grown tired of me, he sold me to a Jew, named Don Candide ; or. The Optimist. 87 Issachar, who traded in Holland and Portugal, and was passionately fond of women. This Jew showed me great kindness, in hopes of gaining my favors; but he never could prevail on me to yield. A modest woman may be once ravished; but her virtue is greatly strengthened thereby. In order to make sure of me, he brought me to this country-house you now see. I had hitherto believed that nothing could equal the beauty of the castle of ThUnder-ten- tronckh; but I found I was mistaken. "The grand inquisitor saw me one day at mass, ogled me all the time of service, and when it was over, sent to let me know he wanted to speak with me about some private business. I was conducted to his palace, where I told him all my story; he represented to me how much it was beneath a person of my birth to belong to a circumcised Israelite. He caused a proposal to be made to Don Issachar, that he should resign me to his lordship. Don Issachar, being the court banker, and a man of credit, was not easy t# be prevailed upon. His lordship threatened him with an auto-da-fe; in short, my Jew was fright- ened int#a compromise, and it was agreed between them, that the house and myself should belong to both in common ; that the Jew should have Monday, Wednesday, and the Sabbath to himself; and the inquisitor the other four days of the week. TJhis agreement has subsisted almost six months; but not without several contests, whether the space from ■ Saturday night to Sunday morning belonged to the 88 Candide; or. The Optimist. old or the new law. For my part, I have hhherto withstood them both, and truly I believe this is the very reason why they are both so fond of me. "At length to turn aside the scourge of earth- quakes, and to intimidate Don Issachar, my lord in- quisitor was pleased to celebrate an auto-da-fe. He did me the honor to invite me to the ceremony. I had a very good seat ; and refreshments of all kinds were offered the ladies between mass and the execu- tion. I was dreadfully shocked at the burning of the two Jews, and the honest Biscayan who married his godmother; but how great was my surprise, my consternation, and concern, when I beheld a figure so like Pangloss, dressed in a sanbenito and mitre! I rubbed my eyes, I looked at him atten- tively. I sav/ him hanged, and I fainted away: scarce had I recovered my senses, when I saw you stripped of clothing ; this was the height of horror, grief, and despair. I must confess to you for a truth, that your skin is whiter and more blooming than that of the Bulgarian captain. This sgectacle worked me up to a pitch of distraction. I screamed out, and would have said, 'hold, barbarian^' but my voice failed me; and indeed my cries would have signified nothing. After you had been severely whipped, how is it. possible, I said to myself, that the lovely Candide and the sage Pangloss should be at Lisbon, the one to receive a hundred lashes, and the other to be hanged by order of my lord inquisi- tor, of whom I am so great a favorite? Pangloss Candide ; or. The Optimist. 89 deceived me most cruelly, in saying that everything is for the best. "Thus agitated and perplexed, now distracted and lost, now half dead with grief, I revolved in my mind the murder of my father, mother, and brother, committed before my eyes; the insolence of the rascally Bulgarian soldier; the wound he gave me in the groin; my servitude; my being a cook-wench to my Bulgarian captain ; my subjection to the hateful Jew, and my cruel inquisitor; the hanging of Doctor Pangloss; the Miserere sung while you were being whipped ; and particularly the kiss I gave you behind the screen, the last day I ever beheld you. I returned thanks to God for hav- ing brought you to the place where I was, after so many trials. I charged the old woman who attends me to bring you hither as soon as was convenient. She has punctually executed my orders, and I now enjoy the inexpressible satisfaction of seeing you, hearing you, and speaking to you. But you must certainly be half-dead with hunger; I myself have a great inclination to eat, and so let us sit down to supper."' Upon this the two lovers immediately placed themselves at table, and, after having supped, they returned to seat themselves again on the magnificent sofa already mentioned, where they were in amorous dalliance, when Senor Don Issachar, one of the masters of the house, entered unexpectedly ; it was the Sabbath day, and he came to enjoy his privilege, 90 Candide ; or. The Optimist. and sigh forth his passion at the feet of the fair Cunegund. CHAPTER IX. WHAT HAPPENED TO CUNEGUND^ CANDIDE, THE GRAND INQUISITOR, AND THE JEW. This same Issachar was the most chol eric little Hebrew that had ever been in Israel since the cap- tmtyof Babylon. "What," said he, "thou Galilean slut? the inquisitor was not enough for thee, but this rascal must come in for a share with me ?" In uttering these words, he drew out a long poniard, which he always carried about him, and never dreaming that his adversary had any arms, he at- tacked him most furiously; but our honest West- phalian had received from the old woman a hand- some sword with the suit of clothes. Candide drew his rapier, and though he was very gentle and sweet- tempered, he laid the Israelite dead on the floor at the fair Cunegund's feet. "Holy Virgin!" cried she, "what will become of us ? A man killed in my apartment ! If the peace- officers come, we are undone." "Had not Pangloss been hanged," replied Candide, "he would have given us most excellent advice, in this emergency; for he was a profound philosopher. But, since he is not here, let us consult the old woman." She was very sensible, and was beginning to give her advice, when another door opened on a sudden, |t was Candide; or, The Optimist. 91 now one o'clock in the morning, and of course the beginning of Sunday, which, by agreement, fell to the lot of my lord inquisitor. Entering he dis- covers the flagellated Candide with his drawn sword in his hand, a dead body stretched on the floor, Cunegund frightened out of her wits, and the old woman giving advice. At that very moment, a sudden thought came into Candide's head. If this holy man, thought he, should call assistance, I shall most undoubtedly be consigned to the flames, and Miss Cunegund may perhaps meet with no better treatment : besides, he was the cause of my being so cruelly whipped; he is my rival; and as I have now begun to dip my hands in blood, I will kill away, for there is no time to hesitate. This whole train of reasoning was clear and instantaneous ; so that, without giving time to the inquisitor to recover from his surprise, he ran him through the body, and laid him by the side of the Jew. "Here's another fine piece of work !" cried Cunegund. "Now there can be no mercy for us, we are excommunicated; our last hour is come. But how could you, who are of so mild a temper, des- patch a Jew and an inquisitor in two minutes' time?" "Beautiful maiden," answered Candide, "when a man is in love, is jealous, and has been flogged by the Inquisition, he becomes lost to all reflection." The old woman then put in her word: "There are three Andalusian horses in the stable, with as 92 Candlde ; or, The Optimist. many bridles and saddles ; let the brave Candide get them ready : madam has a parcel of moidores and jewels, let us mount immediately, though I have lost one of nature's cushions ; let us set out for Cadiz; it is the finest weather in the world, and there is great pleasure in travelling in the ^ool of the night." Candide, without any further hesitation, saddled the three horses; and Miss Cunegund, the old woman, and he, set out, and travelled thirty miles without once halting. While they were making the best of their way, the Holy Brotherhood entered the house. My lord, the inquisitor, was interred in a magnificent manner, and master Issachar's body was thrown upon a dunghill. Candide, Cunegund, and the old woman, had by this time reached the little town of Avacena, in the midst of the mountains of Sierra Morena, and were engaged in the following conversation in an inn, where they had taken up their quarters. CHAPTER X. IN WHAT DISTRESS CANDIDE, CUNEGUND, AND THE OLD WOMAN ARRIVE AT CADIZ," AND OF THEIR EMBARKATION. "Who could it be that has robbed me of my moidores and jewels?" exclaimed Miss Cunegund, all bathed in tears. "How shall we live? What Candlde ; or. The Optimist. 93 shall we do? Where shall I find inquisitors and Jews who can give me more?" "Alas!" said the old woman, "I have a shrewd suspicion of a rev- erend father cordelier, who lay last night in the same inn with us at Badajoz ; God forbid I should condemn any one wrongfully, but he came into our room twice, and he set off in the morning long be- fore us." "Alas!" said Candide, "Pangloss has often demonstrated to me that the goods of this world are common to «11 men, and that everyone has an equal right to the enjoyment of them; but, ac- cording to these principles, the cordelier ought to have left us enough to carry us to the end of our journey. Have you nothing at all left, my dear Miss Cunegund?" "Not a maravedi," replied she. "What is to be done then ?" said Candide. "Sell one of the horses," replied the old woman, "I will get up behind Miss Cunegund, though I have only one cushion to ride on, and we shall reach Cadiz." In the same inn there was a Benedictine friar, who bought the horse very cheap. Candide, Cune- gund, and the old woman, after passing through Lucina, Ghellas, and Letrixa, arrived at length at' Cadiz. A fleet was then getting ready, and troops were assembling in order to induce the reverend fathers, Jesuits of Paraguay, who were accused of having excited one of the Indian tribes in the neigh-, berhood of the town of the Holy Sacrament, to revolt against the kings of Spain and Portugal. Can- dide, having been in the Bulgarian service, per- 94 Candide ; or, The Optimist. formed the military exercise of that nation before the general of this little army with so intrepid an air, and with such agility and expedition, that he re- ceived the command of a company of foot. Being now made a captain, he embarked with Miss Cune- gund, the old woman, two valets, and the two An- dalusian horses, which had belonged to the grand inquisitor of Portugal. During their voyage they amused themselves with many profound reasonings on poor Pangloss's •philosophy. "We are now going into another world, and surely it must be there that everything is for the best ; for I must confess that we have had some little reason to complain of what passes in ours, both as to the physical and moral part. Though I have a sincere love for you," said Miss Cunegund, "yet I still shudder at the reflection of what I have seen and experienced." "All will be well," replied Candide, "the sea of this new world is already better than our European seas : it is smoother, and the winds blow more regularly." "God grant it," said Cunegund, "but I have met with such terrible treatment in this world that I have almost lost all hopes of a better one." "What murmuring and complaining is here indeed!" cried the old woman: "If you had suf- fered half what I have, there might be some reason for it." Miss Cunegund could scarce refrain from laughing at the good old woman, and thought it droll enough to pretend to a greater share of mis- fortunes than her own. "Alas! my good dame," Candida ; or. The Optimist. 95 said she, "unless you had been ravished by two Bul- garians, had received two deep wounds in your belly, had seen two of your own castles demolished, had lost two fathers, and two mothers, and seen both of them barbarously murdered before your eyes, and to sum up all, had two lovers whipped at an auto- da-fe, I cannot see how you could be more unfortu- nate than I. Add to this, though born a baroness, and bearing seventy-two quarterings, I have been reduced to the station of a cook-wench." "Miss," repUed the old woman, "you do not know piy family as yet ; but if I were to show you my posteriors, you would not talk in this manner, but suspend your judgment." This speech raised a high curiosity in Candide and Cunegund; and the old woman con- tinued as follows ; CHAPTER XL THE HISTORY OF THE OLD WOMAN. "I HAVE not always been blear-eyed. My nose did not always touch my chin ; nor was I always a servant. You must know that I am the daughter of Pope Urban X.*, and of the princess of Pales-^ trina. To the age of fourteen I was brought up in a castle, compared with which all the castles of the German barons would not have been fit for stabling, and one of my robes would have bought half the ♦There never was a tenth pope of that name; so that this number is mentioned to avoid scandal. 96 Candide ; or, Thfe Optimist. province of Westphalia. I grew up, and improved in beauty, wit, and eyery graceful accomplishment; and in the midst of pleasures, homage, and the high- est expectations. I already began to inspire the men with love. My breast began to take its right form, and such a breast ! white, firm, and formed like that of Venus of Medici ; my eyebrows were as black as jet, and as for my eyes, they darted flames and eclipsed the lustre of the stars, as I was told by the poets of our part of the world. My maids, when they dressed and undressed me, used to fall into an ecstasy in viewing me before and behind: and all the men longed to be in their places. "I was contracted in marriage to a sovereign prince of Massa Carara. Such a prince! as hand- some as myself, sweet-tempered, agreeable, witty, and in love with me over headland ears. I loved him, I too, as our sex generally do for the first time, with rapture, transport, and idolatry. The nuptials were prepared with surprising pomp and magnificence; the ceremony was attended with feasts, carousals, and burlettas: all Italy composed sonnets in my praise, though not one of them was tolerable. I was on the point of reaching the summit of bliss, when an old marchioness, who had been mistress to the prince, my husband, invited him to drink chocolate. In less than two hours after he returned from the visit, he died of most terrible convulsions. But this is a mere trifle. My mother, distracted to the high- est degree, and yet less afflicted than I, determined Candide ; or. The Optimist. 97 to absent herself for some time from so fatal a place. As she had a very fine estate in the neighborhood of Gaeta, we embarked on board a galley, which was gilded like the high altar of St. Peter's, at Rome. In our passage we were boarded by a Sallee rover. Our men defended themselves like true pope's soldiers; they flung themselves upon their knees, laid down their arms, and begged the corsair to give them absolution in articulo mortis. "The Moors presently stripped us as bare as ever we were born. My mother, my maids of honor, and myself, were served all in the same manner. It is amazing how quick these gentry are at undressing people. But what surprised me most was, that they made a rude sort of surgical examination of parts of the body which are sacred to the functions of nature. I thought it a very strange kind of ceremony ; for thus we are generally apt to judge of things when we have not seen the world. I after- wards learned that it was to discover if we had any diamonds concealed. This practice has been estab- lished since time immemorial among those civilized nations that scour the seas. I was informed that the religious knights of Malta never fail to make this search whenever any Moors of either sex fall into their hands. It is a part of the law of nations, from which they never deviate. "I need not tell you how great a hardship it was for a young princess and her mother to be made slaves and carried to Morocco. You may easily im- Vol. 98 Candide ; or, The Optimist. agine what we must have suffered on board a cor- sair. My mother was still extremely handsome, our maids of honor, and even our common waiting- women, had more charms than were to be found in all Africa. As to myself, I was enchanting ; I was beauty itself, and then I had my virginity. But, alas ! I did not retain it long ; this precious flower, which had been reserved for the lovely prince of Massa Carara, was cropped by the captain of the Moorish vessel, who was a hideous negro, and thought he did me infinite honor. Indeed, both the princess of Palestrina and myself must have had very strong constitutions to undergo all the hard- ships and violences we suffered before our arrival at Morocco. But I will not detain you any longer with such common things; they are hardly worth mentioning. "Upon our arrival at Morocco we found that kingdom deluged with blood. Fifty sons of the em- peror Muley Ishmael were each at the head of a party. This produced fifty civil wars of blacks against blacks, of tawnies against tawnies, and of miilattoes against mulattoes. In short, the whole empire was one continued scene of carnage. "No sooner were we landed than a party of blacks, of a contrary faction to that of my captain, came to rob him of his booty. Next to the money and jewels, we were the most valuable things he had. I witnessed on this occasion such a battle as you never beheld in your cold European climates. Candide ; or. The Optimist. 99 The northern nations have not tha,t fermentation in their blood, nor that raging lust for women that is so common in Africa, The natives of Europe seem to have their veins filled with milk only; but fire and vitriol circulate in those of the inhabitants of Mount Atlas and the neighboring provinces. They fought with the fury of the lions, tigers, and ser- pents of their country, to decide who should have us. A Moor seized my mother by the right arm, while my captain's lieutenant held her by the left; another Moor laid hold of her by the right leg, and one of our corsairs held her by the other. In this manner almost all of our women were dragged by four soldiers. My captain kept me concealed be- hind him, and with his drawn scimitar cut down everyone who opposed him ; at length I saw all our Italian women and my mother mangled and torn in pieces by the monsters who contended for them. The captives, my companions, the Moors who took us, the soldiers, the sailors, the blacks, the whites, the mulattoes, and lastly, my captain himself, were all slain, and I remained alone expiring upon a heap of dead bodies. Similar barbarous scenes were transacted every day over the whole country, which is of three hundred leagues in extent, and yet they never misseH the five stated times of prayer enjoined by their prophet Mahomet. "I disengaged myself with great diificulty from such a heap of corpses, and made a shift to crawl to a large orange-tree that stood on the bank of a too Candide; or, iThe Optimist neighboring rivulet, where I fell down exhausted with fatigue, and overwhelmed with horror, despair, and hunger. My senses being overpowered, I fell asleep, or rather seemed to be in a trance. Thus I lay in a state of weakness and insensibility between life and death, when I felt myself pressed by some- thing that moved up and down upon my body. This brought me to myself. I opened my eyes, and saw a pretty fair-faced man, who sighed and muttered these words between his teeth, O che sciagura d'essere senza coglioni! CHAPTER XII. THE ADVENTURES OF THE OLD WOMAN CONTINUED. "Astonished and delighted to hear my native language, and no less surprised at the young man's words, I told him that there were far greater mis- fortunes in the world than what he complained of. And to convince him of it, I gave him a short his- tory of the horrible disasters that had befallen me ; and as soon as I had finished, fell into a swoon again. He carried me in his arms to a neighboring cottage, where he had me put to bed, procured me something to eat, waited on me with the greatest at- tention, comforted me, caressed me, told me that he had never seen anything so perfectly beautiful as myself, and that he had never so much regretted the Candide; or, The Optimist. loi loss of what no one could restore to him. ' I was born at Naples,' said he, 'where they make eunuchs of thousands of children every year ; some die of the operation ; some acquire voices far beyond the most tuneful of your ladies ; and others are sent to gov- ern states and empires. I underwent this operation very successfully, and was one of the singers in the princess of Palestrina's chapel.' 'How,' cried I, 'in my mother's chapel!' 'The princess of Palestrina, your mother!' cried he, bursting into a flood of tears. 'Is it possible you should be the beautiful young princess whom I had the care of bringing up till she was six years old, and who at that tender age promised to be as fair as I now behold you ?' 'I am the same,' I replied. 'My mother lies about a hundred yards from here cut in pieces and buried under a heap of dead bodies.' "I then related to him all that had befallen me, and he in return acquainted me with all his adven- tures, and how he had been sent to the court of the king of Morocco by a Christian prince to conclude a treaty with that monarch ; in consequence of which he was to be furnished with military stores, and ships to enable him to destroy the commerce of other Christian governments.* 'I have executed my commission,' said the eunuch; 'I am going to take ♦This is too just a reproach upon those Christian powers, yibo, for the thirst of lucre, shamefully patronize, and supply the barbarians of Africa with the means of gratifying their rapacity, and of exercising cruelties which are a disgrace to numan nature. I02 Candide; or, The Optimist. ship at Ceuta, and I'll take you along with me to Italy. Ma che sciagiira d'essere senza coglionil' "I thanked him with tears of joy, but, instead of taking me with him into Italy, he carried me to Al- giers, and sold me to the dey of that province. I had not been long a slave when the plague, which had made the tour of Africa, Asia, and Europe, broke out at Algiers with redoubled fury. You have seen an earthquake; but tell me, Miss, have you ever had the plague?" "Never," answered the young baroness. "If you had ever had it," continued the old woman, "you would own an earthquake was a trifle to it. It is very common in Africa ; I was seized with it. Figure to yourself the distressed condition of the daughter of a pope, only fifteen years old, and who in less than three months had felt the miseries of poverty and slavery ; had been debauched almost every day; had beheld her mother cut into four quarters; had experienced the scourges of famine and war; and was now dying of the plague at Al- giers. I did not, however, die of it; but my eunuch, and the dey, and almost the whole seraglio of Algiers, were swept off. "As soon as the first fury of this dreadful pesti- lence was over, a sale was made of the dey's slaves. I was purchased by a merchant who carried me to. Tunis. This man sold me to another merchant, who sold me again to another at Tripoli ; from Tripoli I \Yas sold to Alexandria, from Alexandria to Smyrna, Candide; or. The Optimist. 103 and from Smyrna to Constantinople. After many changes, I at length became the property of an aga of the janissaries, who, soon after I came into his possession, was ordered away to the defence of AzofF, then besieged by the Russians. "The aga, being very fond of women, took his whole seraglio with him, and lodged us in a small fort, with two black eunuchs and twenty soldiers for bur guard. Our army made a great slaughter among the Russians; but they soon returned us the compli- ment. Azoff was taken by storm, and the enemy spared neither age, sex, nor condition, but put all to the sword, and laid the city in ashes. Gur little fort alone held out ; they resolved to reduce us by fam- ine. The twenty janissaries, who were left to de- fend it, had bound themselves by an oath never to surrender the place. Being reduced to the extremity of famine, they found themselves obliged to kill our two eunuchs, and eat them rather than violate their oath. But this horrible repast soon failing them, they next determined to devour the women. "We had a very pious and humane man, who gave them a most excellent sermon on this occasion, exhorting them not to kill us all at once; 'Cut off only one of the steaks of each of those ladies,' said he, 'and you will fare extremely well; if you are under the necessity of having recourse to the same expedient again, you will find the like supply a few days hence. Heaven will approve of so charitable an action, and work your deliverance.' I04 Candide; or. The Optimist. "By the force of this eloquence he easily per- suaded them, and all of us underwent the operation. The man appUed the same balsam as they do to children after circumcision. We were all ready to give up the ghost. "The janissaries had scarcely time to finish the repast with which we had supplied them, when the Russians attacked the place by means of flat-bot- tomed boats, and not a single janissary escaped. The Russians paid no regard to the condition we were in ; but there are French surgeons in all parts of the world, and one of them took us under his care, and cured us. I shall never fiprget, while I live, that as soon as my wounds were perfectly healed he made me certain proposals. In general, he desired us all to be of a good cheer, assuring us that the like had happened in many sieges; and that it was per- fectly agreeable to the laws of war. "As soon as my companions were in a condition to walk, they were sent to Moscow. As for me, I fell to the lot of a boyard, who put me to work in his garden, and gave me twenty lashes a day. But this nobleman having about two years afterwards been broken alive upon the wheel, with about thirty others, for some court intrigues, I took advantage o{ the event, and made my escape. I travelled over a great part of Russia. I was a long time an inn' keeper's servant at Riga, then at Rostock, Wismar> Leipsic, Cassel, Utrecht, Leyden, The Hague, and Rotterdam: I have grown old in misery and dis- Candide; or, The Optimist. 105 grace, living with only one buttock, and having in perpetual remembrance that I am a pope's daughter. I have been a hundred times upon the point of kill- ing myself, but still I was fond of life. This ridicu- lous weakness is, perhaps, one of the dangerous principles implanted in our nature. For what can be more absurd than to persist in carrying a burden of which we wish to be eased? to detest, and yet to strive to preserve our existence? In a word, to caress the serpent that devours us, and hug him close to our bosoms till he ^has gnawed into our hearts? "In the different countries which it has been my fate to traverse, and at the many inns where I have been a servant, I have observed a prodigious num- ber of people who held their existence in abhor- rence, and yet I never knew more than twelve who voluntarily put an end to their misery; namely, three negroes, four Englishmen, as many Genevese, and a German professor, named Robek. My last place was with the Jew, Don Issachar, who placed me near your person, my fair lady; to whose for- tunes I have attached myself, and have been more concerned with your adventures than with my own. I should never have even mentioned the latter to you, had you not a little piqued me on the head of sufferings; and if it were not customary to tell stories on board a ship in order to pass away the time. In short, my dear Miss, I have a great deal of knowledge and experience in the world, therefore io6 Candida ; or. The Optimist. take my advice: divert yourself, and prevail upon each passenger to tell his story, and if there is one of them all that hjis hot cursed his existence many times, and said to himself over and over again that he was the most wretched of mortals, I give you leave to throw me head-foremost into the sea." CHAPTER XIII. HOW CANDIDE WAS OBLIGED TO LEAVE THE FAIR CUNEGUND AND THE OLD WOMAN. The fair Cunegund, being thus made acquainted with the history of the old woman's life and adven- tures, paid her all the respect and civility due to a person of her rank and merit. She very readily ac- ceded to her proposal of engaging the passengers to relate their adventures in their turns, and was at length, as well as Candide, compelled to acknowl- edge that the old woman was in the right. "It is a thousand pities," said Candide, "that the sage Pan- gloss should have been hanged contrary to the cus- tom of an auto-da-fe, for he would have given us a most admirable lecture' on the moral and physical evil which overspreads the earth and sea; and I think I should have courage enough to presume to offer (with all due respect) some few objections." While everyone was reciting l^is adventures, the ship continued her way, and at length arrived at Buenos Ayres, where Cunegund, Captain Candide, and the old woman, landed and went to wait upon Candide; or. The Optimist. 107 the governor Don Fernando d'Ibaraa y Figueora y Mascarefles y Lampourdos y Souza. This nobleman carried himself with a haughtiness suitable to a per- son who bore so many names. He spoke with the most noble disdain to everyone, carried his nose so high, strained his voice to such a pitch, assumed so imperious an air, and stalked with so much lofti- ness and pride, that everyone who had the honor of conversing with him was violently tempted to basti- nade his excellency. He was immoderately fond of women, and Miss Cunegund appeared in his eyes a paragon of beauty. The first thing he did was to ask her if she was not the captain's wife. The air with which he made this demand alarmed Candide, who did not dare to say he was married to her, be- cause indeed he was not ; neither did he venture to say she was his sister, because she was not: and though a lie of this nature proved of great service to one of the ancients, and might possibly be useful to some of the moderns, yet the purity of his heart would not permit him to violate the truth. "Miss Cunegund," replied he, "is to do me the honor to marry me, and we humbly beseech your excellency to condescend to grace the ceremony with your pres- ence." Don Fernando d'Ibaraa y Figueora y Mascarenes y Lampourdos y Souza, twirling his mustachio, and putting on a sarcastic smile, ordered Captain Can- dide to go and review his company. The gentle Candide obeyed, and the governor was left with io8 Candide; or. The Optimist. Miss Cunegund. He made her a strong declaration of love, protesting that he was ready to give her his hand in the face of the church, or otherwise, as should appear most agreeable to a young lady of her prodigious beauty. Cunegund desired leave to retire a quarter of an hour to consult the old woman, and determine how she should proceed. "the old woman gave her the following counsel : "Miss, you have seventy-two quarterings in your arms, it is true, but you have not a penny to bless yourself with: it is your own fault if you do not become the wife of one of the greatest noblemen in South America, with an exceeding fine mustachio. What business have you to pride yourself upon an unshaken constancy ? You have been outraged by a Bulgarian soldier; a Jew and an inquisitor have both tasted of your favors. People take advantage of misfortunes. I must confess, were I in your place, I should, without the least scruple, give my hand to the governor, and thereby make the fortune of the brave Captain Candide." While the old woman was thus haranguing, with all the prudence that old age and experience furnish, a small bark entered the harbor, in which was an alcayde and his alguazils. Matters had fallen out as follows : The old woman rightly guessed that the cordelier with the long sleeves, was the person who had taken Miss Cunegund's money and jewels, while they and Candide were at Badajoz, in their flight from Lis- bon. This same friar attempted to sell some of the Candide; or. The Optimist. 109., diamonds to a jeweller, who presently knew them to have belonged to the grand inquisitor, and stopped them. The cordelier, before he was hanged, ac- knowledged that he had stolen them, and described the persons, and the road they had taken. The flight of Cunegund and Candide was already the town- talk. They sent in pursuit of them to Cadiz; and the vessel which had been sent to make the greater despatch, had now reached the port of Buenos Ayres. A report was spread that an alcayde was going to land, and that he was in pursuit of the murderers of my lord, the inquisitor. The sage old woman im- mediately saw what was to be done. "You cannot run away," said she to Cunegund, "but you have nothing to fear ; it was not you who killed my lord inquisitor: besides, as the governor is in love with you, he will not suffer you to be ill-treated ; there- fore stand your ground." Then hurrying a'Way to Candide, she said : "Be gone hence this instant, or you will be burned alive." Candide found there was no time to be lost ; but how could he part from Cune- gund, and whither must he fly for shelter? CHAPTER XIV. THE RECEPTION CANDIDE AND CACAMBO MET WITH AMONG THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY. Candide had brought with him from Cadiz such a footman as one often meets with on the coasts of Spsifi and \n the colonies. He was the fourth part of no Candide; or, The Optimist. a Spaniard, of a mongrel breed, and born in Tucu- man. He had successively gone through the profes- sion of a singing boy, sexton, sailor, monk, peddler, soldier, and lackey. His name was Cacambo ; he had a great affection for his master, because his master was a very good man. He immediately saddled the two Andalusian horses. "Come, my good master, let us follow the old woman's advice, and make all the haste we can from this place without staying to look behind us." Candide burst into a flood of tears : "O, my dear Cunegund, must I then be com- pelled to quit you just as the governor was going to honor us with his presence at our wedding ! Cqne- gund, so long lost and found again, what will now become of you ?" "Lord !" said Cacambo, "she must do as well, as she can ; women are never at a loss. God takes care of them, and so let us make the best of our way." "But whither wilt thou carry me? where can we go? what can we do without Cune- gund?" cried the disconsolate Candide. "By St. James of Compostella," said Cacambo, "you were going to fight against the Jesuits of Paraguay ; now let us go and fight for them ; I know the road per- fectly well ; I'll conduct you to their kingdom ; they will be delighted with a captain that understands the Bulgarian drill ; you will certainly make a prodig- ious fortune. If we cannot succeed in this world we may in another. It is a great pleasure to see new objects and perform new exploits." "Then you have been in Paraguay?" asked Can- Candide ; or. The Optimist, 1 1 1 dide. "Ay, marry, I have," rephed Cacambo ; "I was a scout in the college of the Assumption, and am as well acquainted with the new government of Los Padres as I am with the streets of Cadiz. Oh, it is an admirable government, that is most certain ! The kingdom is at present upwards of three hundred leagues in diameter, and divided into thirty pro- vinces ; the fathers there; are masters of everything, and the people have no money at all ; this you must allow is the masterpiece of justice and reason. For my part, I see nothing so divine as the good fathers, who wage war in this part of the world against the troops of Spain and Portugal, at the same time that they hear the confessions of those very princes in Europe ; who kill Spaniards in America and send them to heaven at Madrid. This pleases me ex- ceedingly, but let us push forward; you are going to see the happiest and most fortunate of all mor- tals. How charmed will those fathers be to hear that a captain who understands the Bulgarian mili- tary drill is coming among them." As soon as they reached the first barrier, Ca- cambo called to the advance guard, and told them that a captain wanted to speak to my lord, the gen- eral. Notice was given to the main guard, and im- mediately a Paraguayan officer ran to throw himself at the feet of the commandant to impart this news to him. Candide and Cacambo were immediately disarmed, and their two Andalusian horses were seized. The two strangers were conducted between 1 1 a Candide ; or. The Optimist. two files of musketeers, the commandant was at the further end with a three-cornered cap on his head, his gown tucked up, a sword by his side, and a half-pike in his hand; he made a sign, and in- stantly four-and-twenty soldiers drew up round the newcomers. A sergeant told them that they must wait, the commandant could not speak to them; and that the reverend father provincial did not suffer any Spaniard to open his mouth but in his presence, or to stay above three hours in the prov- ince. "And where is the reverend father provincial?" said Cacambo. "He has just come from mass and is at the parade," repUed the sergeant, "and in about three hours' time you may possibly have the honor to kiss his spurs." "But," said Cacambo, "the cap- tain, who, as well as myself, is perishing of hunger, is no Spaniard, but a German ; therefore, pray, might we not be permitted to break our fast till we can be introduced to his reverence?" Th^ sergeant immediately went and acquainted the commandant with what he heard. "God be praised," said the reverend commandant, "since he is a German L will hear what he has to say ; let him be brought to my arbor." Immediately they conducted Candide to a beau- tiful pavilion adorned with a colonade of green marble, spotted with yellow, and with an intertex- ture of vines, which served as a kind of cage for par- rots, humming-birds, guinea-hens, and all other Candide; or, The Optimist. 113 mrious kinds of birds. An excellent breakfast was provided in vessels of gold; and while the Para- guayans were eating coarse Indian corn out of wooden dishes in the open air, and exposed to the burning heat of the sun, the reverend father com- majidant retired to his cool arbor. He was a very handsome young man, roUnd- faced, fair, and fresh-colored, his eyebrows were finely arched, he had a piercing eye, the tips of his ears were red, his lips vermilion, and he had a bold and commanding air ; but such a boldness as neither resembled that of a Spaniard nor of .a Jesuit. He ordered Candide and Cacambo to have their arms restored to them, together with their two Andalu- sian horses. Cacambo gave the poor beasts some oats to eat close by the arbor, keeping a strict eye upon them all the while for fear of surprise. Candide having kissed the hem of the com- mandant's robe, they sat down to table. "It seems you are a German," said the Jesuit to him in that language. "Yes, reverend father," answered Can- dide. As they pronounced these words they looked at each other with great amazement and with an emotion that neither could conceal. "From what part of Germany do you come?" jaid the Jesuit. "From the dirty province of Westphalia," an- swered Candide. "I was bom in the castle of Thun- der-ten-tronckh." Vol. 1—8 114 Candide ; or, The Optimist. "Oh heavens! is it possible?" said the com- mandant. "What a miracle!" cried Candide. "Can it be you ?" said the commandant. On this they both drew a few steps backwards, then running into each other's arms, embraced, and wept profusely. "Is it you then, reverend father? You are the brother of the fair Miss Cunegund? You that was slain by the Bulgarians! You the baron's son! You a Jesuit in Paraguay! I must confess this is a strange world we live in. O Pan- gloss ! Pangloss ! what joy would this have given you if you had not been hanged." The commandant dismissed the negro slaves, and the Paraguayans who presented them with liquor in crystal goblets. He returned thanks to God and St. Ignatius a thousand times; he clasped Candide in his arms, and both their faces were bathed in tears. "You will be more surprised, more affected, more transported," said Candide, "when I tell you that Miss Cunegund, your sister, whose belly was sup- posed to have been ripped open, is in perfect health." "Where?" "In your neighborhood, with the governor of Buenos Ayres; and I myself was going to fight against you." Every word they uttered during this long conversation was productive of some new mat- ter of astonishment. Their souls fluttered on their tongues, listened in their ears, and sparkled in their eyes. Like true Germans, they continued a long Candida ; or. The Optimist. 1 1 5 while at table, waiting for the reverend father; and the commandant spoke to his dear Candide as fol- lows: CHAPTER XV. HOW CANDIDE KILLED THE BROTHER OF HIS DEAR CUNEGUND. "Never while I live shall I lose the remembrance of that horrible day on which I saw my father and mother barbarously butchered before my eyes, and my sister ravished. When the Bulgarians retired we searched in vain for my dear sister. She was no- where to be found; but the bodies of my father, mother, and myself, with two servant maids and three little boys, all of whom had been murdered by the remorseless enemy, were thrown into a cart to be buried in a chapel belonging to the Jesuits, within two leagues of our family seat. A Jesuit sprinkled us with some holy water, which was confounded salty, and a few drops of it went into my eyes; the father perceived that my eyelids stirred a little ; he put his hand upon my breast and felt my heart beat; upon which he gave me proper assist- ance, and at the end of three weeks I was perfectly recovered. You know, my dear Candide, I was very handsome ; I became still more so, and the reverend father Croust, superior of that house, took a great fancy to me; he gave me the habit of the order, 3.nd some years afterwards I was sent to Rome. Ii6 Candide; or, The Optimist. Our general stood in need of new recruits of young German Jesuits. The sovereigns of Paraguay admit of as few Spanish Jesuits as possible; they prefer those of other nations, as being more obedient to command. The reverend father-general looked upon me as a proper person to work in that vine- yard. I set out in company with a Polander and a Tyrolese. Upon my arrival I was honored with a subdeaconship and a lieutenancy. Now I am colonel and priest. We shall give a warm reception to the king of Spain's troops ; I can assure you they will be well excommunicated and beaten. Providence has sent you hither to assist us. But is it true that my dear sister Cunegund is in the neighborhood with the governor of Buenos Ayres ?" Candide swore that nothing could be more true ; and the tears began again to trickle down their cheeks. The baron knew no end of embracing Can- dide, he called him his brother, his deliverer. "Perhaps," said he, "my dear Candide, we shall be fortunate enough to enter the town, sword in hand, and recover my sister Cunegund." "Ah! that would crown my wishes," replied Candide ; "for I intended to marry her ; and I hope I shall still be able to effect it." "Insolent fellow!" cried the baron. "You! you have the impudence to marry my sister, who bears seventy-two quarterings! really, I think you have an insufferable degree of assurance to dare so much as to mention such an audacic^us design to me." Candide; or. The Optimist. 117 Candida, thunderstruck at the oddness of this speech, answered: "Reverend father, all the quar- terings in the world are of no signification. I have delivered your sister from a Jew and an inquisitor; she is under many obligations to me, and she is re- solved to give me her hand. My master, Pangloss, always told me that mankind are by nature equal. Therefore, you may depend upon it that I will marry your sister." "We shall see to that, villain!" said the Jesuit baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, and struck him across the face with the flat side of his sword. Can- dide in an instant drew his rapier and plunged it up to the hilt in the Jesuit's body; but in pulling it out reeking hot, he burst into tears. "Good God!" cried he, "I have killed my old master, my friend, my brother-in-law; I am the best man in the world, and yet I have already killed three men ; and of these three two were priests." Cacambo, who was standing sentry near the door of the arbor, instantly ran up. "Nothing remains," said his master, "but to sell our lives as dearly as possible; they will undoubt- edly look into the arbor* we must die sword in hand." Cacambo, who had seen many of this kind of ad- ventures, was not discouraged. He stripped the baron of his Jesuit's habit and put it upon Candide, - then gave him the dead man's i three-cornered cap 1 1 8 Candide ; or. The Optimist. and made him mount on horseback. All this was done as quick as thought. "Gallop, master," cried Cacambo; "everybody will take you for a Jesuit going to give orders ; and we shall have passed the frontiers before they will be able to overtake us." He flew as he spoke these words, crying out aloud in Spanish, "Make way; make way for the reverend father-colonel." CHAPTER XVI. WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR TWO TRAVELLERS WITH TWO GIRLS^ TWO MONKEYS, AND THE SAVAGES, CALLED OREILLONS. Candide and his valet had already passed' the frontiers before it was known that the German Jesuit was dead. The wary Cacambo had taken care to fill his wallet with bread, chocolate, some ham, some fruit, and a few bottles of wine. They penetrated with their Andalusian horses into a strange country, where they could discover no beaten path. At length a beautiful meadow, inter- sected with purling rills, opened to their view. Ca- cambo proposed to his master to take some nourish- ment, and he set him an example. "How can you desire me to feast upon ham, when I have killed the baron's son and am doomed never more to see the beautiful Cunegund? What will it a^^l^gne to prolong a wretched life that must be Candide ; or. The Optimist. 1 1 9 spent far from her in remorse and despair? And then what will the journal of Trevoux say?" was Candide's reply. While he was making these reflections he still continued eating. The sun was now on the point of Setting when the ears of our two wanderers were assailed with cries which seemed to be uttered by a female voice. They could not tell whether these were cries of grief or of joy; however, they in- stantly started up, full of that inquietude and appre- hension which a strange place naturally inspires. The cries proceeded from two young women who were tripping disrobed along the mead, while two monkeys followed close at their heels biting at their limbs. Candide was touched with compassion; he had learned to shoot while he was among the Bul- garians, and he could hit a filbert in a hedge without touching a leaf. Accordingly he took up his double- barrelled Spanish gun, pulled the trigger, and laid the two monkeys lifeless on, the ground. "God be praised, my dear Cacambo, I have res- cued two poor girls from a most perilous situation ; if I have committed a sin in killing an inquisitor and a Jesuil^ I have made ample amends by saving the lives of these two distressed damsels. Who knows but they may be young ladies of a good family, and that the assistance I have been so happy to give them may procure us great advantage in this country?" He was about to continue when he felt himself struck speechless at seeing the two girls embrapiig t ao Candide ; or, The Optimist. the dead bodies of the monkeys in the tenderest manner, bathing their wounds with their tears, and rending the air with the most doleful lamentations. "Really," said he to Cacambo, "I shoiild not have expected to see such a prodigious share of good nature." "Master," replied the knowing valet, "you have made a precious piece of work of it; do you know that you have killed the lovers of these two ladies?" "Their lovers! Cacambo, you are jesting! It cannot be I I can never believe it." "Dear sir," replied Cacambo, "you are surprised at everything; why should you think it so strange that there should be a country where monkeys in- sinuate themselves into the good graces of the ladies? They are the fourth part of a man as I am the fourth part of a Spaniard." "Alas!" replied Candide, "I remember to have heard my master Pangloss say that such accidents as these frequently came to pass in former times, and that these commixtures are productive of cen- taurs, fauns, and satyrs; and that many of the ancients had seen such monsters ; but I looked upon the whole as fabulous." "Now you are convinced," said Cacambo, "that it is very true, and you see what use is made of those creatures by persons who have not had a proper edu- cation; all I am afraid of is that these same ladies may play us some ugly trick." fc'^ese judicious reflections operated so far on Candida; or. The Optimist. 121 Candide as to make him quit the meadow and strike into a thicket. There he and Cacambo supped, and after heartily cursing the grand inquisitor, the gov- ernor of Buenos Ayres, and the baron, they fell asleep on the ground. When they awoke they were surprised to find that they could not move; the reason was that the Oreillons who inhabit that coun- try, and to whom the ladies had given information of these two strangers, had bound them with cords made of the bark of trees. They saw themselves surrounded by fifty naked Oreillons armed with bows and arrows, clubs, and hatchets of flint ; some were making a fire under a large cauldron; and others were preparing spits, crying out one and all, "A Jesuit ! a Jesuit ! we shall be revenged ; we shall have excellent cheer; let us eat this Jesuit; let us eat him up." "I told you, master," cried Cacambo, mournfully, "that these two wenches would play us some scurvy trick." Candide, seeing the cauldron and the spits, cried out, "I suppose they are going either to boil or roast us. Ah ! what would Pangloss say if he were to see how pure nature is formed? Everything is right ; it may be so ; but I must confess it is some- thing hard to be bereft of dear Miss Cunegund, and to be spitted like a rabbit by these barbarous Oreil- lons." Cacambo, who never lost his presence of mind in distress, said to the disconsolate Candide : "Do not 122 Candida; or. The Optimist. despair ; I understand a little of the jargon of these people ; I will speak to them." "Ay, pray do," said Candide, "and be sure you make them sensible of the horrid barbarity of boiling and roasting human creatures, and how little of Christianity there is in such practices." "Gentlemen," said Cacambo, "you think perhaps you are going to feast upon a Jesuit ; if so, it is mighty well; nothing can be more agreeable to justice than thus to treat your enemies. Indeed the law of nature teaches us to kill our neighbor, and accordingly we find this practised all over the world ; and if we do not indulge ourselves in eating human flesh, it is because we have much better fare; but for your parts, who have not such resources as we, it is certainly much better judged to feast upon your enemies than to throw their bodies to the fowls of the air; and thus lose all the fruits, of your vic- tory. But surely, gentlemen, you would not choose to eat your friends. You imagine you are going to rqast a Jesuit, whereas my master is your friend, your defender, and you are going to spit the very man who has been destroying your enemies; as to myself, I am your countryman ; this gentleman is my master, and so far from being a Jesuit, give me leave to tell you he has very lately killed one of that order, whose spoils he now wears, and which have probably occasioned your mistake. To convince you of the truth of what I say, take the habit he has on and carry it to the first barrier of the Jesuits' king- Candide ; or, The Optimist. 1 23 dom, and inquire whether my master did not kill one of their officers. There will be little or no time lost by this, and you may still reserve our bodies in your power to feast on if you should find what we have told you to be false. But, on the contrary, if you find it to be true, I am persuaded you are too well acquainted with the principles of the laws of society, humanity, and justice, not to use us courteously, and suffer us to depart unhurt." This speech appeared very reasonable to the Oreillons ; they deputed two of their people with: all expedition to inquire into the truth of this affair, who acquitted themselves of their commission like men of sense, and soon returned with good tidings for our distressed adventurers. Upon this they were loosed, and those who were so lately going to roast and boil them now showed them all sorts of civili- ties; offered them girls, gave them refreshments, and reconducted them to the confines of their coun- try, crying before them all the way, in token of joy : "He is no Jesuit, he is no Jesuit." Candide could not help admiring the cause of his deliverance. "What -men! what manners!" cried he; "if I had not fortunately run my sword up to the hilt in the body of Miss Cunegund's brother, I should have certainly been eaten alive. ; But, after all, pure nature is an excellent thing; since these people, instead of eating me, showed me a thousand civilities as sopn as they kn^w I was not a Jesuit." 124 Candide ; or, The Optimist. CHAPTER XVII. CANDIDE AND HIS VALET ARRIVE IN THE COUNTRY OF EL DORADO WHAT THEY SAW THERE. When they got to the frontiers of the Oreillons, "You see," said Cacambo to Candide, "this hemi- sphere is not better than the other ; now take my ad- vice and let us return to Europe by the shortest way possible." "But how can we get back ?" said Candide ; "and whither shall we go? To my own country? The Bulgarians and the Abares are laying that waste with fire and sword; or shall we go to Portugal? There I shall be burned; and if we abide here we are every moment in danger of being spitted. But how can I bring myself to quit that part of the world where my dear Miss Cunegund has her residence?" "Let us return towards Cayenne," said Cacambo ; "there we shall meet with some Frenchmen ; for you know those gentry ramble all over the world ; per- haps they will assist us, and God will look with pity on our distress." It was not so easy to get to Cayenne. They knew pretty nearly whereabouts it lay ; but the mountains, rivers, precipices, robbers, savages, were dreadful obstacles in the way. Their horses died with fatigue and their provisions were at an end. They subsisted a whole month on wild fruit, till at length they came to a little river bordered with cocoa trees ; the sight of which at once revived their drooping spirits Candide; or. The Optimist. il^ and furnished nourishment for their enfeebled bodies. Cacambo, who was always giving as good advice as the old woman herself, said to Candide : "You see there is no holding out any longer; we have travelled enough on foot. I spy an empty canoe near the river side; let us fill it with cocoanuts, get into it, and go down with the stream; a river always leads to some inhabited place. If we do not meet with agreeable things, we shall at least meet with something new." "Agreed," replied Candide; "let us recommend ourselves to Providence." They rowed a few leagues down the river, the banks of which were in some places covered with flowers; in others barren; in some parts smooth and level, and in others steep and rugged. The stream widened as they went further on, till at length it passed under one of the frightful rocks, whose summits seemed to reach the clouds. Here our two travellers hiad the courage to commit them- selves to the stream, which, contracting in this part, hurried them along with a dreadful noise and rapid- ity. At the end of four-and-twenty hours they saw daylight again ; but their canoe was dashed to pieces against the rocks. They were obliged to creep along, from rock to rock, for the space of a league, till at length a spacious plain presented itself to their sight. This place was bounded~by a chain of inaccessible mountains. The country appeared cultivated equally 126 Candlde; or, The Optimist. for pleasure and to produce the necessaries of life. The useful and agreeable were here equally blended. The roads were covered, or rather adorned, with carriages formed of glittering materials, in which were men and women of a surprising beauty, drawn with great rapidity by red sheep of a very large size ; which far surpassed the finest coursers of Andalusia, Tetuan, or Mecquinez. "Here is a country, however," said Candide, "preferable to Westphalia." He and Cacambo landed near the first village they saw, at the entrance of which they perceived some children covered with tattered garments of the rich- est brocade, playing at quoits. Our two inhabitants of the other hemisphere amused themselves greatly with what they saw. The quoits were large, round pieces, yellow, red, and green, which cast a most glorious lustre. Our travellers picked some of them up, and they proved to be gold, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds ; the least of which would have been the greatest ornament to the superb throne of the Great Mogul. "Without doubt," said Cacambo, "those children must be the king's sons that are playing at quoits." As he was uttering these words the schoolmaster of the village appeared, who came to call the children to school. "There," said Candide, "is the preceptor of the royal family." The little ragamuffins immediately quitted their Candide; or. The Optimist. 127 diversion, leaving the quoits on the ground with all their other playthings. Candide gathered them up, ran to the schoolmaster, and, with a most respectful bow, presented them to him, giving him to underr stand by signs that their royal highnesses had forgot their gold and precious stones. The schoolmaster, with a smile, flung them upon the ground, then ex- amining Candide from head to foot with an air of admiration, he turned his back and went on his way. Our travellers took care, however, to gather up the gold, the rubies, and the emeralds. "Where are we?" cried Candide. "The king's children in this country must ha:ve an excellent edu- cation, since they are taught to show such a con- tempt for gold and precious stones." Cacambo was as much surprised as his master. They then drew near the first house in the village, which was built after the manner of a European palace. There was a crowd of people about the door, and a still greater number in the house. The sougd oi the most delightful instruments of music was heard, and the most agreeable smell came from the kitchen. Cacambo went up to the door and heard those within talking in the Peruvian language, which was his mother tongue ; for every one knows that Cacambo was born in a village of Tucuman, where no other language is spoken. "I will be your interpreter here," said he to Can- dide. "Let us go in ; this is an eating-house." Immediately two waiters and two servant-girls, laS Candide; or. The Optimist. dressed in cloth of gold, and their hair braided with ribbons of tissue, accosted the strangers and invited them to sit down to the ordinary. Their dinner con- sisted of four dishes of different soups, each gar- nished with two young paroquets, a large dish of bouille that weighed two hundred weight, two roasted monkeys of a delicious flavor, three hundred humming-birds in one dish, and six hundred fly- birds in another; some excellent ragouts, delicate tarts, and the whole served up in dishes of rock- crystal. Several sorts of liquors, extracted from the sugar-cane, were handed about by the servants who attended. Most of the company were chapmen and wag- oners, all extremely polite; they asked Cacambo a few questions with the utmost discretion and cir- cumspection ; and replied to his in a most obliging and satisfactory manner. As soon as dinner was over, both Candide and Cacambo thought they should pay very handsomely for their entertainment by laying down two of those large gold pieces which they had picked off the ground ; but the landlord and landlady burst into a fit of laughing and held their sides for some time. When the fit was over, "Gentlemen," said the land- lord, "I plainly perceive you are strangers, and such we are not accustomed to charge ; pardon us, there- fore, for laughing when you offered us the common pebbles of our highways for payment of your reck- oning. To be sure, you have none of the coin of Candide; or, The Optimist. ' xap this kingdom; but there is no necessity of having any money at all to dine in this house. All the inns, which are established for the convenience of those who carry on the trade of this nation, are main- tained by the government. You have found but very indifferent entertainmen^t here, because this is only a poor village; but in almost every other of these public houses you will meet with a reception worthy of persons of your merit," Cacambo ex- plained the whole of this speech of the landlord to Candide, who listened to it with the same astonish" ment with which his friend communicated it. "What sort of a country is this," said the one to the other, "that is unknown to all the world ; and in which Nature has everywhere so different an ap- pearance to what she has in ours? Possibly this il that part of the globe where everything is right, for there must certainly be some such place. And, fpr all that Master Pangloss could say, I often perceived that things went very ill in Westphalia." CHAPTER XVHI. WHAT THEY SAW IN THE COUNTRY OF EL DORADO. Cacambo vented all his curiosity upon his land- lord by a thousand different questions ; the honest tmn answered him thus : "I am very ignorant, sir, but I am contented with my ignorance ; however, we have in this neighborhood an old man retired from Vol. 1—9 ijo Candide; or. The Optimist. court, who is the most learned and communicative person in the whole kingdom." He then conducted Cacambo to the old man; Candide acted now only a second character, and attended his valet. They entered a very plain house, for the door was nothing but silver, and the ceiling was only of beaten gold, but wrought in such elegant taste as to vie with the richest. The antechamber, indeed, was only in- crusted with rubies and emeralds ; but the order in which everything was disposed made amends for this great simplicity. The old man received the strangers on his sofa, which was stuffed with humming-birds' feathers; and ordered his servants to present them with liq- uors in golden goblets, after which he satisfied their curiosity in the following terms : "I am' now one hundred and seventy-two years old, and I learned of my late father, who was equerry to the king, the amazing revolutions of Peru, to which he had been an eye-witness. This kingdom is the ancient patrimony of the Incas, who very imprudently quitted it to conquer another part of the world, and were at length conquered and de- stroyed themselves by the Spaniards. "Those princes of their family who remained in their native country acted more wisely. They or- dained, with the consent of their whole nation, that none of the inhabitants of our little kingdom should ever quit it ; and to this wise ordinance we owe the preservation of our innocence and happiness. The Candide; or. The Optimist. 131 Spaniards had some confused notion of this coun- try, to which they gave the name of El Dorado; and Sir Walter Raleigh, an Englishman, actually came very near it about three hundred years ago ; but the inaccessible rocks and precipices with which our country is surrounded on all sides, has hitherto se- cured us from the rapacious fury of the people of Europe, who have an unaccountable fondness for the pebbles and dirt of our land, for the sake of which they would murder us all to the very last man." The conversation lasted some time and turned chiefly on the form of government, their manners, their women, their public diversions, and the arts. At length, Candide, who had always had a taste for metaphysics, asked whether the people of that coun- try had any religion. The old man reddened a little at this question. "Can you doubt it ?" said he ; "do you take us for wretches lost to all sense of gratitude ?" Cacambo asked in a respectful manner what was the established religion of El Dorado. The old man blushed again, and said: "Can there be two relig- ions, then? Ours, I apprehend, is the religion of the whole world ; we worship God from morning till night." "Do you worship but one God?" said Cacambo, who still acted as the interpreter of Candide's doubts. "Certainly," said the old man ; "there are not two. 132 Candide ; or. The Optimist. nor thr€;e, nor four Gods. I must confess the people of your world ask very extraordinary questions," However, Candide could not refrain from making many more inquiries of the old man ; ht wanted to know in what manner they prayed to God in E) Dorado. "We do not pray to him at all," said the reverend sage; "we have nothing to ask of Him, He has given us all we want, and we give Him thanks inces- santly." Candide had a curiosity to see some oi their priests, and desired Cacambo to ask the old man where they were. At which he smiling said : "My friends, we are all of us priests ; the king and all the heads of families sing solemn hymns of thanksgiving every morning, accompanied by five or six thousand musicians." "What!" said Cacambo, "have you no monk? among you to dispute, to govern, to intrigue, and to burn people who are not of the same opinion with themselves ?" "Do you take us for fools ?" said the old man. "Here we are all of one opinion, and know not what you mean by your monks." During the whole of this discourse Candide was in raptures, and he said to himself, "What a pro- digious difiference is there between this place and Westphalia; and this house and the baron's castle. Ah, Master Pangloss ! had you ever seen El Dorado, you would no longer have maintained that the castle of Thunder-ten-tronckh was the finest of all possible Candide; or, The Optimist. 133 edifices ; there is nothing, like seeing the world, that's certain." This long conversation being ended; the old man ordered six sheep to be harnessed and put to the coach,* and sent twelve of his servants to escort the travellers to court. "Excuse me," said he, "for not waiting on you in person, my age deprives me of that honor. The king will receive you in such a manner that you will have no reason to complain ; and doubtless you will make a proper allowance for the customs of the country if they should not happen altogether to please you." Candide and Cacambo got into the coach, the six sheep flew, and, in less than a quarter of an hour, they arrived at the king's palace, which was situated at the further end of the capital. At the entrance was a portal two hundred and twenty feet high and one hundred wide ; but it is impossible for words to express the materials of which it was built. The f eader, however, will readily conceive that they must have a prodigious superiority over the pebbles and sand, which we call gold and precious stones. Twenty beautiful young virgins in waiting re- ceived Candide and Cacambo on their alighting from the coach, conducted them to the bath and clad them in robes woven of the down of humming-birds ; after which they were introduced by the great officers of * Meaning Peruvian sheep, a kind of beast of burden, native of Peru, very different from the sheep of Europe. 134 Candide; or, The Optimist. the crown of both sexes to the king's apartment, be- tween two files of musicians, each file consisting of a thousand, agreeable to the custom of the coun- try. When they drew near to the presence-chamber, Cacambo asked one of the officers in what manner they were to pay their obeisance to his majesty; whether it was the custom to fall upon their knees, or to prostrate themselves upon the ground; whether they were to put their hands upon their heads, or behind their backs ; whether they were to lick the dust off the floor; in short, what was the ceremony usual on such occasions. "The custom," said the great officer, "is to em- brace the king and kiss him on each cheek." Candide and Cacambo accordingly threw their arms round his majesty's neck, who received them in the most gracious manner imaginable, and very po- litely asked them to sup with him. While supper was preparing orders were given to show them the city, where they saw public structures that reared their lofty heads to the clouds ; the market-places decorated with a thousand col- umns ; fountains of spring water, besides others of rose water, and of liquors drawn from the sugar- cane, incessantly flowing in the great squares ; which were paved with a kind of precious stones that emitted an odor like that of cloves and cinnamon. Candide asked to see the high court of justice, the parliament; but was answered that they had none in that country, being utter strangers to lawsuits. Candide; or, The Optimist. 135 Hr then inquired if they had any prisons ; they re- pHed none. But what gave him at once the greatest surprise and pleasure was the palace of sciences, where he saw a gallery two thousand feet long, filled with the various apparatus in mathematics and natural philosophy. After having spent the whole afternoon in seeing only about the thousandth part of the city, they were brought back to the king's palace. Candide sat down at the table with his majesty, his valet Ca- cambo, and several ladies of the court. Never was entertainment more elegant, nor could any one pos- sibly show more wit than his majesty displayed while they were at supper. Cacambo explained all the king's bans mots to Candide, and, although they were translated, they still appeared to be bans mots. • • Of all the things that surprised Candide, this was not the least. They spent a whole month in this hospitable place, during which time Candide was continually saying to Cacambo: "I own, my friend, once more, that the castle where I was born is a mere nothing in comparison to the place where we now are ; but still Miss Cune- gund is not here, and you yourself have doubtless some fair one in Europe for whom you sigh. If we remain here we shall only be as others are ; wherea,s, if we return to our own world with only a dozen of El Dorado sheep, loaded with the pebbles of this country, we shall be richer than all the kings in Europe ; we shall no longer need to stand in awe of ij6 Candide; or. The Optimist. the inquisitors; and we may easily recover Miss Cunegund." This speech was perfectly agreeable to Cacambo. A fondness for roving, for making a figure in their own country, and for boasting' of what they had seen in their travels, was so powerful in our two wan- derers that they resolved to be no longer happy ; and demanded permission of the king to (juit the coun- try. "You are about to do a rash and silly action," said the king. "I am sensible my kingdom is an incon- siderable spot; but when people are tolerably at their ease in any place, I should think it would be to their interest to remain there. Most assuredly, I have no right to detain you, or any strangers, against your wills; this is an act of tyranny to which our manners and our laws are equally repugnant; all men are by nature free ; you have therefore an un- doubted liberty to depart whenever you please, but you will have many and great difficulties to en- counter in passing the frontiers. It is impossible to ascend that rapid rivet which runs Under high and vaulted rocks, and by which you were conveyed hither by a kind of miracle. The mountains by which my kingdom are hemmed in on all sides, are ten thousand feet high, and perfectly perpendicular ; they are above ten leagues across, and the descent from them is one continued precipice. However, since you are determined to leave us, I will imme- diately give orders to the superintendent of my cat' Candide; or. The Optimist. 137 riages to cause one to be made that will convey you very safely. When they have conducted you to the back of the mountains, nobody can attend you farther; for my subjects have made a vow never to quit the kingdom, and they are too prudent to break it. Ask me whatever else you please." "AH we shall ask of your majesty," said Cacam- bo, "is only a few sheep laden with provisions, peb- bles, and the clay of your country," The king smiled at the request, and said : "I can- not imagine what pleasure you Europeans find in our yellow clay ; but take away as much of it as you will, and much good may it do you." He immediately gave orders to his engineers to make a machine to hoist these two extraordinary men out of the kingdom. Three thousand good ma- chinists went to work and finished it in about fifteen days, and it did not cost more than twenty millions sterling of that country's money. Candide and Ca- cambo were placed on this machine, and they took with them two large red sheep, bridled and saddled, to ride upon, when they got on the other side of the mountains; twenty others to serve as sumpters for carrying, provisions ; thirty laden with 'presents of whatever was most curious in the country,' and fifty with gold, diamonds, and other precious stones. The king, at parting with our two adventurers, embraced them with the greatest cordiality. It was a curious sight to behold the manner of their setting off, and the ingenious method by which 138 Candide; or, The Optimist. they and their sheep were hoisted to the top of the mountains. The machinists and engineers tooi< leave of them as soon as they had conveyed them to a place of safety, and Candide was wholly occupied with the thoughts of presenting his sheep to Miss Cunegund. "Now," cried he, "thanks to heaven, we have more than sufficient to pay the governor of Buenos Ayres for Miss Cunegund, if she is redeemable. Let us make the best of our way to Cayenne, where we will take shipping and then we may at leisure think of what kingdom we shall purchase with our riches. CHAPTER XIX. WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM AT SURINAM, AND HOW CANDIDE BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH MARTIN. Our travellers' first day's journey was very pleas- ant ; they were elated with the prospect of possess- ing more riches than were to be found in Europe, Asia, and Africa together. Candide, in amorous transports, cut the name of Miss Cunegund on al- most every tree he came to. The second day two of their sheep sunk in a morass, and were swallowed up with their lading; two more died of fatigue; some few days afterwards seven or eight perished with hunger in a desert, and others, at different times, tumbled down precipices, or were otherwise lost, so that, after travelling about a hundred days they had only two sheep left of the hundred and Candidc; or, The Optimist. 139 two they brought with them from El Dorado. Said Candide to Cacambo : "You see, my dear friend, how perishable the riches of this world are; there is nothing solid but virtue." "Very true," said Cacambo, "but we have still two sheep remaining, with more treasure than ever the king of Spain will be possessed of ; and I espy a town at a distance, which I take to be Surinam, a town belonging to the Dutch. We are now at the end of our troubles, and at the beginning of happi- ness." (As they drew near the town they saw a negro stretched on the ground with only one half of his habit, which was a kind of linen frock ; for the poor man had lost his left leg and his right hand. "Good God," said Candide in Dutch, "what dost thou here, friend, in this deplorable condition?" "I am waiting for my master. Mynheer Vander- dendur, the famous trader," answered the negro. "Was it Mynheer Vanderdendur that used you in this cruel manner?" "Yes, sir," said the negro ; "it is the custom here. They give a linen garment twice a year, and that is all our covering. When we labor in the sugar works, and the mill happens to snatch hold of a fin- ger, they instantly chop off our hand ; and when we attempt to run away, they cut off a leg. Both these cases have happened to me, and it is at this expense that you eat sugar in Europe; and yet when my 140 Candide ; or. The Optimist. mother sold me for ten patacoons on the coast of Guinea, she said to me, 'My dear child, bless our fetiches ; adore them forever ; they will make thee live happy ; thou hast the honor to be a slave to our lords the whites, by which thou wilt make the for- tune of us thy parents.' Alas ! I know not whether I have made their fortunes ; but they have not made mine: dogs, monkeys, and parrots are a thousand times less wretched than I. The Dutch fetiches who converted me tell me every Sunday that the blacks and whites are all children of one father, whom they call Adam. As for me, I do not understand anything of genealogies ; but if what these preachers say is true, we are all second cousins ; and you must allow that it is impossible to be worse treated by our relations than we are." "O Pangloss!" cried out Candide, "such horrid doings never entered thy imagination. Here is an end of the matter; I find myself, after all, obliged to renounce thy Optimism." "Optimism," said Cacambo, "what is that?" "Alas!" replied C^dide, "it is the obstinacy of maintaining that everything is best when it is worst.") And so saying he turned his eyes towards the poor negro, and shed; a flood of tears ; and in this weeping mood he entered the town of Surinam. Immediately upon their arrival our travellers in- quired if there was any vessel in the harbor which they might send to Buenos Ayres. The person they addressed themselves to happened to be the master Candide; or. The Optimist. 141 of a Spanish bark, who offered to agree with them on moderate terms, and appointed them a meeting at a public house. Thither Candide and his faithful Cacambo went to wait for him, taking with them their two sheep. Candide, who was all frankness and sincerity, made an ingenuous recital of his adventures to the Spaniard, declaring to him at the same time his resolution of carrying off Miss Cunegund from the governor of Buenos Ayres. "O ho !" said the shipmaster, "if that is the case, get whom you please to carry you to Buenos Ayres ; for my part, I wash my hands of the affair. It would prove a hanging matter to us all. The fair Cunegund is the governor's favorite mistress." These words were like a clap of thunder to Candide ; he wept bitterly for a long time, and, taking Cacam- bo aside, he said to him, "I'll tell you, my dear friend, what you must do. We have each of us in our pockets to the value of five or six millions in diamonds ; you are cleverer at these matters than I ; you must go to Buenos Ayres and bring off Miss Cunegund. If the governor makes any difficulty give him a million ; if he holds out, give him two ; as you have not killed an inquisitor, they will have no suspicion of you. I'll fit out another ship and go to Venice, where I will wait for you. Venice is a free country, where we shall have nothing to fear from Bulgarians, Abares, Jews, or Inquisitors." Cacambo greatly applauded this wise resolution. 142 Candide; or. The Optimist. He was inconsolable at the thoughts of parting with so good a master, who treated him more like an inti- mate friend than a servant ; but the pleasure of be- ing able to do him a service soon got the better of his sorrow. They embraced each other with a flood of tears. Candide charged him not to forget the old woman. Cacambo set out the same day. This Cacambo was a very honest fellow. Candide continued some days longer at Surinam, waiting for ahy captain to carry him and his two re- maining sheep to Italy. He hired domestics, and purchased many things necessary for a long voyage ; at length Mynheer Vanderdendur, skipper of a large Dutch vessel, came and offered his service. "What will you have," said Candide, "to carry me, my servants, my baggage, and these two sheep you see here, directly to Venice?" The skipper asked ten thousand piastres, and Candide agreed to his demand without hesitation. "Ho, ho!" said the cunning Vanderdendur to himself, "this stranger must be very rich ; he agrees to give me ten thousand piastres without hesi- tation." Returning a little while after he tells Can- dide that upon second consideration he could not undertake the voyage for less than twenty thou- sand. "Very well; you shall have them," said Candide. "Zounds !" said the skipper to himself, "this man agrees to pay twenty thousand piastres with as much ease as ten." Accordingly he goes back again, and Candide; or. The Optimist. 143 tells him roundly that he will not carry him to Venice for less than thirty thousand piastres. "Then you shall have thirty thousand," said Can- dide. "Odso!" said the Dutchman once more to him- self, "thirty thousand piastres seem a trifle to this man. Those sheep must certainly be laden with an immense treasure. I'll e'en stop here and ask no more ; but make him pay down the thirty thousand piastres, and then we may see what is to be done farther." Candide sold two small diamonds, the least of which was worth more than all the skipper asked. He paid him beforehand, the two sheep were put on board, and Candide followed in a small boat to join the vessel in the road. The skipper took ad- vantage of his opportunity, hoisted sail, and put out to sea with a favorable wind. Candide, confounded and amazed, soon lost sight of the ship. "Alas!" said he, "this is a trick like those in our old world !" He returned back to the shore overwhelmed with grief; and, indeed, he had lost what would have made the fortune of twenty monarchs. Straightway upon his landing he applied to the Dutch magistrate; being transported with passion he thundered at the door, which being opened, he went in, told his case, and talked a little louder than was necessary. The magistrate began with fining him ten thousand piastres for his petulance, and then listened very patiently to what he had to say, prom- 144 Candide ; or. The Optimist. ised to examine into the affair on the skipper's re- turn, and ordered him to pay ten thousand piastres more for the fees of the court. This treatment put Candide out of all patience; it is true, he had suffered misfortunes a thousand times more grievous, but the cool insolence of the judge, and the villainy of the skipper raised his choler and threw him into a deep melancholy. The villainy of mankind presented itself to his mind in all its deformity, and his soul was a prey to the most gloomy ideas. After some time, hearing that the captain of a French ship was ready to set sail for Bordeaux, as he had no more sheep loaded with dia- monds to put on board, he hired the cabin at the usual price ; and made it known in the tow« that he would pay the passage and board of any honest man who would give him his company during the voy- age ; besides making him a present of ten thousand piastres, on condition that such person was the most dissatisfied with his condition, and the most unfor- tunate in the whole province. Upon this there appeared such a crowd of candi- dates that a large fleet could not have contained them. Candide, willing to choose from among those who appeared most likely to answer his. intention, selected twenty, who seemed to him the most so- ciable, and who all pretended to merit the prefer- ence. He invited them to his inn, and promised to treat them with a supper, on condition that every man should bind himself by an oath to relate his own Candide ; or. The Optimist. 145 history; f^eclaring at the same time, that he would make choice of that person who, should appear to him the most deserving of compassion, and the most justly dissatisfied with his condition in life; and that he would make a present to the rest. This extraordinary assembly continued sitting till four in the morning. Candide, while he was listen- ing to their adventures, called to mind what the old woman had said to him in their voyage to Buenos Ayres, and the wager she had laid that there was not a person on board the ship but had met with great misfortunes. Every story he heard put him in riiind of Pangloss. "My old master," said he, "would be confound- edly put to it to demonstrate his favorite system. Would he were here ! Certainly if everything is for the best, it is in El Dorado, and not in the other parts of the world." At length he determined in favor of a poor scholar, who had labored ten years for the book- sellers at Amsterdam : being of opinion that no employment could be more detestable. This scholar, who was in fact a very honest man, had been robbed by his wife, beaten by his son, and forsaken by his daughter, who had run away with a Portuguese. He had been likewise deprived of a small employment on which he subsisted, and he was persecuted by the clergy of Surinam, who took him for a Socinian. It must be acknowledged that the other competitors were, at least, as wretched as Vol. I— -TO 146 Candide; or, The Optimist, he ; but Candide was in hopes that the company of a man of letters would relieve the tediousness of the voyage. All the other candidates complained that Candide had done them great injustice, but he stopped their mouths by a present of a hundred piastres to each. CHAPTER XX. WHAT BEFELL CANDIDE AND MARTIN ON THEIR PASSAGE. The old philosopher, whose name was Martin, took shipping with Candide for Bordeaux. Both had seen and suffered a great deal, and had the ship been going from Surinam to Japan round the Cape of Good Hope, they could have found sufficient en- tertamment for each other during the whole voy- age, in discoursing upon moral and natural evil. Candide, however, had one advantage over Mar- tin: he lived in the pleasing hopes of seeing Miss Cunegund once more; whereas, the poor philoso- pher had nothing to hope for ; besides, Candide had money and jewels, and, notwithstanding he had lost a hundred red sheep laden with the greatest treas- ure outside of El Dorado, and though he still smarted from the reflection of the Dutch skipper's knavery, yet when he considered what he had still left, and repeated the name of Cunegund, especially after meal times, he inclined to Pangloss' doctrine. "And pray," said he to Martin, "what is your Candide; or, The Optimist. 147 opinion of the whole of this system? what notion have you of moral and natural evil?" "Sir," replied Martin, "our priest accused me of being a Socinian ; but the real truth is, I am a Mani- chsean." "Nay, now you are jesting," said Candide ; "there are no Manichseans existing at present in the world." "And yet I am one," said Martin ; "but I cannot help it. I cannot for the soul of me think other- wise." "Surely the devil must be in you," said Candide. "He concerns himself so much," replied Martin, "in the affairs of this world that it is very probable he may be in me as well as everywhere else; but I must confess, when I cast my eye on this globe, or rather globule, I cannot help thinking that God has abandoned it to some^malignant being. I al- ways except El Dorado. I scarce ever knew a city that did not wish the destruction of its neighboring city ; nor a family that did not desire to exterminate some other family. The poor in all parts of the world bear an inveterate hatred to the rich, even while they cre^p and cringe to them; and the rich treat the poor like sheep, whose wool and flesh they barter for money ; a million of regimented assassins traverse Europe from one end to, the other, to get their bread by regular depredation and murder, be- cause it is the most gentlemanlike profession. Even in those cities which seem to enjoy the blessings of 148 Candide ; or. The Optimist, peace, and where the arts flourish, the inhabitants are devoured with envy, care, and inquietudes, which are greater plagues than any €xperienced in a town besieged. Private chagrins are still niore dreadful than public calamities. In a word," con- cluded the philosopher, "I have seen and suflfered so much that I am a Manicheean," "And yet there is some good in the world," re- plied Candide. "May be so," said Martin, "but it has escaped my knowledge." While they were deeply engaged in this dispute they heard the report of cannon, which redoubled every moment. Each took out his glass, and they spied two ships warmly engaged at the distance of about three miles. " The wind brought them both so near the French ship that those on board her had the pleasure of seeing the fight with great ease. After several smart broadsides the one gave the other a shot between wind and water which sunk her out- right. Then could Candide and Martin plainly per- ceive a hundred men on the deck of the vessel which was sinking, who, with hands uplifted to heaven, sent forth piercing cries, and were in a moment swallowed up by the waves. "Well," said Martin, "you now see in what man- ner mankind trea1» one another." "It is certain," said Candide, "that there is some- thing diabolical in this affair." As he was speaking thus he spied something of a shining red hue, which Candide; or. The Optimist. 149 swam close to the vessel. The boat was hoisted out to see what it might be, when it proved to be one of his sheep. Candide felt more joy at the recovery of this one animal than he did grief when he lost the other hundred, though laden with the large dia- monds of El Dorado. The French captain quickly perceived that the victorious ship belonged to the crown of Spain ; that the other was a Dutch pirate, and the very same cap- tain who had robbed Candide. The immense riches which this villain had amassed, were buried with him in the deep, and only this one sheep saved out of the whole. "You see," said Candide to Martin, "that vice is sometimes punished; this villain, the Dutch skip- per, has met with the fate he deserved." "Very true," said Martin, "but why should the passengers be doomed also to destruction ? God has punished the knave, and the devil has drowned the rest." The French and Spanish ships continued their cruise, and Candide and Martin their conversation. They disputed fourteen days successively, at the end of which they were just as far advanced as the first moment they began. However, they had the satisfaction of disputing, of communicating their ideas, and of mutually comforting each other. Can- dide embraced his sheep with transport. "Since I have found thee again," said he, "I may possibly find my Cunegund once more." 150 Candide; or, The Optimist. CHAPTER XXI. CANDIDE AND MARTIN, WHILE THUS REASONING WITH EACH OTHER, DRAW NEAR TO THE COAST OF FRANCE. At LENGTH they descried the coast of France, when Candide said to Martin, "Pray Mr. Martin, were you ever in France?" "Yes, sir," said Martin, "I have been in several provinces of that kingdom. In some, one-half of the people are fools and madmen ; in some, they are too artful; in others, again, they are, in general, either very good-natured or very brutal ; while in others, they affect to be witty, and in all, their ruling pas- sion is love, the next is slander, and the last is to talk nonsense." "But, pray, Mr. Martin, were you ever in Paris ?" "Yes, sir, I have been in that city, and it is a place that contains the several species just described ; it is a chaos, a confused multitude, where everyone seeks for pleasure without being able to find it ; at least, as far as I have observed during my short stay in that city. At my arrival I was robbed of all I had in the world by pickpockets and sharpers, at the fair of St. Germain. I was taken up myself for a robber, and confined in prison a whole week; after which I hired myself as corrector to a press, in order to get a little money towards defraying my expenses back to Holland on foot. I knew the whole tribe of scribblers, malcontents, and fanatics. It is said the Candide; or. The Optimist. 151 people of that city are very polite; I believe they may be." "For my part, I have no curiosity to see France," said Candide ; "you may easily conceive, my friend, that after spending a month in El Dorado, I can desire to behold nothing upon earth but Miss Cune- gund ; I am going to wait for her at Venice. I in- tend to pass through France, on my way to Italy. Will you not bear me company?" "With all my heart," said Martin ; "they say Venice is agreeable to none but noble Venetians; but that, nevertheless, strangers are well received there when they have plenty of money; now I have none, but you have, therefore I will attend you wherever you please." "Now we are upon this subject," said Candide, "do you think that the earth was originally sea, as we read in that great book which belongs to the captain of the ship?" "I believe nothing of it," replied Martin, "any more than I do of the many other chi- meras which have been related to us for some time past." "But then, to what end," said Candide, "was the world formed ?" "To make us mad," said Mar- tin. "Are you not surprised," continued Candide, "at the love which the two girls in the country of the Oreillons had for those two monkeys ? — ^You know I have told you the story." "Surprised?" replied Martin, "not in the least ; I see nothing strange in this passion. I have seen so many extraordinary things that there is nothing extraordinary to me now." "Do you think," said Candide, "that man' 152 Candide; or. The Optimist. kind always massacred one another as they do now ? were they always guilty of lies, fraud, treachery, in- gratitude, inconstancy, envy, ambition, and cru<y? were they always thieves, fools, cowards, gluttons, drunkards, misers, calumniators, debauchees, fanat- ics, and hypocrites ?" "Do you believe," said Mar- tin, "that hawks have always been accustomed to eat pigeons when they came in their way?" "Doubt- less," said Candide, "Well then," replied Martin, "if hawks have always had the same nature, why should you pretend that mankind change theirs?" "Oh," said Candide, "there is. a great deal of differ- ence; for free will — " and reasoning thus they ar- rived at Bordeaux. CHAPTER XXII. WHAT HAPPENED TO CANDIDE AND MARTIN IN FRANCE. Candide staid no longer at Bordeaux than was necessary to dispose of a few of the pebbles he had brought from El Dorado, and to provide himself with a post-chaise for two persons, for he could no longer stir a step without his philosopher Martin. The only thing that gave him concern was the being obliged to leave his sheep behind him, which he in- trusted to the care of the academy of sciences at Bordeaux, who proposed, as a prize subject for the year, to prove why the wool of this sheep was red ; Candide ; or. The Optimist. 1 53 and the prize was adjudged to a northern sage, who demonstrated by A plus B, mJMUs C, divided by Z, that the sheep must necessarily be red, and die of the mange. In the meantime, all the travellers whom Candide met with in the inns, or on the road, told him to a man, that they were going to Paris, This general eagerness gave him likewise a great desire to see this capital ; and it was not much out of his way to Venice. He entered the city by the suburbs of St. Mar- ceau, and thought himself in one of the vilest ham- lets in all Westphalia. Candide had not been long at his inn, before he was seized with a slight disorder, owing to the fa- tigue he had undergone. As he wore a diamond of an enormoiis size on his finger and had among the rest of his equipage a strong box that seemed very weighty, he soon found himself between two physi- cians, whom he had not sent for, a number of inti- mate friends "whom he had never seen, and who would not quit his bedside, and two women devo- tees, who were very careful in providing him hot broths. "I remember," said Martin to him, "that the first time I came to Paris I was likewise taken ill ; I was very poor, and accordingly I had neither friends, nurses, nor physicians, and yet I did very well." However, by dint of purging and bleeding, Can- dide's disorder became very serious. The priest of 1 54 Candide ; or. The Optimist, the parish came with all imaginable politeness to desire a note of him, payable to the bearer in the other world. Candide refused to comply with his request; but the two devotees assured him that it was a new fashion. Candide replied, that he was not one that followed the fashion. Martin was for throwing the priest out of the window. The clerk swore Candide should not have Christian burial. Martin swore in his turn that he would bury the clerk alive if he continued to plague them any longer. The dispute grew warm; Martin took him by the shoulders and turned him out of the room, which gave great scandal, and occasioned a proces- verbal. Candide recovered, and till he was in a condition to go abroad had a great deal of good company to pass the evenings with him in his chamber. They played deep. Candide was surprised to find he could never turn a trick; and Martin was not at all sur- prised at the matter. Among those who did him the honors of the place was a little spruce abbe of Perigord, one of those insinuating, busy, fawning, impudent, neces- sary fellows, that lay wait for strangers on their ar- rival, tell them all the scandal of the town, and offer to minister to their pleasures at various prices. This man conducted Candide and Martin to the play- house; they were acting a new tragedy. Gindide found himself placed near a cluster of wits: this, however, did not prevent him from shedding tears Candide; or. The Optimist. 155 at some parts of the piece which were most aifect- ing, and best acted. One of these talkers said to him between the acts. "You are greatly to blame to shed tears ; that actress plays horribly, and the man that plays with her still worse, and the piece itself is still more execrable than the representation. The author does not understand a word of Arabic, and yet he has laid his scene in Arabia, and what is more, he is a fellow who does not believe in innate ideas. To- morrow I will bring you a score of pamphlets that have been written against him." "Pray, sir," said Candide to the abbe, "how many theatrical pieces have you in France?" "Five or six thousand," re- plied the abbe. "Indeed ! that is a great number," said Candide, "but how many good ones may there be?" "About fifteen or sixteen." "Oh! that is a great number," said Martin. Candide was greatly taken with an actress, who performed the part of Queen Elizabeth in a dull kind' of tragedy that is played sometimes. "That actress," said he to Martin, "pleases me greatly; she has some sort of resemblance to Miss Cunegund. I should be very glad to pay my respects to her." The abbe of Perigord offered his service to introduce him to her at her own house. Candide, who was brought up in Germany, desired to know what might be the ceremonial used on those occasions, and how a queen of England was treated in France. "There is a necessary distinction to be observed in these matters^" said the abbe. "In a country town we take 156 Candide; or. The Optimist. them to a tavern; here in Paris, they are treated with great respect during their Hfe time, provided they are handsome, and when they die we throw their bodies upon a dunghill." "How?" said Can- dide, "throw a queen's body upon a dunghill!" "The gentleman is quite right," said Martin, "he tells you nothing but the truth. I happened to be at Paris when MiSs Monimia made her exit, as one may say, out of this world into another. She was refused what they call here the rites of sepulture; that is to say, she was denied the privilege of rot- ting in a churchyard by the side of all the beggars in the parish. They buried her at the corner of Bur- gundy street, which must certainly have shocked her extremely, as she had very exalted notions of things." "This is acting very impolitely," said Can- dide. "Lord!" said Martin, "what can be said to it ? it is the way of these people. Figure to yourself all the contradictions, all the inconsistencies possible, and you may meet with them in the government, the courts of justice, the churches, and the public spec- tacles of this odd nation." "Is it true," said Can- dide, "that the people of Paris arc always laugh- ing?" "Yes," replied the abbe, "but it is with anger in their hearts;' they express all their complaints by loud bursts of laughter, and commit the most detestable crimes with a smile on their faces." "Who was that great overgrown beast,"said Candide, " who spoke so ill to me of the piece with which I was so much affected, and of the players Candide ; or. The Optimist. 1 57 who gave me so much pleasure?" "A very good- for-nothing sort of a man I assure you," answered the abbe, "one who gets his livelihood by abusing every new book and play that is written or per- formed ; he dislikes much to see any one meet with success, like eunuchs, who detest every one that possesses those powers they are deprived of; he is one of those vipers in literature who nourish them- selves with their own venom; a pamphlet-monger." "A pamphlet-monger!" said Candide, "what is that?" "Why, a pamphlet-monger," replied the abbe, "is a writer of pamphlets^ — a fool," Candide, Martin, and the abbe of Perigord ar- gued thus on the staircase, while they stood to see the people go out of the playhouse. "Though I am very anxious to see Miss Cunegund again," said Candide, "yet I have a great inclination to sup with Miss Clairon, for I am really much taken with her." The abbe was not a person to show his face at this lady's house, which was frequeiited by none but the best company. "She is engaged this evening," said he, "but I will do myself the honor to introduce you to a lady of quality of my acquaintance, at whose house you will see as much of the manners of Paris as if you had lived here for forty years." Candide, who was naturally curious, suffered himself to be conducted to this lady's house, which was in the suburbs of St Honore. The company was engaged at basset; twelve melancholy punters 158 Candide; or, The Optimist. held each in his hand a small pack of cards, the cor- ners of which were doubled down, and were so many registers of their ill fortune. A profound silence reigned throughout the assembly, a pallid dread had taken possession of the countenances of the punters, and restless inquietude stretched every muscle of the face of him who kept the bank; and the lady of the house, who was seated next to him, observed with lynx's eyes every play made, and notdd those who tallied, and made them undouble their cards with a severe exactness, though mixed with a politeness, which she thought necessary not to frighten away her customers. This lady assumed the title of marchioness of Parolign,ac. Her daugh- ter, a girl of about fifteen years of age, was one of the punters, and took care to give her mamma a hint, by signs, when any one of the players attempted to repair the rigor of their ill fortune by a little inno- cent deception. The company were thus occupied when Candide, Martin, and the abbe made their en- trance ; not a creature rose to salute them, or indeed took the. least notice of them, being wholly intent upon the business in hand. "Ah!" said Candide, "my lady baroness of Thunder-ten-tronckh would have behaved more civilly." However, the abbe whispered in the ear of the marchioness, who half raising herself from her seat, honored Candide with a gracious smile, and gave Martin a nod of her head, with an air of inexpress- ible dignity. She then ordered a seat for Candide, Candide; or. The Optimist. 159 and desired him to make one of their party at play ; he did so, and in a few deals lost near a thousand pieces; after which they supped very elegantly, and every one was surprised at seeing Candide lose so much money without appearing to be the least disturbed at it. The servants in waiting said to each other, "This is certainly some English lord." The supper was like most others of its kind in Paris. At first every one was silent ; then followed a few confused murmurs, and afterwards several insipid jokes passed and repassed, with false re- ports, false reasonings, a little politics, and a great deal of scandal. The conversation then turned upon the new productions in literature. "Pray," said the abbe, "good folks, have you seen the romance writ- ten by the Sieur Gauchat, doctor of divinity?" "Yes," answered one of the company, "but I had not patience to go through it. The town is pestered with a swarm of impertinent productions, but this of Dr. Gauchat's outdoes them all. In short, I was so cursedly tired of reading this vile stuff that I even resolved to come here, and make a party at basset." "But what say you to the archdeacon T 's mis- cellaneous collection," said the abbe. "Oh my God !" cried the marchioness of Parolignac, "never mention the tedious creature ! only think what pains he is at to tell one things that all the world knows ; and how he labors an argument that is hardly worth the slightest consideration ! how absurdly he makes use of other people's wit! how miserably he mangles 1 6o Candid* ; or. The Optimist. what he has pilfered from them! The man makes me quite sick ! A few pages of the good archdeacpn are enough in conscience to satisfy any one." There was at the table a person of learning and taste, who supported what the marchioness had ad- vanced. They next began to talk of tragedies. The lady desired to know how it came about that there were several tragedies, which still continued to be played, though they would not bear reading? The man of taste explained very clearly how a piece may be in some manner interesting without having a grain of merit. He showed, in a few words, that it is not sufificient to throw together a few incidents that are to be met with in every romance, and that to dazzle the spectator the thoughts should be new, without being far-fetched; frequently sublime, but always natural ; the author should have a thorough knowledge of the human heart and make it speak properly; he should be a complete poet, without showing an affectation of it in any of the characters of his piece; he should be a perfect master of his language, speak it with all its purity, and with the utmost harmony, and yet so as not to make the sense a slave to the rhyme. "Whoever," added he, "neg- lects any one of these rules, though he may write two or three tragedies with tolerable success, will never be reckoned in the number of good authors. There are very few good tragedies ; some are idyls, in very well-written and harmonious dialogue ; and others a chain of political reasonings that set one Candide ; or. The Optimist. 1 6 1 asleep, or else pompous and high-flown amplifica- tions, that disgust rather than please. Others again are the ravings of a madman, in an tincouth style, unmeaning flights, or long apostrophes to tl^e deities, for want of knowing how to address mankind; in a word a collection of false maxims and dull com- monplace." Candide listened to this discourse with great at- tention, and conceived a high opinion of the person who delivered it ; and as the marchioness had taken care to place him near her side, he took the liberty to whisper her softly in the ear and ask who this per- son was that spoke so well. "He is a man of let- ters," replied her ladyship, "who never plays, and whom the abbe brings with him to my house some- times to spend an evening. He is a great judge of writing, especially in tragedy ; he has composed one himself, which was damned, and has written a book that was never seen out of his bookseller's shop, excepting only one copy, which he sent me with a dedication, to which he had prefixed my name." "Oh the great man," cried Candide, "he is a second Pangloss." Then turning towards him, "Sir," said he, "you are doubtless of opinion that everything is for the best in the physical and moral world, and that noth- ing could be otherwise than it is?" "I, sir!" replied the man of letters, "I think no such thing, I assure you ; I find that all in this world is set the wrong end uppermost. No one knows what is his rank, VoL I— II 1 62 Candide; or, The Optimist. his office, nor what he does, nor what he should do. With the exception of our evenings, which we gen- erally pass tolerably merrily, the rest of our time is spent in idle disputes and quarrels, Jansenists against Molinists,' the parliament against the Church, and one armed body of men against another; courtier against courtier, husband against wife, and relations against relations. In short, this world is nothing but one continued scene of civil war." "Yes," said Candide, "and I have seen worse than all that; and yet a learned man, who had the misfortune to be hanged, taught me that everything was marvellously well, and that these evils you are speaking of were only so many shades jn a beautiful picture." "Your hempen sage," said Martin, "laughed at you ; these shades, as you call them, are most horrible blemishes." "The men make these blemishes," rejoined Candide, "and they cannot do otherwise." "Then it is not their fault," added Mar- tin. The greatest part of the gamesters, who did not understand a syllable of this discourse, amused themselves with drinking, while Martin reasoned with thfe learned gentleman; and Candide enter- tained the lady of the house with a part of his ad- ventures. After supper the marchioness conducted Candide into her dressing-room, and made him sit down under a canopy. "Well," said she, "are you still so violently fond of Miss Cunegund of Thunder- ten-tronckh ?" "Yes, madam," replied Candide. Candide ; or, The Optimist. 1 63 The marchioness said to him with a tender smile, "You answer me like a young man born in West- phalia; a Freinchman would have said, 'It is true, madam, I had a great passion for Miss Cunegund ; but since I have seen you, I fear I can no longer love her as I did.' " "Alas ! madam," replied Can- dide, "I will make you what answer you please." "You fell in love with her, I find, in stooping to pick up her handkerchief which she had dropped; you shall pick up my garter." "With all my heart, madam," said Candide, and he picked it up. "But you must tie it on again," said the lady. Candide tied it on again. "Look ye, young man," said the marchioness, "you are a stranger; I make some of my lovers here in Paris languish for me a whole fortnight ; but I surrender to you at first sight, because I am willing to do the honors of my country to a young Westphalian." The fair one having cast her eye on two very large diamonds that were upon the young stranger's finger, praised them in so earn- est a manner that they were in an instant transferred from his finger to hers. As Candide was going home with the abbe he felt some qualms of conscience for having been guilty of infidelity to Miss Cunegund. The abbe took part with him in his uneasiness; he had but an inconsiderable share in the thousand pieces Can- dide had lost at play, and the two diamond* which had been in a manner extorted from him ; and there- fore very prudently designed to make the most he 164 Candide; or, The Optimist. could of his new acquaintance, which chance had thrown in his way. He talked much of Miss Cune- gund, and Candide assured him that he would heart- ily ask pardon of that fair one for his infidelity to her, when he saw her at Venice. The abbe redoubled his civilities and seemed to interest himself warmly in everything that Candide said, did, or seemed inclined to do. "And so, sir, you have an engagement at Venice ?" "Yes, Monsieur I'Abbe," answered Candide, "I must absolutely wait upon Miss Cunegund;" and then the pleasure he took in talking about the object he loved, led him insensibly to relate, according to custom, part of his adventures with that illustrious Westphalian beauty. "I fancy," said the abbe, "Miss Cunegund has a great deal of wit, and that her letters must be very entertaining." "I never received any from her," said Candide; "for you are to consider that, being expelled from the castle upon her account, I could not write to her, especially as soon after my depart- ure I heard she was dead; but thank God I found afterwards she was living. I left her again after this, and now I have sent a messenger to her near two thousand leagues from here, and wait here for his return with an answer from her." The artful abbe let not a word of all this escape him, though he seemed to be musing upon some- thing else. He soon took his leave of the two ad- venturers, after having embraced them with the Candide; or, The Optimist. 165 greatest cordiality. The next morning, almost as soon as his eyes were open, Candide received the following billet: "My Dearest Lover — I have been ill in this city these eight days. I have heard of your arrival, and should fly to your arms were I able to stir. I was informed of your being on the way hither at Bor- deaux, where I left the faithful Cacambo, and the old woman, who will soon follow me. The gover- nor of Buenos Ayres has taken everything from me but your heart, which I still retain. Come to me immediately on the receipt of this. Your presence will either, give me new life, or kill me with the pleasure." At the receipt of this charming, this unexpected letter, Candide felt the utmost transports of joy; though, on the other hand, the indisposition of his beloved Miss Cunegund overwhelmed him with grief. Distracted between these two passions he took his gold and his diamonds, and procured a per- son to conduct him and Martin to the house where Miss Cunegund lodged. Upon entering the room he felt his limbs tremble, his heart flutter, his tongue falter; he attempted to undraw the curtain, and called for a light to the bedside. "Lord, sir," cried a maid servant, who was waiting in the room, "take care what you do, Miss cannot bear the least light," and so saying she pulled the curtain close again. "Cunegund! my dear Cunegund!" cried Candide, bathed in tears, "how do you do? If you cannot 1 66 Candide ; or, The Optimist. bear the light, speak to me at least." "Alas ! she cannot speak," said the maid. The sick lady then put a plump hand out of the bed and Candide first bathed it with tears, then filled it with diamonds, leaving, a purse of gold upon the easy chair. In the midst of his transports came an officer into Ae room, followed by the abbe, and a file of musketeers. "There," said he, "are the two sus- pected foreigners;" at the same time he ordered them to be seized and carried to prison. "Travellers are not treated in this manner in the country of El Dorado," said Candide. "I am more of a Mani- chsean now than ever," said Martin. "But pray, good sir, where are you going to carry us?" said Candide. "To a dungeon, my dear sir," replied the officer. When Martin had a little recovered himself, so as to form a cool judgment of what had passed, he plainly perceived that the person who had acted the part of Miss Cunegund was a cheat; that the abbe of Perigord was a sharper who had imposed upon the honest simplicity of Candide, and that the officer was a knave, whom they might easily get rid of. Candide following the advice of his friend Martin, and burning with impatience to see the real Miss Cunegund, rather than be obliged to appear at a court of justice, proposed to the officer to make him a present of three small diamonds, each of them worth three thousand pistoles. "Ah, sir," said this understrapper of justice, "had you committed ever Candide; o'r. The Optimist. 167 so much villainy, this wquld render you the honest- est man living, in my eyes. Three diamonds worth three thousand pistoles! why, my dear sir, so far from carrying you to jail, I would lose my life to serve you. There are orders for stopping all stran- gers ; but leave it to me, I have a brother at Dieppe, in Normandy; I myself will conduct you thither, and if you have a diamond left to give him he will take as much care of you as I myself should." "But why," said Candide, "do they stop all strangers?" The abbe of Perigord made answer that it was because a poor devil of the country of Atrebata heard somebody tell foolish stories, and this induced him to commit a parricide; not such a one as that in the month of May, 1610, but such as that in the month of December, in the year 1594, and such as many that have been perpetrated in other months and years, by other poor devils who had heard foolish stories. The officer then explained to them what the abbe meant. "Horrid monsters," exclaimed Candide, "is it possible that such scenes should pass among a people who are perpetually singing and dancing? Is there no flying this abominable country immedi- ately, this execrable kingdom where monkeys pro- voke tigers? I have seen bears in my country, but men I have beheld nowhere but in El Dorado. In the name of God, sir," said he to the officer, "do me the kindness to conduct me to Venice, where I am to wait for Miss Cunegund." "Really, sir," 1 68 Candide; or. The Optimist. replied the officer, "I cannot possibly wait on you farther than Lower Normandy." So saying, he ordered Candide's irons to be struck oflf, acknowl- edged himself mistaken, and sent his followers about their business, after which he conducted Candide and Martin to Dieppe, and left them to the care of his brother. There happened just then to be a small Dutch ship in the harbor. The Norman, whom the other three diamonds had converted into the most obliging, serviceable being that ever breathed, took care to see Candide and his attendants safe on board this vessel, that was just ready to sail for Ports- mouth in England. This was not the nearest way to Venice, indeed, but Candide thought himself es- caped out of hell, and did not, in the least, doubt but he should quickly find an opportunity of resuming his voyage to Venice. CHAPTER XXIII. CANDIDE AND MARTIN TOUCH UPON THE ENGLISH COAST WHAT THEY SEE THERE. "Ah Pangloss! Pangloss! ah Martin! Martin! ah my dear Miss Cunegund ! what sort of a world is this?" Thus exclaimed Candide as soon as he got on board the Dutch ship. "Why something very foolish, and very abominable," said Martin. "You are acquainted with England," said Candide; "are they as great fools in that country as in France?" "Yes, but in a different manner," answered Martin. Candide; or. The Optimist. 169 "You know that these two nations are at war about a few acres of barren land in the neighborhood of Canada, and that they have expended much greater sums in the contest' than all Canada is worth. To say exactly whether there are a greater number fit to be inhabitants of a madhouse in the one country than the other, exceeds the limits of my imperfect capacity; I know in general that the people we are going to visit are of a very dark and gloomy dispo- sition." As they were chatting thus together they arrived at Portsmouth. The shore on each side the harbor was lined with a multitude of people, whose eyes were steadfastly fixed on a lusty man who was kneeling down on the deck of one of the men-of- war, with something tied before his eyes. Opposite to this personage stood four soldiers, each of whom shot three bullets into his skull, with all the com- posure imaginable ; and when it was done, the whole company went away perfectly well satisfied. "What the devil is all this for?" said Candide, "and what demon, or foe of mankind, lords it thus tyrannically over the world ?" He then asked who was that lusty man who had been sent out of the world with so much ceremony. When he received for answer, that it was an admiral. "And pray why do you put your admiral to death ?" "Because he did not put a suf- ficient number of his fellow-creatures to death. You must know, he had an engagement with a French admiral, and it has been proved against him that 170 Candide; or, The Optimist. he was not near enough to his antagonist." "But," repHed Candide, "the French admiral must have been as far from him." "There is no doubt of that ; but in this country it is found requisite, now and then, to put an admiral to death, in order to encour- age the others tq fight." Candide was so shocked at what he saw and heard, that he would not set foot on shore, but made a bargain with the Dutch skipper (were he even to rob him like the captain of Surinam) to carry him directly to Venice. The skipper was ready in two days. They sailed along the coast of France, and passed within sight of Lisbon, at which Candide trembled. From thence they proceeded to the Straits, entered the Mediterra- ne"an, and at length arrived at Venice. "God be praised," said Candide, embracing Martin, "this is the place where I am to behold my beloved Cune- gund once again. I can confide in Cacambo, like another self. All is well, all very well, all as well as possible." CHAPTER XXIV. OF PACQUETTE AND FRIAR GIROFLfiE. Upon their arrival at Venice Candide went in search of Cacambo at every inn and coflfee-house, and among all the ladies of pleasure, but could hear nothing of him. He sent every day to inquire what ships were in, still no news of Cacambo. "It is Candide; or. The Optimist. 171 strange," said he to Martin, "very strange that I should have had time to sail from Surinam to Bor- deaux; to travel thence to Paris, to Dieppe, to Portsmouth; to sail -along the coast of Portugal and Spain, and up the Mediterranean to spend some months at Venice; and that my lovely Cunegund should not have arrived. Instead of her, I only met with a Parisian impostor, and a rascally abbe of Perigord. f Cunegund is actually dead, and I have nothing to do but follow her. Alas! how much better would it have been for me to have re- mained in the paradise of El Dorado than to have re- turned to'this cursed Europe ! You are in the right, my dear Martin ; you are certainly in the right ; all is misery and deceit." He fell into a deep melancholy, and neither went to the opera then in vogue, nor partook of any of the diversions of the carnival ; nay, he even slighted the fair sex. Martin said ^o him, "Upon my word, I think you are very simple to imagine that a ras- cally valet, with five or six millions in his pocket, would go in search of your mistress to the further end of the world, and bring her to Venice to meet you. If he finds her he will take her for himself; if he does not, he will take another. Let me advise you to forget your valet Cacambo, and your Mistress Cunegund." Martin's speech was not the most con- solatory to the dejected Candide. His melancholy increased, and Martin never ceased trying to prove to him that there is very little virtue or happiness 172 Candide; or, The Optimist. in this world ; except, perhaps, in El Dorado, where hardly anybody can gain admittance. While they were disputing on this important sub- ject, and still expecting. Miss Cunegund, Candide perceived a young Theatin friar in St. Mark's Place, with a girl under his arm. The Theatin looked fresh-colored, plump, and vigorous; his eyes spar- kled ; his air and gait were bold and lofty. The girl was pretty, and was singing a song ; and every now and then gave her Theatin an ^morous ogle and wantonly pinched his ruddy cheeks. "You will at least allow," said Candide to lyiartin, "that these two are happy. Hitherto I have met with none but un- fortunate people in the whole habitable globe, ex- cept in El Dorado; but as to this couple, I would venture to lay a wager they are happy." "Done !" said Martin, "they are not what you imagine." "Well, we have only to ask them to dine with us," said Candide, "and you will see whether I am mis- taken or not." Thereupon he accosted them, and with great po- liteness invited them to his inn to eat some macaroni, with Lombard partridges and caviare, and to drink a bottle of Montepulciano, Lacr)Tna Christi, Cyprus, and Samos wine. The girl blushed ; the Theatin ac- cepted the invitation and she followed him, eyeing Candide every now and then with a mixture of sur- prise and confusion, while the tears stole down her cheeks. No sooner did she enter his apartment than sh€ cried out. "How, Mr. Candide, have you quite Candide; or, The Optimist. 173 forgot your Pacquette ? do you not know her again ?" Candide had not regarded her with any degree of attention before, being wholly occupied with the thoughts of his dear Cunegund. "Ah! is it you, child? was it you that reduced Doctor Pangloss to that fine condition I saw him in?" "Alas! sir," answered Pacquette, "it was I, in- deed. I find you are acquainted with everything; and I have been informed of all the misfortunes that happened to the whole family of my lady baroness and the fair Cunegund. But I can safely swear to you that my lot was no less deplorable ; I was inno- cence itself when you saw me last. A cordelier, who was my confessor, easily seduced me ; the con- sequences proved terrible. I was obliged to leave the castle some time after the baron kicked you out from there ; and if a famous surgeon had not taken compassion on me, I had been a dead woman. Grat- itude obliged me to live with him some time as a mistress; his wife, who was a very devil for jeal- ousy, beat me unmercifully every day. Oh ! she was a perfect fury. The doctor himself was the most ugly of all mortals, and I the most wretched crea- ture existing, to be continually beaten for a man whom I did not love. You are sensible, sir, how dangerous it was for an ill-natured woman to be married to a physician. Incensed at the behavior of his wife, he one day gave her so affectionate a rem- edy for a slight cold she had caught that she died in less than two hours in most dreadful convulsions. 174 Candide; or, The Optimist. Her relations prosecuted the husband, who was obliged to fly, and I was sent to prison. My inno- cence would not have saved me, if I had not been tolerably handsome. The judge gave me my liberty on condition he should succeed the doctor. How- ever, I was soon supplanted by a rival, turned off without a farthing, and obliged to continue the abominable trade which you men think so pleasing, but which to us unhappy creatures is the most dreadful of all sufferings. At length I came to follow the business at Venice. Ah ! sir, did you but know what it is to be obliged to receive every visitor; old tradesmen, counsellors, monks, watermen, and abbes; to be exposed to all their insolence and abuse; to be often necessitated to borrow a petticoat, only that it may be taken up by some disagreeable wretch; to be robbed by one gallant of what we get from another; to be sub- ject to the extortions of civil magistrates; and to have forever before one's eyes the prospect of old age, a hospital, or a dunghill, you would conclude that I am one of the most unhappy wretches breath- ing." Thus did Pacquette unbosom herself to honest Candide in his closet, in the presence of Martin, who took occasion to say to him, "You see I have half won the wager already." Friar Giroflee was all this time in the parlor re- freshing himself with a glass or two of wine till dinner was ready. "But," said Candide to Pac- Candide; or. The Optimist. 175 quette, "you looked so gay and contented, when I met you, you sang and caressed the Theatin with so much fondness, that I absolutely thought you as happy as you say you are now miserable." "Ah! dear sir," said Pacquette, "this is one of the miser- ies of the trade; yesterday I was stripped and beaten by an officer ; yet to-day I must appear good humored and gay to please a friar." Candide was convinced and acknowledged that Martin was in the right. They sat down to table with Pacquette and the Theatin ; ' the entertainment was agreeable, and towards the end they began to converse together with some freedom. "Father," said Candide to the friar, "you seem to me to enjoy a state of happiness that even kings might envy; joy and health are painted in your countenance. You have a pretty wench to divert you; and you seem to be perfectly well contented with your con- dition as a Theatin." "Faith, sir," said Friar Giroflee, "I wish with all my soul the Theatins were every one of them at the bottom of the sea. I have been tempted a thousand times to set fire to the convent and go and turn Turk. My parents obliged me, at the age of fifteen, to put on this detestable habit only to in- crease the fortune of an elder brother of mine, whom God confound! Jealousy, discord, and fury, reside in our convent. It is true I have preached often paltry sermons, by which I have got a little money, part of which the prior robs me of, and the 176 Candide; or, The Optimist. remainder helps to pay my girls; but, at night, when I go hence to my convent, I am ready to dash my brains against the walls of the dormitory ; and this is the case with all the rest of our fraternity." Martin, turning towards Candide, with his usual indifference, said, "Well,/ what think you now? have I won the wager entirely?" Candide gave two thousand piastres to Pacquette, and a thousand to Friar Giroflee, saying, "I will answer that this will make them happy." "I am not of your opinion," said Martin, "perhaps this money will only make them wretched." "Be that as it may," said Can- dide, "one thing comforts me ; I see that one often meets with those whom one never expected to see again; so that, perhaps, as I have found my red sheep and Pacquette, I may be lucky enough to find Miss Cunegund also." "I wish," said Martin, "she one day may make you happy; but I doubt it much." "You lack faith," said Candide. "It is be- cause," said Martin, "I have seen the world." "Observe those gondoliers," said Candide, "are they not perpetually singing?" "You do not see them," answered Martin, "at home with their wives and brats. The doge has his chagrin, gondoliers theirs. Nevertheless, in the main, I look upon the gondolier's life as preferable to that of the doge; but the diflference is so trifling that it is not worth the trouble of examining into." "I have heard great talk," said Candide, "of the Senator Pococurante, who lives in that fine house Candide; or, The Optimist. 177 at the Brenta, where, they say, he entertains for- eigners in the most polite manner." "They pretend this man is a perfect stranger to uneasiness. I should be glad to see so extraordinary a being," said Martin. Candide thereupon sent a messenger to Seignor Pococurante, desiring permission to wait on him the next day. CHAPTER XXV. CANDIDE AND MARTIN PAY A VISIT TO SEIGNOR POCO- CURANTE, A NOBLE VENETIAN. Candide and his friend Martin went in a gon- dola on the Brenta, and arrived at the palace of the noble Pococurante. The gardens were laid out in elegant taste, and adorned with fine marble statues ; his palace was built after the most approved rules of architecture. The master of the house, who was a man of aflfairs, and very rich, received our two travellers with great politeness, but without much ceremony, which somewhat disconcerted Candide, but was not at all displeasing to Martin. As soon as they were seated, two very pretty girls, neatly dressed, brought in chocolate, which was extremely well prepared. Candide could not help making encomiums upon their beauty and graceful carriage. "The creatures are well enough," said the senator; " I amuse myself with them some- times, for I am heartily tired of the women of the Vol.1— 12 lyS Candide; or, The Optimist. town, their coquetry, their jealousy, their quarrels, their humors, their meannesses, their pride, and their folly; I am weary of making sonnets, or of paying for sonnets to be made on them; but after all, these two girls begin to grow very indifferent to me." After having refreshed himself, Candide walked into a large gallery, where he was struck with the sight of a fine collection of paintings. "Pray," said Candide, "by what master are the two first of these ?" "They are by Raphael," answered the sena- tor. "I gave a great deal of money for them seven years ago, purely out of curiosity, as they were said to be the finest pieces in Italy ; but I cannot say they please me: the coloring is dark and heavy; the figures do not swell nor come out enough ; and the drapery is bad. In short, notwithstanding the en- comiums lavished upon them, they are not, in my opinion, a true representation of nature. I approve of no paintings save those wherein I think I behold nature herself; and there are few, if any, of that kind to be met with. I have what is called a fine collection, but I take no manner of delight in it." While dinner was being prepared Pococurante ordered a concert. Candide praised the music to the skies. "This noise," said the noble Venetian, "may amuse one for a little time, but if it were to last above half an hour, it would grow tiresome to every- body, though perhaps no one would care to own it. Music has become the art of executing what is diffi- Candida; or. The Optimist. 179 cult ; now, whatever is difficult cannot be long pleas- ing. "I believe I might take more pleasure in an opera, if they had not made such a monster of that species of dramatic entertainment as perfectly shocks me; and I am amazed how people can bear to see wretched tragedies set to music ; where the scenes are contrived for no other purpose than to lug in, as it were by the ears, three or four ridiculous songs, to give a favorite actress an opportunity of exhibit- ing her pipe. Let who will die away in raptures at the trills of a eunuch quavering the majestic part of Caesar or Cato, and strutting in a foolish manner upon the stage, but for my part I have long ago re- nounced these paltry entertainments, which consti- tute the glory of modern Italy, and are so dearly purchased by crowned heads." Candide opposed these sentiments ; but he' did it in a discreet man- ner ; as for Martin, he was entirely of the old sena- tor's opinion. Dinner being served they sat down to table, and, after a hearty repast, returned to the library. Candide, observing Homer richly bound, com- mended the noble Venetian's taste. "This," said he, "is a book that was once the delight of the great Pangloss, the best philosopher in Germany." "Ho- mer is no favorite of mine," answered Pococurante, coolly ; "I was made to believe once that I took a pleasure in reading him ; but his continual repeti- tions of battles have all such a resemblance with 1 80 Candide ; or, The Optimist. each other; his gods that are forever in haste and bustle, without ever doing anything; his Helen, who is the cause of the war, and yet hardly acts in the whole performance ; his Troy, that holds out so long, without being taken : in short, all these things together make the poem very insipid to me. I have asked some learned men, whether they are not in reality as much tired as myself with reading this poet : those who spoke ingenuously, assured me that he had made them fall asleep, and yet that they could not well avoid giving him a place in their libraries; but that it was merely as they would do an antique, or those rusty medals which are kept only for curiosity, and are of no manner of use in commerce." "But your excellency does not surely form the same opinion of Virgil?" said Candide. "Why, I grant," replied Pococurante, "that the second, third, fourth, and sixth books of his ".^neid" are excel- lent ; but as for his pious ^neas, his strong Cloan- thus, his friendly Achates, his boy Ascanius, his silly king Latinus, his ill-bred Amata, his insipid La- vinia, and some other characters much in the same strain, I think there cannot in nature be anything more flat and disagreeable. I must confess I prefer Tasso far beyond him; nay, even that sleepy tale- teller Ariosto." "May I take the liberty to ask if you do not ex- perience great pleasure from reading Horace ?" said Candide. "There are maxims in this writer," re- Candida ; or. The Optimist. 1 8 1 plied Pococurante, "whence a man of the world may reap some benefit; and the short measure of the verse makes them more easily to be retained in the memory. But I see nothing extraordinary in his journey to Brundusium, and his account of his bad dinner; nor in his dirty, low quarrel between one Rupillius, whose words, as he expresses it, were full of poisonous filth ; and another, whose language was dipped in vinegar. His indelicate verses against old women and witches have frequently given me great offence: nor can I discover the great merit of his telling his friend Maecenas, that if he will but rank him in the class of lyric poets, his lofty head shall touch the stars. Ignorant readers are apt to judge a writer by his reputation. For my part, I read only to please myself. I like nothing but what makes for my purpose." Candide, who had been brought up with a notion of never making use of his own judgment, was astonished at what he heard; but Martin found there was a good deal of reason in the senator's remarks. "O ! here is a Tully," said Candide ; "this great man I fancy you are never tired of reading?" "In- deed I never read him at all," replied Pococurante. "What is it to me whether he pleads for Rabirius or Cluentius ? I try causes enough myself. I had once some liking for his philosophical works; but when I found he doubted everything, I thought I knew as much as himself, and had no need of a guide to learn ignorance." i82 Candide; or. The Optimist. "Ha !" cried Martin, "here are fourscore volumes of the memoirs of the Academy of Sciences ; perhaps there may be something curious and valuable in this collection." "Yes," answered Pococurante; "so there might if any one of these compilers of this rub- bish had only invented the art of pin-making: but all these volumes are filled with mere chimerical systems, without one single article conducive to real utility." "I see a prodigious number of plays," said Can- dide, "in Italian, Spanish, and French." "Yes," re- plied the Venetian; "there are I think three thou- sand, and not three dozen of them good for any- thing. As to those huge volumes of divinity, and those enormous collections of sermons, they are not all together worth one single page in Seneca; and I fancy you will readily believe that neither myself, nor anyone else, ever looks into them." Martin, perceiving some shelves filled with Eng- lish books, said to the senator : "I fancy that a re- publican must be highly delighted with those books, which are most of them written with a noble spirit of freedom." "It is noble to write as we think," said Pococurante; "it is the privilege of humanity. Throughout Italy we write only what we do not think ; and the present inhabitants of the country of the Caesars and Antonines dare not acquire a single idea without the permission of a Dominican father. I should be enamored of the spirit of the English nation, did it not utterly frustrate the good Candide ; or. The Optimist. 1 83 efifects it would produce by passion and the spirit of party." Candide, seeing a Milton, asked the senator if he did not think that author a great man. "Who?" said Pococurante sharply; "that barbarian who writes a tedious commentary in ten books of rum- bling verse, on the first chapter of Genesis? that slovenly imitator of the Greeks, who disfigures the creation, by making the Messiah take a pair of com- passes from heaven's armory to plan the world; whereas Moses represented the Deity, as producing the whole universe by his iiatf Can I think you have any esteem for a writer who has spoiled Tasso's hell and the devil ; who transforms Lucifer sometimes into a toad, and at others into a pygmy ; who makes him say the same thing over again a hundred times; who metamorphoses him into a school-divine ; and who, by an absurdly serious imi- tation of Ariosto's comic invention of firearms, rep- resents the devils and angels cannonading each other in heaven? Neither I nor any other Italian can possibly take pleasure in such melancholy rever- ies ; but the marriage of Sin and Death, and snakes issuing from the womb of the former, are enough to make any person sick that is not lost to all sense of delicacy. This obscene, whimsical, and disagreeable poem met with the neglect it deserved at its first publication ; and I only treat the author now as he was treated in his own country by his contempo- raries." 1 84 Candide ; or. The Optimist. Candide was sensibly grieved at this speech, as he had a great respect for Homer, and was fond of Milton. "Aias!" said he softly to Martin, "I am afraid this man holds our German poets in great contempt." "There would be no such great harm in that," said Martin. "O what a surprising man!" said Candide, still to himself; "what a prodigious genius is this Pococurante! nothing can please him." After finishing their survey of the library, they went down into the garden, when Candide com- mended the several beauties that offered themselves to his view. "I know nothing upon earth laid out in such bad taste," said Pococurante; "everything about it is childish and trifling ; but I shall have an- other laid out to-morrow upon a nobler plan." As soon as our two travellers had taken leave of his excellency, "Well," said Candide to Martin, "I hope you will own that this man is the happiest of all mortals, for he is above everything he possesses." "But do not you see," answered Martin, "that he likewise dislikes everything he possesses? It was an observation of Plato, long since, that those are not the best stomachs that reject, without distinc- tion, all sorts of aliments." "True," said Candide, "but still there must certainly be a pleasure in criti- cising everything, and in perceiving faults where others think they see beauties." "That is," replied Martin, "there is a pleasure in having no pleasure." "Well, well," said Candide, "I find that I shall be the Candide ; or. The Optimist. 185 only happy man at last, when I am blessed with the sight of my dear Cunegund." "It is good to hope," said Martin. In the meanwhile, days and weeks passed away, and no news of Cacambo. Candide was so over- whelmed with grief, that he did not reflect on the behavior of Pacquette and Friar Giroflee, who never stayed to return him thanks for the presents he had so generously made them. CHAPTER XXVI. CANDIDE AND MARTIN SUP WITH SIX SHARPERS — WHO THEY WERE. One evening as Candide, with his attendant Mar- tin, was going to sit down to supper with some for- eigners who lodged in the same inn where they had taken vp their quarters, a man with a face the color of soot came behind him, and taking him by the arm, said, "Hold yourself in readiness to go along with us ; be sure you do not fail." Upon this, turn- ing about to see from whom these words came, he beheld Cacambo. Nothing but the sight of Miss Cunegund could have given him greater joy and surprise. He was almost beside himself. After embracing this dear friend, "Cunegund!" said he, "Cunegund is come with you doubtless! Where, where is she? Carry me to her this instant, that I may die with joy in her presence." "Cunegund is i86 Cancflde; or. The Optimist, not here,"' answered Cacambo; "she is in Constan- tinople." "Good heavens! in Constantinople! but no matter if she were in China, I would fly thither. Quick, quick, dear Cacambo, let us be gone." "Soft and fair," said Cacambo, "stay till you have supped. I cannot at present stay to say anything more to you ; I am a slave, and my master waits for me ; I must go and attend him at table : but mum ! say not a word, only get your supper, and liold yourself in readiness." Candide, divided between joy and grief, charmed to have thus met with his faithful agent again, and surprised to hear he was a slave, his heart palpitat- ing, his senses confused, but full of the hopes of re- covering his dear Cunegund, sat down to table with Martin, who beheld all these scenes with great un- concern, and with six strangers, who had come to spend the carnival at Venice. Cacambo waited at table upon one of those strangers. When supper was nearly over, he drew near to his master, and whispered in his ear, "Sire, your majesty may go when you please ; the ship is ready" ; and so saying he left the room. The guests, surprised at what they had heard, looked at each other without speaking a word ; when another serv- ant drawing near to his master, in like manner said, "Sire, your majesty's post-chaise is at Padua, and the bark is ready." The master made him a sign, and he instantly withdrew. The company all stared at each other again, and the general astonishment Candide; or. The Optimist. 187 was increased. A third servant then approached an- other of the strangers, and said, "Sire, if your maj- esty will be advised by me, you will not make any longer stay in this place ; . I will go and get every- thing ready"; and instantly disappeared. Candide and Martin then took it for granted that this was some of the diversions of the carnival, and that these were characters in masquerade. Then a fourth domestic said to the fourth stranger, "Your majesty may set off when you please;" saying which, he went away like the rest. A fifth valet said the same to a fifth master. But the sixth do- mestic spoke in a different style to the person on whom he waited, and who sat near to Candide. "Troth, sir," said he, "they will trust your majesty no longer, nor myself neither ; and we may both of us chance to be sent to jail this very night; and therefore I shall take care of myself, and so adieu." The servants being all gone, the six strangers, with Candide and Martin, remained in a profound si- lence. At length Candide broke it by saying, "Gen- tlemen, this is a very singular joke upon my word ; how came you all to be kings ? For my part I own frankly, that neither my friend Martin here, nor myself, have any claim to royalty." Cacambo's master then began, with great gravity, to deliver himself thus in Italian. "I am not joking in the least, my name is Achmet III. I was grand seignor for many years; I dethroned my brother, my nephew dethroned me, my viziers lost their 1 88 Candide; or. The Optimist. heads, and I am condemned to end my days in the old seraglio. My nephew, the Grand Sultan Ma- homet, gives me permission to travel sometimes for my health, and I am come to spend the carnival at Venice." ^ A young man who sat by Achmet, spoke next, and said: "My name is Ivan. I was once emperor of all the Russias, but was dethroned in my cradle. My parents were confined, and I was brought up in a prison, yet I am sometimes allowed to travel, though always with persons to keep a guard over me, and I am come to spend the carnival at Venice." The third said : "I am Charles Edward, king of England ; my father has renounced his right to the throne in my favor. I have fought in defence of my rights, and near a thousand of my friends have had their hearts taken out of their bodies alive and thrown in their faces. I have myself been confined in a prison. I am going to Rome to visit the king my father, who was dethroned as well as myself; and my grandfather and I have come to spend the carnival at Venice." The fourth spoke thus : "I am the king of Po- land; the fortune of war has stripped me of my hereditary dominions. My father experienced the same vicissitudes of fate. I resign myself to the will of Providence, in the same manner as Sultan Achmet, the Emperor Ivan, and King Charles Ed- ward, whom God long preserve; and I have come to spend the carnival at Venicp " Candida; or. The Optimist. 189 The fifth said: "I am king of Poland also. I have twice lost my kingdom; but Providence has given me other dominions, where I have done more good than all the Sarmatian kings put together were ever able to do on the banks of the Vistula ; I resign myself likewise to Providence; and have come to spend the carnival at Venice." It now came to the sixth monarch's turn to speak: "Gentlemen," said he, "I am not so great a prince as the rest of you, it is true, but I am, how- ever, a crowned head. I am Theodore,* elected king of Corsica. I have had the title of majesty, and am now hardly treated with common civility. I have coined money, and am not now worth a single ducat. *This remarkable personage, after having lain in the common prison of the king's bench, for a pahry debt, was cleared by an act of parliament, passed for the relief of in- solvent debtors; and the schedule of his effects, delivered for the benefit of his creditors, contained his right and pretensions to the crown of Corsica. He died at London in extreme misery, to the reproach of the English nation, which had at one time acknowledged him as a sovereign prince, and their ally. A gentleman caused a marble to be erected for him in St. Anne's churchyard, with the following inscription: Near this place is interred Theodore, king of Corsica, Who died in this parish, Dec. ii, 1756, Immediately after leaving The king's bench prison, By the benefit of the act of insolvency: In consequence of which, He resigned his kingdom of Corsica For the use of his creditors. The grave, great teacher, to a level brings Heroes and beggars, galley-slaves and kings; But Theodore this moral learned ere dead; Fate poured its lessons on his living head, Bestowed a kingdom, and denied him bread. 190 Candide; or, The Optimist. I have had two secretaries, and am now without a valet. I was once seated on a throne, and since that have lain upon a truss of straw, in a common jail in London, and I very much fear I shall meet with the same fate here in Venice, where I came, like your majesties, to divert myself at the carnival." The other five kings listened to this speech with great attention; it excited their compassion; each of them made the unhappy Theodore a present of twenty sequins, and Candide gave him a diamond, worth just a hundred times that sum. "Who can this private person be," said the five princes to one another, "who is able to give, and has actually given, a hundred times as much as any of us ?" , Just as they rose from table, in came four serene highnesses, who had also been stripped of their ter- ritories by the fortune of war, and had come to spend the remainder of the carnival at Venice. Can- dide took no manner of notice of them; for his thoughts were wholly employed on his voyage to Constantinople, where he intended to go in search of his lovely Miss Cunegund. J CHAPTER XXVII. CANDIDE's voyage to CONSTANTINOPLE. The trusty Cacambo had already engaged the captain of the Turkish ship that was to carry Sultan Achmet back to Constantinople, to take Candide and Candide; or. The Optimist. 191 Martin on board. Accordingly they both embarked, after paying their obeisance to his miserable high- ness. As they were going on board, Candide said to Martin, "You see we supped in company with six dethroned kings, and to one of them I gave charity. Perhaps there may be a great many other princes still more unfortunate. For my part I have lost only a hundred sheep, and am now going to fly to the arms of my charming Miss Cunegund. My dear Martin, I must insist on it, that Pangloss was in the right. All is for the best." "I wish it may be," said Martin. "But this was an odd adventure we met with at Venice. I do not think there ever was an instance before of six dethroned monarchs supping together at a public inn." "This is not more extra- ordinary," said Martin, "than most of what has hap- pened to us. It is a very common thing for kings to be dethroned ; and as for our having the honor to sup with six of them, it is a mere accident, not de- serving our attention." As soon as Candide set his foot on board the vessel, he flew to his old friend and valet Cacambo ; and throwing his arms about his neck, embraced him with transports of joy. "Well," said he, "what news of Miss Cunegund? Does she still continue the paragon of beauty ? Does she love me still ? How does she do? You have, doubtless, purchased a superb palace for her at Constantinople." "My dear master," replied Cacambo, "Miss Cune- gund washes dishes on the banks of the Propontis, 192 Gindide; or, The Optimist in the house of a prince who -has very few to wash. She is at present a slave in the family of an ancient sovereign named Ragotsky, whom the grand Turk allows three crowns a day to maintain him in his exile; but the most melancholy circumstance of all is, that she is turned horribly ugly." "Ugly or handsome," said Candide, "I am a man of honor; and, as such, am obliged to love her still. But how could she possibly have been reduced to so abject a condition, when I sent five or six millions to her by you?" "Lord bless me," said Cacambo, "was not I obliged to give two millions to Seignor Don Fer- nando d'lbaraa y Fagueora y Mascarenes y Lam- pourdos y Souza, the governor of Buenos Ayres, for liberty to take Miss Cunegund away with me? and then did not a brave fellow of a pirate gallantly strip us of all the rest ? And then did not this same pirate carry us with him to Cape Matapan, to Milo, to Nicaria, to Samos, to Petra, to the Dardanelles, to Marmora, to Scutari ? Miss Cunegund and tlie old woman are now servants to the prince I have told you of ; and I myself am slave to the dethroned sultan." "What a chain of shocking accidents !" ex- claimed Candide. "But after all, I have still some diamonds left, with which I can easily procure Miss Cunegund's liberty. It is a pity though she is grown so ugly." Then turning to Martin, "What think you, friend," said he, "whose condition is most to be pitied, the Emperor Achmet's the Emperor Ivan's, Candide; or, The Optimist. 193 King Charles Edward's, or mine ?" "Faith, I cannot resolve your question," said Martin, "unless I had been in the breasts of you all." "Ah!" cried Can- dide, "was Pangloss here now, he would have known, and satisfied me at once." "I know not," said Martiji, "in what balance your Pangloss could have weighed the misfortunes of mankind, and have set a just estimation on their sufferings. All that I pretend to know of the matter is that there are mil- lions of men on the earth, whose conditions are a hundred times more pitiable than those of King Charles Edward, the Emperor Ivan, or Sultan Ach- met." "Why, that may be," answered Candide. In a few days they reached the Bosphorus ; and the first thing Candide did was to pay a high ransom for Cacambo : then, without losing time, he and his companions went on board a gallrey, in order to search for his Cunegund on the banks of the Pro- pontis, notwithstanding she was grown so ugly. There were two slaves among the crew of the galley, who rowed very ill, and to whose bare backs the master of the vessel frequently applied a lash. Candide, from natural sympathy, looked at these two slaves more attentively than at any of the rest, and drew near them with an eye of pity. Their features, though greatly disfigured, appeared to him to bear a strong resemblance with those of Pangloss and the unhappy baron Jesuit, Miss Cunegund's brother. This idea affected him with grief and compassion : he examined them more attentively than before. "In Vol. I— 13 194 Candide; or, The Optimist. troth," said he, turning to Martin, "if I had not seen my master Pangloss fairly hanged, and had not myself been unlucky enough to run the baron through the body, I should absolutely think those two rowers were the men." No sooner had Candide uttered the names of the baron and Pangloss, than the two slaves gave a great cry, ceased rowing, and let fall their oars out of their hands. The master of the vessel, seeing this, ran up to them, and redoubled the discipline of the lash. "Hold, hold," cried Candide, "I will give you what money you shall ask for these two persons." "Good heavens ! it is Candide," said one of the men. "Candide!" cried the other. "Do I dream," said Candide, "or am I awake ? Am I actually on board this galley? Is this my lord baron, whom I killed? and that my master Pangloss, whom I saw hanged before my face?" "It is I ! it is I !" cried they both together. "What ! is this your great philosopher?" said Martin. "My dear sir," said Candide to the master of the galley, "how much do you ask for the ransom of the baron of Thunder-ten tronckh, who is one of the first barons of the empire, and of Mr. Pangloss, the most profound metaphysician in Germany?" "Why, then. Christian cur," replied the Turkish captain, "since these two dogs of Christian slaves are barons. and metaphysicians, who no, doubt are of high rank in their own country, thou shalt give me fifty thousand sequins." "You shall have them, sir ; carry me back Candide; or. The Optimist. 195 as quick as thought to Constantinople, and you shall receive the money immediately — No! carry me first to Miss Cunegund." The captain, upon Gandide's first proposal, had already tacked about, and he made the crew ply their oars so effectually, that the vessel flew through the water, quicker than a bird cleaves the air. Candide bestowed a thousand embraces on the baron and Pangloss. "And so then, my dear baron, I did not kill you ? and you, my dear Pangloss, are come to life again after your hanging? But how came you slaves on board a Turkish galley ?" "And is it true that my dear sister is in this country ?" said the baron. "Yes," said Cacambo. '"And do I once again behold my dear Candide?" said Pangloss. Candide presented Martin and Cacambo to them; they embraced each other, and all spoke together. The galley flew like lightning, and soon they were got back to port. Candide instantly sent for a Jew, to whom he sold for fifty thousand sequins a dia- mond richly worth one hundred thousand, though the fellow swore to him all the time by Father Abra- ham that he gave him the most he could possibly afford. He no sooner got the money into his hands, than he paid it down for the ransom of the baron and Pangloss. The latter flung himself at the feet of his deliverer, and bathed him with his tears : the former thanked him with a gracious nod, and prom- ised to return him the money the first opportunity. "But is it possible," said he, "that my sister should 196 Candide; or, The Optimist. be in Turkey?" "Nothing is more possible," an- swered Cacambo, "for she scours the dishes in the house of a Transylvanian prince." Candide sent di- rectly for two Jews, and sold more diamonds to them; and then he set out with his companions in another galley, to deliver Miss Cunegund from slavery. CHAPTER XXVIII. WHAT BEFELL CANDIDE^ CUNEGUND, PANGLOSS, MARTIN, ETC. "Pardon," said Candide to the baron; "once more let me entreat your pardon, reverend father, for running you through the body." "Say no more about it," replied the baron ; "I was a little too hasty I must own ; but as you seem to be desirous to know by what accident I came to be a slave on board the galley where you saw nie, I will inform you. After I had been cured of the wound you gave me, by the college apothecary, I was attacked and carried off by a party of Spanish troops, who clapped me in prison in Buenos Ayres, at the very time my sister was setting out from there. I asked leave to return to Rome, to the general of my order, who appointed me chaplain to the French ambassador at Constan- tinople. I had not been a week in my new office, when I happened to meet one evening with a young looglan, extremely handsome and well made. The Gandide ; or. The Optimist. 1 97 weather was very hot; the young man had an in- clination to bathe. I took the opportunity to bathe likewise. I did not know it was a crime for a Chris- tian to be found naked in company with a young Turk. A cadi ordered me to receive a hundred blows on the soles of my feet, and sent me to the galleys. I do not believe that there was ever an act of more flagrant injustice. But I would fain know how my sister came to be a scullion to a Transylva- nian prince, who has taken refuge among the Turks?" "But how hafjpens it that I behold you again, my dear Pangloss?" said Candide. "It is true," an- swered Pangloss, "you saw me hanged, though I ought properly to have been burned; but you may remember, that it rained extremely hard when they were going to roast me. The storm was so violent that they found it impossible to light the fire ; so they hanged me because they could do no better. 1 A sur- geon purchased my body, carried it home, ano^pre- pared to dissect me. He began by making a crucial incision from my navel to the clavicle. It is impos- sible for anyone to have been more lamely hanged than I had been. The executioner was a subdeacon, and knew how to bum people very well, but as for hanging, he was a novice at it, being quite out of practice ; the cord being wet, and not slipping prop- erly, the noose did not join. In short, I still con- tinued to breathe; the crucial incision made me scream to such a degree, that my surgeon fell flat 198 Candide; or. The Optimist* upon his back; and imagining it was the devil he was dissecting, ran away, and in his fright tumbled down stairs. His wife hearing the noise, flew from the next room, and seeing me stretched upon the table with my crucial incision, was still more terri- fied than her husband, and ffell upon him. When they had a little recovered themselves, I heard her say to her htisband, 'My dear, how could you think of dissecting a heretic? Don't you know that the devil is always in them ? I'll run directly to a priest to come and drive the evil spirit out.' I trembled from head to foot at hearing her talk in this manner, and exerted what little strength I had left to cry out, 'Have mercy on me!' At length the Portuguese barber took courage, sewed up my wound, and his wife nursed me ; and I was upon my legs in a fort- night's time. The barber got me a place to be lackey to a knight of Malta, who was going to Venice; but finding my master had no money to pay me my wages, I entered into the service of a Venetian mer- chant, and went with him to Constantinople. ''One day I happened to enter a mosque, where I saw no one but an old man and a very pretty young female devotee, who was telling her beads ; her neck was quite bare, and in her bosorn she had a beau- tiful nosegay of tulips, roses, anemones, ranuncu- luses, hyacinths, and auriculas ; she let fall her nose- gay. I ran immediately to take it up, and presented it to her with a most respectful bow. I was so long in delivering it that the imam began to be angry; Candide; or. The Optimist. 199 and, perceiving I was a Christian, he cried out for help; they carried me before the cadi, who ordered me to receive one hundred bastinadoes, and sent me to the galleys. I was chained in the very galley and >to the very same bench with the baron. On board this galley there were four young men belonging to Marseilles, five Neapolitan priests, and two monks- of CorfUj who told us that the like adventures hap- pened every day. The baron pretended that he had been worse used than myself; and I insisted that there was far less harm in taking up a nosegay, and putting it into a woman's bosom, than to be found stark naked with a young > Icoglan. We were con- tinually whipped, and received twenty lashes a day with a heavy thong, when the concatenation of sub- lunary events brought you on board our galley to ransom us from slavery." "Well, my dear Pangloss," said Candide to him, "when you were hanged, dissected, whipped, and tugging at the oar, did you continue to think that everything in this world happens for the best ?" "I have always abided by my first opinion," answered Pangloss ; "for, after all, I am a philosopher, and it would not become me to retract my sentiments ; es- pecially as Leibnitz could not be in the wrong: and that pre-established harmony is the finest thing in the world, as well as a plenum and the materia sub- tilis." 200 Candide ; or. The Optimist. CHAPTER XXIX. IN WHAT MANNER CANDIDE FOUND MISS CUNEGUND AND THE OLD WOMAN AGAIN. While Candide, the baron, Pangloss, Martin, and Cacambo, were relating their several adventures, and reasoning on the contingent or non-contingent events of this world ; on causes and effects ; on moral and physical evil; on free will and necessity; and on the consolation that may be felt by a person when a slave and chained to an oar in a Turkish galley, they arrived at the house of the Transylvanian prince on the coasts of the Propontis. The first ob- jects they beheld there, were Miss Cunegund and the old woman, who were hanging some tablecloths on a line to dry. The baron turned pale at the sight. Even tht tender Candide, that affectionate lover, upon seeing his fair Cunegund all sunburnt, with blear eyes, a withered neck, wrinkled face and arms, all covered with a red scurf, started back with horror; but, re- covering himself, he advanced towards her out of good manners. She embraced Candide and her brother; they embraced the old woman, and Can- dide ransomed them both. There was a small farm in the neighborhood, which the old woman proposed to Candide to make shift with till the company should meet with a more favorable destiny. Cunegund, not knowing that she was grown ugly, as no one had informed her of it. Candide; or. The Optimist. 201 reminded Candide of his promise in so peremptory a manner, that the simple lad did not dare to refuse her ; he then acquainted the baron that he was going to marry his sister. "I will never suffer," said the baron, "my sister to be guilty of an action so deroga- tory to her birth and family ; nor will I bear this insolence on your part: no, I never will be re- proached that my nephews are not qualified for the first ecclesiastical dignities in Germany; nor shall a sister of mine ever be the wife of any person below the rank of a baron of the empire." Gunegund flung herself at her brother's feet, and bedewed them with her tears; but he still continued inflexible. "Thou foolish fellow," said Gandide, "have I not delivered thee from the galleys, paid thy ransom, and thy sis- ter's, too, who was a scullion, and is very ugly, and yet condescend to marry her? and shalt thou pre- tend to oppose the match ! If I were to listen only to the dictates of my anger, I should kill thee again." "Thou mayest kill me again," said the baron; "but thou shalt not marry my sister while I am living." CHAPTER XXX. CONCLUSION. Candide had, in truth, no great inclination to marry Miss Gunegund; but the extreme imperti- nence of the baron determined him to conclude the match ; and Gunegund pressed him so warmly, that 202 Candide ; or, The Optimist. he could not recant. He consulted Pangloss, Mar- tin, and the faithful Cacambo. Pangloss composed, a fine memorial, by which he proved that the baron had no right over his sister ; and that she might, ac- cording to all the laws of the empire, marry Can- dide with the left hand. Martin concluded to throw the baron into the sea; Cacambo decided that he must be delivered to the Turkish captain and sent to the galleys; after which he should be conveyed by the first ship to the father-general at Rome. This advice was found to be good; the old woman ap- proved of it, and not a syllable was said to his sis- ter; the business was executed for a little money; and they had the pleasure of tricking a Jesuit, and punishing the pride of a German baron. It was altogether natural to imagine, that after undergoing so many disasters, Candide, married to his mistress and living with the philosopher Pan- gloss, the philosopher Martin, the prudent Cacambo, and the old woman, having besides brought home so many diamonds from the country of the ancient Incas, would lead the most agreeable life in the world. But he had been so robbed by the Jews, that he had nothing left but his little farm; his wife, every day growing more, and more ugly, became headstrong and insupportable; the old woman was infirm, and more ill-natured yet than Cunegund. Cacambo, who worked in the garden, and carried the produce of it to sell at Constantinople, was above his labor, and cursed his fate. PangloSs despaired Candide ; or. The Optimist, 203 of making a figure in any of the German univer- sities. And as to Martin, he was firnily persuaded that a person is equally ill-situated everywhere. He took things with patience. Candide, Martin, and Pangloss, disputed sometimes about metaphysics and morality. Boats were often seen passing under the windows of the farm laden with effendis, bashaws, and cadis, that were going into banishment to Lem- nos, Mytilene and Erzerum. And other cadis, bashaws, and effendis, were seen coming back to succeed the place of the exiles, and were driven out in their turns. They saw several heads curiously stuck upon poles, and carried as presents to the sub- lime porte. Such sights gave occasion to frequent dissertations; and when no disputes were in prog- ress, the irksomeness was so excessive that the old woman ventured one day to tell them, "I would be glad to know which is worst, to be ravished a hun- dred times by negro pirates, to have one buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an auto-da-fe, to be dis- sected, to be chained to an oar in a galley; and, in short, to experience all the miseries through which every one of us hath passed, or to remain here doing nothing?" "This," said Candide, "is a grand ques- tion." This discourse gave birth to new reflections, and Martin especially, concluded that man was born to ttve in the convulsions of disquiet, or in the lethargy of idleness. Though Candide did not absolutely ao4 Candide ; or, The Optimist. agree to this, yet he did not determine anything on that head. Pangloss avowed that he had undergone dreadful sufferings; but having once maintained that everything went on as well as possible, he still maintained it, and at the same time believed nothing of it. There was one thing which more than ever con- firmed Martin in his detestable principles, made Candide hesitate, and embarrassed Pangloss, which was the arrival of Pacquette and Brother Girofiee one day at their farm. This couple had been in the utmost distress ; they had very speedily made away with their three thousand piastres ; they had parted, been reconciled ; quarrelled again, been thrown into prison ; had made their escape, and at last Brother Girofiee had turned Turk. Pacquette still continued to follow her trade ; but she got little or nothing by it. "I foresaw very well," said Martin to Candide, "that your presents would soon be squandered, and only make them more miserable. You and Cacambo have spent millions of piastres, and yet you are not more happy than Brother Girofiee and Pacquette." "Ah !" said Pangloss to Pacquette, "it is heaven that has brought you here among us, my poor child ! Do you know that you have cost me the tip of my nose, one eye, and one ear? What a handsome shape is here ! and what is this world !" This new adventure engaged them more deeply than ever in philosoph- ical disputations. In the neighborhood lived a famous dervish who Candida ; or. The Optimist. 205 passed for the best philosopher in Turkey; they went to consult him: Pangloss, who was their spokesman, addressed him thus : "^Master, we come to entreat you to tell us why so strange an animal as man has been formed?" "Why do you trouble your head about it?" said the dervish; "is it any business of yours?" "But, my reverend father," said Candide, "there is a hor- rible deal of evil on the earth." "What signifies it," said the dervish, "whether there is evil or good? When his highness sends a ship to Egypt does he trouble his head whether the rats in the vessel are at their ease or not ?" "What must then be done ?" said Pangloss. "Be silent," answered the dervish. "I flattered myself," replied Pangloss, "to have rea- soned a little with you on the causes and effects, on the best of possible worlds, the origin of evil, the nature of the soul, and a pre-established, harmony." At these words the dervish shut the door in their faces. During this conversation, news was spread abroad that two viziers of the bench and the mufti had just been strangled at Constantinople, and sev- eral of their friends empaled. This catastrophe made a great noise for some hours. Pangloss, Candide, and Martin, as they were returning to the little farm, met with a good-looking old man, -who was taking the air at his door, under an alcove formed of the boughs of orange-trees. Pangloss, who was as in- quisitive as he was disputative, asked him what was , 2o6 Candide; or, The Optimist. the name of the mufti who was lately strangled. "I cannot tell," answered the good old man ; "I never knew the name of any mufti, or vizier breathing. I am entirely ignorant of the event you speak of; I presume that in general such as are concerned in public affairs sometimes come to a miserable end; and that they deserve it: but I never inquire what is doing at Constantinople; I am contented with sending thither the produce of my garden, which I cultivate with my own hands." After saying these words, he invited the strangers to come into his house. His two daughters and two sons presented them with divers sorts of sherbet of their own mak- ing; besides caymac, heightened with the peels of candied citrons, oranges, lemons, pineapples, pista- chio nuts, and Mocha coffee unadulterated with the bad coffee of Batavia or the American islands. After which the two daughters of this good Mussulman perfutned the beards of Candide, Pangloss, and Martin. "You must certainly have a vast estate," said Candide to the Turk ; who replied, "I have no more than twenty acres of ground, the whole of which I cultivate myself With the help of my children ; and our labor keeps off from us three great evils — idle- ness, vice, and want." Candide, as he was returning home, made pro- found reflections on the Turk's discourse. "This good old man," said he to Pangloss and Martin, "ap- pears to me to have chosen for himself a lot much Candide ; or, The Optimist. 207 preferable to that of the six kings with whom we had the honor to sup." "Human grandeur," said Pangloss, "is very dangerous, if we beheve the tes- timonies of almost all philosophers ; for we find Eglon, king of Moab, was assassinated by Aod ; Ab- salom was hanged by the hair of his head, and run through with three darts ; King Nadab, son of Jero- boam, was slain by Baaza; King Ela by Zimri; Okosias by Jehu ; Athaliah by Jehoiada ; the kings Jehooiakim, Jeconiah, and Zedekiah, were led into captivity : I need not tell you what was the fate of Croesus, Astyages, Darius, Dionysius of Syracuse, Pyrrhus, Perseus, Hannibal, Jugurtha, Ariovistus, Csesar, Pbmpey, Nero, Otho, Vitellius, Domitian, Richard II. of England, Edward II., Henry VI., Richard III., Mary Stuart, Charles I., the three Henrys of France, and .the emperor Henry IV." "Neither need you tell me," said Candide, "that we must take care of our garden." "You are in the right," said Pangloss ; "for when man was put into the garden of Eden, it was with an intent to dress it : and this proves that man was not born to be idle." "Work then without disputing," said Martin; "it is the only way to render life supportable." The little society, one and all, entered into this laudable design; and set themselves to exert their dififerent talents. The little piece of ground yielded them a plentiful crop. Cunegund indeed was very ugly, but she became an excellent hand at pastry- work ; Pacquette embroidered ; the old woman had 2o8 Candide ; or. The Optimist. the care of the linen. There was none, down to Brother Giroflee, but did some service ; he was a very good carpenter, and became an honest man. Pangloss used now and then to say to Candide, "There is a concatenation of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cune- gund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had you not travelled over America on foot; had you not run the baron through the body-; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts." "Excellently observed," answered Candide ; "but let us take care of our garden." CANDIDE; OR, THE OPTIMIST. PART IL CHAPTER I. HOW CANDIDE QUITTED HIS COMPANIONS, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM. We SOON become tired of everything in life; riches fatigue the possessor; ambition, when satis- fied, leaves only remorse behind it ; the joys of love are but transient joys; and Candide, made to ex- perience all the vicissitudes of fortune, was soon disgusted with cultivating his garden. "Mr. Pan- gloss," said he, "if we are in the best of possible worlds, you will own to me, at least, that this is not enjoying that portion of possible happiness ; but liv- ing obscure in a little corner of the Propontis, hav- ing no other resource than that of my own manual labor, which may one day fail me; no other pleasures than what Mrs. Cunegund gives me, who is very ugly ; and, which is worse, ig my wife ; no other company than yours, which is sometimes irk- some to me; or that of Martin, which makes me melancholy; or that of Giroflee, who is but very lately become an honest man ; or that of Pacquette, the danger of whose correspondence you have so fully experienced ; or that "of the hag who has but Vol. J— .14 200 aio Candide ; or, The Optimist. one buttock, and is constantly repeating old wives' tales. To this Pangloss made the following reply: "Philosophy teaches us that monads, divisible in in- finitum, arrange themselves with wonderful sagacity in order to compose the different bodies which we observe in nature. The heavenly bodies are what they should be ; they are placed where they should be; they describe the circles which they should de- scribe ; man follows the bent he should follow ; he is what he should be ; he does what he should do. You bemoan yourself, O Candide, because the monad of your soul is disgusted ; but disgust is a modification of the soul; and this does not hinder, but every- thing is for the best, both for you and others. When you beheld me covered with sores, I did not main- tain my opinion the less for th?it; for if Miss Pac- quette had not made me taste the pleasures of love and its poison, I should not have met with you in Holland ; I should not have given the anabaptist James an opportunity of performing a meritorious act ; I should not have been hanged in Lisbon for the edification of my neighbor; I should not have been here to assist you with my advice, and make you live and die in Leibnitz's opinion. Yes, my dear Candide, everything is linked in a chain, everything is necessary in the best of possible worlds. There is a necessity that the burgher of Montauban should instruct kings ; that ths worm of Quimper-Corentin should carp, carp, carp;, that the declaimer against Candide ; or. The Optimist. 211 philosophers should occasion his own crucifixion in St. Denis street ; that a rascally recoUet and the archdeacon of St. Malo should diffuse their gall and calumny through their Christian journals ; that phi- losophy should be accused at the tribunal of Mel- pomene; and that philosophers should continue to enlighten human nature, notwithstanding the croak- ings of ridiculous animals that flounder in the marshes of learning ; and should you be once more driven by a hearty kicking from the finest of all castles, to learn again your exercise among the Bulgarians; should you again suffer the dirty effects of a Dutchwoman's zeal; be half drowned again before Lisbon; to be unmercifully whipped again by order of the most holy Inejuisition ; should you run the same risks again among Los Padres, the Oreillons, and the French; should you, in short, suffer every possible calamity and never understand Leibnitz better than I myself do, you will still main- tain that all is well; that all is for the best; that a plenum, the materia subtilis, a pre-established har- mony, and ■ monads, are the finest things in the world; and that Leibnitz is a great man, even to those who do not comprehend him." To this fine speech, Candide, the mildest being in nature, though he had killed three men, two of whom were priests, answered not a word ; but weary of the doctor and his society, next morning at break of day, taking a white staff in his hand, marched off, without knowing whither he was going, but in 212 Candide ; or, The Optimist, quest of a .place where one does not become dis- gusted, and where men are not men, as in the good country of El Dorado. Candide, so much the less unhappy as he had no longer a love for Miss Cunegund, living upon the bounty of different people, who were not Christians, but yet give alms, arrived after a very long and very tiresome journey, at Tauris, upon the frontiers of Persia, a city noted for the cruelties which the Turks and Persians have by turns exercised therein. Half dead with fatigue, having hardly more clothes than what were necessary to cover that part which constitutes the man, and which men call shameful, Candide could not well relish Pangloss' opinion when a Persian accosted him in the. most polite manner, beseeching him to ennoble his house with his presence. "You make a jest of me," cried Candide to him; "I am a poor devil who has left a miserable dwelling I had in Propontis because I had married Miss Cunegund ; because she is grown very ugly, and because I was disgusted; I am not, in- deed, able to ennoble anybody's house; I am not noble myself, thank God. If I had the honor of being so. Baron Thunder-ten-tronckh should have paid very dearly for the kicks on the backside with which he favored me, or I should have died of shame for it, which would have been pretty philo- sophical; besides, I have been whipped ignomini- ously by the executioners of the most holy Inquisi- tion, and by two thousand heroes at three pence Candide; or. The Optimist. 213 halfpenny a day. Give me what you please, but do not insult my distress with taunts which would de- prive you of the whole value of y6ur beneficence." "My lord," replied the Persian, "you may be a beggar, and this appears pretty plainly ; but my re- ligion obliges me to use hospitality; it is sufficient that you are a man and under misfortunes ; that the apple of my eye should be the path for your feet ; vouchsafe to ennoble my house with your radiant presence." "I will, since you desire it," answered Caildide. "Come then, enter," said the Persian. They went in accordingly, and Candide could not forbear admiring the respectful treatment shown him by his host. The slaves anticipated his desires ; the whole house seemed to be busied in nothing but contributing to his satisfaction. "Should this last," said Candide to himself, "all does not go so badly in this country." Three days were passed, during which time the kindness of the Persian .still con- tinued; and Candide already cried out: "Master Pangloss, I always imagined you were in the right, for you are a great philosopher." CHAPTER II. WHAT BEFELL CANDIDE IN THIS HOUSE — HOW HE GOT OUT OF IT. Candide, being well fed, well clothed, and free from chagrin, soon became again as ruddy, as fresh, and as gay as he had been in Westphalia. His host, a 14 Candida; or, The Optimist, Ismael Raab, was pleased to see this change; he was a man six feet high, adorned with two small eyes extremely red, and a large nose full of pimples, which sufficiently declared his infraction of Ma- homet's law ; his whiskers were the most famous in the country, and mothers wished their sons nothing so much as a like pair. Raab had wives, because he was rich ; but he thought in a manner that is but too common in the East and in some of our colleges in Europe. "Your excellence is brighter than the stars," said the cunning Persian to the brisk Can- dide one day, half smiling and half suppressing his words. "You must have captivated a great many hearts; you are formed to give and receive happi- ness." "Alas!" answered our hero, "1 was happy only by halves, behind a screen, where I was but half at my ease. Mademoiselle Cunegund was handsome then — Mademoiselle Cunegund ; poor in- nocent thing!" "Follow me, my lord," said the Per- sian. And Candide followed accordingly. They came to a very agreeable retreat, where silence and pleasure reigned. There Ismael Raab tenderly em- braced Candide, and in a few words made a declara- tion of love like that which the beautiful Alexis ex-- presses with so much pleasure in Virgil's Ec- logues. Candide could not recover from his aston- ishment. "No," cried he, "I can never suffer such infamy! what cause and what, horrible effect! I had rather die." "So you shall," replied Ismael, en- raged. "How, thou Christian dog ! because I would Candida ; or, The Optimist. 2 1 5 politely give you pleasure — resolve directly to sat- isfy me, or to suffer the most cruel death." Gandide did not long hesitate. The cogent reason of the Persian made him tremble ; for he feared death like a philosopher. We accustom ourselves to everything in time. Candide, well fed, well taken care of, but closely watched, was not absolutely disgusted with his con- dition. Good cheer and the different diversions performed by Ismael's slaves gave some respite to his chagrin ; he was unhappy only when he thought ; and thus it is with the greatest part of mankind. At that time one of the most stanch supporters of the monkish crew in Persia, the most learned of the Mahometan doctors, who understood Arabic per- fectly, and even Greek, as spoken at that day in the country of Demosthenes and Sophocles, the Rever- end Ed-Ivan-Baal-Denk, returned from Constanti- nople, where he had conversed with the Reverend Mamoud-Abram on a very delicate point of doc- trine; namely, whether the prophet had plucked from the angel Gabriel^s wing .the pen which he used for the writing of the Koran; or if Gabriel had made him a present of it. They had disputed for three days and three nights with a warmth worthy of the noblest sages of controversy ; and the doctor returned home perguaded, like all the disciples of Ali, that Mahomet had plucked the quill ; while Ma- moud-Abram remained convinced, like the rest of Omar'."! followers, that the prophet was incapable of 2i6 Candide; or, The Optimist. committing any such rudeness, and that the angel had very politely made him a present of this quill for his pen. It is said that there was at Constantinople a cer- tain free-thinker who insinuated that it was neces- sary to examine first whether the Koran was really written with a pen taken from the wing of the angel Gabriel; but he was stoned. Candide's arrival had made a noise in Tauris; many who had heard him speak of contingent and non-contingent efifects imagined he was a philoso- pher. The Reverend Ed-Ivan-Baal-Denk was told of him; he had the curiosity to come and see him; and Raab, who could hardly refuse a person of such consequence, serft' for Candide to make his appear- ance. He seemed to be well pleased with the man- ner in which Candide spake of bad physics, bad morals, of agent and effect. "I understand that you are a philosopher, and that's all. But it is enough, Candide," said the venerable recluse. "It is not right that so great a man as you are should be treated with such indignity, as I am told, in the world. You are a strariger; Ismael Raab has no right over you. I propose to conduct you to court, there you shall meet with a favorable reception; the sophi loves the sciences. Ismael, you must put this young phi- losopher into my hands, or dre%d incurring the dis- pleasure of the prince and drawing upon yourself the vengeance of heaven; but especially of the monks." These last words frightened the otherwise Candide; or. The Optimist. 217 undaunted Persian, and he consented to everything ; Candide, blessing heaven and the monks, went the same day out of Tauris with the Mahometan doctor. They took the road to Ispahan, where they arrived loaded with the blessings and favors of the people. CHAPTER III. CANPIDE^S RECEPTION AT COURT AND WHAT FOL- LOWED. The Reverend Ed-Ivan-Baal-Denk made no delay in presenting Candide to the king. His maj- esty took a particular pleasure in hearing him; he made him dispute with several learned men of his court, who looked upon him as a ioQJ^ an ignoramus, and an idiot; which much contributed to per- suade his majesty that he was a great man. "Be- cause," said he to them, "you do not comprehend Candide's reasonings, you abuse him; but I, who also comprehend nothing at all of them, assure you that he is a great philosopher, and I swear to it by my whisker." Upon these words the literati were struck dumb. Candide had apartments assigned him in the pal- ace ; he had slaves to wait on him ; he was dressed in magnificent clothes, and the sophi commanded that whatever he should say, no one should dare to assert that he was wrong. His majesty did not* *If this would induce philosophers who lose their time in barking in Procopius's cottage, to take a short trip into Persia, this frivolous work would be of great service to messieurs the Parisians.— Ralph. 21 9 Candide ; or. The Optimist. stop here. The venerable monk was continually so- liciting him in favor of his guest, and his majesty at length resolved to rank him among the number of his most intimate favorites. "God be praised and our holy prophet," said the imam, addressing himself to Candide. "I am come to tell you .an agreeable piece of news ; that you are happy, my dear Candide; that you are going to raise the envy of the world ; you shall swim in opu- lence; you may aspire to the most splendid posts in the empire. But do not forget me, my friend; think that it is I who have procured you the favor you are just on the point of enjoying; let gayety reign over the horizon of your countenance. The king grants you a favor which has been sought by many, and you will soon exhibit a sight which the court has not enjoyed these two years past." "And what are these favors?" demanded Candide, "with which the prince intends to honor me ?" "This very day," answered the monk, quite overjoyed, "this very day you are to receive fifty strokes with a leathern lash on the soles of your feet, in the pres- ence of his majesty. The eunuchs named for per- fuming you for the occasion are to be here, directly ; prepare yourself to go cheerfully through this little trial and thereby render yourself worthy of the king of kings." "Let the king of kings," cried Candide in a rage, "keep his favors to himself, if I must re- ceive fifty blows with a lash in order to merit them." "It is thus," replied the doctor coldly, "that he deals t" Candide; or. The Optimist. 219 with those on whom he means to pour down his ben- efits. I love you too much to regard the little temper which you show on this occasion, and I will make you happy in spite of yourself." He had not done speaking when the eunuchs ar- rived, preceded by the executor of his majesty's pri- vate pleasures, who was one of the greatest and most robust lords of the court. Candide in vain remon- strated against their proceedings. They perfumed his legs and feet, according to custom. Four eunuchs carried him to the place appointed for the ceremony through the midst of a double file of sol- diers, while the trumpets sounded, the cannon fired, and the bells of all the mosques* of Ispahan jingled ; the sophi was already there, accompanied by his principal officers and most distinguished personages of his court. In an instant they stretched out Can- dide upon a Uttle form finely gilded, and the execu- tor of the private pleasures put himself in a posture for entering upon his office. "O! Mastfer Pangloss, Master Pangloss, were you but here!" said Can- dide, weeping and roaring out with all his force ; a circumstance which would have been thought very indecent if the monk had not given the people to un- derstand that his guest had put himself into such ♦There never was a bell in any mosciue since the begin- ning of the world. This little improprietjr puts us in mind of me puppet show in Don Quixote, in which the showman having introduced bells in the city of Saragps^a, while it was in possession of the Moors, the_ knight very gravely assures master Peter he must be mistaken; porgue entre Moras no se usan campanas (for bells are never used among the Moors). 220 Gandide ; or. The Optimist. violent agitations only the better to divert his maj- esty. This great king, it is true, laughed like a fool ; he even took such delight in the affair that after the' fifty blows had been given, he ordered fifty more to be added. But his first minister having represented to him, with a firmness not very common, that such an unheard of favor with regard to a stranger might alienate the hearts of his subjects, he revoked that order, and Candide was carried back to his apart- ments. They put him to bed, after having bathed his feet with vinegar. The grandees came round him in order to congratulate him on his good fortune. The sophi then came to assist him in person, and not only gave him his hand to kiss, according to the custom, but likewise honored him with a great blow of his fist on his mouth. Whence the politicians con- jectured that Candide would arrive at extraordinary preferment, and what is very uncommon, though politicians, they were not deceived. CHAPTER IV. FRESH FAVORS CONFERRED ON CANDIDE; HIS GREAT ADVANCEMENT. As SOON as our hero was cured, he was intro- duced to the king, to return him his thanks. The monarch received him very graciously. He gave him two or three hearty boxes on the ear during Candide; or. The Optimist. 221 their conversation, and conducted him back as far as the guard-room, with several sound kicks on the pos- terior; at which the courtiers were ready to burst for envy. Since his majesty had been in a drubbing humor, no person had ever received such signal marks of his majesty's favor in this way as did Can- dide. Three days after this interview, our philosopher, who was enraged at the favors he had received, and thought that everything went very bad, was nomi- nated governor of Chusistan, with an absolute power. He was decorated with a fur cap, which is a grand mark of distinction in Persia. He took his leave of the sophi and departed for Sus, the capital of his province. From the moment that Candide made his appearance at court the grandees had plotted his destruction. The excessive favors which the sophi had heaped on him served but to increase the storm ready to burst upon his head. He, how- ever, applauded himself on his good fortune; and especially his removal from court; he enjoyed in prospect the pleasures of supreme rank, and he said from the bottom of his heart : "How blest the subject from his lord removed !" He had not gone quite twenty miles from Ispa- han before five hundred horsemen, armed cap-a-pie, came up with him and his attendants and discharged a volley of firearms upon them. Candide imagined at first that this was intended to do him an honor; but the ball which broke his leg soon gave him to 222 Candide; or. The Optimist. know what was going on. His people laid down their arms, and Candide,^ more dead than alive, was carried to a castle remote from any other dwelling. His baggage, camels, slaves, white and black eu- nuchs, with thirty-six women w^ich the sophi had given him for his use, all became the prey of the conqueror. Our hero's leg was cut off for fear of mortification, and care was taken of his life, that a more cruel death might be inflicted on him. "O Pangloss! Pangloss! what would now be- come of your optimism if you saw me short of one leg in the hands of my crudest enemies ; just as I was entering upon the path of happiness, and was governor, or king, as one may say, of one of the most considerable provinces of the empire of ancient Media ; when I had camels, slaves, black and white eunuchs, and thirty-six women for my own use, and of which I had not made any?" Thus Candide spoke as soon as he was able to speak. But while he was thus bemoaning himself, every- thing was going for the best for him. The ministry, informed of the outrages committed against him, had detached a body of well-disciplined troops in pursuit of the mutineers, and the' monk Ed-Ivan- Baal-Denk took care to publish by means of others of his fraternity that Candide, being the work of the monks, was consequently the work of God. Such as had any knowledge of this atrocious attempt were so much the more ready to discover it, as the ministers of religion gave assurance on the part of Candide ;• or, The optimist. 223 Mahomet that every one who had eaten pork, drank wine, omitted bathing for any number of days to- gether, or had conversed with women at the time of their impurity, against the express prohibitions of the Koran, should be, ipso . facto, absolved, upon declaring what they knew concerning the conspir- acy. They soon discovered the place of Candide's confinement, which they broke open ; and as it was a religious affair the party worsted were extermi- nated to a man, agreeably to custom in that case. Candide, marching over a heap of dead bodies, made his escape, triumphed over the greatest peril he had hitherto encountered, and with his attendants re- sumed the road to his government. He was re- ceived there as a favorite who had been honored with fifty blows of a lash on the soles of his feet in the presence of the king of kings. CHAPTER V. HOW CANDIDE BECAME A VERY GREAT MAN, AND YET WAS NOT CONTENTED. The good of philosophy is its inspiring us with a love for our fellow-creatures. Paschal is almost the only philosopher who seems desirous to make us hate our neighbors. Luckily Candide had not read Paschal, and he loved the poor human race very cordially. This was soon perceived by the upright 224 Candide ; or, The Optimist. part of the people. They had always kept at a disr tance from the pretended legates of heaven, but made no scruple of visiting Candide and assisting him with their counsels. He made several wise reg- ulations for the encouragement of agriculture, pop- ulation, commerce, and the arts. He rewarded those who had made any useful experiments; and even encouraged such as had produced some essays on literature. "When the people in my province are in gen- eral content," said he with a charming candor, "possibly I shall be so myself." Candide was a stranger to mankind ; he saw himself torn to pieces in seditious libels and calumniated in a work en- titled "The Friend to Mankind." He found that while he was laboring to make people happy he had only made them ungrateful. "Ah," cried Candide, "how hard it is to govern these beings without feathers, which vegetate on the earth! Why am I not still in Propontis, in the company of Master Pangloss, Miss Cunegund, the daughter of Pope Urban X., with only one cushion, Brother Giroflee, and the most luscious Pacquette !" CHAPTER VI. THE PLEASURES OF CANDIDE. Candide, in the bitterness of his grief, wrote a very pathetic letter to the Reverend £d-Ivan-Baal- Candide; or, The Optimist. 225 Denk. He painted to him in such lively colors the present state of his soul, that Ed-Ivan, greatly af- fected with it, obtained permission of the sophi that Candide should resign his employments. His maj- esty, in recompense of his services, granted him a very considerable pension. Eased from the weight of grandeur, our philosopjier immediately sought after Panglbss' optimism, in the pleasures of a pri- vate life. He till then had lived for the benefit of others, and seemed to have forgotten that he had a seraglio. He now called it to remembrance with that emo- tion which the very name inspires. "Let everything be got ready," said he to his first eunuch, "for my visiting my women." "My lord," answered the shrill-piped slave, "it is now that your excellency deserves the title of wise. The men for whom you have done so much were not worthy of employing your thoughts, but the women — " "That may be," said Candide modestly. At the bottom of a garden, where art had assisted nature to unfold her beauties, stood a small house of simple and elegant structure, very different from those which are to be seen in the suburbs of the finest city in Europe. Candide could not approach it without blushing; the air round this charming retreat diffused a delicious perfume; the flowers, amorously intermingled, seemed here to be guided by the instinct of pleasure, and preserved, for a long time, their various beauties. Here the rose never Vol. I— 15 226 Candide; or, The Optimist. lost its lovely hue ; the view of a rock, from which the waters precipitated themselves with a murmur- ing and confused noise, invited the soul of that soft melancholy which is ever the forerunner of pleasure. Candide entered trembling into a chamber, where taste and magnificence were united ; his senses were drawn by a secret charm; he cast his eyes on young Telemachus, who breathed on the canvas in the midst of the nymphs of Calypso's court. He next turned them to Diana, half-naked, flying into the arms of the tender Endymion ; his agitation in- creased at the sight of a Venus, faithfully copied from that of Medici; his ears were struck with a divine harmony; a company of young Circassian females appeared, covered with their veils; they formed round him a sort of dance, agreeably de- signed, and more graceful than those trifling jigs that are performed on as trifling stages, after the representation of the death of Caesar and Pompey. At a signal given they threw off their veils and discovered faces full of expression, that lent new life to the diversion. These beauties studied the most seducing attitudes, without appearing to intend it; one expressed in her looks a passion without bounds ; another a soft languor which waits for pleasures without seeking them; this fair one stooped and raised herself precipitately to disclose to view those enchanting charms which the fair sex display in such full scope at Paris; another threw aside a part of her cymar to show a form, which alone is capable of Candide ; or. The Optimist. 227 inflaming a mortal of any delicacy. The dance ceased and they remained in profound silence. This pause recalled Candide to himself. The fire of love took possession of his breast; he darted the_ most ardent looks on all around him; im printed warm kisses on lips as wa rm, and eyes that swam in liquid fire ; he passed his hand over glohes- whiter than alab.SSter.^whose palpitatin g jnotion-r epell^cj^ little vermilion protuberances like those rosebuds which only wait the genial rays of the sun to unfo ld them; he kissed them with rapture. and-hislJips for some time remained glued the reon. .Our philosopher next admired for a while a ma- jestic figure of a fine and delicate shape. Burning with desires, he at length threw the handkerchief to a young person whose eyes he had observed to be always fixed upon him, and which seemed to say, "Teach me the meaning of a trouble I am ignorant of" ; and who, blushing at the secret avowal, became a thousand times more charming. The eunuch then oj> ened the door of a private chamber consecrated t o the mysteries of love, into which the lovers en- tered ; and the eunuch, addressing his master, said : "Here it is, my lord, you are going to be truly happy." "Oh!" answered Candide, "I am in great hopes of it." The ceiling and walls of this little retreat were covered with mirrors; in the midst was placed a divan of black satin, on which Candide threw the 228 Candida ; or, The Optimist. ydung Circassian and caressed her in silent ec- stasy. The fair one gave him no other interruption but to imprint kisses, full of fire, on his lips. "My lord," said she to him in the Turkish language, which she spoke perfectly, "how fortunate is your slave, to be thus honored with your transports !" An energy of sentiment can be expressed in every lan- guage by those who truly feel it. These few words enchanted our philosopher; he was no longer him- self ; all he saw, all he heard, was new to him. What difference between Miss Cunegund, grown ugly, and violated by Bulgarian freebooters, and a Circas- sian girl of eighteen, till then a stranger to man. This was the first time the wise Candide enjoyed her. The objects which he devoured were repeated in the ipirrors ; wherever he cast his eyes he saw upon the black satin the most beautiful and fairest body possible, and the contrast of colors lent it new lustre, with round,_firm, and plump thighs, an admirable Jall,of .loins, a— ^but I am obliged to have aTregardTo the false delicacy of our language. It is sufficient for me to say that our philosopher tasted, by fre- quent repetitions, of that portion of happiness he was capable of receiving, and that the young Circas- sian in a little while proved his sufficing reason. "O master, my dear master!" cried Candide, al- most beside himself, "everything here is as well as in El Dorado; a fine woman can alone complete the wishes of man. I am as happy as it is possible to be. Leibnitz is in the right, and you are a great Candide; or. The Optimist. 229 philosopher. For instance, I engage that you, my lovely girl, have always had a bias towards op- timism, because you have always been happy." "Alas! no," answered she. "I do not know what optimism is ; but I swear to you that your slave has not known happiness till to-day. If my lord is pleased to give me leave, I will convince him of it by a succinct recital of my adventures." "I am very willing," said Candide. "I am in a position to hear an historical detail." Upon which the fair slave began as follows: CHAPTER VII, THE HISTORY OF ZIRZA. "My FATHER was a Christian, and so likewise am I, as far as I have been told. He had a little hermi- tage near Cotatis, where, by his fervent devotion and practising austerities shocking to human nature, he acquired the veneration of the faithful. Crowds of women came to pay him their homage and took a particular satisfaction in bathing his posteriors, which he lashed every day with several smart strokes of discipline; doubtless it was to one of the most devout of these visitants that I owe my being. I was brought up in a cave in the neighborhood of my father's little cell. I was twelve years of age and had not yet left this kind of grave, when the earth shook with a dreadful noise; the arch of the vault fell in, and I was drawn out from under the 230 Candide; or. The Optimist. rubbish half dead when Hght struck my eyes for the first time. My father took me into his hermitage as a predestined child. The whole of this adventure appeared strange to the people ; my father declared it a miracle, and so did they. "I was called Zirza, which in Persian signifies 'child of providence.' Notice was soon taken of my poor charms; the women already came but seldom to the hermitage and the men much oftener. One of them told me that he loved me. 'Villain,' said my father to him, 'hast thou substance sufficient to love her? This is a great gift which God has intrusted to me ; He has made His appearance to me this night, under the shape of a venerable hermit, and He for- bade me to give up the possession thereof for less than a thousand sequins. Get thee gone, poor devil, lest thine impure breath should blast her charms.' 'I have,' answered he, 'only a heart to offer her. But say, barbarian, dost thou not blush to make sport of the Deity, for the gratification of thine avarice? With what front, vile wretch, darest thou pretend that God has spoken to thee ? This is throwing the greatest contempt upon the Author of beings, to rep- resent Him Conversing with such men as thou art.' 'O blasphemy!' cried my father in a rage, 'God Himself has commanded me to stone blasphemers.' As he spoke these words? he fell upon my lover, and with repeated blows laid him dead on the ground, and his blood flew in my face. Though I had not yet known what love was, this man had interested Candide ; or, The Optimist. 23 1 me, and his death shocked me, and rendered the sight of my father insuflFerahle to me. I took a reso- lution to leave him; he perceived it. 'Ungrateful,' said he to me, 'it is to me thou owest thy being. Thou are my daughter — and thou hatest me ; but I am going to deserve thy hatred, by the most rigor- ous treatment.' He kept his word but too well with me, cruel man ! During five years, which I spent in tears and groans, neither my youth nor my clouded beauty could in the least abate his wrath. Some- times he stuck a thousand pins into all the parts of my body ; at other times, with his discipline, he made the blood trickle down my body." "This," said Can- dide, " gave you less pain than the pins." "True, my lord," answered Zirza. "At last," continued she, "I fled from my father's habitation ; and not daring to trust myself to anybody, I flung myself into the thick- est part of the woods, where I was three days without food, and should have died were it not for a tiger which I had the happiness to please, and who was wil- ling to share with me the prey he caught. But I had many horrors to encounter from this formidable beast; and the brute had moods as changeable and dangerous as those which render men, in Certain conditions, the prey of brutal passions which degrade their humanity. "Bad food gave me the scurvy. Scarcely was I cured, when I followed a merchant of slaves, who was go- ing to Tiflis. The plague was there then, and I took it. These various misfortunes did not absolutely affect my features, nor hinder the sophi's purveyor 232 Candide ; or. The optimist. from buying me for your use. I have languished in tears these three months that I have been among the number of your women. My companions and I imagined ourselves to be the objects of your con- tempt ; and if you knew, my lord, how disagreeable eunuchs are, and how little adapted for comforting young girls who are despised — in short, I am not yet eighteen years of age ; and of these I have spent twelve in a frightful cavern; undergone an earth- quake ; been covered with the blood of the first good man I had hitherto seen; endured, for the space of four years, the most cruel tortures, and have had the scurvy, and the plague. Consumed with desires, amidst a crew of black and white monsters, still preserving that which I have saved from the fury of an awkward tiger ; and, cursing my fate, I have passed three months in this seraglio ; where I should have died of the jaundice, had not your excellency honored me at last with your embraces." "O heavens!" cried Candide, "is it possible that you have experienced such great misfortunes at so ten- der an age? What would Pangloss say could he hear you ? But your misfortunes are at an end, as well as mine. Everything does not go badly now ; is not this true?" Upon that Candide resumed his caresses, and was more than ever confirmed in the belief of Pangloss' system. Candide ; or. The Optimist. 233 CHAPTER VIII. CANDIDE'S disgusts — AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. Our philosopher, in the midst of his seraglio, dis- pensed his favors equally. He tasted the pleasures of variety, and always returned to the "child of providence" with fresh ardor. But this did not last long; he soon felt violent pains in his loins, and an excruciating colic. He dried up, as he gr e w ha ppy. Then Zirza's breast appeared nolonger so v^teTor so well pl aced ; her thighs not so har^norsp plurn£; her eyes lost all the ir vivacity in those of Candide ; her cotnplexion, its lustre; and her lips that pure verniilion whtch '1[iaT*^icfianle3"lirnl"1sr ffM sight." He_^w perceived~tnat she waited "tiadly, and had. an_ottensive smell: he savs^'wii^ the greatest dis- gust, a spot upon the "mount of Venus," which he ril !!■ HIMllllll will ^ - - - ■^~....— .■■-..-.. ■.-■w..t.'^ai*«r. had never observed before to be tainted with any blemish : the vehement ardor of Zirza became bur- densome to him: he could see, with great coolness, the faults of his other women, which had escaped him in his first transports of passion; he saw noth- ing in them but a bare- faced impudence; he was ashamed to have walked in the steps of the wisest of men ; and he found women more bitter than death. Candide, always cherishing Christian sentiments, spent his leisure time in walking over the streets of Sus; when one day a cavalier, in a superb dress, came up to him suddenly and called him by his name. "Is it possible !" cried Candide, "my lord, that you 234 Candide ; or. The Optimist. are — it is not possible ; otherwise you are so very like the abbe of Perigord." "I am the very man," answered the abbe. Upon this Candide started back, and, with his usual ingenuousness, said, "Are you happy, Mr. Abbe?" "A fine question," replied the abbe ; "the little deceit which I have put upon you has contributed not a little to gain me credit. The police had employed me for some time; but, having fallen out with them, I quitted the ecclesias- tical habit, which was no longer of any service to me. I went over into England, where persons of my profession are better paid. I said all I knew, and all I did not know, about the strength and weakness of the country I had lately left. I especially gave bold assurances that the French were the dregs of the world, and that good sense dwelt nowhere but in London. In short, I made a splendid fortune, and have just concluded a treaty at the court of Persia which will exterminate all the Europeans who come for cotton and silk into the sophi's dominions, to the detriment of the English." "The object of your mission is very commendable," said our philosopher ; "but, Mr. Abbe, you are a cheat ; I like not cheats, and I have some credit at court. Tremble now, your happiness has arrived at its utmost limits ; you are just upon the point of suffering the fate you de- serve." "My lord Candide," cried the abbe, throw- ing himself on his knees, "have pity on me. I feel myself drawn to evil by an irresistible force, as you find yourself necessitated to the practice of virtue. Candide ; or, The Optimist. 23 5 This fatal propensity I have perceived from the mo- ment I became acquainted with Mr. Wasp, and worked at the Feuilles." "What do you call Feuilles?" said Candide. "Feuilles," answered the abbe, "are sheets of seventy-two pages in print, in which the public are entertained in the strain of calumny, satire, and dulness. An honest man who can read and write, and who is not able to continue among the Jesuits, has set himself to compose this pretty little work, that he may have wherewithal to give his wife some lace, and bring up his children in the fear of God ; and there are certain honest people, who for a few pence, and some bottles of bad wine, assist the man in carrying on his scheme. This Mr. Wasp is, besides, a member of a curious club, who divert themselves by making poor, ignorant people drunk, and causing them to blaspheme ; or in bully- ing a poor simple devil, breaking his furniture, and afterwards challenging him. Such pretty little amuse- ments these gentry call 'mystifications,' and richly deserve the attention of the police. In fine, this very honest man, Mr. Wasp, who boasts he never was in the galleys, is troubled with a disposition which ren- ders him insensible to the clearest truths ; and from which position he can be drawn only by certain vio- lent means, which he sustains with a resignation and courage above conception. I have worked for some time under this celebrated genius; I have become ah eminent writer in my turn, and I had but just quitted Mr. Wasp, to do a little for myself, when I 236 Candide; or, The Optimist. had the honor of paying you a visit at Paris." "Though you are a very great cheat, Mr. Abbe, yet your sincerity in this point makes some impression on me. Go to court ; ask for the Rev. Ed-Ivan-Baal- Denk ; I shall write to him in your behalf, but upon express condition that you promise me to become an honest man ; and that you will not be the occasion of some thousands having their throats cut, for the sake of a little silk and cotton." The abbe prom- ised all that Candide requested, and they parted good friends. CHAPTER IX. CANDIDE^S DISGRACESj TRAVELS, AND ADVENTURES. No SOONER had the abbe got access to court than he employed all his skill in order to ingratiate him- self with the minister, and ruin his benefactor. He spread a report that Candide was a traitor, and that he had spoken disrespectfully of the hallowed whis- kers of the king of kings. All the courtiers con- demned him to be burned in a slow fire; but the sophi, more favorable, only sentenced him to per- petual banishment, after having previously kissed the sole of his accuser's foot, according to the usage among the Persians. The abbe went in person to put the sentence in execution : he found our philoso- pher in pretty good health, and disposed to become happy again. "My friend," said the English am- Candide; or. The Optimist. 237 bassador to him, "I com.'e with regret to let you know that you must quit this kingdom with all expe- dition, and kiss my feet, with a true repentance for your horrid crimes." "Kiss your feet, Mr. Abbe! certainly you are not in earnest, and I do not under- stand joking." Upon which some mutes, who had attended the abbe, entered and took off his shoes, letting poor Candide know, by signs, that he must submit to this piece of humiliation, or else expect to be empaled. Candide, by virtue of his free will, kissed the abbe's feet. They put on him a sorry linen robe, and the executioner drove him out of the town, crying all the time, "Behold a traitor! who has spoken irreverently of the sophi's whiskers! ir- reverently of the iniperial whiskers !" What did the officious monk, while his friend, whom he protected, was treated thus? I know nothing of that. It is probable that he was tired of protecting Candide. Who can depend on the favor of kings, and especially that of monks ? In the meantime our hero went sadly on. "I never spoke," said he to himself, "about the king of Persia's whiskers. I am cast in an instant from the pinnacle of happiness into the abyss of misery ; because a wretch, who has violated all laws, ac- cuses me of a pretended crime which I have never committed; and this wretch, this monster, this per- secuter of virtue — ^he is happy." Candide, after travelling for some days, found himself upon the frontiers of Turkey. He directed 23 8 Candide ; or. The Optimist. his course towards the Propontis, with a design to settle there again, and pass the rest of his days in the cultivation of his garden. He saw, as he entered a little village, a great multitude of people tumultu- ously assembled; he inquired into the cause of it. "This," said an old man to him, "is a singular affair. It is some time ago since the wealthy Ma- homet demanded in marriage the daughter of the janissary Zamoud ; he found her not to be a virgin ; and in pursuance of a principle quite natural and authorized by the laws, he sent her home to her father, after having branded her in the face. Za- moud, exasperated at the disgrace brought on his family, in the first transports of a fury that is very natural, with one stroke of his scimitar clove the disfigured visage of his daughter. His eldest son, who loved his sister passionately, which is very frequent in nature, flew upon his father and plunged a sharp poniard to his heart. Afterwards, like a lion who grows more enraged at seeing his own blood flow, the furious Zamoud ran to Ma- homet's house; and, after striking to the ground some slaves who opposed his passage, murdered Mahomet, his wives, and two children then in the cradle; all of which was very natural, considering the violent passion he then was in. At last, to crown all, he killed himself with the same poniard, reeking with the blood of his father and his enemies, which is also very natural." "What a scene of horrors!" cried Candide. "What would you have said. Master Candide; or. The Optimist. 239 Pangloss, had you found such barbarities in na- ture? Would not you acknowledge that nature is corrupted, that all is not — " "No," said the old man, "for the pre-established harmony — " "O heavens ! do ye not deceive me ? Is this Pangloss ?" cried Candide, "whom I again see?" "The very same," answered the old man. "I knew you, but I was willing to find out your sentiments before I would discover myself. Come, let us discourse a little on contingent effects, and see if you have made any progress in the art of wisdom." "Alas!" said Candide, "you choose your time ungenerously; rather let me know what has become of Miss Cune- gund; tell me where are Brother Giroflee, Pac- quette, and Pope Urban's daughter." "I know nothing of them," replied Pangloss ; "it is now two years since I left our habitation in order to find you out. I have travelled over almost all Turkey ; I was upon the point of setting out for the court of Per- sia, where I heard you made a great figure, and I only tarried in this little village, among these good people, till I should gather strength to continue my journey." "What is this I see?" answered Candide, quite surprised. "You want an arm, my dear doc- tor." "That is nothing," replied the one-handed and the one-eyed doctor; "nothing is more common in the best of worlds than to see persons who want one eye and one arm. This accident befell me in a journey from Mecca. Our caravan was attacked by a troop of Arabs; our guard attempted to make 240 Candide; or. The Optimist. resistance, and, according to the rules of war, the Arabs, who found themselves to be the strongest side, massacred us all without mercy. There per- ished about five hundred persons in this attaclc, among whom were about a dozen pregnant women. For my part I had only my skull split and an arm cut off ; I did not die, for all this, and I still found that everything went for the best. But as to your- self, my dear Candide, why is it that you have a wooden leg?" Upon this Candide began and gave an account of his adventures. Our philosophers turned together towards the Propontis and en- livened their journey by discoursing on physical and moral evil, free will and predestination, monads and pre-established harmony. CHAPTER X. CANDIDE AND PANGLOSS ARRIVE AT THE PROPONTIS- — WHAT THEY SAW THERE WHAT BECAME 01? THEM. O Candide!" said Pangloss, "why were yon tired of cultivating your garden? Why did we not still continue to eat citrons and pistachio nuts? Why were you weary of your happiness ? Because every- thing is necessary in the best of worlds, there was a necessity that you should undergo the bastinado in tlie presence of the king of Persia; have your leg cut ofif, in order to make Chusistan happy, to ex- Candide; or, The Optimist. 241 perience the ingratitude of men, and draw down upon the heads of some atrocious villains the pun- ishment which they had deserved." With such talk as this they arrived at their old habitation. The first objects that presented themselves were Martin and Pacquette in the habit of slaves. "Whence," said Candide to them, "is this metamorphosis?" after embracing them tenderly. "Alas!" answered they, sobbing, "you have no more a habitation ; an- other has undertaken the labor of cultivating your garden; he eats your preserved citrons, and pis- tachios, and we are treated like negroes." "Who," said Candide, "is this other?" "The high admiral," answered they, "a mortal the least humane of all mortals. The sultan, willing to recompense his serv- ices without putting himself to any expense, has confiscated all your goods under pretext that you had gone over to his enemies, and condemned us to slavery." "Be advised by me, Candide," added Martin, "and continue your journey. I always told you everything is for the worst ; the sum of evil ex- ceeds by much that of good. Begone, and I do not despair but you may become a Manichaean, if you are not so already." Pangloss would have begun an argument in form, but Candide interrupted him to ask about Miss Cunegund, the old woman. Brother Giroflee, and Cacambo. "Cacambo," answered Mar- tin, "is here ; he is at present employed in emptying slops. The old woman is dead from a kick given her by a eunuch in the breast. Brother Giroflee has Vol. I— 16 242 Candide ; or. The Optimist. entered among the janissaries. Miss Cuneguiicl has recovered her plumpness and former beauty ; she is in our master's seraglio." "What a chain of mis- fortunes," said Candide. "Was there a necessity for Miss Cunegund to become handsome only to make me a cuckold?" "It matters little," said Pangloss, "whether Miss Cunegund be beautiful or ugly, in your arms or those of another; that is nothing to the general system. For my part, I wish her a numerous progeny. Philosophers do not perplex themselves by whom women have children, pro- vided they have them. Population — " "Alas!" ex- claimed Martin, "philosophers might much better employ themselves in rendering a few individuals happy, than engaging them to multiply the number of sufferers." While they were thus arguing, a great noise was heard on a sudden; it was the admiral diverting himself by causing a dozen slaviss to be whipped. Pangloss and Candide, both frightened, with tears in their eyes, parted from their friends, and in all haste took the road to Constantinople. There they found all the people in a great stir. A fire had broken out in the suburb of Pera ; five or six hundred houses were already consumed, and two or three thousand persons perished in the flames. "What a horrible disaster," cried Candide! "All is well," said Pangloss, "these little accidents happen every year. It is entirely natural for the fire to catch houses built of wood, and for those who are in them to be burned. Besides, this procures some resources Candide; or, The Optimist. 243 to honest people, who languish in misery." "What is this I hear?" said an officer of the sublime porte. "How, wretch, darest thou say that all is well when half Constantinople is in flames. Dog, be cursed of our prophet, receive the punishment due to thy im- pudence !" And as he uttered these words he took Pangloss by the middle and flung him headlong into the flames. Candide, half dead with fright, crept on all fours as well as he could to a neighboring quarter, where all was more quiet ; and we shall see what became of him in the next chapter. CHAPTER XL CANDIDE CONTINUES HIS TRAVELS. "I HAVE nothing left," said our philosopher, "but to make myself either a slave or a Turk. Happiness has forsaken me forever. A turban would corrupt all my pleasures. I shall be incapable of tasting tranquillity of soul in a religion full of imposture, into which I enter merely from a motive of vile in- terest. No, I shall never be content if I cease to be an honest man; let me make myself then a slave." Candide had no sooner taken this resolution than he set about putting it into execution. He chose an Armenian merchant for his master, who was a man of a very good character, and passed for virtuous, as much as an Armenian can be. He gave Candide two hundred sequins as the price of his liberty. The 244 Candide ; or. The Optimist. Armenian was upon the point of departing for Nor- way ; he took Candide with him, in the hope that a philosopher would be of use to him in his traffic. They embarked, and the wind was so favorable for them that they were not above half the usual time in their passage. They even had no occasion for buy- ing a wind from the Lapland witches, and contented themselves with giving them some stock-fish, that they might not disturb their good fortune with their enchantments ; which sometimes happens, if we may believe Moreri's dictionary on this head. The Armenian no sooner landed than he provided a stock of whale-blubber and ordered our philoso- pher to go over all the country to buy him some dried salt fish; Candide acquitted himself of his commission in the best manner possible, returned with several reindeer loaded with this merchandise, and made profound reflections on the astonishing difference which is to be found between the Lap- landers and other men. A very diminutive female Laplander, whose head was a little bigger than her body, her eyes red and full of fire, a flat nose and very wide mouth, wished him a good day with an infinite grace. "My little lord," said this being (a foot and ten inches high) to him, "I think you very handsome ; do me the favor to love me a little." So saying, she flew to him and caught him round the' neck. Candide pushed her away yvith horror. She cried out, when her husband came in with several other Laplanders. "What is the meaning of all this Candide ; or, The Optimist. 245 uproar?" said they. "It is," answered the little thing, "that this stranger — Alas ! I am choked with grief; he despises me." "So, then," said the Lap- land husband, "thou impolite, dishonest, brutal, infamous, cowardly rascal, thou bringest disgrace upon my house ; thou dost me the most sensible in- jury; thou refusest to embrace my wife." "Lo! here's a strange custom," cried our hero; "what would you have said, then, if I had embraced her?" "I would have wished thee all sort of prosperity," said the Laplander to him in wrath ; "but thou only deservest my indignatiqn." At uttering this he dis- charged on Candide's back a volley of blows with a cudgel. The reindeer were seized by the relatives of the offended husband, and Candide, for fear of worse, was forced to betake himself to flight and re- nounce forever his good master ; for how dared he present himself before him without money, whale- blubber, or reindeer? CHAPTER XIL CANDIDE STILL CONTINUES HIS TRAVELS — NEW AD- VENTURES. Candide travelled a long time without knowing whither he was going. At length he resolved to go' to Denmark, where he had heard that everything went pretty well. He had a few pieces of money about him, which the Armenian had made him a 246 Candide ; or, The Optimist. present of ; and this sum, though inconsiderable, he hoped would carry him to the end of his journey. Hope rendered his misery supportable to him, and he still passed some happy moments. He found himself one day in an inn with three travellers, who talked to him with great warmth about a plenum and the materia subtilis. "This is well," said Can- dide to himself, "these are philosophers. Gentle- men," said he to them, "a plenum is incontestable; there is no vacuum in nature, and the materia sub- tilis is a well-imagined hypothesis." "You are then a Cartesian?" cried the three travellers. "Yes," an- swered Candide, "and a Leibnitzian, which is more." "So much the worse for you," replied the philoso- phers. "Descartes and Leibnitz had not common sense. We are Newtonians, and we glory in it; if we dispute, it is only the better to confirm ourselves in our opinions, and we all think the same. We search for truth in Newton's tract, because we are persuaded that Newton is a very great man." "And Descartes, too, and Leibnitz and Pangloss likewise," said Candide; "these great men are worth a thou- sand of yours." "You are a fool, friend," answered the philosophers ; "do you know the laws of refrac- tion, attraction, and motion? Have you read the truths which Dr. Clarke has published in answer to the vagaries of your Leibnitz ? Do you know what centrifugal and centripetal force is ? and that colors depend on their density? Have you any notion of the theory of light and gravitation? Do you know Candide; or. The Optimist. 247 the period of twenty-five thousand nine hundred and twenty years, which unluckily do not agree with chronology? No, undoubtedly, you have but false ideas of all these things ; peace then, thou contempt- ible monad, and beware how you insult giants by comparing them to pygmies." "Gentlemen," an- swered Candide, "were Pangloss here, he would tell you very fine things ; for he is a great philosopher ; he has a sovereign contempt for your Newton ; and, as I am his disciple, I likewise make no great ac- count of him." The philosophers, enraged beyond measure, fell upon poor Candide and drubbed him most philosophically. Their wrath subsiding, they asked our hero's par- don for their too great warmth. Upon this one of them began a very fine harangue on mildness and moderation. While they were talking they saw a grand funeral procession pass by ; our philosophers thence took oc- casion to descant on the foolish vanity of man. "Would it not be more reasonable," said one of them, "that the relatives and friends of the deceased should, without pomp and noise, carry the bier them- selves? would not this funeral act, by presenting to them the idea of death, produM an effect the most salutary, the most philosophical? This reflection, which would offer itself, namely, 'the body I carry is that of my friend, my relative; he is no more; and, like him, I must cease to be in this world;' would not this, I say, be a means of lessening the 248 Candide ; or. The Optimist. number of crimes in this vile world, and of bringing back to virtue beings who believe in the immortality of the soul ? Men are too much inclined to remove from them the thoughts of death, for fear of pre- senting too strong images of it. Whence is it that pebple keep at a distance from such a spectacle as a mother and a wife in tears ? The plaintive accents of nature, the. piercing cries of despair, would do much greater honor to the ashes of the dead, than all these individuals clad in black from head to foot, to- gether with useless female mourners, and that crowd of ministers who sing funeral orations which the de- ceased cannot hear." "This is extremely well spoken," said Candide; "and did you always speak thus well, without think- ing proper to beat people, you would be a great phi- losopher." ' Our travellers parted with expressions of mutual confidence and friendship. Candide still continued travelling towards Denmark. He plunged into the woods ; where, musing deeply on all the misfortunes which had happened to him in the best of worlds, he turned aside from the road and lost himself. The day began to draw towards the evening, when he perceived his mistake; he was seized with dismay, and raising his eyes to heaven, and leaning against the trunk of a tree, our hero spoke in the following terms: "I have gone over half the world; seen fraud and calumny triumphant ; have only sought to do service to mankind, and I have been persecuted. Candide; or. The Optimist. 249 A great king honors me with his favor and fifty blows. I arrive with a wooden leg in a very fine province ; there I taste pleasures after having drunk deep of mortifications. An abbe comes; I protect him; he insinuates himself at court through my means, and I am obliged to kiss his feet. I meet with my poor Pangloss only to see him burned. I find myself in company with philosophers, the mild- est and most sociable of all the species of animals that are spread over the face of the earth, and they give me an unmerciful drubbing. All must necessarily, be for the best, since Pangloss has said it ; but nev- ertheless I am the most wretched of all possible beings." Here Candide stopped short to listen to the cries of distress which seemed to come from a place near him. He stepped forward out of curi- osity, when he beheld a young woman who was tear- ing her hair as if in the greatest despair. "Who- ever you are," said she to him, "if you have a heart, follow me." He went with her, but they had riot gone many paces before Candide perceived a man and a woman stretched out on the grass. Their faces declared the nobleness of their souls and origin ; their features, though distorted by pain, had something so interesting that Candide could not for- bear informing himself with a lively eagerness about the cause which reduced them to so miserable a sit- uation. "It is my father and mother whom you see," explained the young woman; "yes, these are the authors of my wretched being," continued she. 250 Candide; or, The Optimist. throwing herself into their arms. "They fled to avoid the rigor of an unjust sentence; I accompanied them in their flight, happy to share in their mis- fortune, thinking that in the deserts where we were going to hide ourselves my feeble hands might pro- cure them a necessary subsistence. We have stopped here to take some rest ; I discovered that tree which you see, whose fruit has deceived me — ^alas! sir, I am a wretch to be detested by the world and myself. Arm your hand to avenge offended virtue, and to punish the parricide! Strike! This fruit I pre- sented to my father and mother ; they ate of it with pleasure; I rejoiced to have found the means of quenching the thirst with which they were tor- mented — unhappy wretch ! it was death I presented to them; this fruit is poison." This tale made Candide shudder; his hair stood on end and a cold sweat ran over all his body. He was eager, as much as his present condition could permit, to give some relief to this unfortunate family ; but the poison had already made too much progress ; and the most efficacious remedies would not have been able to stop its fatal effect. "Dear child, our only hope!" cried the two un- happy parents, "God pardon thee as we pardon thee ; it was the excess of thy tenderness which has robbed us of our lives. Generous stranger, vouchsafe to take care of her ; her heart is noble and formed to virtue ; she is a trust which we leave in your hands that is infinitely more precious to us than our past Candide; or, The Optimist. 251 fortune. Dear Zenoida, receive our last embraces; mingle thy tears with ours. Heavens ! how happy- are these moments to us ! TThou hast opened to us the dreary cave in ^yhich we languished for forty years past. Tender Zenoida, we bless thee; mayest thou never forget the lessons which our prudence hath dictated to thee; and may they preserve thee from the abyss which we see ready to swallow thee." They expired as they pronounced these words. Candide had great difficulty to bring Zenoida to herself. The moon enlightened the aflfecting scene ; the day appeared, and Zenoida, plunged in sorrow, had not as yet recovered the use of her senses. As soon as she opened her eyes she entreated Candide to dig a hole in the ground in order to inter the bodies ; she assisted in the work with an astonishing courage. This duty fulfilled, she gave free scope to her tears. Our philosopher drew her from this fatal place ; they travelled a long time without observing any certain route. At length they perceived a little cottage ; two persons in the decline of life dwelt in this desert, who were always ready to give every as- sistance in their power to their fellow-creatures in distress. These old people were such as Philemon and Baucis are described to us. For fifty years they had tasted the soft endearments of marriage, without ever experiencing its bitterness; an unimpaired health, the fruit of temperance and tranquillity of mind, mild and simple, manners ; a fund of inex- haustible candor in their character; all the virtues 252 Candide; or. The Optimist. which man owes to himself, formed the glorious and only fortune which heaven had granted them. They were held in veneration in the neighboring villages, the inhabitants of which, full of a happy rusticity, might have passed for honest people, had they been Catholics. They looked upon it as a duty not to suffer Agaton and Sunama (for so the old couple were called) to want for anything. Their charity extended to the newcomers. "Alas!" said Candide, "it is a great loss, my dear Pangloss, that you were burned ; you were master of sound reason ; but yet in all the parts of Europe and Asia which I have travelled over in your company, everything is not for the best. It is only in El Dorado, whither no one can go, and in a little cottage situated in the coldest, most barren, and frightful region in the World. What pleasure should I have to hear you harangue about the pre-established harmony and monads! I should be very willing to pass my days among these honest Lutherans; but I must renounce going to mass, and resolve to be torn to pieces in the Journal Chretien." Candide was very inquisitive to learn the adven- tures of Zenoida, but compassion withheld him from speaking to her about it ; she perceived the respect- ful constraint he put upon himself, and satisfied his impatience in the following terms : Candide ; or, The Optimist. 1^2 CHAPTER XIII. THE HISTORY OF ZENOIDA HOW CANDIDE FELL IN LOVE WITH HER. "I AM come of one of the most ancient families in Denmark; one of my ancestors perished at that horrid feast which the wicked Christiern prepared for the destruction of so many senators. The riches and dignities with which our family has been dis- tinguished have hitherto served only to make them more eminently unfortunate. My father had the presumption to displease a great man in power by boldly telling him the truth ; he was presently accused by suborned witnesses of a number of crimes which had no foundation. His judges were deceived. Alas ! where is that judge who can always discover those snares which envy and treachery lay for un- guarded innocence? My father was sentenced to be beheaded. He had no way left to avoid his fate but by flight ; accordingly he withdrew to the house of an old friend, whom he thought deserving of that truly noble appellation ; we remained some time con- cealed in a castle belonging to him on the seaside ; and we might have continued there to this day, had not the base wretch with whom we had taken refuge attempted to repay himself for the services rendered us in a manner that gave, us all reason to detest him. This infamous monster had conceived a most un- natural passion for my mother and myself at the same time ; he attempted our virtue by methods the ff 254 Candide; or, The Optimist. most unworthy of a man of honor; and we were obliged to expose ourselves to the most dreadful dangers to avoid the effects of his brutal passion. In a word, we took to flight a second time, and you know the rest." In finishing this short narrative, Zenoida burst into tears afresh. Candide wiped them from her eyes, and said to her, by way of consolation, "Mad- am, everything is for the best; if your father had not died by poisoh he would infallibly have been dis- covered, and then his head would have been cut off. The good lady, your mother, would in all probability have died of grief, and we should not have been in this poor hut, where ever)rthing is as comfortable as in the finest of possible' castles." "Alas ! sir," re- plied Zenoida, "my father never told me that every- thing was for the best ; but he has often said, 'We are all children of the same divine father, who loves us, but who has not exempted us from sorrows, the most grievous maladies, and an innumerable tribe of miseries that afflict the human race. Poison |grows by the side of the efficacious quinquina in (America. The happiest of all mortals has some time or other shed tears. What we call life is a com- pound of pleasure and pain ; it is the passing away of a certain stated portion of time that always ap- pears too long in the sight of the wise man, and which every one ought to employ in doing good to the community in which he is placed ; in the enjoy- ment of the works of Providence, without idly seek- .• Candide; or. The Optimist. 255 ing after hidden causes ; in squaring his conduct by the rules of conscience ; and, above all, in showing a due respect to religion. Happy is he who can follow this unerringly!' "These things my ever-respected father has fre- quently inculcated in me. 'Ill betide those wretched scribblers,' he would often say, 'who attempt to pry into the hidden ways of Providence. From the principle that God will be honored from thousands of atoms, mankind has blended the most absurd chimeras with respectable truths. The Turkish der- vish, the Persian brahmin, the Chinese bon^e, and the Indian talapoin, all worship the Deity in a differ- ent manner; but they enjoy a tranquillity of soul amidst the darkness in which they are plunged ; and he who would endeavor to enlighten them, does them but ill service. It is not loving mankind to tear the bandage of prejudice from their eyes.' " "Why, you talk like a philosopher," said Can- dide; "may I ask you, my pretty young lady, of what religion you are?" "I was brought up in the Lutheran profession," anewSreH Zenoida. "Every word you have §pOlcen," said Candide, "has been like a ray of light that has penetrated to my heart, and I find a sort of esteem and admiration for you, that — ^but how, in the name of wonder, came so bright an understanding to be lodged in so beautiful a form? Upon my word, Miss, I esteem and admire you, as I said before, so much that — " Candide stammered out a few words more, when Zenoida, -»i._ ^•.' T »* ** V T 256 Candide; or. The Optimist. perceiving his confusion, quitted him, and from that moment carefully avoided all occasions of being alone with him; and Candide, on his part, sought every opportunity of being alone with her, or else remained alone. He was buried in a melancholy that to him had charms; he was deeply enamored of Zenoida; but endeavored to conceal his passion from himself. His looks, however, too plainly evinced the feelings of his heart. "Alas !" would he often say to himself, "if Master Pangloss was here, he would give me good advice ; for he was a great philosopher." CHAPTER XIV. CONTINUATION OF THE LOVES OF CANDIDE. The only consolation that Candide felt was in conversing with Zenoida in the presence of their hosts. "How happens it," said he to her one day, "that the monarch to whom you have access has suf- fered such injustice to be42ns to your family? As- suredly you have sufficient reason to hate him?" "How!" said Zenoida, "who can hqte their king? who can do otherwise than love that person to whose hand is consigned the keen-edged sword of the laws ? Kings are the living images of Aihe Deity, and we ought never to arraign their conduct ; obe- dience and respect is the duty of a subject." "I ad- mire you more and more," said Candide; "indeed, Candide; or. The Optimist. 257 madam, I do; pray, do you know the great Leib- nitz, and the great Pangloss, who was burned, after having escaped a hanging? are you acquainted with the monads, the materia sUbtilis, and the vortices?" "No, sir," repHed Zenoida ; "I never heard my father mention any of these ; he only gave me a sHght tinc- ture of experimental philosophy, and taught me to hold in contempt all those kinds of philosophy that do not directly tend to make mankind happy ; that give him false notions of his duty to himself and his neighbor ; that do not teach him to regulate his con- duct, and fill his mind only with uncouth terms, or ill-founded conjectures; that do not give him a clearer idea of the author of nature than what he jnay acquire from his works, and the wonders that are every day passing before our sight." "Once again, Miss, you enchant me; you ravish me; you are an angel that heaven has sent to remove from, before my eyes the mist of Master Pangloss' sophistical arguments. Poor wretch that I was! After having been so heartily kicked, flogged, and bastinadoed; after having been in an earthquake; having seen Doctor Pangloss once hanged, and very lately burned ; after having been outraged by a vil- lainous Persian, who put me to the most excruciating torture ; after having been robbed by a decree of the divan, and soundly drubbed by the philosophers ; after all these things, I say, to think that everything was for the best! but now, thank heaven! I am disabused. But, truly speaking, nature never ap- Vol. I— ly 258 Candide; or. The Optimist. peared half so charming to me as since I have been blessed with the sight of you. The melody of the rural choristers charms my ears with a harmony to which they were till now utter strangers ; I breathe a new soul, and the glow of sentiment that enchants me seems imprinted on every object ; I do not feel that effeminate languor which I did in the gardens of Sus ; the sensation with which you inspire me is wholly different." "Let us stop here," said Zenoida ; "you seem to be running to lengths that may, per- haps, offend my delicacy, which you ought to re- spect.'* "I will be silent, then," said Candide; "but my passion will only burn with the more force." On saying these words, he looked steadfastly at Zeno- ida; he perceived that she blushed, and, as a man who was taught by experience, conceived the most flattering hopes from those appearances. The beautiful Dane continued a long time to shun the presence of Candide. One day, as he was walk- ing hastily to and fro in the garden, he cried out in an amorous ecstasy, "Ah! why have I not now my El Dorado sheep ! why have I not the power to pur- chase a small kingdom! ah! were I but a king!" "What should I be to you?" said a voice which pierced the heart of our philosopher. "Is it you, lovely Zenoida?" cried he, falling on his knees. "I thought myself alone. The few words I heard you just now utter seem to promise me the felicity to which my soul aspires. I shall, in all probability, never be a king, nor ever possessed of a fortune; Candide ; or. The Optimist. 259 but, if you love me — do not turn from me those lovely eyes,^ but suffer me to read in them a declara- tion which is alone capable of confirming my happi- ness. Beauteous Zenoida, I adore you; let your heart be open to compassion — what do I see! you weep ! Ah ! my happiness is too great." "Yes, you are happy," said Zenoida; "nothing can oblige me to disguise my tenderness for a person I think de- serving of it : hitherto you have been attached to my destiny only by the bands of humanity ; it is now titiie to strengthen those by ties most sacred ; I have consulted my heart, reflect maturely in your turn; but remember, that if you marry me, you become obliged to be my protector; to share with me those misfortunes that fate may yet have in store for me, and to soothe my sorrows." "Marry you !" said Can- dide ; "those words have shown me all the folly of my conduct. Alas! dear idol of my soul, I am not deserving of the goodness you show towards me. Cunegund is still living — " "Cunegund ! who is that?" "She is my wife," answered Candide, with his usual frankness. Our two lovers remained some moments without uttering a word; they attempted to speak, but the accents died away on their lips; their eyes were bathed in tears. Candide held the fair Zenoida's hands in his ; he pressed them to his breast, and de- voured them with kisses ; he had even the boldness to carry his to the bosom of his mistress ; he found her breath grew short ; his sou! flew to his lips, and a6o Candide; or, The Optimist. fixing his mouth with ardor to that of Zenoida, he brought the fair one back to those senses which she had nearly lost. Candide thought he read his par- don in her eyes. "Dearest lover," said she to him, "anger would but ill suit with the liberty which I myself have given. Yet hold, you will ruin me in the opinion of the world ; and you yourself would soon cease to have an affection for me, when once I was become the object of contempt. Forbear, therefore, and spare my weakness." "How!" cried Candide, "because the ill-judging vulgar say that a woman loses her honor by bestowing happiness on a being whom she loves, by following the tender bent of na- ture, that in the first happy ages of the world — " But I will forbear to relate the whole of the interest- ing conversation, and content myself with saying that the eloquence of Candide, heightened by the warmth of amorous expression, had all the effect that may be imagined on a young, sensible, female philosopher. The lovers, who till then had passed their days in tedious melancholy, now counted every hour by a fresh succession of amorous joys. Pleasure flowed through their veins in an uninterrupted current. The gloomy woods, the barren mountains, sur- rounded by horrid precipices, the icy plains and dreary fields, covered with snow on ill sides, were so many continual mementoes to them^ of the neces- sity of loving. They determined never to quit that Candide; or. The Optimist. 261 dreadful solitude, but fate was not yet weary of persecuting them, as we shall see in the ensuing chapter. CHAPTER XV. THE ARRIVAL OF WOLHALL — A JOURNEY TO COPEN- HAGEN. Candide and Zenoida amused themselves with discoursing on the works of the Deity, the worship which mankind ought to pay Him, the mutual duties they owe to each other, especially that of charity, the most useful of all virtues. They did not confine themselves to frivolous declamations., Candide taught the young men the respect due to the sacred restraints of the laws ; Zenoida instructed the young women in the duties they owed their parents; both joined their endeavors to sow the hopeful seeds of religion in their young hearts. One day, as they were busied in those pious offices, Sunama came to tell Zenoida that an old gentleman with several servants was just alighted at their house ; and that, by the description he had given her of a person of whom he was in search, she was certain it could be no other than Zenoida herself. This stranger had followed Sunama close at her heels, and entered, before she had done speaking, into the room where were Candide and Zenoida. At sight of him Zenoida instantly fainted away; 262 Candide; or, The Optimist. but Wolhall, not in the least affected with the con- dition he saw her in, took hold of her hand, and, pulling her to him, with violence, brought her to her senses ; which she had no sooner recovered than she burst into a flood of tears. "So, niece," said he, with a sarcastic smile, "I find you in very good company. I do not wonder you prefer this habitation to the capital, to my house, and the company of your fam- ily." "Yes, sir," replied Zenoida, "I do prefer this place, where dwell simplicity and truth, to the man- sions of treason and imposture. I can never behold but with horror that place where first began my mis- fortunes ; where I have had so many proofs of your black actions, and where I have no other relative but yourself." "Come, madam," said Wolhall, "follow me, if you please; for you must accompany me, even if you should faint again." Saying this, he dragged her to the door of the house, and made her get into a post-chaise, which was waiting for him. She had only time to tell Candide to follow, and to bestow her blessing on her hosts, with promises of rewarding them amply for their generous cares. A domestic of Wolhall was moved with pity at the grief in which he saw Candide plunged; he imagined that he felt no other concern for the fair Dane than what unfortunate virtue inspires : he pro- posed to him taking a journey to Copenhagen, and he facilitated the means for his doing it. He did more; he insinuated to him that he might be ad- mitted as one of Wolhall's domestics, if he had no Candide; or, The Optimist. 263 other resources than going to service. Candide liked his proposal; and had no sooner arrived than his future fellow-servant presented him as one of his relatives, for whom he would be answerable. "Ras- cal," said Wolhall to him, "I consent to grant you the honor of approaching a person of such rank as I am: never forget the profound respect which you owe to my commands; execute them if you have sufficient sagacity for it : think that a man like me degrades himself in speaking to a wretch such as you." Our philosopher answered with great hu- mility to this impertinent discourse ; and from that day he was clad in his master's livery. It is easy to imagine the joy and surprise that Zenoida felt when she recognized her lover among her uncle's servants. She threw several opportuni- ties in the way of Candide, who knew how to profit by them: they swore eternal constancy. Zenoida had some unhappy moments. She sometimes re- proached herself on account of her love for Candide ; she vexed him sometimes by a few caprices: but Candide idolized her ; he knew that perfection is not the portion of man, and still less so of woman. Zenoida resumed her good humor. The kind of con- straint under which they lay rendered their pleasures the more lively; they were still happy. 264 Candide ; or. The Optimist. CHAPTER XVI. HOW CANDIDE FOUND HIS WIFE AGAIN AND LOST HIS MISTRESS. Our hero had only to bear with the haughty humors of his master, and that was purchasing his mistress' favors at no dear rate. Happy love is not so easily concealed as many imagine. Our lovers betrayed themselves. Their connection was no longer a mystery, but to the short-sighted eyes of Wolhall; all the domestics knew it. Candide re- ceived congratulations on that head which made him tremble ; he expected the storm ready to burst upon his head, and did not doubt but a person who had been dear to him was upon the point of accelerating his misfortune. He had for some days perceived a face resembling Miss Cunegund; he again saw the same face in Wolhall's courtyard.: the object which struck him was poorly clothed, and there was no likelihood that a favorite of a great Mahometan should be found in the courtyard of a house at Copenhagen. This disagreeable object, however, looked at Candide very attentively: when, coming up to him, and seizing him by the hair, she gave him the smartest blow on the face with her open hand that he had received for some time. "I am not de- ceived !" cried our philosopher. "O, heavens ! who would have thought it? what do you do here, after having suflfered yourself to be violated by a follower of Mahomet? Go, perfidious spouse, I know you Candide; or. The Optimist. 265 not." "Thou shalt know me," replied Cunegund, "by my outrageous fury. I know the life thou lead- est, thy love for thy master's niece, and thy con- tempt for me. Alas ! it is now three months since I quitted the seraglio, because I was there good for nothing further. A merchant has bought me to mend his linen, he takes me along with him when he makes a voyage to this country ; Martin, Cacambo, and Pacquette, whom he has also bought, are with me; Doctor Pangloss, through the greatest chance in the world, was in the same vessel as a passenger ; we were shipwrecked some miles from here; I es- caped the danger with the faithful Cacambo, who, I swear to thee, has a skin as firm as thy own : I be- hold thee again, and find thee false. Tremble then, and fear everything from a provoked wife." Candide was quite stupefied at this affecting scene ; he had suffered Cunegund to depart, without thinking of the proper measures which are always to be taken with those who know our secrets, when Cacambo presented himself to his sight. They em- braced each Other with tenderness. Candide in- formed him of the conversation he had just had ; he was very much affected by the loss of the great Pangloss, who, after having been hanged and burned, was at last unhappily drowned. They spoke with that free effusion of heart which friendship in- spires. A little billet thrown in at the window by Zenoida put an end to the conversation. Candide opened it, and found in it these words : 266 Candide; or. The Optimist. "Fly, my dear lover, all is discovered. An innov cent propensity which nature authorizes, and which hurts no one, is a crime in the eyes of credulous and cruel men. Wolhall has just left my chamber, and has treated me with the utmost inhumanity: he is gone to obtain an order for thee to be clapped into a dungeon, there to perish. Fly, my ever dear lover ; preserve a life which thou canst not pass any longer near me. Those happy moments are no more, in which we gave proofs of our reciprocal tenderness. Ah! my beloved, how hast thou offended heaven, to merit so harsh a fate? But I wander from the purpose: remember always thy precious, dear Ze- noida, and thou, my dear lover, shalt live eternally within my heart — thou hast never thoroughly under- stood how much I loved thee — canst thou receive upon my inflamed lips my last adieu ! I find myself rekdy to join my ilnhappy father in the grave ; the light is hateful to me; it serves only to reveal crimes." Cacambo, always wise and prudent, drew Can- dide, who no longer was himself, along with him; they made the best of their way out of the city. Candide opened not his mouth, and they were al- ready a good way from Copenhagen, before he was roused from that lethargy in which he was buried. At last he looked at his faithful Cacambo, and spoke in these terms : Candide ; or. The Optimist. 267 CHAPTER XVII. \ HOW CANDIDE HAD A MIND TO KILL HIMSELF, AND DID NOT DO IT WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM AT AN INN. "Dear Cacambo, formerly my valet, now my equal, and always my friend, thou hast borne a share in my misfortunes ; thou hast given me salutary ad- vice ; and thou hast been witness to my love for Miss Cunegund — " "Alas! my old master," said Cacambo, "it is she who has served you this scurvy trick; it is she who, after having learned from your fellow-servants, that your love for Zenoida was as great as hers for you, revealed the whole to the barbarous Wolhall." "If this is so," said Can- dide, "I have nothing further to do but die." Our philosopher pulled out of his pocket a little knife, and began whetting it with a coolness worthy of an ancient Roman or an Englishman. "What do you mean to do ?" cried Cacambo. "To cut my throat," answered Candide. "A most noble thought!" re- pliejl Cacambo; "but the philosopher ought not to take any resolution but upon reflection : you will al- ways have it in your power to kill yourself, if your mind does not alter. Be advised by me, my dear master; defer your resolution till to-rtiorrow; the longer you delay it, the more courageous will the ac- tion be." "I perceive the strength of thy reasoning," said Candide; "besides, if I should cut my throat 2,68 Candide ; or. The Optimist. immediately, the Gazetteer of Trevoux would insult my memory: I am determined, therefore, that I will not kill myself till two or three days hence." As they talked thus they arrived at Elsinore, a pretty considerable town, not far from Copenhagen ; there they lay that night, and Cacambo hugged him- self for the good effect which sleep had produced upon Candide. They left the town at daybreak. Candide, still the philosopher, (for the prejudices of childhood are never effaced) entertained his friend Cacambo on the subject of physical good and evil, the discourses of the sage Zenoida, and the striking truths which he had learned from her conversation. "Had not Pangloss been dead," said he, "I should combat his system in a victorious manner. God keep me from becoming a Manichsean. My mistress taught me to respect the impenetrable veil with which the Deity envelopes His manner of operating upon us. It is perhaps man who precipitates him- self into the abyss of misfortunes under which he groans. From a frugivorous animal he has made himself a carnivorous one. The savages whom we have Seen, eat only Jesuits, and do not live upon bad terms among themselves. These savages, if there be one scattered here and there in the woods, only subsisting on acorns and herbs, are, without doubt, still more happy. Society has given birth to the greatest crimes. There are men in society, who are necessitated by their condition to wish the death of others. The shipwreck of a vessel, the burning of a Candide; or, The Optimist. 269 house, and the loss of a battle, cause sadness in one part of society, and give joy to another. All is very bad ! my dear Cacambo, and there is nothing left for a philosopher but to cut his own throat with all imaginable calmness." "You are in the right," an- swered Cacambo; "but I perceive an inn ; you must be very dry. Come, my old master! let us drink one draught, and we will after that continue our philosophical disquisitions." When they entered the inn they saw a company of country lads and lassies dancing in the midst of the yard, to the sound of some wretched instru- ments. Gayety and mirth sat in every countenance ; it was a scene worthy the pencil of Watteau. As soon as Candide appeared a young woman took him by the hand, and entreated him to dance . "My pretty maid," answered Candide, "when a person has lost his mistress, found his wife again, and heard that the great Pangloss is dead, he can have little or no in- clination to cut capers. Moreover, I am to kill my- self to-morrow morning; and you know that a man who has but a few hours to live, ought not to lose them in dancing^." Cacambo, hearing Candide talk thus, addressed him in these terms : "A thirst for glory has always been the characteristic of great philosophers. Cato of Utica killed himself after having taken a sound nap. Socrates drank the hem- lock potion, after discoursing familiarly with his friends. Many of the English have blown their brains out with a pistol, after coming from an en- 270 Candide; or. The Optimist. t«rtainment. But I never yet heard of a great man who cut his own throat after a dancing bout. It is for you, my dear master, that this honor is reserved. Take my advice, let us dance our fill, and we will kill ourselves to-morrow." "Have you not remarked," answered Candide, "this young country girl ? Is she not a very pretty brunette?" "She has something very taking in her countenance," said Cacambo. "She has squeezed my hand," replied the philoso- pher. "Did you notice," said Cacambo, "how that in the hurry of the dance, her handkerchief falling aside, disclosed two admirable little rosebuds? I took particular notice of them." "Look you," said Candide, "had I not my heart filled with Miss Ze- noida — ." The little brunette interrupted him, by begging him to take one dance with her. Our hero at length consented, and danced with the best grace in the world. The dance finished, he kissed his smart country girl, and retired to his seat, without calling out the queen of the ring. Upon this a mur- muring arose ; everyone, performers as well as spec- tators, appeared greatly incensed at so flagrant a piece of disrespect. Candide never dreamed he had been guilty of any fault, and consequently did not attempt to make any reparation. A rude clown came up to him, and gave him a blow with his fist upon the nose. Cacambo returned it to the peasant with a kick in the belly. In an instant the musical instruments were all broken, the girls lost their caps ; Candide and Cacambo fought like heroes, but at Candide; or, The Optimist. 271 length were obliged to take to their heels, after a very hearty drubbing. "Everything is embittered to me," said Candide, giving his arm to his friend Cacambo ; "I have ex- perienced a great many misfortunes, but I did not expect to be thus beaten to a mummy for dancing with a country girl at her own request." CHAPTER XVIII. CANDIDE AND CACAMBO GO INTO A HOSPITAL WHOM THEY MEET THERE. Cacambo and his old master were quite dis- pirited. They began to fall into that sort of malady of the mind which extinguishes all the faculties. They fell into a depression of spirits and despair, when they perceived a hospital which was built for strangers. Cacambo proposed going into it; Can- dide followed him. There they met with the most obliging reception, and charitable treatment. In a little time they were cured of their wounds, but they caught the itch. The cure of this malady did not appear to be the work of a day, the idea of which filled the eyes of our philosopher with tears ; and he said, scratching himself, "Thou wouldst not let me cut my throat, my dear Cacambo ; thy unwise coun- sels have brought me again into disgrace and mis- fortune; and yet, should I cut my throat now, it wJU be published in the jdumal of Trgvoux, and it 1272 Candide; or, The Optimist. will be said this man was a poltroon, who killed him- self only for having the itch. See what thou hast exposed me to, by the mistakep compassion thou hadst for my fate." "Our disasters are not without remedy," answered Cacambo. "If you will but please to listen to me. Let us settle here as friars ; I understand a little surgery, and I promise you to alleviate and render supportable our wretched con- dition." "Ah!" cried Candide, "may all asses per- ish, and especially asses of surgeons, who are so dangerous to mankind. I will never suffer that thou shouldst give out thyself to be what thou art not: this is a treachery, the consequences of which I dread. Besides, if thou didst but conceive how hard it is, after having been viceroy of a fine province, after having seen myself rich enough to purchase kingdoms, and after having been the favorite lover of Zenoida, to resolve to serve in quality of friar in a hospital." "I concede all that you say," replied Cacambo ; "but I also realize that it is very hard to die of hunger. Think, moreover, that the expedient which I propose to you is perhaps the only one which you can take to elude the inquiries of the bloody- minded Wolhall, and avoid the punishment which he is preparing for you." One of the friars was passing along as they talked in this manner. They put some questions to him, to which he gave satisfactory answers : he as- sured them that the brothers wanted for nothing, and enjoyed a reasonable liberty. Candide there- Candide; or, The Optimist. 273 upon determined to acquiesce in Cacambo's counsels. They took the habit together, which was granted them upon the first application; and our two poor adventurers now became underlings to those whose duty it was to perform the most servile offices. One day, as Candide was serving the patients with some wretched broth, an old man fixed his eye earnestly upon him. The visage of this poor wretch was livid, his lips were covered with froth, his eyes half turned in his head, and the image of death strongly imprinted on his lean and sunken cheeks. "Poor man," said Candide to him, "I pity you ; your sufiferings must be horrible." "They are very great indeed," answered the old man, with a hollow voice like a ghost ; "I am told that I am hectic, phthisicky, asthmatic, and poxed to the bone. If that be the case, I am indeed very ill; yet all does not go so badly, and this gives me comfort." "Ah !" exclaimed Candide, "none but Dr. Pangloss, in a case so de- plorable, can maintain the doctrine of optimism, when all others besides would preach up pessim — " "Do not pronounce that abominable word," cried the poor man ; "I am the Pangloss you speak of. Wretch that I am, let me die in peace. All is well, all is for the best." The effort which he made in pronouncing these words cost him the last tooth, which he spit out with a great quantity of corrupted matter, and expired a few moments after. Candide lamented him greatly, for he had a good heart. His obstinate perseverance was a source of Vol. I— 18 274 Candide ; or, The Optimist. reflection to our philosopher; he often called to mind all his adventures. Cunegund remained at Copenhagen; Candide learned that she exercised there the occupation of a mender of old clothes, with all possible distinction. The humor of travel- ling had quite left him. The faithful Cacambo sup- ported him with his counsels and friendship. Can- dide did not murmur against Providence. "I know," Said he, at times, "that happiness is not the portion of man ; happiness dwells only in the good country of El Dorado, where it is impossible for anyone to go- CHAPTER XIX. NEW discoveries: Candide was not so unhappy, as he had a true friend. He found in a mongrel valet what the world vainly looks for in our quarter of the globe. Perhaps nature, which gives origin to herbs in America that are proper for the maladies of bodies on our conti- nent, has also placed remedies there for the maladies of our hearts and minds. Possibly there are men in the new world of a quite different conformation from us, who are not slaves to personal interests, and are worthy to burn with the noble fire of friend- ship. How desirable would it be, that instead of bales of indigo and cochineal, all covered with blood, some of these men were imported among us ! This Candide; or, The Optimist. 275 sort of traffic would be of vast advantage to man- kind. Cacambo was of greater value to Candide than a dozen of red sheep loaded with the pebbles of El Dorado. Our philosopher began again to taste the pleasure of life. It was a comfort to him to watch for the conservation of the human species, and not to be a useless member of society. God blessed such pure intentions, by giving him, as well as Cacambo, the enjoyment of health. They had got rid of the itch, and fulfilled with cheerfulness the painful functions of their station; but fortune soon deprived them of the security which they enjoyed. Cunegund, who had set her heart upon tormenting her husband, left Copenhagen to follow his foot- steps. Chance brought her to the hospital ; she was accompanied by a man, whom Candide knew to be Baron Thunder-ten-tronckh. One may easily imag- ine what must have been his surprise. The baron, who saw him, addressed him thus: "I did not tug long at the oar in the Turldsh galleys ; the Jesuits heard of my misfortune, and redeemed me for the honor of their society. I have made a journey into Germany, where I received some favors from my father's heirs. I omitted nothing to find my sister ; and having learned at Constantinopk, that she had sailed from there in a vessel which was shipwrecked on the coasts of Denmark, I disguised myself, took letters of recommendation to Danish merchants, who have correspondence with the society, and, in fine, I found my sister, who still loves you, base and un- 276 Candide ; or, The Optimist. worthy as you are of her regard; and since you have had the impudence to lie with her, I consent to the ratification of the marriage, or rather a new cele- bration of it, with this express proviso, that my sister shall give you only her left hand; which is very reasonable, since she has seventy-one quarters, and you have never a one." "Alas!" said Candide, "all the quarters of the world without beauty — Miss Cunegund was very ugly when I had the im- prudence to marry her ; she afterwards became hand- some again, and another has enjoyed her charms. She is once more grown ugly, and you would have me give her my hand a second time. No, upon my word, my reverend father, send her back to her seraglio at Constantinople; she has done me too much injury in this country." "Ungrateful man," screamed Cunegund, with the most frightful con- tortions ; "be persuaded, and relent in time ; do not provoke the baron, who is a priest, to kill us both, to wipe out his disgrace with our blood. Dost thou believe me capable of having failed in intention to the fidelity which I owed thee ? What wouldst thou have had me do against a man who found me hand- some? Neither my tears nor my cries could have softened his brutal insensibility. Seeing there was nothing to be done, I disposed myself in such a man- ner as to be violated with the least brutality possible, and every other woman would have done the same. This is ,all the crime I have committed, and does not merit thy displeasure. But I know my greatest Candide; or. The Optimist. 277 crime with thee is having deprived thee of thy mis- tress ; and yet this action ought to convince thee of my love. Come, my dear spouse, if ever I should again become handsome; if ever my breasts, now lank and withered, should recover their roundness and elasticity ; if — ^it will be only for thee, my dear Candide. We are no longer in Turkey, and I swear faithfully to thee never to suffer any violation for the future." This discourse did not make much impression upon Candide; he desired a few hours to make his resolution how to proceed. The baron granted him two hours; dviring which time he consulted his friend Cacambo. After having weighed the reasons, pro and contra, they determined to follow the Jesuit and his sister into Germany. They accordingly left the hospital and set out together on their travels, not on foot, but on good horses hired by the baron. They arrived on the frontiers of the kingdom. A huge man, of a very villainous aspect, surveyed our hero with close attention. "It is the very man," said he, casting his eyes at the same time upon a little bit of paper he had in his hand. "Sir, if I am not too inquisitive, is not your name Candide?" "Yes, sir, so I have always been called." "Sir, I flatter myself you are the very same ; you have black eye-, brows, eyes level with your head, ears not promi- nent, of a middling size, and a round, flesh-colored visage ; to me you plainly appear to be five feet five inches high." "Yes, sir, that is my stature; but 278 Candide; or. The Optimist. what have you to do with my ears and stature?" "Sir, we cannot use too much circumspection in our office. Permit me further to put one single question more to you : Have you not formerly been a servant to Lord Wolhall?" "Sir, upon my word," answered Candide, quite disconcerted, "I know nothing of what you mean." "Maybe so, sir, but I know for certain that you are the person whose description has befen sent me. Take the trouble then to walk into the guard-house, if you please. Here, soldiers, take care of this gentleman; get the black hole ready, and let the armorer be sent for, to make him a pretty little set of fetters of about thirty or forty pounds weight. Mr. Candide, you have a good horse there ; I am in want of such a one, and I fancy he will answer my purpose. I shall make free with him." The baron was afraid to say the horse was his. They carried off poor Candide, and Miss Cunegund wept for a whole quarter of an hour. The Jesuit seemed perfectly unconcerned at this accident. "I should have been obliged to have killed him, or to have made him marry you over again," said he to his sister; "and all things considered, what has just happened is much the best for the honor of our family." Cunegund departed with her brother, and only the faithful Cacambo remained, who would not forsake his friend. Candide ; or. The Optimist. 279 CHAPTER XX. TONSEQUENCE OF CANDIDE's MISFORTUNE — HOW HE FOUND HIS MISTRESS AGAIN — ^THE FORTUNE THAT HAPPENED TO HIM. "O Pangloss/' said Candide, "what a pity it is you perished so miserably ! You have been witness only to a part of my misfortunes ; and I had hoped to prevail on you to forsake the ill-founded opinion which you maintained to your last breath. No man ever suffered greater calamities than I have done; but there i» not a single individual who has not cursed his existence, as the daughter of Pope Urban warmly expressed herself. What will become of me, my dear Cacambo?" "Faith, I cannot tell," said Cacambo ; "all I know is, that I will not forsake you." "But Miss Cunegund has forsaken me," said Candide. "Alas ! a wife is of far less value than a menial servant who is a true friend." Candide and Cacambo discoursed thus in the black hole. From there they were taken out to be carried back to Copenhagen. It was there that our philosopher was to know his doom: he expected it to be dreadful, and our readers, doubtless, expect so, too ; but Candide was mistaken, as our readers will be, likewise. It was at Copenhagen that happiness waited to crown all his sufferings: he was hardly arrived, when he understood that Wolhall was dead. This barbarian had no one to regret him, while everybody interested themselves in Candide. His 28o Candide; or. The Optimist. irons were knocked off, and his freedom gave him so much the more joy as it was immediately followed by the sight of his dear Zenoida. He flew to her with the utmost transport. They were a long time without speaking a word; but their silence was in- finitely more expressive than words. They wept, they embraced each other, they attempted to speak, but tears stopped their utterance. Cacambo was a pleased spectator of this scene, so truly interesting to a sensible being ; he shared in the happiness of his friend, and was almost as much affected as Candide himself. "Dear Cacambo ! adorable Zenoida !" cried Candide ; "you efface from my heart the deep traces of my misfortunes. Love and friendship prepare for me future days of serenity and uninterrupted de- light. Through what a number of trials have I passed to arrive at this unexpected happiness ! But they are all forgot, dear Zenoida; I behold you once more ! you love me ; everything is for the best in regard to me ; all is good in nature." By Wolhall's death, Zenoida was left at her own disposal. The court had given her a pension out of her father's fortune which had been confiscated ; she shared it with Candide and Cacambo ; she appointed them apartments in her own house, and gave out that she had received several considerable services from these two strangers, which obliged her to pro- cure them all the comforts and pleasures of life, and to repair the injustice which fortune had done them. There were some who saw through the motive of her Candide; or. The Optimist. 281 beneficence; which was no very hard matter to do, considering the great talk her connection with Can- dide had formerly occasioned. The greater part blamed her, and her conduct was only approved by some few who knew how to reflect. Zenoida, who set a proper value on the good opinion even of fools, was nevertheless too happy to repent the loss of it. The news of the death of Miss Cunegund, which was brought by the correspondents of the Jesuit merchants in Copenhagen, procured Zenoida the means of conciliating the minds of people. She ordered a genealogy to be drawn up for Candide. The author, who was a man of ability in his way, derived his pedigree from one of the most ancient families in Europe ; he even pretended his true name was Canute, which was that of one> of the former kings of Denmark; which appeared very probable, as "dide" into "ute" is not such a great metamor- phosis : and Candide by means of this litt^le change, became a very great lord. He married Zenoida in public; they lived with as much tranquillity as it is possible to do. Cacambo was their common friend ; and Candide said often, "All is not so well as in El Dorado ; but all does not go so badly." POETICAL DISSERTATIONS ON EQUALITY OF CONDITIONS. Friend, o'er whose mind fair virtue still presides, Whom reason still to nature's instinct guides. Who mak'st thy wishes with thy station meet. Blessed without wealth, in pleasures still discreet : Happy are those who thus their genius scan. Whom prudence teaches to elect life's plan: His heart ne'er grieves repentance' voice to hear. He lives concentred in his proper sphere. Men differ ; one's condition's like the rest, , Folly miscarries where good sense is blessed. Bliss is the port to which each mortal's bound, The wind's uncertain, rocks of life abound: Heaven to enable man the port to find A bark to every mortal has assigned. Various resources, equal dangers rise. What boots it when the storm roars through the skies That thy poop's painted ; that the changeful gales Blow through thy silken shrouds and purple sails : The pilot's art alone the storm allays, And not the ornaments our bark displays. What doctrine strange, you'll say, is here professed, Is no state then beyond another blessed? 282 On Equality of Conditions. 283 Has heaven given all of bliss an equal share ? A "scrivener's wife to a princess who'd compare ? Is it not for a priest a happier fate To clap a scarlet hat on his bald pate, Than to go after morn or evening prayer To expose to discipline his shoulders bare ? In triple bonnet sure more blessed the judge Than the clerk doomed in office still to drudge. God's justice, nature's laws, this rule oppose, Her gifts she with more equity bestows. Think you she'll ever be so partial found As to have bliss to fortune's chariot bound? A colonel oft will impudently try In pleasures even a marshal to outvie. Blessed as a king, the ignorant vulgar say, Yet monarchs dearly for their grandeur pay. Vain confidence a king puts in his throne, For grief and spleen to greatness' self are known. Heaven must to all the same attention pay. It formed all mankind of one common clay. Let's own that heaven is just as well as kind. It has a birthright to each child assigned ; Some crop must still be reaped from earth's worst spot. He's disinherited who mourns his lot. Let's without pride possess ; let's bear with grace, Since 'twas by God assigned our earthly place. God meant arranging mundane things To make us happy, not to make us kings. 284 On Equality of Conditions. Before Pandora, if we credit fame, We all were equal, we are still the same. Each having the same title to be blessed Puts each upon a level with the rest. Those slaves in yonder valley dost thou see, Who cut a craggy rock, or lop a tree ; Who turn the course of streams ; who, with a spade The entrails of the fertile earth invade. We do not find that model in those plains On which were formed Fontenelle's soft swains. There Timaret and Tircis are not found Beneath a myrtle shade with chaplets crowned, Graving upon the oaken bark their names, And ever talking of their amorous flames ; But some rough man endowed with stubborn heart. Who knows through mire to drive the laden cart : Soon as Aurora streaks the russet skies. From her coarse bed Perrette is forced to rise. They pant, with dust I see them covered o'er ; Each day they labor as the day before ; By toil to cold and heat alike inured, Both are by them with equal ease endured : And yet they sing in rude tone, without note, Old ballads which by Pellegrin were wrote. Strength, health, sound sleep, the mind's serene re- pose. To poverty and toil the laborer owes. At Paris gay Colin no joy can find. His ears are deafened, uninformed his mind? On Equality of Conditions. 285 No joy its splendor to the rustic yields ; He overlooks it, and regrets his fields. Love's voice excites him thither to repair, Whilst Damis running still from fair to fair In proud apartments lolls at careless ease. Intrigue his business, his desire to please. By his wife hated, duped by his kept dame. To every beauty tells his amorous flame ; Quits Ogle's arms for Cloris coy, who flies. And thinks all joy in noise and scandal lies. The vigorous, faithful Colin, on love's wing Flies to Lisetta with return of spring. Returning in three months, the rustic swain Makes presents simple, like himself, and plain : He does not bring those trinkets rich and rare Which Hebert sells to the deluded fair. Without these trifles he secures his joys, He wants them not, they are the happy's toys. The rapid eagle through the yielding skies After his paramour with ardor flies. The bull the heifer seeks with many a bound, His lowing love makes all the vale resound. Sweet Philomel, soon as the flowers appear, Delights with songs his loved companion's ear. Forth from the bushes darts the buzzing fly, Meets insects, and engenders in the sky ; To exist of all their wishes is the bound. They grieve not others are more perfect found. What need I care whilst in my present state That other beings have a happier fat% 286 On Equality of Conditions. But can that wretch who lies upon the dust Object at once of pity and disgust, That breathing skeleton with woes oppressed, Who lives to suffer, say, can he be blessed ? No ; but can Thamas by a slave deposed, A vizier in disgrace, a prince opposed. Be happy deemed ? When once they're cast in chains, A sad remembrance of their state remains. Each state its ills, its disappointments knows ; Man's state is varied, various are his woes; Less fierce in peace, more active in the fight, Charles had in English realms maintained his right. And had Dufresny with more care applied. Of want he had not like an author died. We all are equal, men must bear fatigue. Churches breed controversies, courts intrigue. Too oft true merit lurks behind a screen. Evil abounds, but bliss is often seen. Nor youth, nor age, nor poverty, nor wealth. Can e'er restore the wounded soul to health. Irus of old, of poverty ashamed, Loud against Croesus' opulence declaimed: "Honor and wealth by Croesus are possessed," Cried he, "and only I remain unblessed." While thus he spoke, while thus his rage prevailed. The Carian king an armed host assailed. Of all his courtly train not one remains. In fight he's taken, and he's cast in chains; His treasure's lost, his mistress from him torn : He weeps, but sees, when lost and quite forlorn, On Equality of Conditions. 287 Irus, poor Irus, who, the combat o'er, Drinks with the victors, thinks of war no more. "Oh ! Jove," exclaimed he, "Irus knows the worst ; Irus is happy, I alone am cursed." Mistaken both, they should dispute lay by; He errs, who sees a man with envious eye : External lustre fills us with surprise ; But man's a mystery to human eyes. All joy is transient, mirth must have an end; Whither do then the cares of mortals tend? In every clime grows happiness sincere, 'Tis nowhere to be found, or everywhere: Nowhere entire, but everywhere the same; In God alone exhaustless lasts the flame": It's like the pure, like the ethereal fires To mix with other elements aspires ; Mounts to the clouds, descends to rocks below. And in the sea's abyss makes diamonds glow ; When snowy mountains load the frozen plains Joy ever cheers the bosoms of the swains. In whate'er state thou'rt bom, O mortal, still Resigned, submit to thy Creator's will ! Vol. I — 19 ON LIBERTY. In transient life, which some few years comprise, If happiness must be true wisdom's prize. Who shall to me this sacred treasure send, Does it upon myself or heaven depend ? Is it like wit, like beauty, and high birth, A lot which prudence can't acquire on earth? Say, am I free, or do my limbs and soul Some other agent's secret springs control? Is will which ever hurries me away. Slave to the soul, or bears she sovereign sway? Plunged in this doubt, and hopeless of relief, I raised to heaven my eyes obscured with grief. A spirit then to whom the God is known, Who holds his place by the Almighty's throne. Who still attends him, bums with constant flame, From the high heavens celestial envoy came ; For oft propitiously those sons of light Illume the soul obscured by error's night. And fly the doctor's supercilious pride. Who does in his professor's chair confide ; Who quite elate, and of his system vain. Mistakes for truth the phantom of his brain. 388 On Liberty. 289 Listen, said he, in pity to your grief I'll now reveal what sure will bring relief. What you desire to learn I shall disclose, Instruction is his due to doubt who knows. Know then, oh ! man, that you are free as I, This is the noblest gift of the Most High ; In the free will of each intelligence That being's life consists, its true essence. That's free which can conceive, will, act, design ; A glorious attribute, almost divine. This great prerogative to God we owe, His offspring we. His images below : His word all powerful made heaven, earth, and seas. The body thus the will's command obeys. Sovereign on earth, a powerful king by thought. Nature by thee is to thy purpose brought; The zephyr you command, the roaring main ; You can your will and even desires restrain. Of liberty, if we the soul divest. What is it ? 'Tis a subtile flame at best. Were we deprived once of the power to choose. We should in fact our very being lose ; Machines we should be by the Almighty wrought. Curious automatons endowed with thought. We should delusion suffer every hour. Tools of the Deity's despotic power. Could man, not free, God's image be esteemed ? Could works like these be profitable deemed ? Can't he then please God, can't he give offence, Can God not punish us nor recompense? 290 On Liberty. Justice in heaven and earth must cease to dwell, Desfontaines is not bad, not good Pucelle.* Fate's impulse actuates each human breast, And the world's chaos is by vice possessed. The proud oppressor, miser hard of heart, Cartouche, Mirivis, skilled in fraudful art; The slanderer, more criminal than all. May God the causer of his baseness call. If I am perjured, 'tis by his command. He plunders, robs, and murders by my hand : 'Tis thus the God who first ordained all laws. Is made of horrors and black crimes the cause. Could those who such a dogma dire maintain. Speak of the devil himself in blacker strain : Surprise iseized on me, as on one at night Who wakes surprised to see a sudden light. Whilst yet a heavy and half-opened eye With difificulty can the light descry. I answered : Can it, heavenly spirit, be That mortal man's so weak whilst he is free, Why cannot reason's torch direct his way. He follows it, yet often goes astray? Why should this paragon so wise and brave. Be always thus to vice an abject slave ? This answer straight returned the spirit kind, What groundless grief has thus o'erwhelmed your mind? *The abb6 Pucelle, a celebrated counsellor of parlia- ment. The abb6 Desfontaines, a man who often incurred the censure of the law. He kept open shop, where he sold panegyric and satire to those who bid highest. On Liberty. 291 Liberty sometimes is impaired in you, But was eternal liberty your due ? Should it be equal in each time and state You'd be a God, to be a man's your fate. Shall a drop in the vast unbounded sea Exclaim : Immensity was made for me ? No ; all is weak in thee, to change inclined Thy beauty, strength, the talents of thy mind. All nature has its limits fixed below, Shall then man's power be boundless here below ? But when your heart which various passions sway To their strong impulse overpowered gives way ; When to their force you find your free-will bend, You had it sure, since you perceive it end. Whene'er you feel the burning fever's flame By slow degrees it undermines your frame ; But that attack no sure destruction brings. Though for a time it wears life's feeble springs. You oft return from death's half-opened gate More healthy, temperate, and more sedate. Your great prerogative more strictly scan, Liberty is the soul's health in a man. Sometimes its efficacy may subside Subdued by rage, ambition, love, or pride. The thirst for knowledge may its power control, Many are the diseases of the soul. But you against them may yourself defend, Open this book, consult that learned friend ; A friend's the gift of heaven, a blessing rare. To Sylva,* Vernage, Helvetius repair. •A famous physician of Paris. 292 On Liberty. May heaven, when men are into vice betrayed, Send such assistants powerful to their aid. Is there that idiot among humankind Who wishes not in danger, aid to find? Behold the mortal who free-will arraigns, And blindly a blind destiny maintains, See how he ponders, weighs, deliberates ; See how he loads with blame the man he hates ; How he seeks vengeance when with passion warm; How he corrects his son and would reform. From hence 'tis evident he thought him free. His system and his actions disagree. His heart belied his tongue at every word In striving to explain this dogma so absurd : He owns the sentiment he seems to brave; He acts as free, discourses as a slave- Since free, thank God who freedom did bestow, To him the bliss that makes you blessed you owe ; Avoid with caution all the vain contest Of those that tyrannize the human breast ; Firm in thy principles, and just in heart. Error compassionate, with truth take part. Do not to zeal's suggestions fierce give way. He is a brother who is led astray ; To be humane as well as prudent strive ; From others' bliss thy happiness derive. The angel's words resounding in my ear, My mind was raised above this mortal sphere ; I had inquired, at length presumptuous grown. Of things revealed to heavenly minds alone : On Liberty. 293 Of spirit pure, of matter, light, and space The elastic spring, eternity, time's race. Strange questions, which so frequently confound Mairant the subtle, Gravesende the profound,* And which Descartes in vain strove to explore, Whose vortices are now believed no more. But then the spirit vanished from my sight And sought the regions of eternal light. He was not sent me from the ethereal sky, To teach the secrets deep of the Most High : My eyes by too great light had been oppressed. He said enough, in saying, man be blessed. * Mr. Gravesende, professor at Leyden ; the first who taught Newton's discoveries. Mr. Dortous de Mairant, a gentleman of B^ziers, secretary to the Academy of Sciences at Paris. ON THE NATURE OF MAN. Virtue presides still over thy delights, To thee she by the charm of verse invites. Your study's man, that labyrinth you explore, Your guide the clue of wisdom's sacred lore. Ashamed of ignorance, to study man I strive, myself, my being I would scan ; To satire Pascal and Boileau inclined. Have dipped their pen in gall and lashed mankind, Leibnitz and Pope, at once both learned and sage, Observe a medium in their moral page ; Wisely the latent tracts of man explore. And to the Deity sublimely soar. But nature's ways they strove to find in vain, Man is a riddle man cannot explain; Upon the subject all their wit have shown. But still the riddle's sense remains unknown. By prostitutes, I know, and rakes professed. The disquisition's treated as a jest. At supper these loose verses read aloud. Which charm the sprightly, gay, unthinking crowd. But study pleases when our mirth is past, Reason succeeds to witty jests at last. 3Q4 On the Nature of Man. 295 Upon ourselves we turn a curious eye. And into our own nature strive to pry. Thought is to those who live in crowds unknown, We seriously reflect when left alone. With thee I fain would soar on wisdom's wing From this vile world to its Eternal King. That wondrous chain discover, if you can, Which links the heavens with earth, with angels man : That world of beings subject to one law. Which Plato and which Pope in fancy saw. In vain you press me, such a great design My genius must in silent awe decline: Gallic correctness all my flights restrains, Ours are not free like Greek or British strains. 'Tis Pope's to speak, I am to silence bound, Bachelors of Bourges may mysteries expound. I've taken no degree, nor will engage In fierce debate or war polemic wage. Hear a recital with instruction fraught. Which by Fourmont may be a fable thought ; But which I in a Chinese author found Translated by a Jesuit profound. A mouse did once thus to another say, "O'er what a noble empire bear we sway ! This palace's deep foundations erst were laid For us ; for us by God these holes were made. See you those hams in yon vault closely pent? By God they thither for our use were sent: Those hills of bacon, an unfailing store. Shall last for us till time shall be no more. 296 On the Nature of Man. A mouse, great God, the sages all declare Creation's end: A work beyond compare! Vicious are cats, to eat us much inclined. But 'tis from error to reclaim our kind." Not far a multitude of geese are seen, Drawn up near woods and streams upon the green ; Of pampered turkeys, troops that strut in state, And flocks that bend beneath their fleeces' weight, They cried : "The universe is ours alone, Whatever thp Almighty made, we own." In the clear watery image whilst he grazed. The ass his beauty saw, and was amazed. He cries : "For asses God has made the earth, Man still attends me, he's my slave from birth ; He curries, washes me, and, more, to please. Builds my seraglio, for my joys purveys ; And happy to procure me soft delight. Brings a she-ass to crown my bliss at night : Often I laugh when I behold him pass. With haughty airs, as if he were an ass." Man came the next, his plea was much the same, He cried : "Heaven, earth, and elements, I claim : To waft me ocean rolls and winds arise ; To give me light, stars glitter in the skies; Night's argent globe through heaven's clear azure glides, Increases, wanes, and o'er the stars. presides; O'er all presides my vast, capacious mind, In the wide universe too close confined : On the Nature of Man. 297 But though I'm oracle and master here, I should be raised to a more glorious sphere." The angels then, who in high heaven control The wandering orbs, and teach them how to roll. Exclaimed, whilst at their will they moved each ball : "God for our pleasure has created all." Then earth with pity and with scorn they eyed, And laughed at mortals and at human pride. Their secret thoughts were all to Fien* known. He summoned them before the eternal throne. Each varied being, angel, beast, and man. All that compose the Almighty's wondrous plan, "You are my creatures, I call you all mine, You bear," said He, "my character divine ; To me you all, as to your centre, tend ; For me you all were made, on me depend : I rule at once o'er Nature, Time, and Fate; By me each being is assigned its state. Imperfect creatures ! you aspire in vain, In your own stations satisfied remain." Man still was discontented with his place, Still at their lot repined the human race. A learned Chinese, grown old in fierce dispute. Who reason could by argument confute, With logic of Confucius quite possessed, In form to God presented his request: "Why is my time a second ? Why my space A point ? Why falls so soon the human race ? * God is called by this name in the Chinese language. 298 On the Nature of Mar> Why am I not a hundred cubits high : Why can't I travel swiftly through the sky? Why can't I teach the erring moon her way? Why am I not awake both night and day ? Why can't I prove, inflamed by amorous fire, In one month, of a hundred sons, the sire ? Why, in one day, was all my ardor past?" "Your questions," said the God, "will always last : Soon will your doubts and scruples all be o'er. For truth you must the ideal world explore." Even then an angel bore him from the place. Far as the centre of unbounded space ; O'er suns, which circling planets still surround, Moons, rings and comets, which no limits bound.: A globe he entered, where the hand divine Of nature's God had traced his great design ; The eye can there each real system scan. And of each system possible the plan; Now animating hopes the sage inspire, He seeks a world made "to his heart's desire: He sought in vain ; the angel made him know, That what he wished could ne'er exist below ; For could man, giant-like, with heaven engage. Or rather war against right reason wage. Had God extended in this earthly sphere His life up to his twenty-thousandth year. This mass of earth and water ne'er could find Room for the overgrown, gigantic kind. Reasons like these the cavillers confound. He owns, «ach being has its proper bound ; On the Nature of Man. 299 That 'tis a folly to aspire below, Since life and pleasure both their limits know ; That man should not of grief or toil complain, And less of death, which frees him from his chain : That he should not fatigue the heavenly throne, Since to the Almighty change was never known. Convinced, not satisfied, the sage his flight Bent to the earth, and owned that all is right ; But still he murmured, 'midst the earthly throng, A doctor never can be in the wrong. More flexible was Matthew Garo's mind, To praise for all things God his soul inclined. Perhaps God erst on men more wealth bestowed. Perhaps their plains with milk and honey flowed ; The night, perhaps, was lightsome as the day. And winter bloomed with all the flowers of May ; Whilst man, the king of earth, in peace retired, Wrapt up in self, himself alone admired. But let us rest contented with our fate, Our bliss is suited to our present state : Against our Maker murmurs must prove vain. Mortals should not the laws of God arraign : Let us to serve him all our lives employ. And gratefully the bliss he gives, enjoy. If to two days the Almighty had confined The time allotted to all humankind, We should to God those two short days consign, And consecrate the time to love divine. He who assiduous every call attends, Never complains that life too quickly. ends. 300 On the Nature of Man. A man in little time may sure live long, This I could prove by reasons very strong; But authors should not to instruct aspire, Who speaks too niuch is ever sure to tire. Thus did my muse, in simple, artless strain, And various tones, strive nature to explain ; Whilst Frenchmen wandered, and, with piercing eyes. At Quito hoped to see new stars arise ; Whilst Maupertuis and Clairaut Europe praised, And Lapland at their new meridian gazed ; While rival of the old Prometheus fame, Vacanson brings to man celestial flame, Boldly to copy nature's self aspires, And bodies animates with heavenly fires. Remote from cities, on Parnassus' shore I passed my days, intent on learned lore ; And from the sphere, where Milton, unconfined. At pleasure roved, where pierced great Newton's mind, I saw them soar, with emulation fired, Genius sublime and arts my soul admired; Slanderers in me beheld their foes professed, Fanatics wild, informers I detest; I know no envy, or perfidious art, I worship God with pure and upright heart ; And though my body's with diseases spent, My active mind on study is intent ; I live convinced that while we here remain, To hope for perfect happiness is vain. ON MODERATION IN ALL THINGS. Fools by excess make varied pleasures pall, The wise man's moderate, and enjoys them all ; Pleasure and business to combine he" knows. And makes joy terminate in due repose. To all things no one mortal can aspire, From early youth to know was your desire : Nature's your book, you strive with curious eye In nature more than others to descry. Guided by reason nature try to sound, But set to curiosity a bound. Stop on infinity's dread verge thy course. And pry not into nature's awful source, Reaumur and Buifpn who with piercing sight, Athwart her veil discerned truth's sacred light, Cannot by philosophic process state The wondrous laws by which plants vegetate. Was it e'er known to the profoundest sage Why panthers, tigers, and why vipers rage ? Wherefore to man the dog still lifts his eyes, And licks his feeder's hand before he dies? Why on a hundred legs, with motion slow, Does yonder insect ever trembling go? 301 302 On Moderation in all Things. Why does the reptile which entombed now lies. Revived, from thence with a new body rise ? Why does it, crowned like flame, ascending spring. And in the air expand its gorgeous wing ? Can even Dufay, whose head with plans is filled, Dufay in vegetables deeply skilled. Tell why the plant, which sensitive we name. Shrinks from the touch of man its trembling frame? Languid with sickness, on your bed reclined. From Sylva's eloquence relief you find,. He makes the tortured patient cease to groan, To him the happy art to please is known. Can Sylva's self the economy explain Which works digestion, and makes food sustain? How the bile through so many channels flows. How, by degrees, it's filtrated, and goes To pour into my veins a purple tide. By which both strength and spirits are supplied. Which makes the pulse of life incessant beat. And makes the brain intelligence's seat? Lost in amaze, he lifts to heaved his eye And bids you for the truth to God apply. Return, Maupertuis, to these realms of light, From realms where half the year day's hid in night ; You, who alone the praise of Newton share, Who know the truth, the truth to man declare. You who forego in search of knowledge ease, Who traverse mountains, and who pass the seas. Who could the mind and body's toil sustain. Who could our planet's figure ascertain ; On Mbderation in all Things* 303 Who scan all nature's laws with minds profound, The cause from whence attraction springs expound. To men like you all nature's laws are known, Tell me how, seated on His heavenly throne, The great first mover can with power control Those orbs which in the heavens incessant roll. Direct their motions, make them gravitate Towards each other with responsive weight? Why towards the sun is this our nether world Forever pulled, and round its axis hurled, Why in twelve years does Jove the heavens go round, Why°of his day is ten hours' space the bound? These subtle disquisitions all are vain. Mars measures heaven, but nature can't explain. Thus by sure art, and by perspective's law. You may the front of some proud palace draw, Its architecture's to the eye revealed. The i-nside of thfe structure is concealed.. Why should I grieve then, if my feeble sight Cannot pierce through this veil of darkest night ? I would not, like Empedocles, aspire To know the nature of famed ^Etna's fire. Who to walk o'er sulphurous vaults presumed. Who fire would know, and was by fire consumed. Let then ambition's sallies be repressed, It is the ruling passion of the breast. The farmer-general rude, the magistrate Who struts with the imperious airs of state, All these to court, contempt to suiifer go. Contempt which they to all at Paris show. Vol. 1 — 20 304 On Moderation in all Things. Even bards sometimes urged on by Phoebus' flame. Have been deluded by that phantom fame, Plato was Dionysius' humble guest, Louis Racine turned Jansenist caressed. Horace, in loose and prostituted lays. Sang Glycera and sold Octavius praise. At court these pawned integrity for gain, But opulence and ease made light their chain; Horace, the sage, with affluence lived blessed, Who grasps at all, is sure to be distressed. You who have introduced in Gallia's court All Sybaris' luxury and wanton sport, Who even on the down of ease reclined. To luxury dedicate the vacant mind, You frantic men, who vainly bliss pursue. Learn to enjoy it, and to know it too ; Pleasure's the God from whom we claim our birth> Starved 'midst the weeds and brambles of the earth. Pleasures are various in each varied stage Of life, and some we taste when chilled by age. But prudently the soul should feast on joy, Pleasures are always transient soon they cloy. Present not to your senses when they fail, All the perfumes which Flora can exhale ; Let us not strive of all joys to partake. But let us pleasure quit, for pleasure's sake ; Who labors hard true pleasure still obtains, I pity him whom indolence enchains. True wisdom yields true happiness below, On earth no harvests without culture grow : On Moderation in all Things. 305 Good by laborious search must here be sought. Success by industry alone is bought. Behold Lucullus critic in nice fare, To supper from the opera repair. Pleasure in luxury he hopes to find. But vapors still o'ercast his clouded mind. His soul o'erwhelmed, no rays of light pervade. He sleeps supine in dark oblivion's shade ; He grasps at joy, to rapture he aspires In vain ; he's dead to pleasure and desires. Caressed by ease, officious and o'erkind Pleasure long since on sloth's soft lap reclined : Love, music, poetry, no more could please, Man was enslaved by indolence and ease. But God in pity to man's helpless kind Labor with pleasure, joy with pain's combined. Awaked by fear, man strives his bliss to gain; Toil ever follows in fair pleasure's train. \'OLTAiRE "ES THEM TOOK A RAZOF? AIMO WEIMT TO HER HUSBANO'S TOMB ' !i i — Fast U VOLTAIRE ROMANCES Vol. 1 — Part 11 'T'HESE ROMANCES, mostly short stories, art ■*■ regarded by many of the foremost experts in literature as among the finest and strongest produc- tions of Voltaire's unique literary genius. Each was written with a definite purpose; it holds the mirroi up to a delusion of the day, and perhaps to some of our day. This it does ruthlessly enough, yet with so gracious a humor that the shock carries with it a sensation of exquisite pleasure and tonic after-effect. They have all the best characteristics of the Oriental tales then in vogue, and as examples of pure style in its most delicate modes of expression they are rightly pronounced incomparable. CONTENTS I. Zadig : The Mystery of Fate . . $ The blind of one eye ; the nose ; the dog and the horse; the envious man; the generous; the minister; the disputes and the audiehces ; jealousy; the woman beater; slavery; the funeral pile; the supper; the rendezvous; the dance; blue eyes; the robber; the fisherman; the basilisk ; the combats ; the hermit ; the enigmas. II. The Story of Johnny; or, The AthSist AND THE Sage ii8 Adventures of Johnny and his worthy father; the controversy of the " buts " ; Johnny returns to London ; they want to get Johnny married; a terrible adventure; what happened in America ; dialogue on atheism ; Johnny's marriage. III. The White Bull 194 The Princess Amasidia meets a bull; Pha- raoh's magician; the Princess and the ser- pent ; they wanted to sacrifice the bull and exorcise the Princess ; the serpent comforts the Princess with stories ; it fails to do so ; they want to behead the Princess, but do not ; apotheosis of the white bull. IV. The Man of Forty Crowns . 244 National poverty ; disaster of the man of forty crowns ; conversation with a geometri- cian ; adventure with a Carmelite ; the man of forty crowns marries ; on taxes paid to a foreign power; on proportions; a great quar- rel; a rascal repulsed ; a good supper at Mr. Andrew's. LIST OF PLATES Part II PAGE The Widow Azora Drops the Razor Frontispiece Almona Suing for Zadig's Pardon 62 Mr. Freind Advises Johnny . . 144 ZADIG: THE MYSTERY OF FATE. CHAPTER I. THE BLIND OF ONE EYE. There lived at Babylon, in the reign of King Moabdar, a young man, named Zadig, of a good natural disposition, strengthened and improved by education. Though rich and young, he had learned to moderate his passions. He had nothing stiS or affected in his behavior. He did not pretend to examine every action by the strict rules of reason, but was always ready to make proper allowances for the weakness of mankind. It was a matter of surprise that, notwithstanding his sprightly wit, he never exposed by his raillery those vague, inco- herent, and noisy discourses ; those rash censures, ignorant decisions, coarse jests, and all that empty jingle of words which at Babylon went by the name of conversation. He had learned, in the first book of Zoroaster, that self-love is a foot-ball swelled with wind, from which, when pierced, the most terrible tempests issue forth. Above all, Zadig never boasted of his conquests among the women, nor affectej. to en tertain _a_c ontemptib le opinion of^thejaii^^ex, He was generous, and was 5 6 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. never afraid of obliging the ungrateful; remem- bering the grand precept of Zoroaster, "When thou eatest, give to the dogs, should they even bite thee." He was as wise as it is possible for a man to be; for he sought to live with the wise. Instructed in the sciences of the ancient Chaldaeans, he understood the principles of natural philos- ophy, such as they were then supposed to be; and knew as much of metaphysics as has ever been known in any age, that is, little or nothing at all. He was firmly persuaded, notwithstanding the new philosophy of the times, that the year consisted of three hundred and sixty-five days and six hours, and tliat the sun was the centre of the solar sys- tem. When the principal magi told him, with a haughty and contemptuous air, that his sentiments were of a dangerous tendency, and that it was to Vbe an enemy to the state to believe that the sun revolved around its own axis, and that the year had twelve months, he held his tongue with great mod^- esty and meekness. Possessed as he was of great riches, and conse- quently of many friends, blessed with a good con- stitution, a handsome figure, a mind just and mod- erate, and a heart noble and sincere, he fondly imagined that he might easily be happy. He was going to be married to Semira, who, in point of beauty, birth and fortune, was the first match in Babylon. He had a real and virtuous affection for this lady, and she loved him with the most passion- Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 7 ate fondness. The happy moment had almost ar- rived that was to unite them forever in the bands of wedlock, when, happening to take a walk to- gether toward one of the gates of Babylon, under the palm-trees that adorn the banks of the Eu- phrates, they saw some men approaching, armed with sabres and arrows. These were the attendants of young Orcan, the minister's nephew, whom his uncle's creatures had flattered into an opinion that he might do everything with impunity. He had none of the graces nor virtues of Zadig; but think- ing himself a miich more accomplished man, he was enraged to find that the other was preferred before him. This jealousy, which was merely the effect of his vanity, made him imagine that he was desperately in love with Semira; and accordingly he resolved to carry her off. The ravishers seized her; in the violence of the outrage they wounded her, and made the blood flow from a person, the sight of whom would have softened the tigers of Mount Imaus. She pierced the heavens with her complaints. She cried out: "My dear husband! they tear me from the man I adore!" Regardless of her own danger, she was only concerned for the fate of her dear Zadig, who, in the meantime, defended himself with *all the strength that courage and love could inspire. As- sisted only by two faithful slaves, he put the cow- ardly ravishers to flight, and carried home Semira, insensible and bloody as she was. 8 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. "O, Zadig," said she, on opening her eyes, and beholding her deUverer, "I loved thee formerly as my intended husband. I now love thee as the pre- server of my honor and my life!" Never was heart more deeply affected than that of Semira. Never did a more charming mouth express more moving sentiments, in those glowing words inspired by a sense of the greatest of all favors, and by the most tender transports of a lawful passion. Her wound was slight, and was soon cured. Zadig was more dangerously wound- ed. An arrow had pierced him near his eye, and penetrated to a considerable depth. Semira wearied heaven with her prayers for the recovery of her lover. Her eyes were constantly bathed in tears; she anxiously waited the happy moment when those of Zadig should be able to meet hers; but an abscess, growing on the wounded eye, gave everything to fear. A messenger was immediately despatched to Memphis, for the great physician, Hermes, who came with a numerous retinue. He visited the patient, and declared that he would lose his eye. He even foretold the day and hour when this fatal event would happen. "Had it been the right eye," said he, "I could easily have cured it; but the wounds of the left eye are incurable." All Babylon lamented the fate of Zadig, and admired the profound knowledge of Hermes. In two days the abscess broke of its own accord, and / Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 9 Zadig was perfectly cured. Hermes wrote a book, to prove that it ought not to have been cured. Zadig did not read it; but, as soon as he was able to go abroad, he went to pay a visit to her in whom all his hopes of happiness were centred, ahd for whose sake alone he wished to have eyes. Semira had been in the country for three days past. He learned on the road that that fine lady, having openly declared that she had an unconquerable aversion to one-eyed men, had the night before given her hand to Orcan. At this news he fell speechless to the ground. His sorrows brought him almost to the brink of the grave. He was long indisposed; but reason at last got the bettei- of his affliction, and the severity of his fate served even to console him. "Since," said he, "I have suffered so much from the cruel caprice of a woman -educated at court, I must now think of marrying the daughter of a citizen." He pitched upon Azora, a lady of the greatest prudence, and of the best family in town. He mar- ried her, and lived with her for three months in all the delights of the most tender union. He only observed that she had a little levity; and was too apt to find that those young men who had the most handsome persons were likewise possessed of the most wit and virtue. lo 2adig: The Mystery of Fate. CHAPTER II. THE NOSE. One morning Azora returned from a walk in a terrible passion, and uttering the most violent exclamations. "What aileth thee," said he, "my dear spouse? What is it that can thus have disturbed thee?" "Alas!" said she, "thou wouldst have been as much enraged as I am, hadst thou seen what I have just beheld. I have been to comfort the young widow Cosrou, who, within these two' days, hath raised a tomb to her young husband, near the riv- ulet that washes the skirts of this meadow. She vowed to heaven, in the bitterness of her grief, to remain at this tomb whilst the water of the rivulet should continue to run near it." "Well," said Zadig, "she is an excellent woman, and loved her husband with the most sincere affec- tion." "Ah!" repHed Azora, "didst thou but know in what she was employed when I went to wait upon her!" "In what, pray tell me, beautiful Azora? Was she turning the course of the rivulet?" Azora broke out into such long invectives, and loaded the young widow with such bitter re- proaches, that Zadig was far from being pleased with this ostentation of virtue. Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 1 1 Zadig had a friend named Cador; one of those young men in whom his wife discovered more probity and merit than in others. He made him his confidant, and secured his fidelity as much as ,X possible by a considerable present. Azora, having passed two days with a friend in the country, returned home on the third. The servants told her, with tears in tkeir eyes, that, her husband died suddenly the night before; that they were afraid to send her an account of this mournful event; and that they had just been depositing his corpse in the tomb of his ancestors, at the end of the gar- den. She wept, she tore her hair, and swore she would follow him to the grave. In the evening, Cador begged leave to wait upon her, and joined his tears with hers. Next day they wept less, and dined together. Cador told her that his friend had left him the greater part of his estate; and that he should think himself extremely happy in shar- ing his fortune with her. The lady wept, fell into a passion, and at last became more mild and gentle. They sat longer at supper than at dinner. They now talked with greater confidence. Azora praised the deceased; but owned that he had many failings from which Cador was free. During supper Cador complained of a violent pain in his side. The lady, greatly concerned, and eager to serve him, caused all kinds of essences to be brought, with which she anointed him, to try if some of them might not possibly ease him of his la Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. pain. She lamented that the great Hermes was not still in Babylon. She even condescended to touch the side in which Cador felt such exquisite pain. "Art thou subject to this cruel disorder?" said she to him, with a compassionate air. "It sometimes brings me," replied Cador, "to the brink of the grave; and there is but one rem- edy that can give me relief — and that is, to apply to my side the nose of a man who is lately dead." "A strange remedy, indeed!" said Azora. "Not more strange," replied he "than the satch- els of Arnou, against the apoplexy." This reason, added to the great merit of the young man, at last determined the lady. "After all," says she, "when my husband shall cross the bridge Tchinavar in his journey to the other world, the angel Asrael will not refuse him a passage because his nose is a little shorter jn the second life than it was in the first." She then took a razor, went to her husband's tomb, bedewed it with her tears, and drew near to cut off the nose of Zadig, whom she found ex- tended at full length in the tomb. Zadig arose, holding his nose with one hand, and putting back the razor with the other. "Madam," said he, "don't exclaim so violently against the widow Cosrou. The project of cutting off my nose is equal to that of turning the course of a rivulet." / Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 13 CHAPTER IIL THE DOG AND THE HORSE. Zadig found by experience that the first month of marriage, as it is written in the book of Zend, is the moon of honeys and that the second is the moon of wormwood. He was some time after obliged to repudiate Azora, who became too diffi- cult to be pleased; and he then sought for happi- ness in the study of nature. "No man," said he, "can be happier than a phi- losopher, who reads in this great book which God hath placed before our eyes. The truths he dis- covers are his own ; he nourishes and exalts his soul ; he lives in peace; he fears nothing from men ; and his tender spouse will not come to cut off his nose,"» Possessed of these ideas, he retired to a coun- try house on the banks of the Euphrates. There he did not employ himself in calculating how many inches of water flow in a second of time under the arches of a bridge, or whether there fell a cube-line of rain in the month of the mouse more than in the month of the sheep. He never dreamed of making silk of cobwebs, or porcelain of broken bottles; but he cbitefly studied the properties of plants and animals, and soon acquired a sagacity that made him discover a thousand differences where other men see nothing but uniformity. 14 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. One day, as he was walking near a little wood, he saw one of the queen's eunuchs running toward him, followed by several officers, who appeared to be in great perplexity, and who ran to and fro like men distracted, eagerly searching for something they had lost, of great value. "Young man," said the first eunuch, "hast thou seen the queen's dog?" "It is a bitch," replied Zadig, with great mod- esty, "and not a dog." "Thou art in the right," returned the first eunuch. "It is a very small she-spaniel," added Zadig; she has lately whelped; she limps on the left fore foot, and has very long ears." "Thou hast seen her," said the first eunuch, quite out of breath. "No," replied Zadig, "I have not seen her, nor did I so much as know that the queen had a bitch." Exactly at the same time, by one of the common freaks of fortune, tfie finest horse in the king's stable had escaped from the jockey in the plains of Babylon. The principal huntsman, and all the other officers, ran after him with as much eagerness and anxiety as the first eunuch had done after the bitch. The principal huntsman addressed himself to Zadig, and asked him if he had not seen the king's horse passing by, "He is the fleetest horse in the king's stable," replied Zadig; "he is five feet high, with very small Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 15 hoofs, and a tail three feet and a half in length; the studs on his bit are gold, of twenty-three car- ats, and his shoes are silver of eleven penny- weights." "What way did he take? where is he?" de- manded the chief huntsman., "I have not seen him," replied Zadig, "and never heard talk of him before." The principal huntsman and the first eunuch never doubted but that Zadig had stolen the king's horse and the queen's bitch. They therefore had him conducted before the assembly of the grand desterham, who condemned him to the knout, and to spend the rest of his days in Siberia. Hardly was the sentence passed, when the horse and the bitch were both found. The judges were reduced to the disagreeable necessity of reversing their sentence; but they condemned Zadig to pay four * hundred ounces of gold for having said that he had not seen what he had seen. This fine he was obliged to pay, after which he was permitted to plead his cause before the council of the grand des- terham, when he spoke to the following effect: "Ye stars of justice, abyss of sciences, mirrors of truth, who have the weight of lead, the hard- ness of iron, the splendor of the diamond, and many of the properties of gold; since I am permitted to speak before this august assen^bly, I swear to you by Oromazes, that I have never seen the queen's respectable bitch, nor the sacred horse of the king x6 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. of kings. The truth of the matter is as follows: I was walking toward the little wood, where I after- ward met the venerable eunuch and the most illus- trious chief huntsman. I observed on the sand the traces of an animal, and could easily perceive them to be those of a little dog. Th« light and long fur- rows impressed on little eminences of sand between the marks of the paws plainly discovered that it was a bitch, whose dugs were hanging down, and that therefore she must have whelped a few days before. Other traces of a different kind, that always appeared to have gently brushed the sur- face of the sand near the marks of the fore feet showed me that she had very long ears; and as I remarked that there was always a slighter impres- sion made on the sand by one foot than by the other three, I found that the bitch of our august queen was a little lame, if I may be allowed the expression. With regard to the horse of the king of kings, you will be pleased to know that, walk- ing in the lanes of this wOod, I observed the marks of a horse's shoes, all at equal distances. 'This must be a horse,' said I to myself, 'that gallops excellently.' The dust on the trees in a narrow road, that was but seven feet wide, was a little brushed off, at the distance of three feet and a half from the middle of the road. 'The horse,' said I, 'has a tail three feet and a half long, which, being whisked to the right and left, has swept away the dust.' I observed under the trees, that formed an Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 17 arbor five feet in height, that the leaves of the branches were newly fallen, from whence I inferred that the horse had touched them, and that he must, therefore, be five feet high. As to his bit, it must be gold of twenty-three carats, for he had rubbed its bosses against a stone which I knew to be a touchstone, and which I have tried. In a word, from a mark made by his shoes on flints of another kind, I concluded that he was shod with silver eleven deniers fine." All the judges admired Zadig for his acute and profound discernment. The news -of this speech was carried even to the king and queen. Nothing 'was talked of but Zadig in the antechambers, the i chambers, and the cabinet; and though many of jthe magi were of opinion that he ought to be burnt as a sorcerer, the king ordered his officers to restore him the four hundred ounces of gold which he had been obliged to pay. The register, the attorneys, and bailiffs went to his house with great iformality to carry him back his four hundred ounces. They only retained three hundred and ninety-eight of them to defray the expens,es of ' justice; and then their servants demanded their lees. Zadig saw how extremely dangerous it some- times is to appear too knowing, and therefore resolved that on the next occasion of the like nature he would not tell what he had seen. Such an opportunity soon offered. A prisoner Vol. 3—2 1 8 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. of state made his escape and passed under the win- dows of Zadig's house. Zadig was examined, and made no answer. But it was proved that he had \ looked at the prisoner from this window. For this \ crime he was condemned to pay five hundred 1 ounces of gold ; and, according to the polite custom of Babylon, he thanked his judges for their indul- gence. "Great God I" said he to himself, "what a mis- fortune it is to walk in a wood through which the queen's bitch or the king's horse has passed! how dangerous to look out at a window! and how diffi- cult to be happy in this life!" CHAPTER IV. THE ENVIOUS MAN. / Zadig resolved to comfort himself by philosophy and friendship for the evils he had suffered from fortune. He had in the suburbs of Babylon a house elegantly furnished, in whjch he assembled all the arts and all the pleasures worthy the pursuit of a gentleman. In the morning his library was open to the learned. In the evening his table was sur- rounded by good company. But he soon found what very dangerous g^iests these men of letters are. A warm dispute arose on one of Zoroaster's laws, which forbids the eating of a griffin. "Why," said some of them, "prohibit the eat- Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 19 ing of a griffin, if there is no such animal in na- ture?" "There must necessarily be such an animal,"' said the others, "since Zoroaster forbids us to eat it." Zadig would fain have reconciled them by say- ing: "If there are no griffins, we cannot possibly eat / them; and thus, either way, we shall obey Zo- ' roaster." A learned man, who had composed thirteen vol- umes on the properties of the griffin, and was, Nf besides, the chief theurgite, hasted away to accuse Zadig before one of the principal magi, named Yebor, the greatest blockhead, and therefore the 1 greatest fanatic, among the Chaldaeans. This man ! would have empaled Zadig to do honor to the sun, and would then have recited the breviary of 1 Zoroaster with greater satisfaction. The friend 'Cador (a friend is better than a hundred priests) went to Yebor, and s^id to him: "Long live the sun and the griffins; beware of : puriishing Zadig; he is a saint; he has griffins in j his inner court, and does not eat them; and his ! accuser is a heretic, who dares to maintain that 1 rabbits have cloven feet, and are not unclean." "Well," said Yebor, shaking his bald pate, "we must empale Zadig for having thought contemt)t- i uously of griffins, and the other party for having spoken disrespectfully of rabbits." 20 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. J Cador hushed up the matter by appeahng to a '^ Iperson who had great interest in the college of tiie pagi. Nobody was empaled. This lenity occa- sioned a great murmuring among some of the doc- tors, who from thence predicted the fall of Babylon. "Upon what does happiness depend?" said Za- dig; I am persecuted by everything in the world, even on account of beings that have no existence." He cursed those men of learning and resolved for the future to live with none but good com- pany. He assembled at his house the most worthy men and the most beautiful ladies of Babylon. He gave them delicious suppers, often preceded by concerts of music, and always animated by polite conversation, from which he knew how to banish that affectation of wit which is the .surest method of preventing it entirely, and of spoiling the pleas- ure of the most agreeable society. Neither the choice of his friends, nor that of the dishes, was made by vanity, for in everything he preferred the substance to the shadow; and by these means he procured that real respect to which he did not aspire. Opposite to his house lived one Arimazes, a man whose deformed countenance was but a faint picture of his still more deformed mind. His heart was a mixture of malice, pride, and etivy. Having never been able to succeed in any of his under- takings, he revenged himself on all around him by Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 2 1 loading them with the blackest calumnies. Rich as he was, he found it difficult to procure a set of y- flatterers. The rattling of the chariots that entered Zadig's court in the evening filled hirp with uneasi- ness ; the sound of his praises enraged him still more. He sometimes went to Zadig's house, and sat down at table without being desired, where he spoiled all the pleasure of the company, as the har- pies are said to infect the viands they touch. It happened that one day he took it in his head to give an entertainment to a lady, who, instead of accepting it, went to sup with Zadig. At another time, as he was talking with Zadig at court, a min- ister of state came up to them and invited Zadig to supper, without inviting Arimazes. The most implacable hatred has seldom a more solid founda- tion. This man, who in Babylon was called the envious, resolved to ruin Zadig because he was called the happy. "The opportunity of doing mis- chief occurs a hundred times in a day, and that of doing good but once a year," as saith the wise Zoroaster. The envious man went to see Zadig, who was walking in his garden with two friends and a lady, to whom he said many gallant things, without any other intention than that of saying them. The conversation turned upon a war which the king had just brought to a happy conclusion against the prince of Hircania, his vassal. Zadig, who had sig- nalized his courage in this, short war, bestowed 22 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. great praises on the king, but greater still on the lady. He took out his pocket-book, and wrote four lines extempore, which he gave to this amiable person to read. His friends begged they might see ^ them; but modesty, or rather, a well-regulated self-v' love, would not allow him to grant their request. He knew that extemporary verses are never ap- proved by any but the person in whose honor they are written. He therefore tore in two the leaf on which he had written them, and threw both the pieces into a thicket of rose-bushes, where the rest" of the company sought for them in vain. A slight shower, falling soon after, obliged them to return to the house. The envious man, who remained in the garden, continued to search, till at last he found a piece of the leaf. It had been torn in such a manner that each half of a line formed complete sense, and even a verse of a shorter measure; but what was still more surprising, these short verses were found ^ to contain the most injurious reflections on the king. They ran thus: To flagrant crimes His crown he owes, To peaceful times The worst of foes. J The envious man was now happy for the first time in his life. He had it in his power to ruin a if person of virtue and merit. Filled with this fiend- like joy, he found means to convey to the king Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 23 the satire written by the hand of Zadig, who was immediately thrown into prison, together with the lady and Zadig's two friends. His trial was soon finished, without his being ^ permitted to speak for himself. As he was going to receive his sentence, the envious man threw him- self in his way and told him, with a loud voice, that his verses were good for nothing. Zadig did not value himself on being a good poet; but it filled him with inexpressible concern to find that he was condemned for high treason; and that the fair lady and his two friends were confined in prison fOr a crime of which they were not guilty. He was not allowed to speak, because his writing >'' spoke for him. Such was the law of Babylon.v^ Accordingly he was conducted to the place of exe- cution through an immense crowd of spectators, who durst not venture to express their pity for him, but who carefully examined his countenance W to see if he died with a good grace. His relations , alone were inconsolable, for they could not succeed/ to his estate. Three-fourths of his wealth was con-! . fiscated into the king's treasury, and the other \ fourth was given to the envious man. Just as he was preparing for death, the king's parrot flew from its cage, and alighted on a rose- bush in Zadig's garden. A peach had been blown thither by the wind, from a neighboring tree, and had fallen on a piece of the written leaf of the pocket-book, to which it stuck. The bird carried ^ 24 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. off the peach and the paper, and laid them on the king's knee. The king took up the paper with great eagerness, and read the words, which formed no sense, and seemed to be the endings of verses. He loved poetry, and there is always some mercy to be expected from a prince of that disposition. The adventure of the parrot caused him to reflect. The queen, who remembered what had been written on the piece of Zadig's pocket-book, or- dered it to be brought. They compared the two pieces together} and found them to tally exactly. They then read the verses as Zadig had written them. Tyrants are prone to flagrant crimes; To clemency* his crown he owes; To concord and to peaceful times Love only is the worst of foes. The king gave immediate orders that Zadig should be brought before him, and that his two friends and the lady should be set at liberty. Zadig fell prostrate on the ground before the king and queen, humbly begged their pardon for having made such bad verses, and spoke with so much propriety, wit, and good sense, that their majesties desired they might see him again. He did him- "^ self that honor, and insinuated himself still farther into their good graces. They gave him all the wealth of the envious man, but Zadig restored him back the whole of it, and this instance of generosity gave no other pleasure to the envious man than Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 25 that of having preserved his estate. The king's \esteem for Zadig increased every day. He admit- ifed him into all his parties of pleasure, and con- .' suited him in all affairs of state. From that time the queen began to regard him with an eye of ten- derness, that might one day prove dangerous to ' herself, to the king, her august consort, to Zadig, and to the kingdom in general. Zadig now began to think that happiness was not so unattainable as he had formerly imagined. CHAPTER V. THE GENEROUS. The time had now arrived for celebrating a grand festival, which returned every five years. It was a custom in Babylon solemnly to declare, at the end of every five years, which of the citizens v^ had performed the most generous action. The V grandees and the magi were the judges. The first V satrap, who was charged with the government of the city, published the most noble actions that had happened under his administration. The com- petition was decided by votes, and the king pro- nounced the award. People came to this so--^ lemnity from the extremities of the earth. The con- queror received from the monarch's hands a golden cup, adorned with precious stones, his majesty at the same time making him this compliment: "Re- 26 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. ceive this reward of thy generosity, and may the gods grant me many subjects like to thee." This memorable day having come, the king appeared on his throne, surrounded by the gran- dees, the magi, and the deputies of all the nations that came to these games, where glory was ac- quired, not by the swiftness of horses, nor by ' Strpnfith nf hndy. but by virtue . The first satrap recited, with an audible voice, such actions as might entitle the authors of them to this invaluable prize. He did not mention the greatness of soul with which Zadig had restored to the envious man his for- tune, because it was not judged to be an action worthy of disputing the prize. He first presented a judge, who, having made a citizen lose a considerable cause by a mistake, for which, after all, he was not accountable, had given him the whole of his own estate, which was just equal to what the other had lost. He next produced a young man who, being des- perately in love with a lady whom he was going to marry, had yielded her up to his friend, whose passion for her had almost brought him to the brink of the grave, and at the same time had given him the lady's fortune. He afterwards produced a soldier, who, in the wars of Hircania, had given a still more noble in- stance of generosity. A party of the enemy hav- ing seized his mistress, he fought in her defence with great intrepidity. At that very instant he Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 27 was informed that another party, at the distance of a few paces, were carrying off his mother. He therefore left his mistress, with tears in his eyes, and flew to the assistance of his mother. At last he returned to the dear object of his love, and found her expiring. He was just going to plunge his sword into his own bosom, but his mother remonstrating against such a desperate deed, and telling him that he was the only support of her life, he had the courage to endure to live. The judges were inclined to give the prize to the soldier. But the king took up the discourse, and said: "The action of the soldier, and thdse of the other two, are doubtless praiseworthy, but they have nothing in them surprising. Yesterday Zadig per- formed an action that filled me with wonder. I had a few days before disgraced Coreb, my min- ister and favorite. I complained of him in the most violent and bitter terms; all my courtiers assured me that I was too gentle, and seemed to vie with each other in speaking ill of Coreb. I asked Zadig what he thought of him, and he had the courage to commend him. I have read in our histories of many people who have atoned for an error by the surrender of their fortune; who have resigned a mistress, or preferred a mother to, the object of their affection; but neVer before did I hear of a | courtier who spoke favorably of a disgraced min- l^ ister that labored under the displeasure of his sov- I 28 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. ereign. I give to each of those whose generous actions have just been recited, twenty thousand pieces of gold ; but the cup I give to Zadig." "May it please thy majesty," said Zadig, "thy- self alone deservest the cup. Thou hast performed an action of all others the most uncommon and meritorious, since, notwithstanding thy being a powerful king, thou wast not oiifended at thy slave when he presumed to oppose thy passion." The king and Zadig were equally the object of admiration. The judge who had given his estate to his client; the lover who had resigned his mis- tress to his friend, and the soldier who had pre- ferred the safety of his mother to that of his mis- tress received the king's presents, and saw their names enrolled in the catalogue of generous men. Zadig had the cup, and the king acquired the rep- utation of a good prince, which he did not long enjoy. The day was celebrated by feasts, which lasted longer than the law enjoined, and the mem- ory of it is still preserved in Asia. Zadig said: "Now I am happy at last." But he was deceived. CHAPTER VI. THE MINISTER. The king had lost his first minister, and chose Zadig to supply his place. All the ladies in Baby- lon applauded the choice, for, since the foundation Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 29 of the empire, there had never been such a young minister. But all the courtiers were filled with jealousy and vexation. The envious man, in partic- ular, was troubled with a spitting of blood, and a prodigious inflammation in his nose. Zadig, hav- ing thanked the king and queen for their goodness, went likewise to thank the parrot. "Beautiful bird," said he, "'tis thou that hast saved my life and made me first minister. The queen's bitch and the king's horse did me a great deal of mischief, but thou hast done me much good. Upon such slender threads as these do the fates of mortals hang!" "But," added he, "this happiness perhaps will vanish very soon." "Soon," replied the parrot. Zadig was somewhat startled at this word. But as he was a good natural philosopher, and did not believe parrots to be prophets, he quickly recov- ered his spirits, and resolved to execute his duty to the best of his power. He made every one feel the sacred authority of I / the laws, but no one felt the weight of his dignity. [ He never checked the deliberations of the divan, v/ and every vizier might give his opinion without fear*/ of incurring the minister's displeasure. When he gave judgment, it was not he that gave it; it wasv the law; the rigor of which, however, whenever it was too severe, he always took care to soften ; and when laws were wanting, the equity of his de- 3© Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. cisions was such as might easily have made them pass for those of Zoroaster. It is to him that the nations are indebted for this grand principle, to wit, that it is better to run the "~^ risk of sparing the guilty than to condemn the innocent. He imagined that laws were made as well to secure the people from the suffering of injuries as to restrain them from the commission of crimes. His chief talent consisted in discovering the truth, which all men seek to obscure. This great talent he put in practice from the very begin- ning of his administration. A famous merchant of Babylon, who died in the Indies, divided his estate equally between his two sons, after having disposed of their sister in mar- riage, and left a present of thirty thousand pieces of gold to that son who should be found to have loved him best. The eldest raised a tomb to his memory; the youngest increased his sister's por- tion, by giving her a part of his inheritance. Every one said that the eldest son loy^d his father best, and the youngest his sister, and that the thirty thousand pieces belonged to the eldest. Zadig sent for both of them, the one after the other. To the eldest he said: "Thy father is not dead, but has survived his last illness, and is returning to Ba^bylon." "God be praised," replied the young man; "but his tomb cost me a considerable sum." Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 31 Zadig afterwards repeated the same story to the youngest son. "God be praised," said he; I will go and restore to my father all that I have ; but I could wish that he would leave my sister what I have given her." "Thou shalt restore nothing," replied Zadig^and thou shalt have the thirty thousand pieces, for thou art the son who loves his father best." A widow, having a young son, and being pos- sessed of a handsome fortune, had given a promise of marriage to two magi, who were both desirous of marrying her. ***** "I will take for my husband," said she, "the man who can give the best education to my beloved son." The two magi contended who should bring him up, and the cause was carried before Zadig. Zadig summoned the two magi to attend him. "What will you teach your pupil?" said he to the first. "I will teach him," said the doctor, "the eight parts of speech, logic, astrology, pneumatics, what is meant by substance and 'accident, abstract and concrete, the doctrine of the monads, and the pre- established harmony." "For my part," said the second, "I will endeavor to give him a sense of justice, and to make him worthy the friendship of good men." Zadig then cried: "Whether thou art the child's favorite or not, thou shalt have his mother." 3 a Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. , CHAPTER VII. THE DISPUTES AND THE AUDIENCES. In this manner he daily discovered the subtlety of his genius and the goodness of his heart. The people at once admired and loved him. He passed for the happiest man in the world. The whole empire resqunded with his name. All the ladies ogled him. All the men praised him for his justice. The learned regarded him as an oracle, and even the priests confessed that he knew more than the ^^Id arch-magi, Yebor. They were now so far from prosecuting him on account of the griffins, that "^they believed nothing but what he thought credible. There had continued at Babylon, for the space of fifteen hundred years, a violent contest, that had divided the empire into two sects. The one pre- tended that they ought to enter the temple of Mithra with the left foot foremost; the other held this custom in detestation, and always entered with the right foot first. The people waited with great impatience for the day on which the solemn feast of the sacred fire was to be celebrated, to see which sect Zadig would favor. All the world had their eyes fixed on his two feet, and the whole city was in the utmost suspense and perturbation. Zadig" jumped into the temple with his feet joined to- gether, and afterwards proved, in an eloquent dis- course, that the Sovereign of heaven and earth, ^-i , Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 23 who accepteth not the persons of men, maketh no distinction between the right foot and the left foot. The envious man and his wife alleged that his dis- course was not figurative enough, and that he did not make the rocks and mountains dance with suf- ficient agility. "He is dry," said they, "and void of genius. He does not make the sea to fly, and stars to fall, nor the sun to melt like wax. He has not the true oriental style." Zadig contented himself with having the style of reason. All the world favored him, not because he was in the right road, or followed the dictates of reason, or was a man of real merit, but because ~^ h e was prime v izier. He terminated with the same happy address the grand dispute between the black and the white magi. The former maintained that it was the height of impiety to pray to God with the face turned toward the east in winter; the latter asserted that God abhorred the prayers of those who turned toward the west in summer. Zadig decreed that every man should be allowed to turn as he pleased. ! Thus he found out the happy secret of finishing jail affairs, whether of a private or a public nature, fin the, morning. The rest of the day he employed '^'m superintending and promoting the embellish- ments of Babylon. He exhibited tragedies that drew tears from the eyes of the spectators, and com- "~~~^ edies that shook their sides with laughter, a cus- Vol 34 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. torn which had long been disused, and which his good taste now induced him to revive. He never affected to be more knowing in the polite arts than the artists themselves. He encouraged them by rewards and honors, and was never jealous of their talents. In the evening the king was highly enter- tained with his conversatioi^, and the queen still more. "Great minister," said the king. "Amiable minister," said the queen; and both of them added: "It would have been a great loss to the state had such a. man been hanged." * * * * Meanwhile Zadig perceived that his thoughts were always distracted, as well when he gave audi- ence as when he sat in judgment. He did not know to what to attribute this absence of mind, and that was his only sorrow. He had a dream, in which he imagined that he laid himself down upon a heap of dry herbs, among which there were many prickly ones that gave him great uneasiness, and that he afterward reposed himself on a soft bed of roses, from, which there sprung a serpent that wounded him to the heart with its sharp, venomed fangs. "Alas," said he, "I have long lain on these dry and prickly herbs; I am now on the bed of roses; but what shall be the serpent?" Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 35 CHAPTER VIII. JEALOUSY. Zadig's calamities sprung even from his happii- ness, and especially from his merit. He every day conversed with the king and his august consort. The charms of Zadig's conversation were greatly heightened by that desire of pleasing which is to the mind, what dress is to beauty. His youth and graceful appearance insensibly made an impression on Astarte, which she did not at first perceive. Her passion grew and flourished in the bosom of . innocence. Without fear or scruple she indulged the pleasing satisfaction of seeing and hearing a man who was so dear to her husband, and to the empire in general. She was continually praising him to the king. She talked of him to her women, who were always sure to improve on her praises. And thus everything contributed to pierce her heart with a dart, of which she did not seem to be sen- sible. She made several presents to Zadig, which discovered a greater spirit of gallahtry than she imagined. She intended to speak to him only as| ^ a queen satisfied with his services; and her expres-|/ sions were sometimes those of a woman in love. Astarte was much more beautiful than that Semira who had such a strong aversion to one- eyed men, or that other woman who had resolved to cut off her husband's nose. Her unreserved 36 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. familiarity, her tender expressions,' at which she began to blush; and her eyes, which, though she endeavored to divert them to other objects, were always fixed upon his, inspired Zadig with a pas- sion that filled him with astonishment. He strug- gled hard to get the better of it. He called to his aid the precepts of philosophy, which had always stood him in stead; but from thence, though he could derive the light of knowledge, he could pro- cure no remedy to cure the disorders of his love- sick heart. Duty, gratitude, and violated majesty, presented themselves to his mind, as so many avenging gods. He struggled; he conquered. But this victory, which he was obliged to purchase afresh every moment, cost him many sighs and tears. He no longer dared to speak to the queen with that sweet and charming familiarity which had been so agreeable to them both. His counte- nance was covered with a cloud. His conversation was constrained and incoherent. His eyes were fixed on the ground; and when, in spite of all his endeavors to the contrary, they encountered those of the queen, they found them bathed in tears, and darting arrows of flame. They seemed to say : "We adore each other, and yet are afraid to love; we are consumed with a passion which we both condemn." I Zadig left the royal presence full of perplexity I and despair, and having his heart oppressed with a / burden which he was no longer able to bear. In the violence of his perturbation he involuntarily Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 37 betrayed the secret to his friend Cador, in the same manner as a man, who, having long endured a cruel disease, discovers his pain by a cry extorted from him by a more severe attack, and by the cold sweat that covers his brow. "I have already discovered," said Cador, "the sentiments which thou wouldst fain conceal from thyself. The symptoms by which the passions show themselves are certain and infallible. Judge, my dear Zadig, since I have read thy heart, whether the king will not discover something in it that may give him offence. He has no other fault but that ^ of being the most jealous man in the world. Thou canst resist the violence of thy passion with greater - fortitude than the queen, because thou art a phi- losopher, and because thou art Zadig. Asiaxts-is a woma n. She suffers her eyes to speak with so much the more imprudence, as she does not as yet think herself guilty. Conscious of her own inno- cence, she unhappily neglects those external ap- "-ipearances which are so necessary. I shall tremble for her so long as she has nothing wherewithal to reproach herself. * * * * A growing passion ■^ which we endeavor to suppress, discovers itself in spite of all our efforts to the contrary." * * * * Meanwhile, the queen mentioned the name of Zadig so frequently, and with such a blushing and downcast look. She was sometimes so lively, and sometimes so perplexed, when she spoke to him in the king's presence, and was seized with such a deep 38 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. thoughtfulness at his going away, that the king began to be troubled. He believed all that he saw, and imagined all that he did not see. He particu- larly remarked that his wife's shoes were blue, and that Zadig's shoes were blue; that his wife's rib- bons were yellow, and that Zadig's bonnet was yellow; and these were terrible symptoms to a prince of so much delicacy. In his jealous mind suspicion was turned into certainty. All the slaves of kings and queens are so many spies over their hearts. They soon observed that Astarte was tender, and that Moabdar was jealous. The envious man persuaded his wife to send anony- mously to the king her garter, which resembled those of the queen; and to complete the misfo;-- tune, this garter was blue. The monarch now thought of nothing but in what manne^ he might best execute his vengeance. He one night resolved J to poison the queen, and in the morning to put Zadig to death ^by the bowstring. The orders were •4 given to a merciless eunuch, who commonly exe- 1 cuted his acts of vengeance. There happened at that time to be in the king's chamber a little dwarf, who, though dumb, was not deaf. He was allowed, on account of his insig- ' nificance, to go wherever he pleased ; and, as a domestic animal, was a witness of what passed in the most profound secrecy. This little mute was strongly attached to the queen and Zadig. With equal horror and surprise Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 29 he heard the cruel orders given; but how could he prevent the fatal sentence that, in a few hours, was to be carried into execution? He could not N write, but he could paint ; and excelled particularly Vm drawing a striking resemblance. He employed a part of the night in sketching out with his pencil what he meant to impart to the queen. The piece represented the king in one corner, boiling with rage, and giving orders to the eunuch ; a blue bow- string, and a bowl on a table, with blue garters and yellow ribbons ; the queen in the middle of the pic- ture, expiring in the arms of her woman, and Zadig strangled at her feet. The horizon represented a -rising sun, to express that this shocking execution was to be performed in the morning. As soon as he had finished the picture, he ran to one of Astarte's /women, awoke her, and made her under- stand that she must immediately carry it to the queen. At midnight a messenger knocks at Zadig's door, awakes him, and gives him a note from the queen. He doubts whether it is not a dream; and opens the letter with a trembling hanid. But how great was his surprise, and who can express the consternation and despair into which he was thrown upon reading these words: "Fly, this in- stant, or thou art a dead man! Fly, Zadig, I con- jure thee by our mutual love and my yellow rib- bons. I have not been guilty, but I find that I must die like a criminal." . 40 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. Zadig was hardly able to speak. He sent for Cador, and, without uttering a word, gave him the note. Cador forced him to obey, and forthwith to take the road to Memphis. "Shouldst thou dare," said he, "to go in search of the queen, thoU wilt hasten her death. Shouldst thou speak to the king, thou wilt infallibly ruin her. I will take upon me the charge of her destiny; fol- low thy own. I will spread a report that thou hast taken the road to India. I will soon follow thee and inform thee of all that shall have passed in Babylon." At that instant Cador caused two of the swiftest dromedaries to be brought to a private gate of the palace. Upon one of these he mounted Zadig, whom he was obliged to carry to the door, and who was ready to expire with grief. He was accom- panied by a single domestic; and Cador, plunged in sorrow and astonishment, soon lost sight of his friend. This illustrious fugitive arriving on the side of a hill, from whence he could take a view of Babylon, turned his eyes towards the queen's palace, and fainted away at the sight; nor did he recover his senses but to shed a torrent of tears, and to wish for death. At length, after his thoughts had been long engrossed in lamenting the unhappy fate of the loveliest woman and the greatest queen in the world, he for a moment turned his views on him- self, and cried: Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 41 "What then is human life? O virtue, how hast thou served me? Two women have basely deceived me; and now a third, who is innocent, and more beautiful than both the others, is going to be put to death! Whatever good I have done hath been to me a continual source of calamity and affliction ; and I have only been raised to the height of grandeur to be tumbled down the most horrid prec- ipice of misfortune." Filled with these gloomy reflections, his eyes overspread with the veil of grief, his countenance covered with the paleness of death, and his soul plunged, in an abyss of the blackest despair, he con- tinued his journey toward Egypt. CHAPTER IX. THE WOMAN-BEATER. Zadig directed his course by the stars. The con- stellation of Orion, and the splendid Dpgstars, guided his steps towards the pole of Canopus. He admired those vast globes of light which appear to our eyes as so many little sparks, while the earth, which in reality is only an imperceptible point in nature, appears to our fond imaginations as some- thing so grand and noble. He then represented to\ himself the human species, as it really is, as a parcel 1 /' of insects devouring one another on a little atom of | clay. This true image seemed to annihilate his mis- 42 Zadig : , The Mystery of Fate. fortunes, by making him sensible of the nothing- I ness of his own being, and that of Babylon. His soul launched out into infinity, and detached from the senses, contemplated the immutable order of the universe. But when, afterward, returning to himself, and entering into his own heart, he con- sidered that Astarte had perhaps died for him, the universe vanished from his sight, and he beheld nothing in the whole compass of nature but Astarte expiring, and Zadig unhappy. While he thus alternately gave up his mind to this flux and reflux of sublime philosophy and in- tolerable grief, he advanced toward the frontiers of Egypt; and his faithful domestic was already in the first village, in search of a lodging. Meanwhile, as Zadig was walking toward the gardens that skirted the village, he saw, at a small distance from the highway, a woman bathed in tears and calling heaven and earth to her assistance, and a man in a furious passion pursuing her. This madman had already overtaken the woman, who embraced his knees, notwithstanding which he loaded her with blows and reproaches. Zadig judged by the frantic behavior of the Egyptian, and by the repeated pardons which the lady asked him, that the one was jealous, and the other unfaithful. But when he surveyed the woman more narrowly, and found her to be a lady of exquisite beauty, and even to have a strong resemblance to the unhappy Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 43 Astarte, he felt himself inspired with compassion for her, and horror toward the Egyptian. "Assist me," cried she to Zadig, with the deepest sighs, "deliver rtie from the hands of the most bar- barous man in the world ! Save my life !" Moved by these pitiful cries, Zadig ran and threw himself between her and the barbarian. As he had some knowledge of the Egyptian language, he addressed him in that tongue: "If," said he, "thou hast any humanity, I conjure thee to pay some regard to her beauty and weak- ness. How canst thou behave in this outrageous manner to one of the masterpieces of nature, who lies at thy feet, and hath no defence but her tears ?" "Ah, ah!" replied the madman, "thou art like- wise in love with her. I must be revenged on thee too." So saying, he left the lady, whom he had hitherto held with his hand twisted in her hair, and, taking his lance, attempted to stab the stranger. Zadig, who was in cold blood, easily eluded the blow aimed by the frantic Egyptian. He seized the lance near the iron with which it was armed. The Egyptian strove to draw it back; Zadig to wrest it frbm the Egyptian; and in the struggle it was broken in two. The Egyptian draws his sword; Zadig does the same. They attack each other. The^ former gives a hundred blows at random; the latter wards them off with great dexterity. The lady, seated on a turf, readjusts her head-dress, and looks at the combat- 44 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. ants. The Egyptian excelled •m strength; Zadig in address. The one fought like a man whose arm was directed by his judgment; the other Hke a madman, whose blind rage made him deal his blows at random. Zadig closes with him, and disarms him ; and while the Egyptian, now become more furious, endeavors to throw himself upon him, he seizes him, presses him close, and throws him down; and then, holding his sword to his breast, offers him his life. The Egyptian, frantic with rage, draws his poniard, and wounds Zadig at the very instant that »Jthe conqueror was granting a pardon. Zadig, pro- voked at such brutal behavior, plunged his sword in the bosom of the Egyptian, who, giving a hor- rible shriek and a violent struggle, instantly ex- pired. Zadig then approached the lady, and said to her with a gentle tone : "He hath forced me to kill him. I have avenged thy cause. Thou art now delivered from the most violent man I ever saw. What further, madam, wouldst thou have me do for thee ?" "Die, villain," replied she, "thou hast killed my lover. O, that I were able to tear out thy heart!" "Why, truly, madam," said Zadig, "thou hadst a strange kind of a man for a lover; he beat thee with all his might, and would have killed thee, because thou hadst entreated me to give thee assistance." "I wish he were beating me still," replied the lady, with tears and lamentation. "I well deserved it; for I had given him cause to be jealous. Would Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 45 to heaven that he were now beating me, and that thou wert in his place." Zadig, struck with surprise, and inflamed with a higher degree of resentment than he had ever felt before, said: "Beautiful as thou art, madam, thou deservest that I should beat thee in my turn for thy perverse and impertinent behavior. But I shall not give myself the trouble." So saying, he remounted his camel, and ad- vanced toward the town. He had proceeded but a few steps, when he turned back at the noise of four Babylonian couriers, who came riding at full gallop. One of them, upon seeing the woman, cried : "It is the very same. She resembles the descrip- tion that was given us." They gave themselves no concern about the dead Egyptian, but instantly seized the lady. She called out to Zadig:. "Help me once more, generous stranger. I ask pardon for having complained of thy conduct. Deliver me again, and I will be thine forever." Zadig was no longer in the humor of fighting for her. "Apply to another," said he, "thou shalt not again ensnare me in thy wiles." Besides, he was wounded; his blood was still flowing, and he himself had need of assistance ; and the sight of four Babylonians, probably sent by King Moabdar, filled him with apprehension. He 46 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. therefore hastened toward the village, unable to comprehend why four Babylonian couriers should come and seize this Egyptian woman, but still more astonished at the lady's behavior. CHAPTER X. SLAVERY. As he entered the Egyptian village, he saw him- self surrounded by the people. Every one said: "This is the man who carried ofif the beautiful Missouf, and assassinated Clitofis." "Gentlemen," said he, "God preserve me from carrying off your beautiful Missouf. She is too capricious for me. And with regard to Clitofis, I did not assassinate him. I only fought with him in my own defence. He endeavored to kill me, because I humbly interceded for the beautiful Mis- souf, whom he beat most unmercifully. I am a stranger, come to seek refuge in Egypt; and it is not likely that, in coming to implore your protec- tion, I should begin by carrying off a woman, and assassinating a man." ~~" The Egyptians wer&^Sien-^ust and humane. The people conducted Zadig to the town-house. They first of all ordered his wound to be dressed, and then examined his servant apart, in order to dis- cover the truth. They found that Zadig was not an assassin; but as he was guilty of having killed a Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 47 man, the law condemned hinl to be a slave. His '' two camels were sold for the benefit of the town; vail the gold he had brought with him was distrib- ' uted among the inhabitants; and his person, as ' well as that of the companion of his journey, was - exposed for sale in the market-place. An Arabian merchant, named Setoc, made the purchase, but as ^the servant was fitter for labor than the master, he was sold at a higher price. There was no compari- son between the two men. Thus Zadig became a --'slave subordinate to his own servant. They were linked together by a chain to their feet, and in this condition they followed the Arabian merchant to his house. By the way Zadig comforted his servant, and exhorted him to patience; but he could not help making, according to his usual custom, some reflec- tions on human life. "I see," said he, "that the unhappiness of my fate hath an influence on thine. Hitherto everything has turned out in a manner most unaccountable to me. I have been condemned to pay a fine for having seen the marks of a bitch's feet. I thought that I should once have been empaled alive on account of a griffin. I have been sent to execution for having made some verses in praise of the king. I have been on the point of being strangled, because the queen had yellow ribbons ; and now I am a slave with thee, because a brutal wretch beat his mistress. Come, let us keep a good heart ; all this will perhaps have an end. The Arabian mer- 48 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. chants must necessarily have slaves; and why not me as well as another, since, as well as another, I am a man? This merchant will not be cruel. He must treat his slaves well if he expects any advan- tage from them." But while he spoke thus his heart was entirely engrossed by the fate of the queen of Babylon. Two days after, the merchant Setoc set out for Arabia Deserta, with his slaves and his camels. His tribe dwelt near the desert of Oreb. The journey was long and painful. Setoc set a much greater value on the servant than the master, because the former was more expert in loading the camels, and all the little marks of distinction were shown to him. A camel having died within two days journey of Oreb, his burden was divided and laid on the backs of the servants ; and Zadig had his share among the rest. Setoc laughed to see all his slaves walking with their bodies inclined. Zadig took the liberty to explain to N* him the cause, and inform him of the laws of the balance. The merchant was astonished, and began to regard him with other eyes. Zadig, finding he had raised his curiosity, increased it still further by acquainting him with many things that related to commerce; the specific gravity of metals and commodities under an equal bulk; the properties of several useful animals ; and the means of render- ing those useful that are not naturally so. At last Setoc began to consider Zadig as a sage, and preferred him to his companion, whom he had .^ Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 49 ^'formerly so much esteemed. He treated him well, and had no cause to repent of his kindness. As soon as Setoc arrived among his own tribe he demanded the payment 'of five hundred ounces of silver, which he had lent to a Jew in presence of two witnesses; but as the witnesses were dead, and the debt could not be proved, the Hebrew appropriated the merchant's money to himself, and piously thanked God for putting it in his power to cheat an Arabian. ;. Setoc imparted this troublesome affair to Zadig, who had now become his counsel. "In what place," said Zadig, "didst thou lend the five hundred ounces of silver to this infidel ?" "Upon a large stone," replied the merchant, "that lies near the mountain of Oreb." "What is the character of thy debtor ?" said Zadig. "That of a knave," returned Setoc. "But I ask thee whether he is lively or phlegmatic, cautious or imprudent?" "He is, of all bad payers," said Setoc, "the most lively fellow I ever knew." "Well," returned Zadig, "allow me to plead thy cause." I In effect, Zadig having summoned the Jew to the tribunal, addressed the judge in the following terms : -J "Pillow of the throne of equity, I come to demand of this man, in the name of my master, five hundred ounces of silver, which he refuses to repay." "Hast thou any witnesses," said the judge. "No, they are dead; but there remains a large 50 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. stone upon which the money was counted ; and, if it pleaSe thy grandeur to order the stone to be sought for, I hope that it will bear witness. The Hebrew and I will tarry here till the stone arrives. I will send for it at my master's expense." "With all my heart," replied the judge, and immediately applied himself to the discussion of other affairs. I When the court was going to break up, the judge said to Zadig: "Well, friend, hath not thy stone yet arrived?" The Hebrew replied with a smile: "Thy grandeur may stay here till to-morrow, and after all not see the stone. It is more than six miles from hence ; and it would require fifteen men to move it." "Well," cried Zadig, "did I not say that the stone would bear witness ? Since this man knows where it is, he thereby confesses that it was upon it that the money was counted." The Hebrew was disconcerted, and was soon after obliged to confess the truth. The judge ordered him to be fastened to the stone, without meat or drink, till he should restore the five hun- dred ounces, which were soon after paid. ' The slave Zadig and the stone were held in great repute in Arabia. Zadigi The Mystery of Fate. 51 CHAPTER XI. THE FUNERAL PILE. Setoc, charmed with the happy issue of this affair, made his slave his intimate friend. He had now conceived as great an esteem for him as ever the king of Babylon had done; and Zadig was glad that Setoc had no wife. He had discovered in his master a good natural disposition, much probity of heart, and a great share of good sense; but he was sorry to see that, according to the ancient custom of ; Arabia, he a^dored the host of heaven; that is, the i i sun, moon, and stars. He sometimes spoke to him On this subject with great prudence and discretion. At last he told him that these bodies were like all other bodies in the universe, and no more deserving of our homage than a tree or a rock. "But," said Setoc, "they are eternal beings; and it is from them we derive all we enjoy. They ani- mate nature; they regulate the seasons; and, be- " ' sides, are removed at such an immense distance from us, that we cannot help revering them." "Thou receivest more advantage," replied Zadig, "from the waters of the Red Sea, which carry thy merchandise to the Indies. Why may not it be as ancient as the stars? and if thou adorest what is placed at a distance from thee, thou shouldst adore the land of the Gangarides, which lies at the ex- tremity of the earth." 52 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. "No," said Setoc, "the brightness of the stars commands my adoration." ' At night Zadig lighted up a great number of candles in the tent where he was to sup with Setoc; and the moment his patron appeared, he fell on his knees before these lighted tapers, and said: "Eternal and shining luminaries! be ye always propitious to me." Having thus said, he sat down at the table, with- out taking the least notice of Setoc. "What art thou doing?" said Setoc in amaze. "I act like thee," replied Zadig, "I adore these candles and neglect their master and mine." Setoc comprehended the profound sense of this apologue. The wisdom of his slave sunk deep into his soul. He no longer offered incense to the crea- tures, but he adored the eternal Being who made them. 1 There prevailed at that time in Arabia a shock- ling custom, sprung originally from Scythia, and which, being established in the Indies by the credit of the Brahmins, threatened to overrun all the East. When a married man died, and his beloved wife aspired to the character of a saint, she burned ■* herself publicly on the body of her husband. This ' was a solemn feast, and was called the Funeral Pile ' of Widowhood; and that tribe in which the most women had been burned was the most highly respected. An Arabian of Setoc's tribe being dead, Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 53 his widow, whose name was Almona, and who was very devout, published the day and hour when she intended to throw herself into the fire, amidst the sound of drums and trumpets. Zadig remonstrated against this horrible custom. He showed Setoc how inconsistent it was with the happiness of mankind to suffer young widows to burn themselves — ^widows who were capable of giv- ing children to the state, or at least of educating those they already had; and he convinced him that it was his duty to do all that lay in his power to abolish such a barbarous practice. "The women," said Setoc, "have possessed for ^l^more than a thousand years the right of burning themselves; and who shall dare to abrogate a law which time hath rendered sacred? Is there any- thing more respectable than ancient abuses?" ^ "Reason is more ancient," replied Zadig, "mean- while, speak thou to the chiefs of the tribes, and I will go to wait on the young widow." Accordingly, he was introduced to her, and, after having insinuated himself into her good graces by some compliments on her beauty, and told her what a pity it was to commit so many charms to the flames, he at last praised her for her constancy and courage. "Thou must surely have loved thy husband," said he to. her, "with the most passionate fondness." "Who, I?" replied the lady, "I loved him not at 54 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. all. He was a brutal, jealous, and insupportable wretch; but I am firmly resolved to throw myself on his funeral pile." "It would appear then," said Zadig, "that there must be a very delicious pleasure in being burnt alive." "Oh! it makes me shudder," replied the lady, "but that must be overlooked. I am a devotee ; I ~^hould lose my reputation; and all the world would despise me, if I did not burn myself." Zadig having made her acknowledge that she ^ burned herself to gain the good opinion of others, and to gratify her own vanity, entertained her with a long discourse calculated to make her a little in love with life, and even went so far as to inspire -'her with some degree of good will for the person who spoke to her. "And what wilt thou do at last," said he, "if the vanity of burning thyself should not continue?" "Alas," said the lady, "I believe I should desire thee to marry me." Zadig's mind was too much engrossed with the idea of Astarte not to elude this declaration; but he instantly went to the chiefs of the tribes, told them what had passed, and advised them to make a law by which a widow should not be permitted to burn \| herself till she had conversed privately with a young man for the space of an hour. Since that time not a single widow has burned herself in Arabia. They were indebted to Zadig alone for Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 55 destroying in one day a cruel custom that had lasted for so many ages; and thus he became the bene- factor of Arabia. CHAPTER XII. THE SUPPER. Setoc, who could not separate himself from this man in whom dwelt wisdom, carried Zadig to the great fair of Bassora, whither the richest merchants of the earth resorted. Zadig was highly pleased to see so many men of different countries united in the same place. He considered the whole universe as one large family assembled at Bassora. The second day he sat at table with an Egyptian, an Indian, an inhabitant of Cathay, a Greek, a Celt, and several other strangers, who, in their frequent voyages to the Arabian Gulf, had learned enough of the Arabic to make themselves understood. The Egyptian seemed to be in a violent passion. "What an abominable country," said he, "is Bas- sora! They refuse me a thousand ounces of gold on the best security in the world." "How!" said Setoc. "On what security have they refused thee this sum?" ''On the body of my aunt," rephed the Egyptian. "She was the most notable woman in Egypt; she always accompanied me in my journeys; she died on the road. I have converted her into one of the 56 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. finest mummies in the world and in my own coun- try I could obtain any amount by giving her as a pledge. It is very strange that they will not here lend me a thousand ounces of gold on such a solid security." Angry as he was, he was going to help himself to a bit of excellent boiled fowl, when the Indian, taking him by the hand, cried out in a sorrowful tone, "Ah! what art thou going to do?" "To eat a bit of this fowl," replied the man who owned the mummy. "Take care that thou dost not," replied the In- dian. "It, is possible that the soul of the deceased may have passed into this fowl; and thou wouldst not, surely, expose thyself to the danger of eating thy aunt? To boil fowls is a manifest outrage on nature." "What dost thou mean by thy nature and thy fowls?" replied the choleric Egyptian. "We adore a bull, and yet we eat heartily of beef." "You adore a bull! is it possible?" said the Indian. "Nothing is more possible," returned the other; "we have done so for these hundred and thirty-five thousand years; and nobody amongst us has ever found fault with it." "A hundred and thirty-five thousand years!" said the Indian. "This account is a little exaggerated. It is but eighty thousand years since India was first peopled, and we are surely more ancient than you Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 57 are. Brahma prohibited our eating of ox-flesh be- fore, you thought of putting it on your spits or altars." "This Brahma of yours," said the Egyptian, "is a pleasant sort of an animal, truly, to compare with our Apis. What great things hath your Brahma done?" "It was he," replied the Brahmin, "that taught mankind to read and yvrite^ and to whom the world is indebted for the game of chess." "Thou art mistaken," said Chaldsean, who sat near him. "It is to, the fish Cannes that we owe these great advantages; and it is just that we should render homage to none but him. "All the world will tell thee that he is a divine being, with a golden tail, and a beautiful human head; and that for three hours every day he left the water to preach on dry land. He had several children, who were kings, as every one knows. I have a picture of him at home, which I worship with becoming reverence. We may eat as much beef as we please; but it is surely a great sin to dress fish for the table. Be- sides, you are both of an origin too recent and ignoble to dispute with me. The Egyptians reckon only a hundred and thirty-five thousand years, and the Indians but eighty thousand, while we have almanacs of four thousand ages. Believe me; re- nounce your follies; and I will give to each of you a beautiful picture of Cannes." Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 59 was true they had sometimes eaten human flesh, but that, notwithstanding this circumstance, his nation deserved to be held in great esteem; and that, in fine, if any one spoke ill of Teutat, he would teach him better manners. The quarrel had now become warm, and Setoc feared the table would be stained with blood. Zadig, who had been silent during the whole dispute, arose at last. He first addressed himself to the Celt, as the most furious of the disputants. He told him that he had reason on his side, and begged a few mistletoes. He then praised the Greek for his eloquence, and softened all their exas- perated spirits. He said but little to the man of Cathay, because he had been the most reasonable of them all. At last he said: "You are going, my friends, to quarrel about nothing; for you are all of one mind." At this assertion they all cried out in dissent. "Is it not true," said he to the Celt, "that you adore not this mistletoe, but him that made both the mistletoe and the oak?" "Most undoubtedly," replied the Celt. "And thou, Mr. Egyptian, dost not thou revere, in a certain bull, him who created the bulls?" "Yes," said the Egyptian. "The fish Oannes," continued he, must yield to him who made the sea and the fishes. Th6 Indian and the Cathaian," added he, "acknowledge a first principle. I did not fully comprehend the admirable 6o Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. things that were said by the Greek ; but I am sure he will admit a superior being on whom form and matter depend." The Greek, whom they all admired, said that Zadig had exactly taken his meaning. "You are all then," replied Zadig, "of one opin- ion and have no cause to quarrel." All the company embraced him. Setoc, after having sold his commodities at a very high price, returned to his own tribe with his friend Zadig; who -learned, upon -his-arr-ivat_that he had been tried in his absence and was now going to be burned by a slow fire. " CHAPTER XIII. I. — ^THE RENDEZVOUS. During his journey to Bassora the priests of the i stars had resolved to punish Zadig. The precious stones and ornaments of the young widows whom they sent to the funeral pile belonged to them of right; and the least they could do now was to burn . Zadig for the ill office he had done them. Accord- ' ingly they accused him of entertaining erroneous sentiments of the heavenly host. They deposed against him, and swore that they had heard him say that the stars did not set in the sea. This horrid ' blasphemy made the judges tremble ; they were ready to tear their garments upon hearing these Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 6 1 impious words, and they would certainly have torn them had Zadig had wherewithal to pay them for new ones. But, in the excess of their zeal and indignation, they contented themselves with con- demning him to be burnt by a slow fire. Setoc, filled with despair at this unhappy event, employed all his interest to save his friend, but in vain. He was soon obliged to hold his peace. The young widow, Almona, who had now conceived a great fondness for life, for which she was obliged to Zadig, resolved to deliver him from the funeral pile, of the abuse of which he had fully convinced her. She resolved the scheme in her own mind without imparting it to any person whatever. Zadig was to be executed the next day. If she could save him at all, she must do it that very night ; and the method taken by this charitable and prudent lady was as follows: She perfumed herself; she heightened her beauty by the richest and gayest apparel, and went to de- mand an audience of the chief priest of the st^rs. As soon as she was introduced to the venerable old man, she addressed him in these terms : "Eld- i est son of the great bear, brother of the bull, and cousin of the great dog (such were the titles of this pontiff), I come to acquaint thee with my scru- ples. I am much afraid that I have committed a heinous crime in not burning myself on the funeral pile of my dear husband; for, indeed, what had I worth preserving? Perishable flesh, thou seest. 6a Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. that is already entirely withered." So saying, she drew up her long sleeves of silk, and showed her naked arms, which were of an elegant shape and a dazzling whiteness. "Thou seest," said she, "that these are little worth." The priest found in his heart that they were worth a great deal. He swore that he had never in his life seen such beau- tiful arms. "Alas!" said the widow, "my arms, per- haps, are not so bad as the rest; but thou wilt con- fess that my neck is not worthy of the least regard." She then discovered the most charming bosom that nature had ever formed. Compared to it, a rose- bud on an apple of ivory would have appeared like madder on the box-tree, and the whiteness of new- washed lambs would have seemed of a dusky yel- low. Her large black eyes, languishing with the gentle lustre of a tender fire; her cheeks animated with the finest pink, mixed with the whiteness of milk; her nose, which had no resemblance to the tower of Mount Lebanon; her lips, like two bor- ders of coral, enclosing the finest pearls in the Ara- bian Sea; all conspired to make the old man fancy and believe that he was young again. Almona, seeing his admiration, now entreated him to pardon Zadig. "Alas!" said he, "my charming lady, should I grant thee his pardon, it would be of no service, as it must necessarily be signed by three others, my brethren." "Sign it, however," said Almona. "With all my heart," said the priest. ***** AI-MONA, SEEINta HIS ADMIRATION, rslOW ENTREATED HIM TO PARDON ZADIG Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 6^ "Be pleased to visit me," said Almona, "when the bri^t star of Sheat shall appear in the horizon." Almona then went to see the second pontiflf. He assured her that the sun, the moon, and all the luminaries of heaven were but glimmering meteors in comparison to her charms. She asked the same favor of him, and he also granted it readily. She then appointed the second pontiff to meet her at the rising of the star Algenib. From thence she went to the third and fourth priest, always taking their sijTiatures, and making an appointment from star to star. She then sent a message to the judges, \ entreating them to come to her house on an affair of great importance. They obeyed her summons.' She showed them the four names, and told them that the priests had granted the pardon of Zadig. Each of the pontiffs arrived at the hour appointed. Each was surprised at finding his brethren there, but, still more at seeing the judges also present. Zadig was saved, and Setoc was so charmed with the skill and address of Almona that he at once made her his wife. Business affairs now required Setoc's presence in the island of Serendib; but during the first month of his marriage — the month which is called the honeymoon — he could not permit himself to leave Almona, nor even to think he could ever leave her, and, he requested Zadig to make the journey in his place. "Alas!" said Zadig, "must I put a still greater distance between the beautiful ~-4 64 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. Astarte and myself? But it would be ungrateful not to serve my friend, and I will endeavor to do my duty." Setoc and Zadig now took leave of each other with tears in their eyes, both swearing an eternal friendship, and promising to (^always^^ share their fortunes with each other. Zadig then, after having ' thrown himself at the feet of his fair deliverer, set out on his journey to Serendib, still musing on the ■ unhappy. Astarte, and meditating on the severity of fortune, which seemed to persistently make him the sport of her cruelty and the object of her per- secution. "What!" said he to himself, "fined four hundred ounces of gold for having observed a bitch! con- demned to lose my head for four bad verses in praise of the king! sentenced to be strangled be- cause the queen had shoes the color of my turban! reduced to slavery for having succored a woman who was beaten! and on the popt of being burned for having saved the lives of all the you^fg widows of Arabia !" II. — THE DANCE. Arriving in due time at the island of Serendib, Zadig's merits were at once recognized, and he was popularly regarded as an extraordinary man' He became the friend of the wise and learned, the arbitrator of disputes, and the adviser of the small 4 number of those who were willing to take advice. Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 6^ He was duly presented to the king, who was pleased with his affability, and soon chose him for his friend. But this royal favor caused Zadig to trem- ble, for he well remembered the misfortunes which the kindness of King Moabdar had formerly brought upon him. "I please the king," said he; "shall I not therefore be lost?" Still, he could not refuse the king's friendship, for it must be confessed that Nabussan, king of Serendib, son of Nussanab, son of Nabassau, son of Sanbusna, was one of the most amiable princes in Asia. But this good prince was always flattered, de- ceived and robbed. It was a contest who should most pillage the royal treasury. The example set by the receiver-general of Serendib was universally ' followed by the inferior officers. This the king knew. He had often changed his ' treasurers, but had never been able to change the established custom of dividing the revenues into two unequal parts, of which the smaller came to his majesty, and the larger to his officers. This custom Nabussan explained to Zadig. "You, whose knowledge embraces so many sub- jects," said he, "can you not tell me how to select a treasurer ^yho will not rob me?" Assuredly," said Zadig; I know. a sure method for finding you a man who will keep his hands clean." The king was charmed, and asked, while he embraced him, how this was to be done. "You have only," said Zadig, "to cause all those Vol. 2 — ^5 66 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. who apply for the office of treasurer to dance. He ^\yho dances the lightest will surely prove to be the most honest man." "You jest," said the king. "A strange way, cer- tainly, of choosing a receiver of my revenues. What! do you pretend that he who cuts the neat- est caper will be the most just and skilful finan- cier?" "I will not answer," returned Zadig, "for his being the most skilful, but I assure you he will be the most honest." Zadig spoke with so much confidence that the king imagined he had some supernatural test for selecting honest financiers. "I do not like the supernatural," said Zadig; "people and books dealing in prodigies have always displeased me. If your majesty will permit me to make the test, you will be convinced it is the easiest and simplest thing possible." Nabussan consented, and was, more aston- ished to hear that the test was siniple, than if it had been claimed as a miracle. "Leave all the details to me," said Zadig. "You will gain more by this trial than you imagine." The same day he made proclamation in the king's name, and all candidates for the office of re- ceiver-in-chief of the revenues of his gracious maj- esty, Nabussan, son of Nussanab, must present themselves in dresses of light silk, on the first day of the month of the crocodile, in the king's ante- Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 67 chamber. The candidates came, accordingly, to the number of sixty-four. Musicians were placed in an adjoining room, and all was prepared for the dance. As the door of the saloon was closed, it was necessary, in order to enter it, to pass through a small gallery which was slightly darkened. An usher directed each candidate in succession through this obscure passage, in which he was left alone for ,^ some moments. The king, being aware of the plan, had temptingly spread out in this gallery many of his choicest treasures. When all the candidates were assembled in the saloon, the king ordered the band to play and the dance to begin. Never had dancers perfortned more unwillingly or with less grace. Their heads were down, their backs bent, their hands pressed to their sides. "What rascals!" murmured Zadig. One alone danced with grace and agility — his head up, his look assured, his body erect, his arms free, his motions natural. ^ "Ah, the honest man, the excellent man!" cried Zadig. The king embraced this upright dancer, appoint- ed him treasurer, and punished all the others with the utmost justice, for each one had, while passing through the gallery, filled his pockets till he could hardly walk. His majesty was distressed at this exYiibition of dishonesty, and regretted that among these sixty-four dancers there should be sixty- 68 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. three thieves. This dark gallery was then named -■> the Corridor of Tein.Etation. In Persia these sixty-three lords would have been empaled ; in other countries a chamber of jus- tice would have consumed in costs three times the money stolen, replacing nothing in the king's cof- fers; in yet another kingdom they would have been honorably acquitted, and the light dancer dis- graced; in Serendib they were only sentenced to add to the public treasure, for Nabussan was very indulgent. ' He was also very grateful, and willingly gave ^ Zadig a larger sum than any treasurer had ever stolen from the revenue. This wealth Zadig used to send a courier to Babylon to learn the fate of Queen Astarte. His voice trembled when directing the courier. His blood seemed to stagnate in his veins. His heart almost ceased to beat. His eyes were suffused with tears. III. BLUE EYES. After the courier had gone Zadig returned to the palace, and, forgetting that he was not in his own room, almost unconsciously uttered the word LOVE. "Ah, love!" exclaimed the king; "that is indeed the cause of my unhappiness. You have divined what it is that causes me pain. You are indeed a great man. I hope you will assist me in my search for a woman, perfect in all respects, and of whose Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 69 affection I may feel assured. You have proved your ability for this service by selecting for me an honest financier, and I have entire confidence in your success." Zadig, having recovered his composure, prom- ised to serve the king in love as he had in finance, although the task seemed to him far more difiScult. "The body and the heart," said the king. At these words Zadig could not refrain from in- terrupting his majesty. "You show good taste," said he, "by not saying the mind and the heart; for we hear nothing but these words in the talk of Babylon. We see nothing but books which treat ^ of the heart and mind, written by people who have 'neither the one nor the other. But pardon me, sire, and deign to continue." "I have in my palace," said the king, "one hun- dred women who are all called charming, graceful, beautiful, afifectionate even, or pretending to be so when in my company; but I have t-oo often realized that it is to the king of Serendib they pay court, and that they care very little for Nabussan. This pretended affection does not satisfy my desires. I would find a consort that loves me for myself, and who would willingly be all my own. For such a treasure I would joyfully barter the hundred beau- ties whose forced smiles afford me no delight. Let us see if out of these hundred queens you can select one true woman to bless me with her love." Zadig replied to him, as he had previously done 70 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. ifl regard to the finances : "Sire, allow me to make the attempt, and permit me to again use the treas- ure formerly displayed in the Court of Temptation. I will render you a faithful account." The king willingly acceded to this request, and permitted Zadig to do as he desired. He first chose \ thirty-three of the ugliest little hunchbacks that jcould be procured in Serendib, then thirty-three of ^he handsomest pages to be found, and lastly, thir- tv-thre e bonzes (priests), the most eloquent and robust he could select. He gave them all liberty to enter the king's private apartments in the palace, and secure a partner if they so desired. Each little hunchback had four thousand gold pieces given to him, and on the first day each had secured a com- panion. The pages, who had nothing to give but ""^ themselves, did not succeed in many cases until the end of two or three days. The priests had still more trouble in obtaining partners, but finally thir- ty-three devotees joined their fortunes with these pious suitors. The king, through the blinds which opened into his apartments, saw all these trials, and was astounded. Of these hundred women, ninety- nine discarded his protection. There still remained one, however, still quite young, with whom his majesty had never conversed. They sent to her one, two, three hunchbacks, who displayed before her twenty thousand pieces of gold. She still re- mained firm, and could not refrain from laughing at the idea of these cripples, that wealth could Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 71 change their appearance. They then presented before her the two most beautiful pages. She said she thought the king was still more beautiful. They attacked her with the most eloquent of the priests, and afterwards with the most audacious. She found the first a prattler, and could not perceive any merit in the second. "The heart," said she, "is everything. I will never yield to the hunchbacks' gold, the pages' vanity, or the pompous prattle of the priests. I love only Nabussan, son of Nussanab, and I will wait until he condescends to love me in return." The king was transported with joy, astonish- ment, and love. He took back all the money that had brought success to the hunchbacks, and made a present of it to the beautiful Falide, which was the name of, this charming lady. He gave her his heart, which she amply deserved, for never were glances from female eyes more brilliant than her own, nor the charms of youthful beauty more en- chanting. Envy, it is true, asserted that she courte- sied awkwardly; but candor compels the admis- sion that she danced like the fairies, acted like the graces, sang like the sirens, and that she was, in truth, the very embodiment of intelligence and vir- , tue. Nabussan loved and adored her, but, alas! she had blue eyes, and this apparently trivial fact was the cause of the grgxest misfortunes. There was^n old law^/in Serendib forbidding the kings to marry those to whom the Greeks ap- 72 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. plied the word BoZvn;. A high priest had "^ estabhshed this law thousands of years ago. He "* had anathematized blue eyes in order that he might secure for himself the hand of the king's favorite. The various orders of the empire now remonstrated with Nabussan for disregarding < this organic law and loving the beautiful Falide. They publicly as- serted that the last days of the kingdom had ar- rived; that this act of royal love was the height of sacrilege; that all nature was threatened with a sinister ending, and all because Nabussan, son j of Nussanab, loved two magnificent blue eyes. The ,) cripples, the capitalists, the**bonzes and the bru- I nettes filled the kingdom with their complaints. The barbarians of the northern provinces prof- ited by the general discontent. They invaded the territory of the good Nabussan and demanded a tribute from his subjects. The priests, who pos- sessed half the revenues of the state, contented themselves with raising their hands to heaven, and refused to put them in their coffers to aid the king. They chanted beautiful prayers, and left the state a prey to the invaders. "O, my dear Zadig!" sadly cried Nabussan, "can you not rescue me from this impending danger?" "Very willingly," replied Zadig. "You shall have for your defence as much money from the priests as you may desire. Leave, I pray you, with- out guard, the property of the bonzes, and defend only your own possessions." Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 73 Nabussan wisely followed this advice. The priests became alarmed, threw themselves at his feet, and implored his protection. The king re- plied with agreeable music, and chanted forth pray- ers and invocations to heaven with much sweetness and melody. Finally, the priests reluctantly con- tributed the money, and the king brought the war to a happy termination. Thus Zadig, by his sensible advice and judicious services, drew upon himself the enmity of the most powerful parties in the state. The bonzes and the^ brunettes swore to destroy him; the capitalists andJ the cripples did not spare him. They caused the good Nabussan to suspect him. "Services renderedj often remain in the ante-chamber, and distrust i^ enters into the cabinet." So said Zoroaster. Ev- ery day there were fresh accusations ; the first is re- pelled, the second is lightly thought of, the third wounds, the fourth kills. Zadig was dismayed, and having now satisfac- torily arranged Setoc's affairs, he only thought of leaving the island in safety. "But where shall I go?" said he. "If I remain in Serendib the priests will doubtless have me em- paled; in Egypt I should probably be enslaved; burnt, according to all appearances, in Arabia; strangled in Babylon. However, I, must learn what has become of Queen Astarte, and will go on and see what sad fate destiny has still in store for me. 74 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. CHAPTER XIV. THE ROBBER. Arriving on the frontiers which divide Arabia Petraea from Syria, he passed by a very strong castle from which a party of armed Arabians salHed forth. They instantly surrounded him and cried : "All thou hast belongs to us, and thy person is the property of our master." Zadig replied by drawing his sword. His ser- vant, who was a man of courage, did the same. They killed the first Arabians .that presumed to lay hands on them, and though the number was re- doubled they were not dismayed, but resolved to perish in the conflict. Two men defended them- selves against a multitude, but such a combat could not last long. The master of the castle, whose name was Arbogad, having observed from a win- dow the prodigies of valor performed by Zadig, conceived a high esteem for this heroic stranger. He descended in haste, and went in person to call off his men and deliver the two travellers. "All that passes over my lands," said he, "be- longs to me, as well as what I find upon the lands of others; but thou seemest to be a man of such undaunted courage that I will exempt thee from the V> common law." He then conducted him to his castle, ordering his men to treat him well, and in the evening Ar Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 75 bogad supped with Zadig. The lord of the castle was one of those Arabians who are commonly called robbers, but he now and then performed some good actions amidst a multitude of bad ones. He robbed with a furious rapacity, and granted favors with great generosity. He was intrepid in action, affable in company, a debauchee at table, but gay in his debauchery, and particularly remark- able for his frank and open behavior. He was highly pleased with Zadig, whose lively conversa- tion lengthened the repast. At last Arbogad said to him: "I advise thee to enroll thy name in my cata- logue. Thou canst not do better. This is not a bad trade, and thou mayest one day become what I am at present." "May I take the liberty of asking thee," said Zadig, "how long thou hast followed this noble pro- fession ?" "From my most tender youth," replied the lord, "I was servant to a petty, good-natured Arabian, but could not endure the hardships of my situation. I was vexed to find that fate had given me no share of the earth, which equally belongs to all men. I imparted the cause of my uneasiness to an old Ara- bian, who said to me: " 'My son, do not despair ; there was once a grain of sand that lamented that it was no more than a neglected atom in the deserts; at the end of a few years it became a diamond, and it is now the bright- 76 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. est ornament in the crown of the king of the In- dies.' "This discourse made a deep impression on my mind. I was the grain of sand, and I resolved to become the diamond. I began by stealing two horses. I soon got a party of companions. I put myself in a condition to rob small caravans, and thus, by degrees, I destroyed the difference which had formerly subsisted between me and other men. I had my share of the good things of this world, and was even recompensed with usury for the hard- ships I had suffered. I was greatly respected, and became the captain of a band of robbers. I seized this castle by force. The satrap of Syria had a mind to dispossess me of it, but I was too rich to have anything to fear. I gave the satrap a hand- some present, by which means I preserved my castle, and increased my possessions. He even ap- pointed me treasurer of the tributes which Arabia Petrsea pays to .the king of kings. I perform my office of receiver with great punctuality, but take the freedom to dispense with that of paymaster. "The grand desterham of Babylon sent hither a petty satrap, in the name of King Moabdar, to have me strangled. This man arrived with his or- ders. I was apprised of all. I caused to be stran- gled, in his presence, the four persons he had brought with him to draw the noose, after which I asked him how much his commission of strangling me might be worth. He replied that his fees would Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 77 amount to above three hundred pieces of gold. I then convinced him that he might gain more by staying with me. I made him an inferior robber, and he is now one of my best and richest ofificers. If thou wilt take my advice, thy success may be equal to his. Never was there a better season for plunder, since King Moabdar is killed, and all Babylon thrown into confusion." "Moabdar killed!" said Zadig, "and what has become of Queen Astarte?" "I know not," replied Arbogad. All I know is ' that Moabdar lost his senses and was killed ; that ^ Babylon is a scene of disorder and bloodshed ; that >/ all the empire is desolated ; that there are some fine J strokes to be made yet; and that, for my own part, J I have struck some that are admirable." "But the queen," said Zadig; "for heaveii's sake, knowest thou nothing of the queen's fate?" "Yes," replied he, "I have heard something of a prince of Hircania. If she was not killed in the tu- mult, she is probably one of his concubines. But I am much fonder of booty than news. I have taken several women in my excursions, but I keep none of them. I sell them at a high price when they are beautiful, without inquiring who they are. In ^ commodities of this kind rank makes no difference, and a queen that is ugly will never find a purchaser. V Perhaps I may have sold Queen Astarte; perhaps she is dead ; but, be it as it may, it is of little con- 78 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. sequence to me, and I should imagine of as little to thee." So saying, he drank a large draught, which threw all his ideas into such confusion that Zadig could obtain no further information. Zadig remained for some time without speech, sense, or motion. Arbogad continued drinking, constantly repeated that he was the happiest man in the world, and exhorted Zadig to put himself in the same condition. At last the soporiferous fume of the wine lulled him into a gentle repose. Zadig passed the night in the most violent perturbation. "What!" said he, "did the king lose his senses? And is he killed? I cannot help lamenting his fate. The empire is rent in pieces, and this robber is happy. O fortune! O destiny! A robber is happy, and the most beautiful of nature's works hath perhaps perished in a barbarous manner, or lives in a state worse than death. O Astarte ! what has become of thee?" At daybreak he questioned all those he met in the castle, but they were all busy, and he received no answer. During the night they had made a new capture, and they' were now employed in dividing the spoil. All he cijuld obtain in this hurry and confusion was an opjiortunity of departing, which he immediately embraced, plunged deeper than ever in the most gloomy and mournful reflections. Zadig proceeded on, his journey with a mind full of disquiet and perplexity, and wholly em- Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 79 ployed on the unhappy Astarte, on the King of Babylon, on his faithful friend Cador, on the happy robber Arbogad, on that capricious woman whom the Babylonians had seized on the frontiers of Egypt, — in a word, on all the misfortunes and dis- appointments he had hitherto suffered. \ CHAPTER XV. THE FISHERMAN. At a few leagues distance from Arbogad's castle he came to the banks of a small river, still deploring his fate, and considering himself as the most wretched of mankind. He saw a fisherman lying on the bank of the river, scarcely holding in his weak and feeble hand a net which he seemed ready to drop, and lifting up his eyes to heaven. "I am certainly," said the fisherman, "the most unhappy man in the world. I was universally al- lowed to be the most famous dealer in cream cheese in Babylon, and yet I am ruined. I had the most handsome wife that any man in my situation could have, and by her I have been betrayed. I had still left a paltry house, and that I have seen pil- I laged and destroyed. At last I took refuge in this ! cottage, where I have no other resource than fish- ! ing, and yet I cannot catch a single fish. Oh, my net! no more will I throw thee into the water; I will throw myself in thy place." 8o Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. So saying, he arose and stepped forward, in the attitude of a man ready to throw himself into the river, and thus to finish his hfe. "What !" said Zadig, "are there men as wretched as I?" His eagerness to save the fisherman's Hfe was as sudden as this reflection. He runs to him, stops 'him, and speaks to him with a tender and compas- sionate air. It is commonly supposed that we are less miserable when we have companions in our misery. This, according to Zoroaster, does not pro- ceed from malice, but necessity. We feel ourselves insensibly drawn to an unhappy person as to one like ourselves. The joy of the happy would be an insult. But two men in distress are like two slender trees, which, mutually supporting each other, fortify themselves against the tempest. "Why," said Zadig to the fisherman, "dost thou sink under thy misfortunes?" "Because," replied he, "I see no means of relief. I was the most considerable man in the village of Derlback, near Babylon, and with the assistance of my wife I made the best cream cheese in the em- pire. Queen Astarte, and the famous minister, Zadig, were extremely fond of them. I had sent them six hundred cheeses, and one day went to the city to receive my money, but on my arrival at Babylon was informed that the queen and Zadig had disappeared. I ran to the house of Lord Zadig, whom I had never seen, and found there the infe- Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 8l rior officers of the grand desterham, who, being fur- nished with a royal Hcence, were plundering it with great loyalty and order. From thence I flew to the queen's kitchen, some of the lords of which told me that the queen was dead; some said she was in prison, and others pretended that she had made her escape; but they all agreed in assuring me that I would not be paid for my cheese. I went with my wife to the house of Lord Orcan, who was one of my customers, and begged his protection in my present distress. He granted it to my wife, but refused it to me. She was whiter than the cream cheeses that began my misfortune, and the lustre of the Tyrian purple was not more bright than the carnation which animated this whiteness. For this reason Orcan detained her, and drove nie from his house. In my despair I wrote a letter to my dear wife. She said to the bearer : 'Ha, ha ! I know the writer of this a little. I have heard his name men- N tioned. They say he makes excellent cream cheeses. N Desire him to send me some and he shall be paid.' ^^ "Tn my flktrpgs T resolved to apply to justice . I had still six ounces of gold remaining. I was ''obliged to give two to the lawyer whom I con- ~^ suited, two to the procurator who undertook my !cause, and two to the secretary of the first judge. When all this was done, my business was not be- gun; and I had already expended more money than my cheese and my wife were worth. I returned to Vol. 2—6 82 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. my own village, with an intention to sell my house, in order to enable me to recover my wife. "My house was well worth sixty ounces of gold; but as my neiglibors saw that I was poor, and obliged to sell it, the fn-st to whom I applied of- fered me thirty ounces, the second twenty, and the third ten. Bad as these offers were, I was so blind that I was going to strike a bargain, when a prince of Hircania came to Babylon, and ravaged all in his way. My house was first sacked and then burned. "Having thus lost my money, my wife, and my house, I retired into this country, where thou now seest me. I have endeavored to gain a subsistence by fishing, but the fish make a mock of me, as well as the men. I catch none; I die of hunger; and had it not been for thee, august comforter, I should have perished in the river." The fisherman was not allowed to give this long account without interruption. At every moment, Zadig, moved and transported, said: "What, knowest thou nothing of the queen's fate?" "No, my lord," replied the fisherman, "but I know that neither the queen nor Zadig have paid me for my cream cheeses ; that I have lost my wife, and am now reduced to despair." "I flatter myself," said Zadig, "that thou wilt not lose all thy money. I have heard of this Zadig; he is an honest man, and if he return to Babylon, as he expects, he will give thee more than he owes Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 83 thee. But with regard to thy wife, who is not so honest, I advise thee not to seek to recover her. Believe me, go to Babylon; I shall be there before thee, because I am on horseback, and thou art on foot. Apply to the illustrious Cador. Tell him thou hast met his friend. Wait for me at his house. Go; perhaps thou wilt not always be unhappy. "O, powerful Oromazes!" continued he, "thou employest me to comfort this man. Whom wilt thou employ to give me consolation?" So saying, he gave the fisherman half the money he had brought from Arabia. The fisherman, struck with surprise and ravished with joy, kissed the feet of the friend of Cador, and said : "Thou art surely an angel sent from heaven to save me!" Meanwhile Zadig continued to make fresh in- quiries, and to shed tears. "What! my lord," cried the fisherman, "and art thou then so unhappy, thou who bestowest favors?" "A hundred times more unhappy than thee," replied Z&dig. "But how is it possible," said the good man, "that the giver can be more wretched than the re- ceiver?" "Because," replied Zadig, "thy greatest misery arose from poverty, and mine is seated in the heart." "Did Orcan take thy wife from thee?" said the fisherman. This word recalled to Zadig's mind the whole 84 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. of his adventures. He repeated the catalogue of his misfortunes, beginning with the queen's bitch, and ending with his arrival at the castle of the rob- ber Arbogad. "Ah!" said he to the fisherman, "Orcan deserves to be punished; but it is commonly such men as ~"~~^ those that are the favorites of fortune. However, go thou to the house of Lord Cador, and there await my arrival." They then parted. The fisherman walked, thank- ing heaven for the happiness of his condition; and ■■■> Zadig rode, accusing fortune for the hardness of '■■ his lot. CHAPTER XVI. THE BASILISK. Arriving in a beautiful meadow, he there saw several women, who were searching for something with great application. He took the liberty to ap- proach one of them, and to ask if he might have the honor to assist them in their search. "Take care that thou dost not," replied the Syr- ian. What we are searching for can be touched only by women." "Strange," said Zadig. "May I presume to ask thee what it is that women only are permitted to touch?" "It is a basilisk," said she. Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 85 "A basilisk, madam ! and for what purpose, pray, dost thou seek for a basilisk?" It is for our lord and master, Ogul, whose castle thou seest on the bank of that river, at the end of that meadow. We are his most humble slaves. The lord Ogul is sick. His physician has ordered him to eat a basilisk, stewed in rose-water, and as it is a very rare animal, and can only be taken by women, the lord Ogul hath promised to choose for his well-beloved wife the woman that shall bring him a basilisk. Let me go on in my search, for thou seest what I shall lose if I am forestalled by my companions." Zadig left her and the other Assyrians to search for their basilisk, and continued his journey through the meadow; when, coming to the brink of a small rivulet, he found a lady lying on the grass, and who was not searching for anything. Her person seemed majestic, but her face was cov- ered with a veil. She was inclined toward the riv- ulet, and profound sighs proceeded from her bosom. In her hand she held a small rod, with which she was tracing characters on the fine sand that lay between the turf and the brook. Zadig had the curiosity to examine what this woman was writing. He drew near. He saw the letter Z, then an A ; he was astonished ; then appeared a D ; life started. But never was surprise equal to his when he saw the last two letters of his name. He stood 86 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. for some time immovable. At last, breaking silence with a faltering voice: "Oh, generous lady! pardon a stranger, an un- fortunate man, for presuming to ask thee by what surprising adventure I here find the name of Zadig traced out by thy divine hand ?" At this voice, and these words, the lady lifted up the veil with a trembling hand, looked at Zadig, sent forth a cry of tenderness, surprise, and joy, and sinking under the various emotions which at once assaulted her soul, fell speechless into his arms. It was Astarte herself; it was the queen of Babylon; it was she whom Zadig adored, and whom he had reproached himself for adoring; it was she whose misfortunes he had so deeply lamented, and for whose fate he had been so anxiously concerned. He was for a moment deprived of the use of his senses, when he had fixed his eyes on those of Astarte, which now began to open again with a lan- guor mixed with confusion and tenderness. "O ye immortal powers!" cried he, "who pre- side over the fates of weak mortals, do ye indeed restore Astarte to me ? At what a time, in what a Ni place, and in what a condition do I again behold her?" He fell on his knees before Astarte, and laid his face in the dust at her feet. The queen of Babylon raised him up, and made him sit by her side on the brink of the rivulet. She frequently wiped her eyes, from which the tears continued to flow afresh. She Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 87 twenty times resumed her discourse, which her sighs as often interrupted. She asked by what strange accident they were brought together, and suddenly prevented his answer by other questions. She waived the account of her own misfortunes, and desired to be informed of those of Zadig. At last, both of them having a little composed the tu- mult of their souls, Zadig acquainted her in a few words by what adventure he was brought into that meadow. "But, O unhappy and respectable queen, by what means do I find thee in this lonely place, clothed in the habit of a slave, and accompanied by other female slaves, who are searching for a basilisk, which, by order of the physician, is to be stewed in rose-water?" "While they are searching for their basilisk," said the fair Astarte, "I will inform thee of all I have suffered, for which heaven has sufficiently recompensed me by restoring thee to my sight. Thou knowest that the king, my husband, was vexed to see thee, the most amiable of mankind, and that for this reason he one night resolved to strangle thee and poison me. Thou knowest how heaven permitted my little mute to inform me of the orders of his sublime majesty. Hardly had the faithful Cador obliged thee to depart, in obedience to my command, when he ventured to enter my apartment at midnight by a secret passage. He carried me off, and conducted me to the temple of 88 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. ^~^ Oromazes, where the magi, his brother, shut me up in that huge statue, whose base reaches to the foundation of the temple, and whose top rises to the summit of the dome. I was there buried in a man- ner, but was served by the magi, and supplied with all the necessaries of life. At break of day his majesty's apothecary entered my chamber with a potion composed of a mixture of henbane, opium, hemlock, black hellebore, and aconite; and another officer went to thine with a bowstring of blue silk. Neither of us were to be found. Cador, the better to deceive the king, pretended to come and accuse us both. He said that thou hadst taken the road to the Indies, and I that to Memphis; on which the king's guards were immediately despatched in pursuit of us both. "The couriers who pursued me did not know me. "i had hardly ever shown my face to any but thee, ■I and to thee only in the presence and by the order of my husband. They conducted themselves in the pursuit by the description that had been given of my person. On the frontiers of Egypt they met with a woman of the same stature as mine, and pos- sessed perhaps of greater charms. She was weep- ing and wandering. They made no doubt but that this woman was the queen of Babylon, and accord- ingly brought her to Moabdar. Their mistake at first threw the king into a violent passion; but having viewed this woman more attentively, he found her extremely handsome, and was comforted. Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 89 ■^^ She was called Missouf. I have since been in- formed that this name, in the Egyptian language, ^"^ signifies the capricious fair one. She was so in reality, but she had as much cunning as caprice. She pleased Moabdar, and gained such an ascend- ency over him as to make him choose her for his wife. Her character then began to appear in its true colors. She gave herself up, without scruple, to all the freaks of a wanton imagination. She I would have obliged the chief of the magi, who was old and gouty, to dance before her, and, on his refusal, she persecuted him with the most unrelent- ing cruelty. She ordered her master of the horse to make her a pie of sweetmeats. In vain did he Irepresent that he was not a pastry-cook. He was jobliged to make it, and lost his place because it was (baked a little too hard. The post of master of the j horse she gave to her dwarf, and that of chancellor to her page. In this manner did she govern Baby- lon. Everybody regretted the loss of me. The king, who, till the moment of his resolving to Doison me and strangle thee, had been a tolerably jood kind of man, seemed now to have drowned all lis virtues in his immoderate fondness for this capri- pious fair one. He came to the temple on the great day of the feast held in honor of the sacred fire. I saw him implore the gods in behalf of Missouf, at the feet of the statue in which I was enclosed. I raised my voice; I cried out: " 'The gods reject the prayers of a king who is 90 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. now become a tyrant, and who attempted to mur- der a reasonable wife, in order to marry a woman remarkable for nothing but her folly and extrava- gance.' "At these words Moabdar was confounded, and his head became disordered. The oracle I had pro- nounced, and the tyranny of Missouf, conspired to deprive him of his judgment, and in a few days his reason entirely forsook him. , "His madness, which seemed to be the judgment I of heaven, was the signal for a revolt. The people rose, and ran to arms; and Babylon, which had been so long immersed in idleness and effeminacy, became the theatre of a bloody civil war. I was ' taken from the heart of my statue and placed at the -■ head of a party. Cador flew to Memphis to bring thee back to Babylon. The prince of Hircania, informed of these fatal events, returned with his ^ army, and made a third party in Chaldsea. He at- tacked the king, who fled before him with his ca- ■•pricious Egyptian. Moabdar died, pierced with wounds. Missouf fell into the hands of the con- queror. I myself had the misfortune to be taken by a party of Hircanians, who conducted me to their prince's tent, at the very moment that Missouf was brought before him. Thou wilt doubtless be "^ pleased to hear that the prince thought me more beautiful than the Egyptian ; but thou wilt be sorry to be informed that he designed me for his jeraglio. He told me, with a blunt and resolute air, that as Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 91 soon as he had finished a military expedition, which he was just going to undertake, he would come to me. Judge how great must have been my grief. My ties with Moabdar were already dis- solved; I might have been the wife of Zadig; and I was fallen into the hands of a barbarian. I an- swered him with all the pride which my high rank and noble sentiment could inspire. I had always heard it alifirmed that heaven stamped on persons of my condition a mark of grandeur, which, with a single word or glance, could reduce to the lowli- ness of the most profound respect those rash and forward persons who presume to deviate from the rules of politeness. I spoke like a queen, but was treated like a maid-servant. The Hircanian, with- out even deigning to speak to me, told his black eunuch that I was impertinent, but that he thought me handsome. He ordered him to take care of me 1 1 and to put me under the regimen of favorites, so . that, my complexion being improved, I might be the more worthy of his favors when he should be at i leisure to honor me with them. I told him that, rather than submit to his desires, I would put an end to my life. He replied, with a smile, that women, he believed, were not so bloodthirsty, and that he was accustomed to such violent expres- sions; and then left me with the air of a man who had just put another parrot into his aviary. What a state for the first queen of the universe, and, what vis more, for a heart devoted to Zadig!" 92 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 'At these words Zadig threw himself at her feet, and bathed them with his tears. Astarte raised him with great tenderness, and thus continued her story: "I now saw myself in the power of a barbarian, and rival to the foolish woman with whom I was con- fined. She gave me an account of her adventures in Egypt. From the description she gave of your person, from the time, from the dromedary on which you were mounted, and from every other cir- cumstance, I inferred that Zadig was the man who had fought for her. I doubted not but that you were at Memphis, and therefore resolved to repair thither. 'Beautiful Missouf,' said I, 'thou art more handsome than I, and will please the prince of Hir- cania much better. Assist me in contriving the means of my escape. Thou wilt then reign alone. Thou wilt at once make me happy and rid thyself of a rival.' "Missouf concerted with me the means of my flight; and I departed secretly with a female slave. As I approached the frontiers of Arabia, a famous robber, named Arbogad, seized me and sold me to some merchants who brought me to this castle where Lord Ogul resides. He bought me without knowing who I was. He is a voluptuary, ambi- tious of nothing but good living, and thinks that God sent him into the world for no other purpose than to sit at table. He is so extremely corpulent, that he is always in danger of suffocation. His phy- Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. g^ sician, who has but little credit with him when he has a good digestion, governs him with a despotic sway when he has eaten too much. He has per- suaded him that a basilisk stewed in rose-water will effect a complete cure. The lord Ogul hath prom- ised his hand to the female slave that brings him a basilisk. Thou seest that I leave them to vie with each other in meriting this honor; and never was I less desirous of finding the basilisk than since heaven hath restored thee to my sight." This account was succeeded by a long conversa- tion between Astarte and Zadig, consisting of every- thing that their long suppressed sentiments, their great sufferings, and their mutual love, could in- spire into hearts the most noble and tender; and the genii who preside over love carried their words to the sphere of Venus. The women returned to Ogul without having found the basilisk. Zadig was introduced to this mighty lord, and spoke to him in the following terms : "May immortal health descend from heaven to bless all thy days! I am a physician. At the first report of thy indisposition I flew to thy castle, and have now brought thee a basilisk stewed in rose- water. Not that I pretend to marry thee. All I ask is the liberty of a Babylonian slave, who hath been in thy possession for a few days; and if I should not be so happy as to cure thee, magnificent 94 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. Lord Ogul, I consent to remain a slave in her place." The proposal was accepted. Astarte set out for Babylon with Zadig's servant, promising, imme- diately upon her arrival, to send a courier to inform him of all that had happened. Their parting was as tender as their meeting. The moment of meet- ing, and that of parting are the two greatest epochas f of life, as saith the great book of Zend. Zadig loved the queen with as much ardor as he pro- fessed; and the queen loved Zadig more than she thought proper to acknowledge. Meanwhile Zadig spoke thus to Ogul: "lyiy lord, my basilisk is not to be eaten; all its virtues must enter through thy pores. I have in- closed it in a little ball, blown up and covered with a fine skin. Thou must strike this ball with all thy might, and I must strike it back for a considerable time; and by observing this regimen for a few days, thou wilt see the effects of my art." The first day Ogul was out of breath, and thought he should have died with fatigue. The second he was less fatigued, and slept better. In eight days he recovered all the strength, all the health, all the agility and cheerfulness of his most agreeable years. "Thou hast played at ball, and hast been temper- ate," said Zadig. "Know that there is no such thing in nature as a basilisk; that temperance and exer- cise are the two great preservatives of health; and Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 95 that the art of reconciling intemperance and health is as chimerical as the philosopher's stone, judicial astrology, or the theology of the magi." Ogul's first physician observing how dangerous' this man might prove to the medical art, formed a design, in conjunction with the apothecary, to send Zadig to search for a basilisk in the other world. Thus, after having suffered such a long train of calamities on account of his good actions, he was now upon the point of losing his life for curing a gluttonous lord. He was invited to an excellent dinner, and was to have been poisoned in the second course; but, during the first, he happily received a courier from the fair Astarte. "When one is beloved by a beautiful woman," says the great Zoroaster, "he hath, always the good fortune to extricate himself out of every kind of difificulty and danger." CHAPTER XVH. THE COMBATS. The queen was received at Babylon with all those transports of joy which are ever felt on the return of a beautiful princess who hath been involved in calamities. Babylon was now in greater tran- quillity. The prince of Hircania had been killed in battle. The victorious Babylonians declared that the queen should marry the man whom they should g6 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. choose for their sovereign. They were resolved ' that the first place in the world, that of being hus- band to Astarte and king of Babylon, should not depend on cabals and intrigues. They swore to acknowledge for king the man who, upon trial, should be found to be possessed of the greatest valor and the greatest wisdom. Accordingly, at the distance of a few leagues from the city, a spacious place was marked out for the lists, surrounded with magnificent amphitheatres. Thither the combat- ants were to repair in complete armor. Each of them had a separate apartment behind the amphi- theatres, where they were neither to be seen nor known by any one. Each was to encounter four knights; and those that were so happy as to con- quer four, were then to engage with one another; so that he who remained the last master of the field, would be proclaimed conqueror at the games. Four days after he was to return to the same place, and to explain the enigmas proposed by the magi. If he did not explain the enigmas, he was not king; and the running at the lances was to begin afresh, till a man should be found who was conqueror in both these combats ; for they were absolutely deter- 1 mined to have a king possessed of the greatest wis- ;dom and the most invincible courage. The queen was all the while to be strictly guarded. She was only allowed to be present at the games, and even there she was to be covered with a veil; but was not allowed to speak to any of the competitors, that so Zadig : The Mystery of Fate, 97 they might neither receive favor nor suffer injustice. These particulars .Astarte communicated to her lover, hoping that, in order to obtain her, he would show himself possessed of greater courage and wis- dom than any other person. Zadig set out on his journey, beseeching Venus to fortify his courage and enlighten his understand- ing. He arrived on the banks of the Euphrates on the eve of this great day. He caused his device to be inscribed among those of the combatants, con- cealing his face and his name, as the law ordained; V and then went to repose himselfTrilTie apartment that fell to him by lot. His friend, Cador, who, after the fruitless search he had made for him in Egypt, had now returned to Babylon, sent to his tent a complete suit of armor, which was a present from the queen; as also from himself, one of the finest horses in Persia. Zadig presently perceived that these presents were sent by Astarte ; and from thence his courage derived fresh strength, and his love the most animating hopes. Next day, the queen being seated under a canopy of jewels, and the amphitheatres filled with all the gentlemen and ladies of rank in Babylon, the combat- ants appeared in the circus. Each of them came land laid his device at the feet of the grand magi. V They drew their devices by lot; and that of Zadig J was the last. The first who advanced was a certain lord, named Itobad, very rich and very vain, but possessed of little courage, of less address, and Vol. 2—7 98 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. scarcely of any judgment at all. His servants had persuaded him that such a man as he ought to be king. He had said in reply, "Such a man as I ought to reign"; and thus they had armed him cap-a-pie. He wore an armor of gold enamelled with green, a plume of green feathers, and a lance adorned with green ribbons. It was instantly per- ceived by the manner in which Itobad managed his horse, that it was not for such a man as him that, heaven reserved the sceptre of Babylon. The first knight that ran against him threw him out of his saddle; the second laid him flat on his horse's but- tocks, with his legs in the air, and his arms ex- tended. Itobad recovered himself, but with so bad a grace, that the whole amphitheatre burst out a-laughing. The third knight disdained to make use of his lance; but, making a pass at him, took him by the right leg, and wheeling him half round, laid him prostrate on the sand. The squires of the games ran to him laughing, and replaced him in his saddle. The fourth combatant took him by the left leg, and tumbled him down on the other side. He was conducted back with scornful shouts to his n1 tent, where, according to the law, he was to pass the night ; and as he limped along with great diffi- culty, he said: "What an adventure for such a man as I!" The other knights acquitted themselves with greater ability and success. Some of them con- quered two combatants ; a few of them vanquished Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 99 three; but none but Prince Otamus conquered four. At last Zadig fought in his turn. He suc- cessively threw four knights ofif their saddles with all the grace imaginable. It then remained to be seen who should be conqueror, Otamus or Zadig. The arms of the first were gold and blue, with a plume of the same color; those of the last were white. The wishes of all the spectators were divided between the knight in blue and the knight in white. The queen, whose heart was in a violent palpitation, offered prayers to heaven for the suc- cess of the white color. The two champions made their passes and vaults with so much agility, they mutually gave and re- ceived such dexterous blows with their lances, and sat so firmly in their saddles, that everybody but the queen wished there might be two kings in Babylon. At length, their horses being tired and their lances broken, Zadig had recourse to this stratagem: He passes behind the blue prince; springs upon the buttocks of his horse; seizes him by the middle; throws him on the earth; places himself in the saddle, and wheels around Otamus as he lay extended on the ground. All the amphi- theatre cried out, "Victory to the white knight!" Otamus rises in a violent passion and draws his sword; Zadig leaps from his horse with his sabre in his hand. Both of them are now on the ground, engaged in a new combat, where strength and agility triumph by turns. The plumes of their hel- lOO Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. mets, the studs of their bracelets, and the rings of their armor are driven to a great distance by the violence of a thousand furious blows. They strike with the point and the edge; to the right, to the left; on the head, on the breast; they retreat; they advance; they measure swords; they close; they seize each other; they bend like serpents; they attack like lions; and the fire every moment flashes from their blows. At last Zadig, having re- covered his spirits, stops; makes a feint; leaps upon Otamus ; throws him on the ground, and dis- arms him; and Otamus cries out: "It is thou alone, O white knight, that oughtest to reign over Babylon!" The queen was now at the height of her joy. The knight in blue armor, and the knight in white, were conducted each to his own apartment, as well as all the others, according to the intention of the law. Mutes came to wait on them, and to serve them at table. It may be easily supposed that the queen's little mute waited on Zadig. They were then left to themselves to enjoy the sweets of repose till next morning, at which time the conqueror was to bring his device to the grand magi, to compare it with that which he had left, and make himself known. Zadig, though deeply in love, was so much fatigued that he could not help sleeping. Itobad, who lay near him, never closed his eyes. He arose in the night, entered his apartment, took the white arms and the device of Zadig, and put his green Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. loi armor in their place. At break of day, he went boldly to the grand magi, to declare that so great a man as he was conqueror. This was little expected; however, he was proclaimed while Zadig was still asleep. Astarte, surprised and filled with despair, returned to Babylon. The amphitheatre was almost empty when Zadig awoke; he sought for his arms but could find none but the green armor. With this he was obliged to cover himself, having nothing else near him. Astonished and enraged, he put it on in a furious passion and advanced in this equipage. The people that still remained in the amphi- ^j theatre and the circus received him with hoots and hisses. They surrounded him, and insulted him to his face. Never did man suffer such cruel morti- fications. He lost his patience; with his sabre he dispersed such of the populace as dared to affront him; but he knew not what course to take. He could not see the queen; he could not claim the white armor she had sent him without exposing her; and thus, while she was plunged in grief, he was filled with fury and distraction. He walked on the banks of the Euphrates, fully persuaded that 1 his star had destined him to inevitable misery; and \ revolving in his mind all his misfortunes, from the adventure of the woman who hated one-eyed men, i to that of his armor. "This," said he, "is the consequence of my hav- ing slept too long. Had I slept less, I should now I02 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. have been king of Babylon, and in possession of Astarte. Knowledge, virtue, and courage, have hitherto serv&i~^fy-io«m3i.k.£jxie miserable." He then let fall some secret murmurings against Providence, and was tempted to believe that the world was governed by a cruel destiny, which op- pressed the good, and prospered knights in green armor. CHAPTER XVni. THE HERMIT. One of Zadig's greatest mortifications was his being obliged to wear that green armor which had exposed him to such contumelious treatment. A merchant happening to pass by, he sold it to him for a trifle, and bought a gown and a long bonnet. In this garb he proceeded along the banks of the Euphrates, filled with despair, and secretly accusing Providence, which thus continued to persecute him with unremitting severity. •^While he was thus sauntering along, he met a hermit, whose white and venerable beard hung down to his girdle. He held a book in his hand, which he read with great attention. Zadig stopped, and made him a profound obeisance. The hermit returned the compliment with such a noble and en- gaging air, that Zadig had the curiosity to enter into conversation with him. He asked him what book it was that he had been reading. Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 103 "It is the book of destinies^" said the hermit. "Wouldst thou choose to look into it?" He put the book into the hands of Zadig, who, thoroughly versed as he was in several languages, could not decipher a single character of it. This only redoubled his curiosity. "Thou seemest," said the good father, "to be in great distress." "Alas!" replied Zadig, "I have but too much^ reason." "If thou wilt permit me to accompany th?e," re- sumed the old man, "perhaps I may be of some service to thee. I have often poured the balm of consolation into the bleeding heart of the unhappy." Zadig felt himself inspired with respect for the dignity, the beard, and the book of the hermit. He found, in the course of the conversation, that he was possessed of superior degrees of knowledge. The hermit talked of fate, of justice, of morals, of the chief good, of human weakness, and of virtue and vice, with such a spirited and moving eloquence, that Zadig felt himself drawn toward him by an irresistible charm. He earnestly entreated the favor of his company till their return to Babylon. "I ask the same favor of thee," said the old man. "Swear to me by Oromazes that, whatever I do, \^ thou wilt not leave me for some days." Zadig swore, and they set out together. In the evening the two travellers arrived at a superb castle. The hermit entreated a hospitable reception for him- ^ I04 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. self and the young man who accompanied him. \ The porter, whom one might have mistaken for a "•^ great lord, introduced them with a kind of disdain- ful civility. He presented them to a principal domestic, who showed them his master's magnifi- cent apartments. They were admitted to the lower end of the table, without being honored with the (least mark of regard by the lord of the castle; but •they were served, like the rest, with delicacy and profusion. They were then presented, in a golden basin adorned with emeralds and rubies, with water to wash their hands. At last they were conducted to bed in a beautiful apartment; and in the morning a domestic brought each of them a piece of gold, after which they took their leave and departed. "The master of the house," said Zadig, as they were proceeding on their journey, "appears to be a ^ generous man, though somewhat too proud. He "N nobly performs the duties of hospitality." At that instant he observed that a kind of large pocket, which the hermit had, was filled and dis- tended; and upon looking more narrowly, he found that it contained the golden basin adorned with precious stones, which the hermit had stolen. He durst not then take any notice of it; but he was filled with a strange surprise. About noon the hermit came to the door of a paltry house, inhabited by a rich miser, and begged the favor of a hospitable reception for a few hours. An old servant, in a tattered garb, received them Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 105 with a blunt and rude air, and led them into the stable, where he gave them some rotten olives, sour wine, and mouldy bread. The hermit ate and drank with as much seeming satisfaction as he had done the evening before, and then addressing himself to the old servant who watched them both to prevent them stealing anything, and had rudely pressed them to depart, he gave him the two pieces of gold he had received in the morning, and thanked him for his great civility. "Pray," added he, "allow me to speak to thy master." The servant, filled with astonishment, introduced the two travellers. "Magnificent lord!" said the hermit, "I cannot but return thee my most humble thanks for the noble manner in which thou hast entertained us. Be pleased to accept of this golden basin as a small mark of my gratitude." The miser started, and was ready to fall back- wards ; but the hermit, without giving him time to recover from his surprise, instantly departed with his young fellow traveller. "Father," said Zadig, "what is the meaning of all this? Thou seemest to me to be entirely differ- ent from other men. Thou stealest a golden basin adorned with precious stones from a lord who re- ceived thee magnificently, and givest it to a miser who treats thee with indignity." "Son," replied the old man, "this magnificent io6 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. lord, who receives strangers only from vanity and ostentation, will hereby be rendered more wise'; and the miser will learn to practise the duties of hospitality. Be surprised at nothing, but follow me. Zadig knew not as yet whether he, was in com- pany with the most foolish or the most prudent of mankind; but the hermit spoke with such an as- cendency that Zadig, who was moreover bound by his oath, could not refuse to follow him. In the evening they arrived at a house built with equal elegance and simplicity, where nothing savored either of prodigality or avarice. The mas- ter of it was a philosopher who had retired from the world, and who cultivated in peace the study of virtue and wisdom, without any of that rigid and morose severity so commonly found in men of his character. He had chosen to build this fine house in which he received strangers with a generosity free from ostentation. He went himself to meet the two travellers, whom he led into a commodious apartment, and desired them to repose themselves. Soon after he came and invited them to a decent and well ordered repast, during which he spoke with great judgment of the last revolutions in Baby- lon. He seemed to be strongly attached to theXqueen and wished that Zadig had appeared in the lis^^s to contend for the crown. \ "But the people," added he, "do not deserve to have such a king as Zadig." Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 107 Zadig blushed and felt his griefs redoubled. They agreed, in the course of the conversation, \ that the things of this world did not always answer ithe wishes of the wise. The hermit maintained that "^ the ways of Providence were inscrutable; and that _ men were in the wrong to judge of a whole, of ,which they understood but the smallest part. They (talked of the passions: "Ah," said Zadig, "how fatal are their effects!" "They are the winds," replied the hermit, "that swell the sails of the ship; it is true, they some- times sink her, but without them she could not sail at all. The bile makes us sick and choleric; but without the bile we could not live. Everything in Xj I this world is dangerous, and yet everything in it is 1 necessary." The conversation turned on pleasure; and the hermit proved that it was a present bestowed by the Deity. "For," said he, "man cannot either give himself sensations or ideas; he receives all; and pain and "^ pleasure proceed from a foreign cause as well as his being." Zadig was surprised to see a man who had been guilty of such extravagant actions capable of rea- i soning with so much judgment and propriety. At last, after a conversation equally entertaining and instructive, the host led back his two guests to their apartment, blessing heaven for having sent him two men possessed of so much wisdom and io8 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. virtue. He offered them money with such an easy and noble air that it could not possibly give any offence. The hermit refused it, and said that he must now take his leave of him, as he proposed to set out for Babylon in the morning before it was light. Their parting was tender. Zadig especially felt himself filled with esteem and affection for a man of such an amiable character. When he and the hermit were alone in their apartment they spent a long time in praising their host. At break of day the old man awakened his companion. "We must now depart," said he; "but while all the family are still asleep, I will leave this man a mark of my esteem and affection." So saying he took a candle and set fire to the house. Zadig, struck with horror, cried aloud, and endeavored to hinder him from committing such a barbarous action; but the hermit drew him away by a superior force, and the house was soon in flames. The hermit, who, with his companion, was already at a considerable distance, looked back to the conflagration with great tranquillity. "Thanks be to God," said he, "the house of my dear host is entirely destroyed! Happy man!" At these words Zadig was at once tempted to burst out in laughing, to reproach the reverend father, to beat him, and to run away. But he did none of all these; for still subdued by the powerful Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 109 ascendency of the hermit, he followed him, in spite of himself, to the next stage. This was at the house of a charitable and vir- tuous widow, who had a nephew fourteen years of age, a handsome and promising youth, and her only hope. She performed the honors of the house as well as she could. Next day, she ordered her nephew to accompany the strangers to a bridge, which being lately broken down, was become ex- tremely dangerous in passing. The young man walked before them with great alacrity. As they were crossing the bridge, the hermit said to the youth : "Come, I must show my gratitude to thy aunt.^ He then took him by the hair, and plunged him into the river. The boy sank, appeared again on the surface of the water, and was swallowed up by the current. "O monster 1 O thou most wicked of mankind !" cried Zadig. "Thou promised to behave with greater pa- tience," said the hermit, interrupting him. "Know, that under the ruins of that house which Providence hath set on fire, the master hath found an immense treasure; know, that this young man, whose life Providence hath shortened, would have assassin- ated his aunt in the space of a year, and thee in that of two." "Who told thee so,, barbarian?" cried Zadig, "and though thou hadst read this event in thy book no Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. of destinies, art thou permitted to drown a youth who never did thee any harm?" While the Babylonian was thus exclaiming, he observed that the old man had no longer a beard, and that his countenance assumed the features and complexion of youth. The hermit's habit disap- peared, and four beautiful wings covered a majestic body resplendent with light. "O sent of heaven! O divine angel!" cried Zadig, humbly prostrating himself on the ground, "Hast thou then descended from the empyrean to teach a weak mortal to submit to the eternal decrees of Providence?" "Men," said the angel Jesrad, "judge of all with- out knowing anything; and, of all men, thou best deservest to be enlightened." Zadig begged to be permitted to speak: . "I distrust myself," said he, "but may I presume to ask the favor of thee to clear up one doubt that still remains in my mind. Would it not have been better to correct this youth, and make him virtuous, than to drown him?" "Had he been virtuous," replied Jesrad, "and enjoyed a longer life, it would have been his fate to be assassinated himself, together with the wife he would have married, and the child he would have had by her." "But why," said Zadig, "is it necessary that there should be crimes and misfoEtunes, and that these mis- fortunes should fall on the good?" Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. 1 1 1 "The wicked," replied Jesrad, "are always un- happy. They serve to prove and try the small number of the just that are scattered throughout the earth; and there is no evil that is not productive of some good." "But," said Zadig, "suppose there was nothing but good, and no evil at all." "Then," replied Jesrad, "this earth would be an- ^ \ other earth ; the chain of events would be ranged Vj in another order, and directed by wisdon. But this other order, which would be perfect, can exist only in the eternal abode of the Supreme Being, to which no evil can approach. The Deity hath cre- ated millions of worlds, among which there is not one that resembles another. This immense variety is the effect of his immense power. There are not two leaves among the trees of the earth, nor two globes in the unlimited expanse of heaven, that are exactly similar; and all that thou seest on the little 1 atom in which thou art born, ought to be, in its I proper time and place, according to the immutable j decrees of him who comprehends all. Men think ' that this child, who hath just perished, is fallen into the water by chance, and that it is by the same chance that this house is burned. But there is no "^such thing as chance. All is either a trial, or a "* punishment, or a reward, or a foresight. Remem- ber the fisherman, who thought himself the most wretched of mankind. Oromazes sent thee to 1 1 2 Zadig : The Mystery of Fate. change his fate. Cease then, frail mortal, to dispute against what thou oughtest to adore." "But," said Zadig— As he pronounced the word "But," the angel took his flight toward the tenth sphere. Zadig on his knees adored Providence, and submitted. The angel cried to him from on high: "Direct thy course toward Babylon !" CHAPTER XIX. THE ENIGMAS. Zadig, entranced as it were, and like a man about whose head the thunder had burst, walked at random. He entered Babylon on the very day when those who had fought at the tournaments were assembled in the grand vestibule of the - ; palace to explain the enigmas, and to answer the jquestions of the grand magi. All the knights were already present, except the knight in greea armor. As soon as Zadig appeared in the city the people crowded around him; every eye was fixed on him, every mouth blessed him, and every heart wished him the empire. The envious man saw him pass ; ^ he frowned and turned aside. The people con- "~~~^ ducted him to the place where the assembly was held. The queen, when informed of his arrival, became a prey to the most violent agitations of hope and fear. She was filled with anxiety and Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 113 apprehension. She could not comprehend why Za- dig was without arms, nor why Itobad wore the white armor. When the knights who had fought were di- rected to appear in the assembly, Zadig said: "I have fought as well as the other knights, but an- other here wears my arms; and while I wait for the honor of proving the truth of my assertion, I de- mand the liberty of presenting myself to explain, the enigmas." The question was put to vote, and his reputation for probity was so well established that they ad- mitted him without scruple. The first question proposed by the grand magi was: "What, of all things in the world, is the longest and the shortest, the swiftest and the slow- est, the most divisible and the most extended, the most neglected and the most regretted, without which nothing can be done, which devours all that is little, and enlivens all that is great?" Itobad was to speak. He replied, that so great a man as he did not understand enigmas, and that it was sufficient for him to have conquered by his strength and valor. Some said that the mean- ing of the enigma was fortune; some, the earth; and others, the light. Zadig said that it was time. "Nothing," added he, "is longer, since it is the measure of eternity. Nothing is shorter, -since it is insufiScient for the accomplishment of our pro- jects. Nothing more slow to him that expects, Vol. 2—8 114 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. nothing more rapid to him that enjoys. In great- ness it extends to infinity; in smallness it is in- finitely divisiblfe. All men neglect it; all regret the loss of it ; nothing can be done without it. It con- signs to oblivion whatever is unworthy of being 'transmitted to posterity, and it immortalizes such actions as are truly great." The assembly acknowledged that Zadig was in the right. The next question was: "What is the thing which we receive without thanks, which we enjoy without knowing how, and which we lose without perceiving it?" Every one gave his own explanation. Zadig alone, guessed that it was life, and he explained all the enigmas with the same facility. Itobad always said that nothing was more easy, and that he could have answered them with the same readiness, had he chosen to give himself the trouble. ^Questions \\ were then proposed on justice, on the sover- ^ \ eign good, and on the art of government. Zadig's answers were judged to be the most solid, and the people exclaimed: "What a pity it is that so great a genius should be so bad a knight!" "Illustrious lords," said Zadig, "I have had the honor of conquering in the tournaments. It is to me that the white armor belongs. Lord Itobad took possession of it during my sleep. He prob- ably thought it would fit him better than the green. Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 115 I am now ready to prove in your presence, with my gown and sword, against all that beautiful white armor which he took from me, that it is I who have had the honor of conquering the brave Otamus." ' Itobad accepted the challenge with the greatest confidence. He never doubted but that, armed as he was with a helmet, a cuirass, and brassarts, he would obtain an easy victory over a champion in a cap and a night-gown. Zadig drew his sword, saluting the queen, who looked at him with a mix- ture of fear and joy. Itobad drew his, without sa- luting any one. He rushed upon Zadig like a man who had nothing to fear; he was ready to cleave him in two. Zadig knew how to ward off his blows, by opposing the strongest part of his sword to the weakest of that of his adversary, in such a manner that Itobad's sword was broken. Upon which Zadig, seizing his enemy by the waist, threw him on the ground; and fixing the point of his sword at the extremity of his breast-plate, exclaimed: "Suf- fer thyself to be disarmed, or thou art a dead man." Itobad, greatly surprised at the disgrace that happened to such a man as he, was obliged to yield to Zadig, who took from him, with great composure, his magnificent helmet, his superb cuirass, his fine brassarts, his shining cuisses; clothed himself with them, and in this dress ran to throw himself at the feet of Astarte. Cador easily proved that the armor belonged to Zadig. He was acknowledged king by the unanimous con- ii6 Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. sent of the whole nation, and especially by that of Astarte, who, after so many calamities, now tasted the exquisite pleasure of seeing her lover worthy, in the eyes of the world, to be her husband. Itobad went home, to be called lord in his own ~4 bouse. Zadig was king, and was happy. He rec- Jollected what the angel Jesrad had said to him. He even remembered the grain of sand that became a diamond. He sent in search of the robber Ar- bogad, to whom he gave an honorable post in his army, promising to advance him to the first dig- nities if he behaved like a true warrior, and threat- ening to hang him if he followed the profession of a robber. Setoc, with the fair Alraona, was called from the heart of Arabia, and placed at the head of the commerce of Babylon. Cador was preferred and distinguished according to his great services. He ; i was the friend of the king, and the king was then 1 the only monarch on earth that had a friend. The little mute was not forgotten. A fine house was given to the fisherman, and Orcan was condemned to pay him a large sum of money, and to restore hiri his wife; but the fisherman, who had now be- J come wise, took only the money. The beautiful Semira could not be comforted for having believed that Zadig would be blind of an eye; nor did Azora cease to lament her attempt to cut off his nose; their griefs, however, he soft- ened by his presents. The capricious beauty, Mis- Zadig: The Mystery of Fate. 117 souf, was left unnoticed. The envious man died of rage and shame. The empire ^enjoyed peace, glory and plenty. This was the happiest age of the earth. It was governed by love and justice. The people blessed Zadig, and Zadig blessed heaven. THE STORY OF JOHNNY; OR, THE ATHEIST AND THE SAG^. INTRODUCTION. You request me, sir, to give you some account of our worthy friend, and his singular son. The leisure that the retirement of Lord Peterborough now afifords me, places it in my power to oblige you. You will be as astonished as I was, and perhaps adopt my opinion on the subject. You scarcely knew the young and unfortunate Johnny, Freind's only son, whom his father took with him to Spain when he received the appoint- ment of chaplain to our armies, in 1705. You started for Aleppo before my lord besieged Bar- celona; yet you were right when you said John's countenance was amiable and interesting, and that he gave proofs of intelligence and courage. It was quite true. Every one who knew him, loved him. At first he was intended for the church; but, as he manifested much aversion for that profession, which, indeed, requires great skill, management, and finesse, his prudent father considered it a folly and a crime to oppose his inclination. John was not twenty years old when he assisted, 118 f The Atheist and the Sag^!, 119 as a volunteer, at the attack on Mont-Joui, which was captured, and where the Prince of Hesse lost his life. Our poor Johnny was .wounded, taken prisoner, and carried into the town. The following is an account of his adventures from the attack of Mont-Joui till the taking of Barcelona. It is as told by a Catalonian lady, a little too free and too simple. Such stories do not find a way to the hearts of your wise men. I received it from her when I entered Barcelona in the suite of Lord Peterbor- ough. You must read it withoiit offence, as a true description of the manners of the country. CHAPTER I. ADVENTURES OF JOHNNY, A YOUNG ENGLISHMAN, WRITTEN BY DONA LAS NALGAS. When we were informed that the same savages who came through the air to seize on Gibraltar were coming to besiege our beautiful Barcelona, we began to offer prayers at Notre Dame de Man- resa — assuredly the best mode of defence. These people, who come from so far, are called by a name very hard to pronounce, that is, English. Our reverend father inquisitor, Don Jer- onimo Bueno Caracucarador, preached against these brigands. He anathematized them in Notre Dame d'Elpino. He assured us that the English had monkey tails, bears' paws, and parrot heads; iio The Atheist and the Sage. that they sometimes spoke like men, but invariably made a great hissing; that they were, moreover, notorious heretics ; that, though the Blessed Virgin was often indulgent to poor sinners, she never for- gave heretics, and that consequently they would all be infallibly exterminated, especially if they pre- sumed to appear before Mont-Joui. He had scarcely finished his sermon when he heard that Mont-Joui was taken by storm. The same evening we learned that a young Eng- lishman, who had been wounded in the assault, was our prisoner. Throughout the town arose cries of victory! victory! And the illuminations were very general. Dofia Boca Vermeja, who had the honor to be the reverend inquisitor's favorite, was very desir- ous to see what the English animal and heretic was like. She was my intimate friend. I shared her curiosity. We were obliged to wait till his wound was cyred, and this did not take very long. Soon after, we learned that he was in the habit of visiting daily at the residence of Elbob, my cousin german, who, as every one knows, is the best surgeon in the town. My friend Boca Vermeja's impatience to see this singular monster increased two-fold. We had no rest ourselves, and gave none to our cousin, the surgeon, till he allowed us to conceal ourselves in a small closet, which we entered on tiptoe without saying a word, and scarcely venturing to breathe, just as the English- The Atheist and the Sage. 121 ^ man arrived. His face was not turned toward us. He took off a small cap, which enclosed his light hair, which then fell in thick curls down the finest neck I ever beheld. His form presented a plump- ness, a finish, an elegance, approaching, in my opin- ion, the Apollo Belvedere at Rome — a copy of which my uncle, the sculptor, possesses. Doiia Boca Vermeja was transported with sur- prise, and delighted. I shared her ecstasy, and could not forbear exclaiming: "O que hermoso muchacho !" These words made the young man turn around. We then saw the face of an Adonis on the body of a young Hercules. Dona Boca Vermeja nearly fell backwards at the sight. "St. James!" she exclaimed, "Holy Virgin! is it possible heretics are such fine men? How we have been deceived about them." Doiia Boca was soon violently in love with the heretical monster. She is handsomer than I am, I must confess; and I must also confess that I became doubly jealous of her on that account. I took care to show her- that to forsake the rever- end father inquisitor, Don Jeronimo Bueno Cara- cucarador, for an Englishman, would be a crime falling nothing short of damnation. "Ah, my dear Las Nalgas!" she said (Las Nal- gas is my name), "I would forsake Melchizedek himself for so fine a young man." O "xe of the inquisitors who attended four masses 122 The Atheist and the Sage. daily, to obtain from Our Lady of Manresa the destruction of the English, heard of our admiration. The Reverend Father Don Caracucarador whipped us both, and had our dear Englishman arrested by twenty-four Alguazils of St. Hermandad. Johnny killed four, and was at length captured by the remaining twenty. He was confined in a very damp cellar, and sentenced to be burnt the follow- ing Sunday, in full ceremony, clothed in a san benito, wearing a sugar-loaf cap, in honor of Our Saviour and the Virgin Mary, his mother. Don Caracucarador prepared a fine sermon, but had no occasion for it, as the town was taken at four o'clock on the Sunday mornitlg. Here Doiia Las Nalgas' tale terminates. This lady was not without a description of wit, which in Spain we call agudeza. CHAPTER n. CONTINUATION OF THE ADVENTURES OF JOHN, THE YOUNG ENGLISHMAN ; ALSO THOSE OF HIS WORTHY FATHER, D.D., M.P., AND F.R.S. You know the skilful conduct of the Earl of Peterborough after he took Barcelona; how suc- cessfully he prevented pillage, restored order, and rescued the Duchess of Popoli from the hands of some drunken Germans, who robbed and abused her. Conceive the surprise, grief, rage, and tears The Atheist and the Sage. 123 of our friend, Freind, on learning that John was confined in the dungeons of the Holy Inquisition, and condemned to the stake. You know that cold temperaments are frequently most energetic when great events call them into action. You should have seen this distracted father, whom you were accustomed to think imperturbable, fly to the dun- geon of his son more rapidly than the horses at Newmarket hasten to the goal. The fifty soldiers who went with him were soon out of breath, and always a hundred paces behind. At length he reached the cell and entered it. What a scene! what tears! what joy! Twenty victims, devoted to the same ceremony, are delivered. All the pris- oners take arms and fight with our soldiers. The buildings of the Holy Office are destroyed in ten minutes, and they breakfasted beside the ruins, on the wine and ham of the inquisitors. In the midst of the roar of cannon, the sound of trumpets and drums, announcing our victory to Catalonia, our friend Freind recovered his accus- tomed tranquillity of manner. He was as calm as the sky after a day of storm. He was raising to God a heart as serene as his countenance, when he perceived a black spectral figure, clad in a sur- plice, issue from a vault, and fall at his feet, crying for mercy. "Who are you ?" said our friend. "Do you come from Hades?" "Almost," rejoined the other. "I am Don Jero- 124 The Atheist and the Sage. nimo Bueno Caracucarador, inquisitor. I solicit most humbly your forgiveness for wishing to roast your son in public. I took him for a Jew." "Supposing that to be the case," said our friend, with his customary sang-froid, "does it become you, Seiior Caracucarador, to roast people alive be- cause they are descended from a sect that formerly inhabited a rocky canton near the Syrian desert? What does it matter to you whether a man is cir- cumcised or not ? that he observe Easter at the full of the moon, or on the following Sunday? It is very bad reason to say, 'That man is a Jew; there- fore I must have him burnt, and take his property.' The Royal Society of London do not reason in that way. "Do you know, Seiior Caracucarador, that Jesus Christ was a Jew— that he was born, lived, and died a Jew? that he observed the Passover like a Jew, at the full of the moon? that all his apostles were Jews? that they went to the temple after his death, as we are expressly told ? that the first fifteen secret bishops of Jerusalem were Jews? But my son is no Jew; he belongs to the established church. How came it into your head to burn him alive?" The inquisitor, overawed by the learning of Monsieur Freind, and still prostrate at his feet, re- plied : "Alas! sir, we know nothing about this at the University of Salamanca. Forgive me, once more. The Atheist and the Sage. 125 The true reason is, your son took from me my favorite, Dofia Boca Vermeja." "Ah! if he took your favorite, that's another thing. We should never take 'our neighbor's goods.' That is not, however, a sufiScient reason fof burning a young man to death. As Leibnitz says: 'The punishment should be in proportion to the crime.' You Christians on the other side of the British Channel, especially toward the south, make no more of roasting each other, be it the Coun- sellor Dubourg, M. Servetus, or those who were burned in the reign of Philip II., surnamed El Discrete, than we do of roasting a joint of beef in London. But bring Miss Boca Vermeja before me, that I may learn the truth from her own mouth." Boca Vermeja appeared, weeping, looking the handsomer for her tears, as women generally do. "Is it true. Miss, that you are devotedly attached to M. Caracucarador, and that my son has ab- ducted you?" "Abducted me? The English gentleman! I never met with any one so amiable and good-look- ing as your son. You are very fortunate in being his father. I could follow him to the world's end, I always hated that ugly inquisitor, who whipped me and Mademoiselle Las Nalgas till he nearly brought blood. If you wish to make me happy, you will cause the old fellow to be hanged at my bedroom window." 126 The Atheist and the Sage. Just as Boca Vermeja was thus speaking, the Earl of Peterborough sent for the inquisitor Car- acucarador, to have him hanged. You will not be surprised to hear that Mr. Freind firmly opposed this measure. "Let your just displeasure," said he, "give vraiy to generous feelings. A man should never be put to death but when it is absolutely necessary for the safety of others. The Spaniards say the English are barbarians, who kill all the priests who come in their way. This might have injured the cause of the archduke, for whom you have taken Barcelona. I have sufHcient satisfaction in rescuing my son, and putting it out of the power of this rascally monk to exercise his inquisitorial functions." In -a word, the wise and charitable Freind was contented with getting Caracucarador flogged, as he had whipped Miss Boca Vermeja and Miss Las Nalgas. Such clemency affected the Catalonians. The persons rescued from the Inquisition felt that our religion was better than theirs. Nearly all re- quested to be admitted members of the established church; even some bachelors of the University of Salamanca, who chancedj to be at Barcelona, re- quested instruction. The greater part soon became enUghtened, with the exception of a certain Don Inigo y Medroso y Comodios y Papalamiendo, who obstinately adhered to his opinions. The Atheist and the Sage. 127 CHAPTER III. SUMMARY OF THE CONTROVERSY OF THE "bUTS" BE- TWEEN MR. FREIND AND DON INIGO Y MEDROSO Y C9MODIOS Y PAPALAMIENDO, BACHELOR OF SALA- %IANCA. The following is a summary of the pleasant dis- putation, which our dear friend Freind and the Bachelor Don Papalamiendo held, in the presence of the Earl of Peterborough. This familiar con- versation was called the dialogue of the "Buts." As you read it you will discover why. The Bachelor. — But, sir, notwithstanding all the fine things you have said, you must admit that your respectable established church did not exist before the tiihe of Don Luther and Don CEcolam- padius ; consequently, it is quite new, and can hardly be said to belong to the family. Freind. — You might as well say I am not a descendant of my grandfather, because another branch of the family, living in Italy, seized on his will, and my claims. I have fortunately found them again, and it is now quite clear that I am my grandfather's grandson. You and I are, as it were, of the same family, but with this difference: We read our grandfather's testament in our mother tongue, while you are forbidden to read it in yours. You are the slaves of a foreigner; we listen to the dictates of reason. 128 The Atheist and the Sage. The Bachelor. — But suppose your reason should lead you astray? For, in a word, you have no faith in our University of Salamanca, which has declared the infallibility of the pope, and his indis- putable control of the past, the present, the future, and the paulo-post-future. # Freind. — Neither did the apostles. It is writ- ten that Peter, who denied his master Jesus, was severely rebuked by Paul. I have not examined the case to see which was in the wrong; perhaps, as is the case in most disputes, neither was right ; but I do not find one passage in the "Acts of the Apostles" to prove that Peter was considered the master of his companions, and of the paulo-post- future. The Bachelor. — But St. Peter was certainly archbishop of Rome, for Sanchez tells us that this great man came there in the reign of Nero, and filled the archbishop's throne twenty-five years under the same Nero, who only reigned thirteen. Besides, it is a matter of faith, and Don Grillandus, the prototype of the Inquisition, affirms it (for we never read the Holy Bible), that St. Peter was at Rome during a certain year, for he dates one of his letters from Babylon. Now, since Babylon is visibly the anagram of Rome, it is clear that the pope, by divine right, is lord of the world; more- over, all the licentiates of Salamanca have shovm that Simon Grace-of-God, first sorcerer and coun- sellor of state at the court of Nero, sent his com- The Atheist and the Sage. 129 pHments by his dog to Simon Barjona, otherwise called St. Peter, as soon as he came to Rome; that St. Peter, who was scarcely less polite, sent also his dog to compliment Simon Grace-of-God, and then they diverted themselves by trying which could soonest raise from the dead a cousin german of Nero's; that Gface-of-God only succeeded in ef- fecting a partial restoration, while Barjona won the game by wholly restoring the dead man to Hfe; that Grace-of-God sought to have his revenge by flying through the air like St. Daedalus; and that Barjona broke his legs, by making him fall. On this account St. Peter received the martyr's crown, being crucified with his heels upward. Therefore we have proved that his holiness, the pope, ought to reign over all who wear crowns; that he is lord of the past, the present, and all the futures in the world. Freind. — It is clear these things happened in the days when Hercules separated at a stroke the two mountains, Calpe and Abyla, and crossed the straits of Gibraltar in his goblet. But it is not on such histories, however authentic they may be, that we base our religion. We found it on the gospel. The Bachelor. — But, sir, on what passages of the gospel? I have read a portion of the gospel in our theological tracts. Do you base it on the de- scent of the angel to announce to the Virgin Mary that she had conceived by the Holy Ghost? On the journey of the three kings after the star? On Vol. 2 — 9 130 The Atheist and the Sage. the massacre of all the children of the country? On the trouble the devil took to carry God into the wilderness, to place him on a pinnacle of the temple, and on the summit of a mountain from whence he beheld all the kingdoms of the world ? On the mir- acle of water changed into wine at a village wed- ding? On the miracle of' two thousand pigs drowned by the devil in a lake at the command of Jesus ? On ? Freind. — Sir, we respect these things because they are in the gospel; but we never speak of them because they are too far above our weak human reason. The Bachelor. — But they say you never call the Holy Virgin, Mother of God? Freind. — We revere and cherish her. But we think she cares very little for the titles given her in this world. She is never styled the Mother of God in the gospel. In the year 431 there was a great dispute at the council of Ephesus to ascertain if Mary was Theotocos ; and if Jesus Christ, being at the same time God and the son of Mary, Mary could at the same time be mother of God the Father and God the Son. We do not enter into these disputes of Ephesus. The Royal Society at London does not concern itself with such contro- versies. The Bachelor. — But, sir, you talk of Theoto- cos. What may Theotocos mean, if you please? The Atheist and the Sage. 131 Freind. — It means Mother of God. What, are you a bachelor of Salamanca, and don't under- stand Greek? The Bachelor. — But Greek! Of what use can Greek be to a Spaniard? But, sir, do you believe that Jesus Christ has one nature, one person, and one will; or two natures, two persons and two wills; or, one will, one nature, and two persons; or, two wills, two persons and one nature; or ? Freind. — This, also, belongs to the Ephesian controvert, and does not concern us. The Bachelor. — But what does concern you, then? Do you suppose there are only three per- sons in God, or that there are three Gods in one person? Does the second person proceed from the first .person, and the third from the two others, or from the second intrinsecus, or only from the first? Has the father all the attributes of the son except paternity? And does the third person proceed by infusion, by identification, or by spiration? Freind. — This question is not mooted in the gos- pel. St. Paul never wrote the name of the Trinity. The Bachelor. — But you always refer to the gospel, and never make mention of St. Bonaven- tura, of Albert the Great, of Tambourini, of Gril- landus, of Escobar. Freind. — Because I do not call myself a Do- minican, a Franciscan or a Jesuit. I am satisfied with being a Christian. 132 The Atheist and the Sage. The Bachelor. — But if you are a Christian, tell me if you conscientiously think the rest of mankind will be damned? Freind. — It does not become me to limit the compassion or the justice of God. The Bachelor. — But to come to the point, if you are a Christian, what do you believe? Freind. — I believe with Jesus Christ that we ought to love God and our neighbor, forgive our enemies, and do good for evil. These are the max- ims of Jesus. So true are they, that no legislator, no philosopher, ever had other principles before him, and it is impossible that there can be any other. These truths never have and never can meet with contradiction, save from our passions. The Bachelor. — But, in regard to the passions, is it true that your bishops, priests, and deacons are all married ? Freind. — Quite true. St. Joseph, who passed for the father of Jesus, was married. James the Less, surnamed Oblia, brother of our Lord, was his son, who, after the death of Jesus, spent his life in the temple. St. Paul — the great St. Paul — ^was a married man. The Bachelor. — But Grillandus and Molina as- sert the contrary. Freind. — Let them say what they please; I pre- fer believing St. Paul himself on the subject. In I Corinthians, ix. 4-7, he says: "Have we not The Atheist and the Sage, 133 power to eat and to drink? Have we not power to lead about a sister, a wife, as well as other apos- tles, and as the brethren of the Lord, and Cephas? Or I only and Barnabas, have we not power to for- bear working? Who goeth a warfare at any time at his own charges ? Who planteth a vineyard and eateth not of the fruit thereof?" The Bachelor. — But, sir, did St. Paul really say that ? Freind. — Yes, he said that, and very much more. The Bachelor. — But, really that prodigy of the efficacy of grace — ? Freind. — It is true, sir, that his conversion was a great miracle. I admit, from the "Acts of the Apostles," that he was the most cruel satellite of the enemies of Jesus. The "Acts" say that he as- sisted at the stoning of Stephen. He admits him- self, that when the Jews condemned to death a fol- lower of Christ, he would see to the execution of the sentence, detuli sententiam. I admit that Abdia, his disciple, and the translator Julius, the African, accused him of putting to death James Oblia, the brother of our Lord; but his persecu- tions increase the wonder of his conversion, and by no means prevented his having a wife. I as- sure you he was married. St. Clement of Alexan- dria expressly declares it. The Bachelor. — But St. Paul, then, was a wor- thy man of God 1 Really, I am grieved to think he 134 The Atheist and the Sage. assassinated St. Stephen, and St. James, and I am surprised to find he travelled to the third heaven. But pray continue. Freind. — We gather from St. Clement of Alex- andria that St. Peter had children; one St. Petro- nilla is mentioned among them. Eusebius, in his "History of the Church," says that St. Nicholas, one of the first disciples, had a very handsome wife; and that the disciples blamed him for being over- fond and jealous. "Sirs," said he, "let any one take her who likes; I give her to you." In the Jewish economy, which should have lasted forever, but to which, nevertheless, the Chris- tian dispensation succeeded, marriage was not only permitted, but expressly enjoined on priests, since they were always of the same race. Celibacy was considered infamous. It is certain that celibacy could not have been considered a very pure and honorable state by the first Christians, since we find among the bishops excommunicated by the first councils, chiefly those who oppose the marriage of priests, such as Satur- nians, Basilidians, Montanists, Encrasists, and other ans and ists. This accounts for the wife of Gregory of Nazianze bearing another Gregory of Nazianze, and enjoying the inestimable felicity of being at one and the same time the wife and mother of a canonized saint — a privilege which even St. Mon- ica, the mother of St. Augustine did not enjoy. By the same reason I might name as many and The Atheist and the Sage. 135 even more of the ancient bishops who were mar- ried, and account for your not having had, in the earlier ages of the church, bishops and popes who indulged in fornication, adultery, and even worse crimes. Things are not so now. This is also the reason why the Greek church, the mother of the Latin church, allows priests to marry. In a word, the reason why I myself am married, and have a son, as fine a fellow as you could wish to see. Besides, my dear bachelor, have you not in your church seven sacraments which are outward signs of things invisible? Does not a bachelor of Sala- manca enjoy the advantage of baptism as soon as he comes into the world; of confirmation as soon as he has committed a few follies or understands those of others; of communion, though a little dif- ferent from ours, when he is fourteen years of age ; of holy orders, when they shave the crown of his head and give him a living of twenty, thirty, or forty thousand piastres; and lastly^of extreme unc- tion, when he is ill? Must he then be deprived of the sacrament of marriage, when he is in health? Especially when God united Adam and Eve in mar- riage: Adam, the first bachelor in the world, since, according to your schools, he had knowledge by infusion; Eve, the first female bachelor, since she tasted the tree of knowledge before her husband. The Bachelor. — But, if things are so, I may cease my "buts." This is certain, I adopt your religion ; I will belong to the established church of 136 The Atheist and the Sage, England; will marry an honest woman, who at least will pretend to love me while 1 I am young, take care of me when I grow old, and whom I will bury decently, should I survive her. I think this is better than roasting men and enticing girls after the fashion of my cousin, Don Caracucarador, the inquisitor of the faith. This is a faithful summary of the conversation between Mr. Freind and the bachelor Don Papal- amiendo, since called by us Papa Dexando. Thii curious dialogue was drawn up by Jacob Hull, on«/ of my lord's secretaries. After this conversation, the bachelor took m? aside and said: "This Englishman, whom I took at first for at anthropophagus, must be a very good man, for he ij a theologian and can keep his temper." I informed him that Mr. Freind was tolerant, or a Quak^^r, and a descendant of the daughter ov William Penn, who founded Philadelphia. "Qua- ker, Philadelphia?" he cried, "I never heard of those sects !" I gave him some information on tlie subject. He could scarcely believe me. It seemed to him like another universe. And, indeed, he was in the right. The Atheist and the Sage. 137 CHAPTER IV. JOHN RETURNS TO LONDON AND IS LED INTO BAD COMPANY. While our worthy philosopher Freind was en- lightening the priests of Barcelona, and his son John delighted the ladies, Lord Peterborough lost all favor with the queen and archduke for seizing Barcelona for them. The courtiers censured him for taking the city contrary to all rule, with an army less strong by half than the garrison. At fitst the archduke was highly incensed, and our friend was obliged to print an topology for the general. Yet this archduke, who had come to conquer Spain, had not tlie wherewith to pay for his chocolate. All Queen Anne had given him was squandered. Montecuculi, in his "Memoirs," says three things are necessary to maintain a war: First, money; second, money; and third, money. The archduke wrote from Guadalajara, where he was on the nth of August, 1706, to Lord Peterborough, a long letter signed "Yo el Rey," in which he begged him to hasten to Genoa and raise on credit £100,000. So our Sertorius, from general of an army, thus became a Genoese banker. He communicated his distress to our friend Freind. They started for Genoa. I went with them, for you know my heart leads me thither. I admired the skill and spirit of conciliation my friend displayed in this delicate 138 The Atheist and the Sage. business. I saw at once that intelligence may meet every exigency. Our great Locke was a physician; he became the first metaphysician in Europe, and restored the value of the British coiniage. In three days Freind raised the £100,000, but the court. of Charles the VI. contrived to squander it in three weeks. After this the general, accompanied by his theologian, was obliged to repair to London to jus- tify himself before the parliament for conquering Cat- alonia against all rule, and for ruining himself in the common cause. The afifair was protracted and vexatious, as are all party disputes. You know that Mr. Freind was a member of parliament before he became a priest, and he is the only person who has been allowed to combine func- tions so opposed. One day, when Freind was thinking over a speech he intended to deliver in the house (of which he was a most respected member), a Spanish lady was announced as desirous of seeing him on particular business. It was Dona Boca Vermeja herself, in tears. Our good friend or- dered a luncheon. She took some refreshment, dried her eyes, and thus began: "You will remember, sir, when you went to Genoa, you ordered your son John to leave Bar- celona for London, and to commence his duties as a clerk in the exchequer, a post which your in- fluence had obtained for him. He embarked in the "Triton," with a young bachelor of arts, Don Papa Dexando, and others whom you had converted. The Atheist and the Sage. 139 You may well suppose that I, with my dear friend Las Nalgas, accompanied them." Boca Vermeja then told him, again sheading tears, how John was jealous, or affected to be jeal- ous, of the bachelor; how a certain Madame Clive- Hart, a very bold, spiteful, masculine, young mar- ried lady, had enslaved his mind; how he lived with libertines who had no fear of God; how, in a word, he neglected Boca Vermeja for the artful Qive-Hart; and all because Clive-Hart had a lit- tle more red and white in her complexion than poor Boca Vermeja. "I will look into the matter at leisure," said the worthy Mr. Freind. "I must now attend par- liament, to look after Lord Peterborough's busi- ness." Accordingly, to parliament he went, where I heard him deliver a firm and concise discourse, free from commonplace epithets and circumlocu- tions. He never invoked a law or a testimony. He quoted, enforced and applied them. ^ He did not say they had taken the religion of the court by surprise, by accusing Lord Peterborough of expos- ing Queen Anne's troops to risk, because it had nothing to do with religion. He did not call a con- jecture a demonstration, nor forget his respect to an august parliament, by using common jokes. He did not call Lord Peterborough his client, because client signifies a plebeian protected by a senator. Freind spoke with confidence and modesty; he was 140 The Atheist and the Sage. listened to in silence, only disturbed by cries of "Hear him! hear him!" The House of Commons passed a vote of thanks to Earl Peterborough, instead of condemning him. His lordship obtained the same justice from the House of Peers, and prepared to set out with his dear Freind to deliver the kingdom of Spain to the archduke. This did not take place, solely be- cause things do not always turn out as we wish them. On leaving the house, our first care was to in- quire after the health of John. We learned that he was leading a dissipated and debauched life with Mrs. Clive-Hart and a party of young men — intel- ligent, but atheists — who believed: "That man is in no respect superior to the brutes; that he lives and dies as they do; that both spring from and both return to the earth ; that wis- dom and virtue consist in enjoyment, and in living with those we love, as Solomon says at the end of the 'Koheleth,' which we call 'Ecclesiastes.' " These sentiments were chiefly advanced among them by one Warburton,* a very forward, licen- * In 1737 Bishop Warburton published his famous work, "The Divine Legation of Moses," in which he asserted, "that the doctrine of a future state of reward and punishment was omitted in the books of Moses," and then proceeded to demonstrate "from that very omission, that a system which could dispense with a doctrine, the very bond and cement of human society, must have come from God, and that the people to whom it was given must have been placed under His immediate superintendence." In other words, the divine origin of the Mosaic " system" is demonstrated, be- cause Moses did not teach to the chosen people the doctrine of a future life beyond the grave. The Atheist and the Sage. 141 tious fellow. ' I have glanced at some of the poor author's MSS., which, heaven grant, may not one day be printed. Warburton pretends that Moses did not believe in the immortality of the soiil, be- cause he never speaks of it, and considers that to be the only proof of his divine mission. This ab- surd conclusion leads to the suppositon that the religion of the Jews is false.- Infidels thence argue that ours, being founded thereon, is false also; and ours, which is the best of all, being false, all others are, if possible, still more false; therefore, there is no religion. Hence some conclude that there is no God. Let us add to these conclusions, that this little Warburton is an intriguing, slandering fellow. See what peril! But worse than all, John was head over ears in debt, and had a strange way of paying. One of his creditors came to him with a claim for a hundred guineas, while we were in the house. John, who always appeared polite and gentle, fought his cred- itor, and paid him with a sword-wound. It was apprehended the wounded man would die, and John, notwithstanding Lord Peterborough's pro- tection, ran the risk of imprisonment and hanging. 142 The Atheist and the Sage. CHAPTER V. THEY WANT TO GET JOHN MARRIED. You remember the anguish of the venerable Freind when he learned that John was in the prison of the inquisition at Barcelona. Imagine his rage when he learned of the- debauchery and dissipation of the unfortunate lad, his way of paying debts, and his danger of getting hanged. Yet Freind restrained himself. This excellent man's self-com- mand is really astonishing. His reason regulates his heart, as a good master rules his servants. He does everything reasonably, and judges wisely with as much celerity as hasty people act rashly. "This is no time to lecture, John," said he. "We must snatch him from the precipice." You must know that on the day previous our friend had come into a handsome sum, left him by George Hubert, his uncle. He went himself in search of our great surgeon, Cheselden. We found him at home, and then proceeded together to the wounded creditor. The wound was inspected. It was not dangerous. Freind gave the sufferer a hundred guineas as the first step, and fifty others by way of reparation, and then asked forgiveness for his son. Indeed, he expressed his regret so touchingly that the poor man embraced him, and. weeping, wished to return the money. The Atheist and the Sage. 143 This sight moved and surprised young Mr. Ches- elden, whose reputation is becoming very great, and whose heart is as kind as his hand is skilful. I was moved, I was beside myself. Never had I a,dmired and loved our friend so much. On returning home I asked him if he did not intend to send for his son, and to admonish him. "No," said he. "Let him feel his faults before I speak of them. Let us sup together to-night. We will see what in honesty I ought to do. Exam- ples correct better than reprimands." While waiting for supper, I called on John. I found him in the state which all men experience after their first crime — that is, pale, with sunken eyes and hoarse voice — agitated, and answering at random when spoken to. I told him what his father had just done. He looked at me steadily, then turned away to dash a tear from his eye. I argued well from this, and began to hope that John would yet prove a worthy man. I felt ready to clasp him in my arms, when Madame Clive-Hart came in, accompanied by a wild fellow, called Birton. "Well," said the lady, laughing, "have you really killed a man to-day? Some tiresome fellow. 'Tis well to rid the world of such people. When you are next in the killing mood, pray think of my hus- band. He plagues me to death." I surveyed this woman from head to foot. She 144 The Atheist and the Sage. was handsome, but there was something sinister in her countenance. John dared not reply, and, con- fused by my presence, looked downward. "What's the matter?" said Birton. "You look as if you had done something wrong. I come to give you absolution. Here is a little book I have just bought at Lintot's. It proves as clearly as two and two make four that there is neither God, nor vice, nor virtue — a very consoling fact! So, let us drink together." On hearing this singular discourse, I withdrew quickly, and represented to Mr. Freind how much his son required his advice. "I see it as clearly as you do," said this kind father ; "but let us begin by paying his debts." They were all discharged the next day. John came and threw himself at his father's feet. Will you believe it? The father made no reproaches. He left him to conscience, only observing: "Re- member, my son, there is rio happiness apart from virtue." Mr. Freind then saw that the bachelor married Boca Vermeja, who really loved him, notwith- standing her tears for John. Women know how to confuse such feelings wonderfully. Qnewould almost say that thdr^hearts^are a bundle .of cpn- tradictloni; perhaps because they were originally formed from one of our ribs. Our generous Freind gave her also a dowry, and The Atheist and the Sage. 145 took care to secure places for his converts. It is not enough to take care of people's souls, if we neglect to provide for their present wants. After performing these good actions, with his astonishing sang-froid, he concluded he had noth- ing more to do to restore his son to virtue than to marry him to a young person of beauty, virtue, talents, and some wealth. This, indeed, was the only way to wean him from the detestable Clive- Hart, and others, whom he frequented. I had heard people speak of a Miss Prim- rose, a young heiress, brought up by her relative. Lady Hervey. The Earl of Peterborough introduced me to Lady Hervey. I saw Miss Primrose, and considered her a proper person to fulfil the wishes of my friend. John, in the midst of his dissipation, had great reverence, and even afifection, for his father. He was chiefly affected that his father had never blamed him for his follies. Debts paid A^ithout informing him; wise counsels seasonably given, and without reprimand; proofs of friendship given from time to time, yet free from the familiarity which might depreciate them. All this went to John's heart, for he was both intelligent and sen- sitive. Lord Peterborough introduced the father and son to Lady Hervey. I perceived that the extreme beauty of John soon made a favorable impression on Miss Primrose; for I saw her look stealthily Vol. 2 — JO 146 The Atheist and the Sage. at him and blush. John seemed only polite, and Primrose admitted to Lady Hervey that she wished his politeness might become love. The young man soon discovered the worth of this charming girl, though he was the complete slave of Clive-Hart. He was like the Indian in- vited to gather celestial fruit, but restrained by the claws of a dragon. But here the recollection of what I witnessed overwhelms me. Tears moisten my paper. When I recover, I will resume my tale. CHAPTER VI. A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE. The marriage of John and the lovely Miss Prim- rose was about to be celebrated. Freind never felt more joy. I shared it. But the occasion was changed into one of deep sorrow and sufifering. Clive-Hart loved John, though constantly faith- less. They say this is the lot of those women who, violating modesty, renounce their honor. In partic- ular she deceived John for her dear Birton and for another of the same school. They lived to- gether in debauch, and, what is perhaps peculiar to our nation, they had all of them sense and worth. Unfortunately, they employed their sense against God. Madame Clive-Hart's house was a rendez- vous for atheists. Well for them had they been The Atheist and the Sage. 147 such atheists as Epicurus, Leontium, Lucretius, Memmius and Spinoza — the most upright man of Holland — or Hobbes, so faithful to his unfortunate king, Charles I. But, however it may be, Clive-Hart, jealous of the pure and gentle Miss Primrose, could not en- dure the marriage. She devised a vengeance, which I conceive to be unsurpassed even in London, where I believe our fathers have witnessed crimes of every kind. She learned that Miss Primrose, re- turning from shopping, would pass by her door. She took advantage of the opportunity, and had a sewer opened, communicating with her premises. Miss Primrose's carriage, on its return, was obliged to draw up at this obstruction. Clive-Hart goes out, and entreats her to alight and take some refreshment, while the passage is being cleared. This invitation made Miss Primrose hesitate; but she perceived John standing in the hall, and, yield- ing to an impulse stronger than her discretion, she got out. John offered her his hand. She enters. Clive-Hart's husband was a silly drunkard, as hate- ful to his wife as he was submissive and trouble- some by his civility. He presents refreshments to the young lady, and drinks after her. Mrs. Clive- Hart takes them away instantly, and brings others. By this time the street is cleared. Miss Primrose enters her carriage, and drives to her mother's. She soon falls sick, and complains of giddiness. They suppose it is occasioned by the motion of the 148 The Atheist and the Sage. carriage. But the illness increased, and the next day she was dying. Mr. Freind and I hastened to the house. We found the lovely creature pale and livid, a prey to convulsions; her lips open, her eyes glazed, and always staring. Black spots disfigured her face and throat. Her mother had fainted on her bed. Cheselden employed in vain all the resources of his art. I will not attempt to describe Freind's anguish. It was intense. I hurried to Clive-Hart's house, and found that the husband was just dead, and that the wife had fled. I sought John. He could not be found. A servant told me that his mistress had besought him not to leave her in her misfortune, and that they had gone off together, accompanied by Birton, no one knew whither. Overcome by these rapid and numerous shocks, terrified at the frightful suspicions which haunted me, I hastened to the dying lady. "Yet," said I to myself, "if this abominable woman threw herself on John's generosity, it does not follow that he is an accomplice. John is inca- pable of so horrible and cowardly a crime, which he had no interest in committing, which deprives him of a charming wife, and renders him odious to the human race. Weak, he has probably allowed himself to yield to a wretch, of whose crime he was ignorant. He did not see, as I have, Miss Prim- The Atheist and the Sage. 149 rose dying ; he never would have deserted her pillow to accompany the woman who poisoned her. Op- pressed by these thoughts, I entered, shuddering, the room which I expected contained a corpse." She was still alive. Old Clive-Hart died soon, be- cause his physical strength was worn out by debauch- ery; but young Miss Primrose was sustained by a constitution as robust as her blood was pure. She saw me, and inquired, in a tender tone, after John. A flood of tears gushed from my eyes. I could not reply. I was unable to speak to the father. I was obliged to leave her to the faithful hands that served her. We went to inform his lordship of this disaster. He is as kind to his friends as terrible to his foes. Never was there a more compassionate man with so stern a countenance. He took as much pains to assist the dying lady, and to overtake the aban- doned woman, and discover John, as he had done to give Spain to the archduke. But all our search proved in vain. I thought it would kill Freind. Now we flew to the residence of Miss Primrose, whose dying was protracted, now to Rochester, Do- ver, Portsmouth. Couriers were despatched every- where. We wandered about at random, like dogs that have lost the scent, while the unfortunate mother expected hourly the death of her child. At length we learned that a handsome lady, ac- companied by three young men and some servants. 1 50 The Atheist and the Sage. had embarked at Newport, in Monmouthshire, in a little smuggling vessel that was in the roads, and had sailed for North America. Freind simply sighed at this intelligence; then suddenly recovering himself, and pressing my hand, he said: "I must go to America,." I replied, weeping with admiration : "I will not leave you. But what can you do ?" "Restore my only son," said he, "to virtue and his country, or bury myself with him." Indeed, from our information, we could not doubt but he had fled thither with that horrible woman, Birton, and the other villains of the party. The good father took leave of Lord Peterbor- ough, who returned soon after to Catalonia; and we went to Bristol and freighted a ship for the Dela- ware and the bay of Maryland. Freind, knowing these coasts to be in the heart of the English possessions, thought it right to go there, whether his son had sought concealment in the North or South. He supplied himself with money, letters of credit, and provisions, anej left a confidential servant in London, to write to him by ships that were leaving every week for Maryland or Pennsylvania. We started. The crew, judging from the placid countenance of my friend, thought we were on an excursion of pleasure. But when he was alone with hie, his sighs expressed the depth of his anguish. The Atheist and the Sage. 151 At times I congratulated myself on the happiness of consoling such a noble mind. A west wind kept us a long time ofif the Scilly Islands. We were obliged to steer for New Eng- land. What inquiries we made on every coast! W"hat time and toil were thrown away! At length, a northeast wind arising, we steered for Maryland. There, it was said, John and his companions had taken refuge. The fugitives had sojourned on the coast more than a month, and had astonished the whole colony by indulgences in luxury and debauch, till then un- known in that part of the world. Then they disap- peared, no one knew where. We advanced into the bay, intending to go to Bal- timore for fresh information. CHAPTER VII. WHAT HAPPENED IN AMERICA. On the way we found, to the right, a very hand- some house. It was low, but convenient and neat, placed between a spacious barn and a large stable, tlje whole enclosed by a garden, well stocked with fruits of the country. It belonged to an old man, who invited us to alight at his retreat. He did not look like an Englishman ; his accent showed us he was a foreigner. We anchored and went on shore. The old man welcomed us cordially, and 152 The Atheist and the Sage. gave us the best cheer to be had in the New World. We discreetly insinuated our wish to know to whom we were indebted for so kind a reception. "I am," said he, "of the race you call savages. I was born on the Blue Mountains, which bound this country in the west. In my childhood I was bitten by a rattlesnake, and abandoned. I was on the point of death. The father of the present Lord Baltimore, falling in with me, confided me to his physician, and to him I owe my life. I soon dis- charged the debt, for I have saved his in a skirmish with the neighboring tribes. He gave me, in re- turn, this habitation." Mr. Freind inquired if he was of Lord Balti- more's religion? "How," said he, "would you have me profess another man's religion? I have my own." This short and energetic answer made us reflect a little. "You have, then," said I, "your own law and your own God?" "Yes," he replied, with an assurance wholly free from pride. "My God is there," and he pointed to heaven. "My law is here," and he put his hand on his breast. My friend was struck with admiration, and, press- ing my hand, he said : "This simple nature reasons more wisely than all the bachelors with whom we conversed at Barce- lona." The Atheist and the Sage. 153 He was anxious to know if he could gain any information respecting his son John. It was a weight that oppressed him. He inquired if his host had heard speak of some young people, who had made a great noise in the neighborhood. "Indeed I have," said he. "I received them in my house, and they were so satisfied with the recep- tion I gave them that they have carried away one of my daughters." Judge of my friend's distress at this intelligence. In his emotion, he could not avoid exclaiming: "WhatJ Has my son run away with your daughter?" "Good Englishman," said the host, "do not let that grieve you. I am glad to find he is your son. He is handsome, well made, and seems courageous. He did not run away with my dear Parouba, for you must know that Parouba is her name, because it is mine. Had he taken off Parouba it would have been a robbery, and my five sons, who are now hunting some forty or fifty miles from here, would not have endured such an affront. It is a great sin to thieve. My daughter went of her own accord with these young people. She has gone to see the country — a pleasure one cannot deny to one of her age. These travellers will bring her back to me before a month is past. I am sure of it. They promised to do so." These words would have made me laugh, had 1 54 The Atheist and the Sage. not the evident distress of my friend severely af- flicted me. In the evening, just as we were about to start to take advantage of the wind, one of Parouba's sons arrived, out of breath, his face expressing hor- ror and despair. "What is the matter, my son? I thought you were hunting far away. Are you wounded by some savage beast?" "No, father; not wounded, yet in pain." "But whence do you come, son?" "From a distance of forty miles, without stop- ping; and I am almost dead." The aged father makes him sit down. They give him restoratives. Mr. Freind and I, his little brothers and sisters, with the servants, crowd around him. When he recovered his breath he ex- claimed : "Alas, my sister Parouba is a prisoner of war, and will no doubt be killed." The worthy Parouba was grieved at this recital. Mr. Freind, feeling for him as a father, was struck to the very heart. At last the son informed us that a party of silly young Englishmen had attacked, for diversion, the people of the mountains. He said they had with them a very beautiful lady and her rnaid, and he knew not how his sister came to be with them. The handsome English lady had been scalped and killed, and his sister captured. "I come here for aid against the people of the The Atheist and the Sage. 155 Blue Mountains. I will kill them, too, and will retake my dear sister or perish." Mr. Freind's habits of self-command supported him in this trying moment. "God has given me a son," said he. "Let him take both father and son, when the eternal decree shall go forth. My friend, I am tempted to think God sometimes acts by a special providence, since he av^ges, in America, crimes committed in Europe, and since this wicked Clive-Hart died as she deserved. Perhaps the Sovereign of the uni- verse does in His government punish, even in this world, crimes committed here. I dare not assert; I wish to think so; indeed I should believe it, were not such an opinion opposed to all metaphysical laws." After these sad reflections on an event common in America, Freind resurned his usual demeanor. "I have a good ship," said he to his host, "with abundant stores. Let us go up the gulf as near as we may to the Blue Mountains. My most anxious business now is to save your daughter. Let us go- to your countrymen ; say I bear the pipe of peace — that I am the grandson of Penn. That name alone will suffice." At the name of Penn, so much revered through- out North America, the worthy Parouba and his son felt the greatest respect and the greatest hope. We embarked, and in thirty-six hours reached Bal- timore. 156 The Atheist and the Sage. We were scarcely in sight of this almost desert place when we saw in the distance a numerous band of mountaineers descending to the plain, armed with axes, tomahawks, and those muskets which Europeans so foolishly sold to them, to procure skins. Already you might hear their frightful howlings. From another side we saw four persons approaching on horseback, accompanied by others on foot. We were taken for people of Baltimore, come there for the purpose of fighting. The horse- men galloped toward us, sword in hand. Our com- panions prepared to receive them. Mr. Freind, ob- serving them steadily, shuddered for a moment, but soon, resuming his sang-froid: "Do not stir, my friends," said he. "Leave all to me." He advanced alone and unarmed toward the party. In a moment we saw the chief let fall the bridle from his horse, spring to the ground, and fall prostrate. We uttered a cry of surprise, and ad- vanced. It was John himself, who, bathed in tears, .had fallen at the feet of his father. Neither of them was able to speak. Birton, and the two horsemen with him, alighted. But Birton, in his character- istic way, said: "My dear friend, I did not expect to see you here. You and I seem born for adventures. I am glad to see you." Freind, without deigning to reply, looked toward The Atheist and the Sage. 157 the army of mountaineers, now approaching us. He walked toward them, accompanied by Parouba, who acted as interpreter. "Fellow countrymen," said Parouba, "behold a descendant of Penn, who brings you the pipe of peace." At these words the eldest of the tt'ibe, raising his hands and eyes to heaven, exclaimed: "A son of Penn? He is welcome! May the Penns live forever! The great Penn is our mani- tou, our god. He and his were the only Europeans who did not deceive us, and seize on our land. He bought the territory we gave up to him; he paid for it liberally; he maintained peace among us; he brought us remedies for the few diseases we had caught from the Europeans. He taught us new arts. We never dug up against him and against his children the hatchet of war. For the Penns we always entertain respect." Freind immediately sent for thirty hams, as many pies and fowls, with two hundred bottles of Pontac, from the ship. He seated himself close to the chief of the Blue Mountains. John and his com- panions assisted at the festival. John would rather have been a hundred feet under the earth. His father said nothing to him, and this silence in- creased his confusion. Birton, who cared for nothing, seemed very jovial. Freind, before he began to eat, said to Par- ouba: 158 The Atheist and the Sage. "One person, very dear to you, is waiting here. I mean your daughter." The chief of the Blue Mountains ordered her to be brought. She had suffered no injury. She smiled to her brother and father, as if she had only returned from a walk. The chief of the Blue Mountains ordered her to inquire why the warriors of the Blue Mountains had put to death Madame Clive-Hart, and had done nothing to Parouba's daughter, "Because we are just," returned the chief. "That proud English woman belonged to the party that attacked us. She killed one of our men by firing a pistol behind him. We did nothing to Parouba as soon as we ascertained that she was a daughter of our tribes, and only came here for diversion. Every one should be treated according to his desert." Freind was affected by this maxim, but he rep- resented to them that the custom of burning cap- tives at the stake was degrading to worthy people, and that, with so much virtue, they should be less ferocious. The chief then asked us what we did with those whom we killed in battle. "We bury them." "I understand. You leave them for worms to eat. Cannibals think proper to give themselves the preference. Their stomachs are a more honorable grave." Birton supported with pleasure the opinions of The Atheist and the Sage. 159 the mountaineer. He said the custom of boiling and roasting a neighbor must be both ancient and natural, since it prevailed in both hemispheres, and therefore it must be an innate idea; that men were hunted before beasts because it was easier to kill men than wolves; that if the Jews, in their books, so long unknown, imagined that a certain Cain killed a certain Abel, it could only be with a view -to eating him; that the same Jews admit they had often fed on human flesh; that the best historians describe the Jews as eating the bleeding flesh of Romans, whom they massacred in Egypt, Cyprus, and Asia, in their revolts against the emperors Trajan and Adrian. We allowed him to indulge in these coarse jokes, which, though unfortunately true at the bottom, had neither Grecian wit nor Roman urbanity. Freind, without answering him, addressed the natives. Parouba translated, phrase by phrase. Tillotson himself never spoke with more force. The insinuating Smaldridge never displayed more touching graces. The great secret of eloquence is to convince. He proved to them, accordingly, that the execrable custom of burning captives ipspired a ferocity destructive to the human race. For this reason they were strangers to the comforts of so- ciety and the tillage of the ground. At last they all swore, by their great manitou, that they would not burn men and women again. Thus, from a single conversation, Freind became i6o The Atheist and the Sage. their legislator, like an Orpheus taming tigers. In vain may the Jesuits describe their miracles in let- ters which are rarely curious or edifying; they can never equal our good friend. After loading the chiefs of the Blue Mountains with presents, he conducted the worthy Parouba back to his residence. Young Parouba, with his sister, accompanied us. The others went hunting in the distant forest. John, Birton, and his companions also embarked in the ship. Freind persisted in his plan of not reproaching his son, whenever the young scamp did wrong. He left him to self-examination, and to consume his heart, as Pythagoras has it. Nevertheless, he took up the letter thrice, which had been received from England, and looked at his son as he read it. The young man would then cast his eyes on the ground, and respect and repentance might be read on his face. Birton continued as gay and noisy as if he had just returned from the play. He was in character like the late Duke of Rochester, extreme in de- bauchery, bravery, sentiments, language, and, in his Epicurean philosophy, attaching himself only to the extraordinary and soon disgusted even then; having the turn of mind that mistakes probabil- ities for demonstrations; more wise and eloquent than any young man of his age; but too indolent to be profound in anything. The Atheist and the Sage. i6i While dining with us on board Mr. Freind said to me: "Indeed, my dear friend, I hope God will inspire these young people with purer morals, and that Clive-Hart's terrible example will be a lesson to them." Birton, hearing these words, said, in a dis- dainful tone: "For a long time I had been dissatisfied with that wicked Clive-Hart. Indeed, I scarcely care more for her than I do for a trussed fowl. But do you believe there exists (I don't know where) a being perpetually occupied in punishing the wicked men and women who people and depopulate the four quarters of our little world ? Do you forget that the terrible Mary, daughter of Henry VIII., was happy till her death ? And yet she had caused the execution of eight hundred citizens, of both sexes, on the pretext that they did not believe in transub- stantiation and the pope. Her father, nearly as cruel, and her husband, more profoundly wicked, spent their lives in enjoyment. Pope Alexander IV., worse than these, was still more fortunate. All his crimes succeeded. He died at the age of sev- enty-two, rich and powerful, courted by the kings of the age. Where, then, is this just and avenging God?" Mr. Freind, with austerity and calmness, replied: "It seems to me, sir, you ought not to say 'there is no God.' Remember, Locke and Newton never Vol. 3 — H 1 62 The Atheist and the Sage. pronounced that word but in a tone of reverence that every one remarked." "What care I," returned Birton, "for two men's grimaces? How did Newton look when he wrote his "Commentary on the Apocalypse"? Or Locke when he wrote the "Dialogue Between a Pai-rot and the Prince Maurice"? Then Freind repeated the golden words which should be graven on every heart: "Let us forget the dreams of great men, and re- member the truths they have taught us." This reply gave way to a well-sustained conver- sation, more interesting than that of the bachelor of Salamanca. I sat in a corner and took notes. The company drew round the disputants. The wor- thy Parouba, his son, and daughter, John's de- bauched companions, and John himself, with his head resting on his hands — all listened with eager attention. CHAPTER VHL DIALOGUE BETWEEN FREIND AND BIRTON ON ATHEISM. Freind. — I will not repeat to you, sir, the met- aphysical arguments of our celebrated Clarke; I only exhort you to read them again. They are rather intended to convince than affect you. I shall confine myself to arguments calculated to touch your heart. The Atheist and the Sage. 163 BiRTON. — You will gratify me very much. I like to be amused and interested. I hate sophisms. Metaphysical arguments seem to me like balloons filled with air used between the disputants. The bladders burst, and nothing remains. Freind. — It is possible there may be some ob- scurity — some bladders — in the deep things of Clarke, the respectable Arian. Perhaps he was de- ceived on the subject of actual infinity. Perhaps when he took upon himself to comment on God, he follows too closely a commentator of Homer, who attributes ideas to his author which he never entertained. At the words "infinity," "Homer," "commenta- tors," the worthy Parouba and his daughter, and even a few of the English, seemed disposed to go and take an airing on the deck. But Freind prom- ising to be intelUgible, they consented to remain. I explained in a whisper to Parouba scientific ex- pressions, which a native of the Blue Mountains was not likely to understand so well as a doctor of Oxford or Cambridge. Freind. — It would be sad, indeed, if we could not be sure of the existence of God without being metaphysicians. In all England scarcely a hun- dred minds would be found capable of fathoming the mysteries of the for and against; and the rest of the world would be enveloped in ignorance; a prey to brutal passions; swayed by instinct alone; and only capable of reasoning on the vulgar no- 164 The Atheist and the Sage. tions of their carnal interests. To find out God, I only require you to make one effort — to open your eyes. BiRTON. — I see your aim. You are returning to the worn-out arguments that the sun turns on its axis in twenty-five days and a half, in spite of the absurd inquisition of Rome; that the light comes to us reflected from Saturn in fifteen minutes, in spite of the absurd supposition of Descartes, that every fixed star is a sun, like ours, surrounded by planets; that the countless stars, scattered through space, obey mathematical laws, discovered and proved by the great Newton; that a catechist an- nounces God to children, and that Newton reveals Him to the sage, as a philosophical Frenchman said, who was persecuted in his own country for assert- ing as much. Do not trouble yourself to bring before me the ceaseless order which prevails in all parts of the universe. All that exists must have order of some sort. Rarefied matter must take a higher place than denser substances. The strong- est press upon the weakest. Bodies moved with a greater impulse progress more rapidly than those moved with less. Things arrange themselves in this way of their own accord. In vain, after drinking a pint of wine, like Esdras, would you talk to me for a hundred and sixty hours together without shut- ting the mouth, I should not be convinced. Do you wish me to adopt an eternal being, infinite and immutable, who saw fit (I do not know when) to The Atheist and the Sage. 165 create, from nothing, things which change every moment, and spiders to disembowel flies? Would you have me suppose, with the gossip Nieuwentyt, that God gave us ears that we might have faith, since faith cometh by hearing? No! no! I will not believe these quacks who have sold their drugs at a good price to fools. I keep to the little book of a Frenchman, who maintains .that nothing ex- ists nor can exist but nature; that nature does all, and is a//; -that it is impossible and contradictory that anything can exist beyond all. In a word, I believe only in nature. ' Freind. — What if I tell you there is no such thing as nature ; and that in us, around us, a thou- sand millions of leagues from us, all is art, without any exception. BiRTON. — What? All art! That's something new. Freind. — Few observe that. Nothing, however, is more true. I shall always say, make use of your eyes, and you will recognize and adore God. Think how those vast globes, which you see revolve in their immense orbits, observe deep mathematical laws. There is then a great calculator whom Plato called the eternal geometrician. You admire those newly invented machines, called orreries, because Lord Orrery invented them by imitating the maker. It is a feeble copy of our planetary system and its revolutions; also the periods of the changes of the solstice and equinox which bring us from day to day 1 66 The Atheist and the Sage. a new polar planet. This period, this slow course of about twenty^six thousand years, could not be ef- fected in our feeble hands by human orreries. The machine is very imperfect; it must be turned by a handle ; , yet it is a chef-d' auvre of the skill of our artisans. Conceive, then, the power and patience, the genius, of the eternal architect, if we may apply such terms to the gupreme Being. When I described an orrery to Parouba, he said : "If the copy indicates genius, how much more must there be in the original?" All present, English and American, felt the force of these words, and raised their hands to heaven. Birton remained thoughtful. Then he cried : "What? all art! Nature the result of art? Can it be possible?" Freind. — Now,, consider yourself; examine with what art, never sufficiently explored, all is con- structed within and without for all your wishes and actions. I do not pretend now to lecture on anat- omy. You know well enough there is not one super- fluous vessel, nor one that does not, in the exercise of its functions, depend on neighboring vessels. So artificial is the arrangement throughout the body, that there is not a single vein without valves and sluices, making a passage for the blood. From the roots of the hair to the toes, all is art, design, cause, and effect. Indeed, we cannot suppress feel- ings of indignation toward those who presume to deny final causes, and have the rashness to say that The Atheist and the Sage. 167 the mouth was not made to eat and speak with — that the eyes are not admirably contrived for seeing, the ears for hearing, the nerves for feehng. Such au- dacity is madness. I cannot conceive it. Let us admit that every animal renders testimony to the supreme fabricator. ' The smallest herb perplexes human intellect. So true is this that the aggregate toil of all men could not create a straw unless the seed be sown in the earth. Let it not be said that the seed must rot in the earth to produce. Such nonsense should not be listened to now. The company felt the force of these proofs more strongly than the others, because they were more pal- pable. Birton murmured : "Must I then acknowl- edge God? We shall see. It is not yet proved." John remained thoughtful, and seemed affected. Freind. — No, my friends. We make nothing, we can do nothing. It is in our power to arrange, unite, calculate, weigh, measure, but, to make! What a word ! The essential Being, existing by Himself, alone can make. This is why quacks, who labor at the philosopher's stone, prove themselves such fools. They boast that they create gold, and they cannot even create clay. Let us then confess, my friends, that there is a necessary and incompre- hensible Being who made us. Birton. — If He exists, where is He ? Why is He concealed? Has any one ever seen Him? Should the creator of good hide , Himself ? 1 68 The Atheist and the Sage. Freind.'^— Did you ever see Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of St. Paul's, when you were in London? Yet it is clear that church is the work of a great architect. BiRTON. — Every one knows that Wren erected, at a great expense, the vast edifice in which Bur- gess, when he preaches, sends us to sleep. We know very T/vell why and how our fathers built it. But why and how did God make the universe from nothing ? You know well the . ancient maxim : "Nothing can create nothing; nothing returns to nothing." No one ever doubted that truth. Your Bible itself says that your God made heaven and earth, though the heaven, that is, the assemblage of stars, is as superior to the earth, as the earth itself is to one blade of grass. But your Bible does not tell us that God made heaven and earth from noth- ing. It does not pretend that the Lord made wo^ man from nothing. She was kneaded in a very singular way, from a rib taken from her husband's side. According to the Bible, chaos existed before the world; therefore matter must be as eternal as your God. A slight murmur then went round the company; "Birton might be right," they said. Freind. — I think I have proved to you that there is a supreme intelligence; an eternal power to whom we owe our passing existence. I have not engaged to tell you the how and the why. God has given me sufificient reason to know that He exists, but not The Atheist and the Sage. 169 enough to discover whether matter has been subject to Him from eternity, or whether He created it in time. What have you to do with the creation of mat- ter, provided you acknowledge a God the ruler of matter and of yourself ? You ask me where God is ? I do not know. I ought not to know. I know that He is ; I know that He is my maker ; that He makes all, and that we ought to depend on His goodness. BiRTON.^His goodness! Are you jesting with me ? Did you not tell me to make use of my eyes ? Make use of yours. Glance at the world, and then talk of the goodness of God. Mr. Freind saw that he had now reached the most difficult part of the dispute, and that Birton was preparing a rude assault. He saw that the hearers, especially the Americans, together with himself, re- quired a little respite. Recommending himself there- fore to God, they went on deck for exercise. When tea was served, the disputation was renewed. CHAPTER IX. ON ATHEISM, Birton. — You must not expect such success, sir, on the subject of goodness as you have had on in- genuity and power. First, I shall touch on the misconstructions of our globe, in many instances opposed to the cleverness so much boasted of; then lyo The Atheist and the Sage. I intend to dwell on the perpetual crimes and mis- fortunes of the inhabitants; and you will judge of the great ruler's paternal affection for them. I shall begin by telling you that in Gloucester- shire, my county, when we breed horses, we rear them with care, in fine pasturage and good stables, with hay and oats. Pray, what shelter and food had these poor Americans, when we discovered their con- tinent? They were obliged to scour over thirty or forty miles for food. All the northern coast of the old world is exposed to the same cruel necessity ; and from Swedish Laponia to the Sea of Japan, a hun- dred tribes spend a life as short as it is wretched, in the most complete want, amidst eternal snows. Fine climates are continually exposed to destruc- tive scourges. There we walk over burning preci- pices, covered by fertile plains, which prove but deadly snares. There is no hell but this, doubtless ; and it opens a hundred times beneath' our feet. They tell us of a universal deluge, an even phys- ically impossible, and at which all sensible people laugh. But they console us by saying it only lasted ten months. I wonder it did not put out the fires which have since destroyed so many flourishing towns. Your St. Augustine tells us of a hundred cities burnt or swallowed up in Libya by an earth- quake. Volcanoes have several times devastated lovely Italy. As a crowning misfortune, the inhabi- tants of the Arctic Circle are not exempt from these subterranean fires. The Icelander, always in alarm, The Atheist and the Sage. 171 has hunger staring him in the face, and a hundred feet of flame or ice to the right or left, under his Mount Hecla; for the great volcanoes are always found arriong terrible mountains. It is in vain to say that mountains of two thou- sand toises in elevation are nothing on a globe nine thousand miles in diameter, or like the irregularities of an orange compared with the bulk of that fruit — that it is scarcely one foot to every three thousand feet. Alas! what then are we, if high mountains are but as figures one foot high for every three thousand feet, or four inches for every nine thou- sand inches? We are then anirtials absolutely im- perceptible; yet we are liable to be crushed by all that surrounds us, though our infinite littleness, so closely bordering on nothing, might seem to secure us from all accidents. Besides the countless cities, destroyed and redestroyed like as many ant-hills, what shall we say to the seas of sand that cross the centre of Africa, and whose burning waves raised by the wind have buried entire armies? What is the use of the vast deserts on the borders of Syria — deserts so horrible that the ferocious animals, called Jews, imagined they had reached Paradise when they passed from these scenes of horror into a little corner of land where they could cultivate a few acres? It is not enough that man (the noble creature) should be so ill lodged, clothed, and fed, for so many ages. He comes into the world to live for a few days, perplexed by deceitful hopes and real 172 The Atheist and the Sage. vexations. His body, contrived with useless art, is a prey to all the ills resulting from that very art. He lives between the dangers of poison and plague. No one can remember the list of ills we are subject to; and the modest doctors of Switzerland pretend they can cure them all. While Birton said this, the company listened with attention and even emotion. Parouba said: "Let us see how the doctor will get over this." Even John said in a low tone : "On my word, he is right. I was a fool to be so soon touched by my, father's conversation." Mr. Freind waited till their imaginations were a little recovered from the assault, and then resumed the discussion. Freind. — A young theologian would answer these sad truths by sophisms, backed with quota- tions from St. Basil and St. Cyril. For my part, I shall admit that there are many physical evils in the world. I will not even lessen the number, though Mr. Birton has seen fit to exaggerate. I ask you, my dear Parouba, is not your climate made for you? It cannot be injurious, since neither you nor your companions wish to leave it. Esquimaux, Iceland- ers, Laplanders, Asiatics, and Indians, never think of leaving theirs. The reindeer, which God has sent to clothe and feed them, die when transported to an- other zone. Laplanders themselves die in southern climates. The south of Siberia is too warm for them ; The Atheist and the Sage. 173 here they would die of heat. It is evident that God made every kind of animal and vegetable for the clime in which it thrives. Negroes, a race of men so different from ours, are so thoroughly formed for their country, that thousands of them have preferred death to slavery elsewhere. The camel and ostrich are quite at home in the sands of Africa. The bull abounds in fertik countries, where the grass is ever fresh for his nourishment. Cinnamon and spice only grow in India. Barley is only useful in those countries where God has appointed it to grow. From one end of America to the other, you have different kinds of food. The vine cannot be brought to perfection in England, nor in Sweden and Canada. This is the reason that in some countries the elements of religious rites consist in bread and wine; and they do well to thank God for the food and beverage His goodness has provided; and Americans would do well to thank Him for their Indian corn and arrow-root. Throughout the world God has suited all animals, from the snail to man, to the countries in which He has placed them. Let us not reproach Providence when , we owe Him praises. But to consider scourges, such as inundations, volcanoes, earthquakes. If you confine your atten- tion to the accidents which sometimes happen to the. wheels of the eternal machine, you may well consider God as a tyrant ; but observe his ceaseless benefits, and He becomes a compassionate father. 174 The Atheist and the Sage. You have quoted Augustine and his account of the destruction of a hundred cities; but remember the African rhetorician often contradicts himself and was prodigal of exaggerations in his writings. He wrote of earthquakes as he did of the efficacy of grace, and the damnation of children dying without baptism. Has he not said in his thirty-seventh ser- mon, that he had seen people in Ethiopia with one eye in the middle of the forehead like the Cyclops, and a whole race without heads? We, who are not fathers of the church, ought not to go beyond nor to stop short of truth; and the truth is, that of the houses destroyed, we cannot reckon that more than one out of every hundred thousand is destroyed by the fires necessary to the due performance of the operations of the world. So essential to the nature of the universe is fire, that but for it there would be no sun nor stars, no animals, vegetables, or minerals. The fire, placed under the earth, is subject to fixed natural laws. Some disasters may nevertheless occur. You can- not say a man is a poor artisan when an immense machine, fortned by him, lasts unimpaired for years. If a man invented a hydraulic engine to water a province, would you disparage his work because it destroys some insects? I have shown you that the machine of the world is the work of an intelligent and powerful Being; you, who are intelligent, ought to admire Him — The Atheist and the Sage. 175 you, who are laden with His gifts, ought to adore Him. But how, you inquire, can the wretches who are condemned to languish under incurable evils — ^how can they admire and love? I must tell you, that such ills are generally brought on ourselves, or come to us from our fathers, who abused their' bodies, and not from the great fabricator. No dis- ease but decrepitude was known in America till we introduced strong hquors, the source of all evils. Let us remember that in Milton's poem, the simple Adam is made to inquire if he will live long. Yes, is the reply, if you take nothing to excess. Observe this rule, my friends. Can you require that God should let you live for ages, as the reward of your gluttony, your drunkenness, your incontinence, and your indulgence in infamous passions, which corrupt the blood and necessarily shorten life ? I approved of this reply. Parouba liked it ; but Birton was not moved. I read in John's eyes that he was still doubtful. Birton rejoined in these terms : Birton. — Since you have made use of common arguments, with a few novel remarks, I may be allowed to follow your plan. If so good and power- ful a God existed, surely He would not have sufifered evil to enter the world, nor have devoted His crea- tures to grief and crime. If He cannot prevent evil. He is not almighty ; if He will not. He is cruel. The annals of the Brahmins only extend back 176 The Atheist and the Sage. 8,000 years; those of the Chinese only 5,000. Our knowledge i^ but of yesterday; but in that brief space all is horror. Murder has been the practice from one end of the earth to the other; and men have been weak enough to give to those men who slew the greatest number of their fellow creatures, the titles of heroes, demi-gods, and even gods. In America there were left two great nations, beginning to enjoy the sweets of peace and civiliza- tion, when the Spaniards came there to slay eleven millions. They hunted men down with dogs; and King Ferdinand of Castile gave those dogs pen- sions for their services. The heroes who subdued the New World mas- sacred innocent and helpless babes, murdered peaceable and defenceless Indians, and committed the most inhuman barbarities! They roasted King Guatemozin, in Mexico, on a gridiron. They has- tened to Peru to convert the Inca, Atahualpa. A priest, named Almagro, son of a priest condemned to be hanged in Spain for highway robbery, went there with one Pizarro, to inform the Emperor of the Peruvians, by the voice of another priest, that a third priest, named Alexander IV., polluted by incest, assassination, and homicide, had given, with his full consent (propria motu) and with full power, not only Peru, but one-half of the New World, to the King of Spain; and that Atahualpa ought in- stantly to submit, under pain of sufifering the indig- nation of the apostles Peter and Paul. But as this The Atheist and the Sage. 177 king knew as little of Latin as the priest who read the papal bull, he was instantly declared heretical and incredulous. They burned Atahualpa, as they had burned Guatemozin. They slew his people ; and all to gain that hard and yellow earth which has only served to depopulate and impoverish Spain; for it has made her neglect the cultivation of the earth, which really nourishes man. Now, my dear Mr. Freind, if the fantastic and ridiculous being men call the devil had wished to make men in his image, would he have made them otherwise? Do not, then, attribute such an abom- inable work to God. This speech brought the party round again to Birton's views. I saw John rejoice in himself ; even young Parouba heard with horror of the priest Almagro — of the priest who read the Latin bull — of the priest Alexander IV. — of all Christians who committed, under pretence of devotion, such cximes to obtain gold. I confess, I trembled fcjr Freind. I despaired of his cause. He replied, however,, with- out embarrassment. Freind. — ^Remember, ray faieinds, there is a God. This I proved to you; you agreed to it, and after being driven to admit that he exists, you strive to find out his imperfectioris, vices, and wickedness. I am far from asserting, with some reasoners, Vol. 2 — 12 1 78 The Atheist and the Sage. that private ills form the general good. This is too ridiculous a sentiment. I admit, with grief, that the world contains much moral and physical evil; but, since it is certain that God exists, it is also certain that all these evils cannot prevent God's existence. He cannot be cruel. What interest could make Him so? There are horrible evils in the world, my friends. Let us not swell their number. It is impos- sible that God can be other than good; but men are perverse, and make a detestable use of the liberty that God has given and ought to have given — that is, the power of exercising their wills, without which they would be simple machines, formed by a wicked being, to be broken at his caprice. All enlightened Spaniards agree that a small number of their ancestors abused this liberty so far as to commit crimes that make human nature shud- der. The second Don Carlos did what he could to repair the atrocities committed by the Spaniards under Ferdinand and Charles V. If there is crime in the world, my friends, there is virtue as well. BiRTON. — Ah! ha! virtue! A good joke! I should like to see this virtue. Where is she to be found? At these words I could not contain myself. "You may find her," said I, "in the worthy Mr. Freind, in Parouba, even in yourself when your heart is cleansed of its vices." He blushed; and John also. The latter looked The Atheist and the Sage. 179 down and seemed to feel remorse. His father sur-^ veyed him with compassion and resumed. Freind. — Yes, dear friends. If there have al- ways been crimes, there have always been virtues, too. Athens had such men as Socrates, as well as such as Anitus. Rome had Catos as well as Sullas. Nero frightened the world by his atrocities, but Titus, Trajan, and the Antonines consoled it by their benevolence. My friend will explain to Parouba who these great men were. Fortunately, I have Epictetus in my pocket. Epictetus was a slave, but the equal of Marcus Aurelius in mind. Listen, and may all who pretend to teach men hear what Epictetus says to himself: "God made me; I feel this; and shall I dare to dishonor Him by infamous thoughts, criminal actions, and base desires?" His mind agreed with his conversation. Marcus Au- relius, on the throne of Europe and two parts of our hemisphere, did not think otherwise than the slave Epictetus. The one was never humiliated by mean- ness, nor the other dazzled by greatness ; and when they wrote their thoughts it was for the use of their disciples, and not to be extolled in the papers. Pray, in your opinion, were not Locke, Newton, Tillot- son, Penn, Clarke, the good man called "The Man of Ross," and many others, in and beyond your island, models of virtue? You have alluded to the cruel and unjust wars of which so many nations have been guilty. You have described the abominations of Christians in Mexico 1 80 The Atheist and the Sage. and Peru; you might add the St. Bartholomew of France and the Irish massacre. But are there not people who have always held in abhorrence th« shedding of blood? Have not the Brahmins in all ages given this example to the world ? and, even in this country, have we not near us, in Pennsylvania, our Philadelphians, whom they attempt in vain to- ridicule by the name of Quakers, and who havfe always hated war? Have we not the Carolinas, where the great Locke dictated laws? In these two lands of virtue, all citizens are equal; all consciences are free; all religions good; provided they worship God. There all men are brethren. You have seen, Mr. Birton, the inhabitants of the Blue Mountains lay down their arms before a descendant of Penn. They felt the force of virtue. You persist in disavowing it. Because the earth produces poisons as well as wholesome plants, will you prefer the poisons? BiRTON. — Oh, sir, your poisons are not to the point. If God made them, they are his work. He is master, and does all. His hand directs Crom- well's when he signs the death warrant of Charles I. His arm conducts the headsman's who severs his head from the body. No, I cannot admit that God is a homicide; Freind. — Nor I. Pray, hear me. You will ad- mit that God governs by general laws. According to these laws, Cromwell, a monster of fanaticism and envy, determines to sacrifice Charles I. to his The Atheist and the Sage. i8i own interest, which, no doubt, all men seek to pro- mote, though they do not understand it alike. Ac- cording to the laws of motion established by God, the executioner cuts off his head. But assuredly it is not God who commits the assassination by a par- ticular act of his will. God was not Cromwell, nor Ravaillac, nor Balthasar Gerard, nor the preaching friar, James Clement.' God does not permit, nor command, nor authorize crime. But he has made man; he has established laws of motion; and these eternal laws are equally executed by the good man who stretches out his hand to the poor, and by the hand of a villain who assassinates his brother. In the same way that God did not extinguish the sun. or swallow up Spain, to punish Cortes, Almagro, and Pizarro, so, also, he does not send a company of angels to London, nor make a hundred thousand pipes of Burgundy to descend from heaven to delight the hearts of his dear Englishmen, when they do good. His general providence would become ridicu- lous, if thus made manifest to every individual ; and this is so striking, that God never punishes a criminal immediately, by a decided stroke of his power. He lets the sun shine on the evil and the good. If some wretches expire in their crimes, it is by the general laws that govern the world. I have read in a great book, by a Frenchman called Mezeray, that God caused our Henry V. to suffer a painful death, be- cause he dared to sit on the throne of a Christian king- I»2 The Atheist and the Sage. The physical part of a bad action is the effect of the primary laws given to matter by the hand of God, All moral evil is the effect of the liberty which man abuses. In a word, without plunging into the fogs of metaphysics, let us remember that the existence of God is proved. We have no longer to argue on that point. Take God from the world, and does the assassination of Charles I. become more lawful? Do you feel less aversion towards his executioner? God exists. Enough. If he exists, he is just. Be, then, just also. BiRTON. — Your argument has strength and force, though it does not altogether exonerate God from being the author of physical and moral evil. I see your way of justifying him makes an impression on the assembly; but might it not be contrived that these laws should not involve such particular mis- fortunes? You have proved to me a powerful and eternal God, and I was almost on the point of be- lieving. But I- have some terrible objections to make. Come, John, courage; let us not be cast down. The Atheist and the Sage. 1 83 CHAPTER X. ON ATHEISM. Night closed in beautifully. The atmosphere presented a vault of transparent azure, spangled with golden stars. Such a spectacle always afiects man, and inspires him with pleasant reveries. The worthy Parouba admired the heavens, like a Ger- man when he beholds St. Peter's at Rome, or the Opera at Naples, for the first time. "What a boldly arched vault," said he to Freind. "It is no arch at all," replied Freind. "The blue dome you behold is nothing more than a collection of vapors, which God has so disposed and combined with the mechanism of your eyes that, wherever you may be, you are still in the centre of your promenade, and perceive what is called heaven, arched above your head." "And those stars, Mr. Freind?" "As I have already said, they are so many suns, round which other worlds revolve. Far from being attached to that blue vault, remember that they are at various and prodigious distances from us. That star is twelve hundred millions of miles from our sun." Then, showing him the telescope he had brought, he pointed out to him the planets — ^Jupi- ter, with his four moons; Saturn, with his five moons and mysterious ring. 1 84 The Atheist and the Sage. "It is the same light," said he, "which proceeds from all these luminaries, and comes to us from this planet, in a quarter of an hour, and from that star, in six months." Parouba was deeply impressed, and said: "The heavens proclaim a God." All the crew looked on with admiration. But the pertinacious Birton, un- moved, continued as follows : BiRTON. — Be it so! There is a God; I grant it. But what is that to you and me? What connection is there between the superior Being and worms of the earth? What relation is there between His es- sence and ours? Epicurus, when he supposed a God in the planets, did well to conclude that he took [no part in our horrors and follies; that we could neither please nor ofifend him; that he had no need of us; nor we of him. You admit a God, more worthy of the human mind than the God of Epi- curus, or the gods of the east and west; but if you assert, with so many others, that God made the world and man for His own glory; that He formerly required sacrifices of oxen for His glory; that He appeared for His glory in our biped form, you would, I think, be asserting an absurdity. The love of glory is nothing but pride. A proud man is a conceited fellow, such as Shakespeare would intro- duce in his plays. This epithet cannot suit God — it does not agree with the divine nature — any more than injustice, cruelty or inconstancy. If God con- The Atheist and the Sage. 185 descended to regulate the universe, it could only be to make others happy. Has He done so ? Freind. — He has doubtless succeeded with all just spirits. They will be happy one day; if they are not so now. BiRTON. — Happy! How? When? Who told you so? Freind. — His justice. BiRTON. — Will you tell me that we shall live eter- nally — ^that we have immortal souls — after admitting that the Jews, whom you boast of having succeeded, did not entertain this notion of immortality up to the time of Herod? This idea of an immortal soul was invented by the Brahmins, adopted by the Persians, Chaldseans, and Greeks, and was for a long time unknown to the insignificant and superstitious Jewish tribes. Alas! sir, how do we know that we have souls? or how do we know but other animals, who have similar passions, wills, appetites, and mem- ories, so incomprehensible to us, have not souls as well? Hitherto I have thought that there is in nature a power by which we have the faculty of life in all our body, — ^walking with our feet, — ^taking with our hands, — seeing with our eyes, — feeling with our nerves, — thinking with our brain, — and that all this is called the soul, which is merely a vague word, signifying the unknown principle of our faculties. With you, I will call God the intelligent principle 1 86 The Atheist and the Sage. animating nature; but has He condescended to re- veal Himself to us ? Freind. — Yes, by His works. BiRTON. — Has He revealed His laws, or spoken to us ? Freind. — Yes, by the voice of conscience. Is it true, thatj if you killed your father and mother, your conscience would be a prey to a remorse as terrible as it would be involuntary? Is not this truth avowed and felt throughout the world? To come down to lesser crimes — do they not all revolt us at the first glance — make us turn pale when we commit them for the first time — and leave in our hearts the stings of repentance? BiRTON. — I must confess it. Freind. — God, in thus speaking to your heart, has commanded you to abstain from crime. As for equivocal actions, which some condeimi and others approve, what can we do better than follow the grand rule of Zoroaster — "When you are not sure whether the action you are about to commit is good or bad, abstain from it." Birton. — An admirable maxim, and doubtless the most beautiful ever advanced in morals. I ad- mit that, from time to time, God has raised up men to teach virtue to their degraded fellows. I apolo- gize to you for speaking lightly of virtue. Freind. — Rather apologize to the Supreme Be- ing, who can reward and punish eternally. The Atheist and the Sage. 187 BiRTON. — What! will God punish me for yield- ing to passions He has given me ? Freind. — He has given you passions with which you can do both good and evil. I do not tell you He will punish eternally; nor how He will punish; fpr no one can know that. The Brahmins were the iirkt to conceive a place of imprisonment for those who had revolted from God ; they were shut up in a description of hell, called Onderah, but were gradually liberated at various periods. Hence we have our mixture of virtues, vices, pleasures, and calamities. This conceit is ingenious, — and that of Pandora and Prometheus more so. Less polished nations have vulgarly imitated the same fable. These inventions are the fancies of Eastern phi- losophy. All I can say is, that if by abusing your lib- erty you have done evil, you cannot say God will not punish you. BiRTON. — I have tried to convince myself that He could not; but in vain. I confess I have abused my liberty, and that God may well punish me. But I cannot be punished when I have ceased to exist. Freind. — The best course is to be virtuous as long as you exist. BiRTON. — To be virtuous! Well, I confess I think you are right. It is the best course. I wish, my dear friend, you had witnessed the effect of Freind's discourse on both the English 1 88 The Atheist and the Sage. and Americans. The light, saucy Birton became thoughtful and modest. John fell at his father's feet, with tears in his eyes, and his father embraced him. I shall now proceed to relate the last scene of this interesting disputation. Birton. — I conceive that the great master of the universe is eternal; but we, who are but of yester- day, may we presume to expect immortality? All beings around us perish, from the insect devoured by the swallow, to the elephant, eaten by worms. Freind. — Nothing perishes; but all things change. The germs of animals and vegetables sub- sist, develop, and multiply. Why can you not allow that God might preserve the principle which makes us act and think, of whatever nature it may be? God preserve me from making a system; but cer- tainly there is in us something that wills and thinks. This something, formerly called a monad, is im- perceptible. God has given it us, or, rather, God has given us to it. Are you sure he cannot preserve it in being ? Can you give me any proof ? Birton. — No! I have sought for a proof in all the atheistical books within my reach, and especially in the third book of Lucretius, but I never found anything but conjectures. Freind. — And shall we on simple conjecture give ourselves up to fatal passions, and live like brutes, with no other restraint upon us than the fear of men, rendered eternally cruel to each other by their mutual dread? For we always wish to destroy The Atheist and the Sage. 189 what we fear. Think, sir! think seriously, my son John. To expect neither reward nor punishment is the true spirit of atheism. What is the use of a God who has no power over you? As though one should say, "There is a very powerful king in China," I reply, "Success to him; let him keep in his territory, — I in mine. I care no more for him than he cares for me. He has no more control over me than a canon of Windsor over a member of parliament." Then should I be a God to myself, sacrificing the whole world to my caprice? And recognizing no law, I should only consider myself? If others are sheep, I should become the wolf. If they choose to play the chicken, I should play the fox. I will presume (God forbid it) that all English- men are atheists. I will allow that there may be some peaceable citizens, quiet by nature, rich enough to be honest, regulated by honor, and so attentive to demeanor, that they contrive to live to- gether in society. They cultivate the arts which improve morals ; they live at peace in the innocent gayety of honest people. But the poor and needy atheist, sure of impunity, would be a fool if be did not assassinate or steal to get money. Then woald all the bonds of society be sundered. All secret crimes would inundate the world, and, like locusts, though at first imperceptible, would overspread the earth. The common people would become hordes of thieves, like those of our day, of whom^ not a 190 The Atheist and the Sage. tenth part are hanged at our sessions. They would pass their wretched Hves in taverns, with bad women. They would fight together, and fall down drunk amidst the pewter pots with which they break each other's heads. Nor would they rise but to steal and murder again, — to recommence the same round of hideous brutality. Whp, then, would restrain great kings in their fury? An atheist king is more dangerous than a fanatical Ravaillac. Atheism abounded in Italy during the fifteenth century. What was the consequence? It was as common a matter to poison another as to invite him to supper. The stroke of the stiletto was as fre- quent as an embrace. There were then professors of crime, as we now have professors of music and mathematics. Churches, even, were the favorite scenes of murder, and princes were slain at the altar. In this way Pope Sixtus IV. and archbishop of Pisa put to death two of the most accomplished princes of Europe. Explain, my dear friend, to Parouba and his children, what I mean by a pope and an archbishop; but tell them we have no such monsters now. But to resume: A duke of Milan was also slain in a church. Every one knows the astonishing horrors of Alexander VI. Had such morals continued, Italy would have been more desolate than Peru after the invasion. Faith, then, in a God who rewards good ac- tions, punishes the bad, and forgives lesser faults, is most useful to mankind. It is the only restraint The Atheist and the Sage. 191 on powerful men, who insolently commit crimes on the public, and on others who skilfully perpe^ trate offences. I do not tell you to mingle, with this necessary faith, superstitious notions that dis- grace it. Atheism is a monster that would prey on mankind only to satisfy its voracity. Superstition is another phantom, preying upon men as a deity. I have often observed that an atheist may be cured, but we rarely cure superstition radically. The athe- ist is generally an inquiring man, who is deceived; the superstitious man is a brutal fool, having no ideas of his own. An atheist might assault Ephige- nia when on the point of marrying Achilles, but a fanatic would piously sacrifice her on the altar, and think he did service to Jupiter. An atheist would steal a golden vessel from the altar to feast his fa- vorites, but the fanatic would celebrate an auto da fe in the same church, and sing hymns while he was causing Jews to be burned alive. Yes, my friends, superstition and atheism are the two poles of a universe in confusion. Tread these paths with a firm step, believe in a good God, and he good. This is all that the great philosophers, Penn and Locke, require of their people. Answer me, Mr. Birton, and you, my friends, what harm can the worship of God, joined to the happiness of a virtuous life, do you? We might be seized with mortal sickness, even now while I am speaking. Who, then, would not wish to have lived innocently? Read, in Shakespeare, the death of our 192 The Atheist and the Sage. wicked Richard III., and see how the hosts of those he had murdered haunted his imagination. Witness the death of Charles IX. after the horrors of St. Bartholomew. In vain his chaplain assured him he had done well. His blood started from every pore. All the blood he had shed cried out against him. Believe me, all these monsters were tortured by remorse, and died in despair. Birton and his friends could contain themselves no longer. They fell at Freind's feet. "Yes," said Birton, "I believe in God, and I beUeve you." CHAPTER XI. RETURN TO ENGLAND— JOHN'S MARRIAGE. We were already near Parouba's house, and we supped there. John could eat nothing. He sat apart in tears. His father went to console him. "Ah," said John, "I do not deserve such a father. I shall die of shame for yielding to the fascination of that wicked Clive-Hart. I am the cause of Miss Primrose's death. Just now, when you talked of poison, I shuddered, for I thought I saw Clive-Hart presenting the horrible draught to Primrose. How could I have so far lost myself as to accompany so vile a creature? I was blind. I did not discover my error till she was taken by the savages. In a fit of rage she almost admitted her guilt. From that moment I have loathed her, and, for a pun- The Atheist and the Sage. 193 ishment, the form of Primrose is ever before me, and seems to say, 'I died because I loved you.' " His father said a blameless life could alone repair his past errors. The next day we sailed for England, after giving presents to the Paroubas. Tears mingled with our adieus, and Birton, who had been only giddy, al- ready seemed' a reasonable person. When we were out at sea Freind said to John, in my presence : "Do you still cherish the memory of the amiable Primrose?" These words so wrung the heart of the young man that I feared he would throw himself into the sea. "Console yourself, then," said Freind. "Miss Primrose is alive, and loves you still." Freind had received certain information on this subject from his servant, who had written to him punctually by every ship. Mr. Mead, who has since acquired so great a reputation by his skill in the counteraction of poisons, had saved the young lady's life. In a moment John passed from despair to extreme joy. I will not attempt to describe the change. It was the happiest moment of his life. Birton and his friends shared his joy. What more shall I say ? The worthy Freind was as a father to all. The wedding was celebrated at Dr. Mead's. Birton, now another man, also married, and he and John are now among the best people in England. Admit that a wise man can instruct fools. Vol. 2 — 13 THE WHITE BULL. CHAPTER I. HOW THE PRINCESS AMASIDIA MEETS A BULL. The princess Amasidia, daughter of Amasis, king of Tanis in Egypt, took a walk upon the high- way of Peluaium with the ladies of her train. She was sunk in deep melancholy. Tears gushed from her beautiful eyes. The cause of her grief was known, as well as the fears she entertained lest that grief should displease the king, her father. The old man, Mambres, ancient magician and eunuch of the Pharaohs, was beside her, and seldom left her. He was present at her birth. He had edu- cated her, arid taught her all that a fair princess was allowed to know of the sciences of Egypt. The mind of Amasidia equalled her beauty. Her sensi- bility and tenderness rivalled the charms of her per- son, and it was this sensibility which cost her so many tears. The princess was twenty-four years old; the ma- gician, Mambres, about thirteen hundred. It was he, as every one knows, who had that famous dis- pute with Moses, in which the victory was so long doubtful between these two profound philosophers. 194 The White Bull. 195 If Mambres yielded, it was owing to the visible pro- tection of the celestial powers, who favored his rival. It required gods to overcome Mambres. Amasis made him superintendent of his daugh- ter's household, and he acquitted himself in this of- fice with his usual prudence. His compassion was excited by the sighs of the beautiful Amasidia. "O my lover!" said she to herself, "my young, my dear lover ! O greatest of conquerors, most ac- complished, most beautiful of men! Almost seven years hast thou disappeared from the world. What god hath snatched thee from thy tender Amasidia? Thou art not dead. The wise Egyptian prophets confess this. But thou art dead to me. I am alone in the world. Tp me it is a desert. By what ex- traordinary prodigy hast thou abandoned thy throne and thy mistress ? — thy throne, which was the first in the world. However, that is a matter of small consequence; but to abandon me, who adores thee ! O my d'ear Ne " She was going on. "Tremble to pronounce that fatal name," said Mambres, the ancient eunuch and magician of the Pharaohs. "You would perhaps be discovered by some of the ladieSi of your court. They are all very much devoted to you, and all fair ladies certainly make it a merit to serve the noble passions of fair princesses. But there may be one among them in- discreet, and even treacherous. You know that your father, although he loves you, has sworn to 196 The White Bull. put'you to death should you pronounce the terrible name always ready to escape your lips. This law is severe, but you have not been educated in Egyp- tian wisdom to be ignorant of the government of the tongue.' Remember that Hippocrates, one of our greatest gods, has always his finger upon his mouth." The beautiful Amasidia wept, and was silent. As she pensively advanced towards the banks of the Nile she perceived at a distance, under a thicket watered by the river, an old woman, in a tattered gray garment, seated on a hillock. This old woman had beside her a she-ass, a dog, and a he-goat. Opposite to her was a serpent, which was not like the common serpents, for its eyes were mild, its physiognomy noble and engaging, while its skin shone with the liveliest and brightest col- ors. A huge fish, half immersed in the river, was not the least astonishing figure in the group, and on a neighboring tree were perched a raven and a pigeon. All these creatures seemed to carry on a very animated conversation. "Alas!" said the princess, in a low tone, "these animals undoubtedly speak of their loves, and it is not so much as allowed me to mention the name of mine." The old woman held in her hand a slender steel chain a hundred fathoms long, to which was fast- ened a bull, who fed in the meadow. This bull was white, perfectly well made, plump, and at the same The White Bull. 197 time agile, which is a thing seldom to be found. He was indeed the most beautiful specimen that was ever seen of his kind. Neither the bull of Pasiphae, nor that in whose shape Jupiter appeared when he carried off Europa, could be compared to this noble animal. The charming young heifer into which Isis was changed would have scarce been worthy of his company. As soon as the bull saw the princess he ran toward her with the swiftness of a young Arabian horse, that pricks up his ears and flies over the plains and rivers of the ancient Saana to approach the lovely consort whose image reigns in his heart. The old woman used her utmost efiforts to restrain the bull. The serpent wanted to terrify him by its hissing. The dog followed him and bit his beauti- ful limbs. The she-ass crossed his way and kicked him to make him return. The great fish remounted the Nile, and, darting himself out of the water, threatened to devour him. The he-goat remained immovable, apparently struck with fear. The raven fluttered round his head as if it wanted to tear out his eyes. The pigeon alone accompanied him from curiosity, and applauded him by a sweet murmur. So extraordinary a sight threw Mambres into se- rious reflections. In the meanwhile the white bull, dragging after him his chain and the old woman, had already reached the princess, who was struck with astonishment and fear. He threw himself at her feet. He kissed them. He shed tears. He 198 The White Bull. looked upon her with eyes in which there was a strange mixture of grief and joy. He dared not to low, lest he should terrify the beautiful Amasidia. He could not speak. A weak use of the voice, granted by heaven to certain animals, was denied him; but all his actions were eloquent. The prin- cess was delighted with him. She perceived that a trifling amusement could suspend for some mo- ments even the most poignant grief. "Here," said she, "is a most amiable animal. I could wish much to have him in my stable." At these words the bull bent himself on his knees and kissed the ground. _ "He understands me," cried the princess. "He shows me that he wants to be mine. Ah, heavenly magician! ah, divine eunuch! Give me this con- solation. Purchase this beautiful bovine. Settle the price with the old woman, to whom he no doubt belongs. This animal must be mine. Do not re- fuse me this innocent comfort." All the ladies joined their requests to the en- treaties of the princess. Mambres yielded to them, and immediately went to speak to the old woman. The White Bull. 199 CHAPTER II. HOW THE WISE MAMBRES, FORMERLY MAGICIAN OF PHARAOH, KNEW AGAIN THE OLD WOMAN, AND WAS KNOWN BY HER. "Madam," said Mambres to her, "you know that ladies, and particularly princesses, have need of amusement. The daughter of the king is distract- edly fond of your bull. I beg that you will sell him to us. You shall be paid in ready money." "Sir," answered the old woman, "this precious animal does not belong to me. I am charged, to- gether with all the beasts which you see, to keep him with care, to watch all his motions, and to give an exact account of them. God forbid that I should ever have any inclination to sell this invaluable animal." Mambres, upon this discourse, began to have a confused remembrance of something which he could not yet properly distinguish. He eyed the old woman in the gray cloa,k with greater atten- tion. "Respectable lady," said he to her, "I either mis- take, or I have seen yoU formerly." "I make no mistake, sir," replied the old woman. I have seen you seven hundred years ago, in a journey which I made from Syria into Egypt some months after the destruction of Troy, when Hiram aoo The White Bull. ' the Second reigned at Tyre, and Nephel Keres in ancient Egypt." "Ah! Madam," cried the old man, "you are the remarkable witch of Endor." "And you, sir," said the sorceress, embracing him, "are the great Mambres of Egypt." "O unforeseen meeting! memorable day! eternal decrees!" said Mambres. "It certainly is not with- out permission of the universal providence that we meet again in this meadow, upon the banks of the Nile, near the noble cjty of Tanis. What, is it in- deed you," continued Mambres, "who are so fa- mous upon the banks of your little Jordan, and the first person in the world for raising apparitions?" "What, is it you, sir?" replied Miss Endor, "who are so famous for changing rods into serpents, the day into darkness, and rivers into blood?" "Yes, madam, but my great age has in part de- prived me of my knowledge and power. I am ig- norant from whence you have this beautiful bull, and who these animals are that, together with you, watch round him." The old woman, recollecting herself, raised her eyes to heaven, and then replied: "My dear Mambres, we are of the same profes- sion, but it is expressly forbidden me to tell you who this bull is. I can satisfy you with regard to the other animals. - You will easily know them by the marks which characterize them. The serpent is that which persuaded Eve to eat an apple, and The White Bull. loi to make her husband partake of it. y The ass, that which spoke to your contemporary, Balaam, in a remarkable discourse. The fish, which always car- ries its head above water, is that which swallowed Jonah a few years ago. The dog is he who followed Raphael and the young Tobit in their journey to Ragusa in Media, in the time of the great Salaman- zar. This goat is he who expiates all the sins of your nation. The raven and the pigeon, those which were in the ark of Noah. Great event! uni- versal catastrophe! of which almost all the world is still ignorant. You are now informed. But of the bull you can know nothing." Mambres, having listened with respect, said: "The Eternal, O illustrious witch! reveals and conceals what he thinks proper. All these animals who, together with you, are intrusted with the custody of the white bull, are only known to your generous and agreeable nation, which is itself un- known to almost all the world. The miracles which you and yours, I and mine, have performed, shall one day be a great subject of doubt and scan- dal to inquisitive philosophers. But happily these miracles shall find belief with the devout sages, who shall prove submissive to the enlightened in one comer of the world; and this is all that is neces- sary." As he spoke these words the princess pulled him by the sleeve, and said to him: "Mambres, will you not buy my bull?" 202 The White Bull. The magician, plunged into a deep reverie, made no reply, and Amasidia poured forth her tears. She then addressed herself to the old woman. "My good woman," said she, "I conjure you, hy all you hold most dear in the world, by your father, by your mother, by your nurse, who are certainly still alive, to sell me not only your bull, but like- wise your pigeon, which seepis very much attached to him." "As for the other animals, I do not want them; but I shall catch the vapors if you do not sell me this charming bull, who will be all the happiness of my life." ' The old woman respectfully kissed the fringe of her gauze robe, and replied: "Princess, my bqll is not to be sold. ,Your illus- trious magician is acquainted with this. All that I can do for your service is to permit him to feed every day near your palace. You may caress him, give him biscuits, and make him dance about at your pleasure; but he must always be under the eyes of all these animals who accompany me, and who are charged with the keeping of him. If he does not endeavor to escape from them, they will prove peaceable; but if he attempt once more to break his chain, as he did upon seeing you, woe be unto him. I would not then answer for his life. This large fish, which you see, will certainly swal- low him, and keep him longer than three days in The White Bull. 203 his belly; or this serpent, who appears to you so mild, will give him a mortal sting." The white bull, who understood perfectly the old woman's conversation, but was unable to speak, humbly accepted all the proposals. He laid himself down at her feet; he lowed softly; and, looking tenderly at Amasidia, seemed to say to her: "Come and see me sometimes, upon the lawn." The serpent now took up the conversation : "Princess," said he, "I advise you to act im- plicitly as mademoiselle of Endor has told you." The she-ass likewise put in her word, and was of the opinion of the serpent. Amasidia was afflicted that this serpent and this ass should speak so well; while a beautiful bull, who had such noble and tender sentiments, was un- able to express them. "Alas !" said she, in a low voice, "nothing is more common at court. One sees there every day fine lords who cannot converse, and contemptible wretches who speak with assurance." "This serpent," said Mambres, "is not a con- temptible wretch. He is perhaps the personage of the greatest importance." The day now declined, and the princess was obliged to return home, after having promised to come back next day at the same hour. Her ladies of the palace were astonished, and understood noth- ing of what they had seen or heard. Mambres made 204 The White Bull. reflections. The princess, recollecting that the ser- pent called the old woman Miss, concluded at ran- dom that she was still unmarried, and felt some affliction that such was also her own condition. Respectable affliction! which she concealed, how- ever, with as much care as the name of her lover. CHAPTER III. HOW THE BEAUTIFUL AMASIDIA HAD A SECRET CON- VERSATION WITH A BEAUTIFUL SERPENT. The beautiful princess recommended secrecy to her ladies with regard to what they had seen. They all promised it, and kept their promise for a whole day. We may believe that Amasidia slept little that night. An inexplicable charm continually recalled the idea of her beautiful bull. As soon, therefore, as she was at freedom with her wise Mambres, she said to him: "O sage, this animal turns my head." "He employs mine very much," said Mambres. "I see plainly that this bovine is very much su- perior to those of his species. I see that there is a great mystery, and I suspect a fatal event. Your father Amasis is suspicious and violent; and this affair requires that you conduct yourself with the greatest precaution." "Ah!" said the princess, "I have too much cu- The White Bull. 20$ riosity to be prudent. It is the only sentiment which can unite in my heart with that which preys upon me on account of the lover I have lost. May I not know who this white bull is that gives me such strange disquiet?" Mambres replied: "I have already confessed to you, frankly, that my knowledge declines in proportion as my age ad- vances, but I mistake much if the serpent is not informed of what you are so very desirous of knowing. He does 'not want sense. He expresses himself with propriety. He has been long accus- tomed to interfere in the affairs of the ladies." "Ah! undoubtedly," said Amasidia, "this is the beautiful serpent of Egypt, who, by fixing his tail into his mouth, becomes the emblem of eternity; who enlightens the world when he opens his eyes, and darkens it when he shuts them?" "No, Miss." "It is then the serpent of .^sculapius ?" "Still less." "It is perhaps Jupiter under the figure of a ser- pent?" "Not at all." "Ah, now I see, I see. It is the rod which you formerly changed into a sea serpent ?" "No, indeed, it is not ; but all these serpents are of the same family. This one has a very high char- acter in his own country. He passes there for the most extraordinary serpent that was ever seen. Ad- 2o6 The White Bulh dress yourself to him. However, I warn you it is a dangerous undertaking. Were I in your place I would hardly trouble myself either with the bull, the she-ass, the he-goat, the serpent, the fish, the raven, or the pigeon. But passion hurries you on, and all I can do is to pity you, and tremble." The princess conjured him to procure her a tete-a-tete with the serpent. Mambres, who was obliging, consented, and, making profound reflec- tions, he went and communicated to the witch in so insinuating a manner the whim of the princess, that the old woman told him Amasidia might lay her commands upon her; that the serpent was per- fectly well-bred, and so polite to the ladies that he wished for nothing more than to oblige them, and would not fail to keep the princess' appointment. The ancient magician returned to inform the princess of this good news, but he still dreaded some misfortune, and made reflections. "You desire to speak with the serpent, made- moiselle. This you may accomplish whenever your highness thinks proper. But remember you must flatter him, for every animal has a great deal of self-love, and the serpent in particular. It is said he was formerly driven out of heaven for ex- cessive pride." "I have never heard of it," replied the princess. "I believe it," said the old man. He then informed her of all the reports which had been spread about this famous serpent. The White Bull. 207 "But, my dear princess, whatever singular ad- ventures may have happened to him, you never can extort, these secrets from him but by flattery. Hav- ing formerly deceived women, it is equitable that a woman in her turn should deceive him." "I will do my utmost," said the princess, and departed with her maids of honor. The old woman was feeding the bull at a considerable distance. Mambres left Amasidia to herself, and went and discoursed with the witch. One lady of, honor chatted with the she-ass, the others amused them- selves with the goat, the dog, the raven, and the pigeon. As for the large fish that frightened every- body, he plunged himself into the Nile by order of the old woman. The serpent then attended the beautiful Ama- sidia into the grove, where they had the following conversation : Serpent. — ^You cannot imagine, mademoiselle, how much I am flattered with the honor which your highness deigns to confer upon me. Princess. — Your great reputation, sir, the beau- ty of your countenance, and the brilliancy of your eyes have emboldened me to seek for this conver- sation. I know by public report (if it be not false) that you were formerly a very great lord in the empyrean heaven. Serpent. — It is true. Miss, I had there a very distinguished place. It is pretended I am a dis- graced favorite. This is a report which once went 2o8 The White Bull. abroad in India. The Brahmins were the first who gave a history of my adventures. And I doubt not but one day or other the poets of the North will make them the subject of an extravagant epic poem, for in truth it is all that can be made of them. Yet I am not so much fallen but that I have left in this globe a very extensive dominion. I might venture to assert that the whole earth belongs to me. Princess. — I believe it, for they tell me that your powers of persuasion are irresistible, and to please is to reign. Serpent. — I feel, mademoiselle, while I behold and listen to you, that you have over me the same power which you ascribe to me over so many oth- ers. Princess; — You are, I believe, an amiable con- queror. It is said that your conquests among the fair sex have been numerous, and that you began with our common mother, whose name I have un- fortunately forgotten. Serpent. — ^They do me injustice. She honored me with her confidence, and I gave her the best advice. I desired that she and her husband should eat heartily of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. I imagined in doing this that I should please the Ruler of all things. It seemed to me that a tree so necessary to the human race was not planted to be entirely useless. Would the Supreme Being have wished to have been served by fools and idiots? Is not the mind formed for the acquisition of knowl- The White Bull. 209 edge and for improvement? Is not, the knowledge of good and evil necessary for doing the one and avoiding the other? I certainly merited their thanks. Princess. — Yet they tell me that you have suf- fered for it. Probably it is since this period that so many ministers have been punished for giving good advice, and so many real philosophers and men of genius persecuted for their writings that were useful to mankind. Serpent. — It is my enemies who have told you these stories. They say that I am out of favor at court. But a proof that my influence there has not declined is their own confession that I entered into the council when it was in agitation to try the good man Job; and I was again called upon when the resolution was taken to deceive a certain petty king called Ahab. I alone was charged with this honorable commission. Princess. — Ah, sir! I do not believe that you are formed to deceive. But since you are always in the ministry, may I beg a favor of you? I hope so amiable a lord will not deny me. Serpent. — Mademoiselle, your requests are laws ; name your commands. Princess. — I entreat that you will tell me who this white bull is, for whom I feel such extraordi- nary sentiments, which both affect and alarm me. I am told that you would deign to inform me. Serpent. — Curiosity is necessary to human na- Vol. 2 — 14 2IO The White Bull. ture, and especially to your amiable sex. Without it they would live in the most shameful ignorance. I have always satisfied, as far as lay in my power, the curiosity of the ladies. I am accused, indeed, of using this complaisance only to vex the Ruler of the world. I swear to you that I could propose nothing more agreeable to myself than to obey you; but the old woman must have informed you that the revealing of this secret will be attended with some danger to you. Princess. — Ah! it is that which makes me still more curious. Serpent. — In this I discover the sex to whom I have formerly done service. Princess. — If you possess any feeling; if ra- tional beings should mutually assist each other; if you have compassion for an unfortunate creature, do not refuse my request. Serpent. — You affect me. I must satisfy you; but do not interrupt me. Princess. — I promise you I will not. Serpent. — There was a young king, beautiful, charming, in love, beloved — Princess. — A young king! beautiful, charming, in love, beloved! And by whom? And who was this king ? How old was he ? What has become of him? Where is his kingdom? What is his name? Serpent. — See, I have scarce begun, and you have already interrupted me. Take care. If you The White Bull. an have not more command over yourself, you are undone. Princess. — Ah, pardon me, sir. I will not repeat my indiscretion. Go on, I beseech you. Serpent. — ^This great king, the most valiant of men, victorious wherever he carried his arms, often dreamed when asleep, and forgot his dreams when awake. He wanted his magicians to remember and inform him what he had dreamed, otherwise he declared he would hang them ; for that nothing was more equitable. It is now nearly seven years since he dreamed a fine dream, which he entirely forgot when he awoke ; and a young Jew, full of experience, hav- ing revealed it to him, this amiable king was imme- diately changed into an ox for — Princess. — Ah ! it is my dear Neb-^ She could not finish; she fainted away. Mam- bres, who listened at a distance, saw her fall, and believed her dead. CHAPTER IV. HOW THEY WANTED TO SACRIFICE THE BULL AND EXORCISE THE PRINCESS. Mambres runs to her, weeping. The serpent is affected. He, alas, cannot weep, but he hisses in a mournful tpne. He cries out, "She is dead," The ass repeats, "She is dead." The raven tells it over •J 12 The White Bull. again. All the other animals appeared afflicted except the fish of Jonah, which has always been merciless. The lady of honor, the ladies of the court, arrive and tear their hair. The white bull, who fed at a distance and heard their cries, ran to the grove, dragging. the old woman after him, while his loud bellowings made the neighboring echoes resound. To no purpose did the ladies pour upon the ex- piring Amasidia their bottles of rose-water, of pink, of myrtle, of bpnzoin, of balm of Gilead, of amo- mum, of gillyflower, of nutmeg, of ambergris. She had not as yet given the smallest signs of life. But as soon as she perceived that the beautiful white bull was beside her she came to herself, more blooming, more beautiful and lively than ever. A thousand times did she kiss this charming animal, who languishingly leaned his head on her snowy bosom. She called him, "My master, my king, my dear, my life!" She throws her fair arms around his neck, which was whiter than the snow. The light straw does not adhere more closely to the amber, the vine to the elm, nor the ivy to the oak. The sweet murmur of her sighs was heard. Her eyes were seen, now sparkling with a tender flame, and now obscured by those precious tears which love makes us shed. We may easily judge into what astonishment the lady of honor and ladies of her train were thrown. As soon as they entered the palace they related to their lovers this extraordinary adventure, and every The White Bull. 213 one with different circumstances, which increased its singularity, and which always contributes to the variety of all histories. No sooner was Amasis, king of Tanis, informed of these events, than his royal breast was inflamed with just indignation. Such was the wrath of Mi- nos when he understood that his daughter Pasiphae lavished her tender favors upon the father of the Minotaur. Thus raged Juno when she beheld Jupiter caressing the beautiful cow lo, daughter of the river Inachus. Following the dictates of passion, the stern Amasis imprisoned his unhappy daughter, the beautiful Amasidia, in her chamber, and placed over her a guard of black eunuchs. He then assembled his privy council. The grand magician presided there, but had no longer the same influence as formerly. All the min- isters of state concluded that this white bull was a sorcerer. It was quite the contrary. He was bewitched. But in delicate affairs they are always mistaken at court. It was carried by a great majority that the prin- cess should be exorcised, and the old woman and the bull sacrificed. The wise Mambres contradicted not the opinion of the king and council. The right of exorcising belonged to him. He could delay it under some plausible pretence. The god Apis had lately died at Memphis. A good ox dies just like another ox. And it was not allowed to exorcise any person in 214 The White Bull. Egypt until a new ox was found to replace the deceased. It was decreed in the council to wait until the nomination should be made of a new god at Mem- phis. The good old man, Mambres, perceived to what danger his dear princess was exposed. He knew who her lover was. The syllables Nebu , which had escaped her, laid open the whole mystery to the eyes of this sage. The dynasty of Memphis belonged at this time to the Babylonians. They preserved this remainder of the conquests they had gained under the great- est king of the world, to whom Amasis was a mortal enemy. Mambres had occasion for all his wisdom to conduct himself properly in the midst of so many difficulties. If the king Amasis should discover the lover of his daughter, her death would be inev- itable. He had sworn it. The great, the young, the beautiful king of whom she was enamored, had dethroned the king, her father, and Amasis had only recovered his kingdom about seven years. From that time it was not known what had become of the adorable monarch — the conqueror and idol of the nations — rthe tender and generous lover of the charming Amasidia. Sacrificing the white bull would inevitably occasion the death of the beautiful princess. ^Vliat could Mambrep dp in such critical ^ircum- The White Bull. 215 stances ? He went, after the council had broken up, to find his dear foster-daughter. "My dear child," he says, "I will serve you, but I repeat it, they will behead you if ever you pro- nounce the name of your lover." "Ah! what signifies my neck," replied the beau- tiful Amasidia, "if I cannot embrace that of Nebu — ? My father is a cruel man. He not only refuses to give me a charming prince whom I adore, but he declares war against him; and after he was conquered by my lover he has found the secret of changing him into an ox. Did one ever see more frightful malice? If my father were not my father, I do not know what I should do to him." "It was not your father who played him this cruel trick," said the wise Mambres. "It was a na- tive of Palestine, one of our ancient enemies, an in- habitant of a httle country comprehended in that crowd of kingdoms which your lover subdued in or- der to polish and refine them. "Such metamorphoses must not surprise you. You know that formerly I performed more ex- traordinary, ones. Nothing was at that time more common than those changes which at present as- tonish philosophers. Trtje history, which we have read together, informs us that Lycaon, king of Ar- cadia, was changed into a wolf; the beautiful Cal- listo, his daughter, into a bear ; lo, the daughter of Inachus, our venerable Isis, into a cow; Daphne into a laurel; Syrinx into a flute; the fair Edith, 2i6 The White Bull. wife of Lot — the best and most affectionate hus- band and father ever known in the world — has she not become, in our neighborhood, a pillar of salt, very sharp, tasted, which has preserved both her likeness and form, as the great men attest who have seen it? I was witness to this change in my youth. I saw seven powerful cities in the most dry and parched situation in the world, all at once trans- formed into a beautiful lake. In the early part of my life the whole world was full of metamorphoses. "In fine, madam, if examples can soothe your grief, remember that Venus changed Cerastes into an ox." "I do not know," said the princess, "that exam- ples comfort us. If my lover were dead, could I comfort myself by the idea that all men die?" "Your pain may at least be alleviated," replied the sage ; "and since your lover has become an ox, it is possible from an ox he may become a man. As for me, I should deserve to be changed into a tiger or a crocodile if I did not employ the little power I have in the service of a princess worthy of the adoration of the world; if I did not labor for the beautiful Amasidia, whom I have nursed upon my knees, and whom fatal destiny exposes to such rude trials." The White Bull. 217 CHAPTER V. HOW THE WISE MAMBRES CONDUCTED HIMSELF WISELY. The sage Mambres, having said everything he could to comfort the princess, but without succeed- ing in so doing, ran to the old woman. "My companion," said he to her, "otirs is a charming profession, but a very dangerous one. You run the risk of being hanged, and your ox of being burned, drowned or devoured. I don't know what they will do with your other animals, for, prophet as I am, I know very little ; .but do you carefully conceal the serpent and the fish. Let not the one show his head above water, nor the other venture out of his hole. I will place the ox in one of my stables in the country. You shall be there with him, since you say that you are not allowed to abandon him. The good scapegoat may, upon this occasion, serve as an expiation. We will send him into the desert loaded with the sins of all the rest. He is accustomed to this ceremony, which does him no harm, and every one knows that sin is expiated by means of a he-goat, who walks about for his own amusement. I only beg of you to lend me imme^ diately Tobit's dog, who is a very swift greyhound ; Balaam's ass, who runs better than a dromedary; the raven and the pigeon of the ark, who fly with amazing swiftness. I want to send them on an em- ai8 The White Bull. bassy to Memphis. It is an affair of great conse- quence." The old woman repHed to the magician: "You may dispose as you please of Tobit's dog, of Balaam's ass, of the raven and the pigeon of the ark, and of the scapegoat; but my ox cannot enter into a stable. It is said, Daniel, v. 21, that he must be always made fast to an iron chain, be always wet with the dew of heaven, and eat the grass of the field, and his portion be with the wild beasts. "He is intrusted to me, and I must obey. What would Daniel, Ezekiel and Jeremiah think of me if I trusted my ox to any other than to myself? I see you know the secret of this extraordinary ani- mal, but I have not to reproach myself with having revealed it to you. I am going to conduct him far from this polluted land, toward the lake Sirbon, where he will be sheltered from the cruelties of the king of Tanis. My fish and my serpent will defend me. I fear nobody when I serve my master." "My good woman," answered the wise Mam- bres, "let the will of God be done! Provided I can find your white bull again, the lake Sirbon, the lake Moeris, or the lake of Sodom are to me perfectly in- different. I want to do nothing but good to him and to you. But why have you spoken to me of Dan- iel, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah ?" "Ah! sir," answered the old woman, "you know as well as I what concern they have in this impor- tant affair. But I have no time to lose. I don't de- The White Bull. 219 sire to be hanged. I want not that my bull should be burned, drowned, or devoured. I go to the lake Sirbon by Canopus, with my serpent and my fish. Adieu." The bull followed her pensively, after having tes- tified his gratitude to the beneficent Mambres. The wise Mambres was greatly troubled. He saw that Amasis, king of Tanis, distracted by the strange passion of his daughter for this animal, and believing her bewitched, would pursue every- where the unfortunate bull, who would infallibly be burned as a sorcerer in the public place of Tanis, or given to the fish of Jonah, or be roasted and served up for food. Mambres wanted at all events to save the princess from this cruel disaster. He wrote a letter, in sacred characters, to his friend, the high priest of Memphis, upon the paper of Egypt, which was not yet in use. Here are the identical words of this letter: "Light of the world, lieutenant of Isis, Osiris, and Horus, chief of the circumcised, you whose al- tar is justly raised above all thrones! I am in- formed that your god, the ox Apis, is dead. I have one at your service. Come quickly with your priests to acknowledge, to woi'ship him, and to conduct him into the stable of your temple. May Isis, Osiris, and Horus keep you in their holy and worthy protection, and likewise the priests of Mem- phis in their holy care. "Your affectionate friend, Mambres," 220 The White Bull. He made four copies of this letter, for fear of accidents, and enclosed them in cases of the hardest ebony. Then, calling to him his four couriers, whom he had destined for this employment (these were the ass, the dog, the raven, and the pigeon), he said to the ass: "I know with what fidelity you served Ba- laam, my brother. Serve me as faithfully. There is not a unicorn who equals you in swiftness. Go, my dear friend, and deliver this letter to the person himself to whom it is directed, and return." The ass answered: "Sir, as I served Balaam, I will serve you. I will go, and I will return." The sage put the box of ebony into her mouth, and she swiftly departed. He then called Tobit's dog. "Faithful dog," said Mambres, "more speedy in thy course than the nimble-footed Achilles, I know what you performed for Tobit, son of Tobit, when you and the angel Raphael accompanied him from Nineveh to Ragusa, in Media, and from Ragusa to Nineveh, and that he brought back to his father ten talents, which the slave Tobit, the father, had lent to the slave Gabelus; for the slaves at that time were very rich. Carry this letter as it is directed. It is much more valuable than ten talents of silver." The dog then replied: "Sir, if I formerly followed the messenger Ra- The White Bull, 22 1 phael, I can with equal ease execute your com- mission." Mambres put the letter into his mouth. He next spoke in the same manner to the pig- eon, who replied: "Sir, if I brought back a bough into the ark, I will likewise bring you back an answer." She took the letter in her bill, and the three mes- sengers were out of sight in a moment. Then Mambres addressed the raven: "I know that you fed the great prophet Elijah, when he was concealed near the torrent of Cherith, so much celebrated in the world. You brought him every day good bread and fat pullets. I only ask of you to carry this letter to Memphis." The raven answered in these words: "It is true, sir, that I carried every day a dinner to the great prophet Elijah, the Tishbite. I saw him mount in a chariot of fire drawn by fiery horses, although this is not the usual method of travelling. But I always took care to eat half the dinner myself. I am very well pleased to carry your letter, provided you make me certain of two good meals every day, and that I am paid money in advance for my commission." Mambres, angry, replied: "Gluttonous and malicious creature, I am not astonished that Apollo has made you black as a tnole, after being white 3s a swan, as you were for- 222 The White Bull. merly, before you betrayed in the plains of Thessaly the beautiful Coronis, the unfortunate mother of iEsculapius. Tell me, did you eat ribs of beef and pullets every day when you were ten whole months in the ark?" "Sir," said the raven, "we had there very good cheer. They served up roast meat twice a day to all the fowls of my species who live upon nothing but flesh, such as the vultures, kites, eagles, buz- zards, sparrow-hawks, owls, tercels, falcons, great owls, and an innumerable crowd of birds of prey. They furnished, with the most plentiful profusion, the tables of the lions, leopards, tigers, panthers, hyenas, wolves, bears, foxes, polecats, and all sorts of carnivorous quadrupeds. There were in the ark eight persons of distinction (and the only ones who were then in the world), continually employed in the care of our table and our wardrobe ; Noah and his wife, who were about six hundred years- old, their three sons and their three wives. It was charming to see with what care, what dexterity, what cleanli- ness, our eight domestics served four thousand of the most ravenous guests, without reckoning the amazing trouble which about ten or twelve thou- sand other animals required, from the elephant and the giraffe, to the silk worm and fly. What aston- ishes me is, that our purveyor Noah is unknown to all the nations of whom he is the stem, but I don't much mind it. I had already been present at a sim- ilar entertainment with Xesustres, king of Thrace. The White Bull. 223 Such things as these happen from time to time for the instruction of ravens. In a word, I want to have good cheer, and to be paid in ready money." The wise Mambres took care not to give his letter to such a discontented and babbHng animal; and they separated very much dissatisfied with each other. But it is necessary to know what became of the white bull, and not to lose sight of the old woman and the serpent. Mambres ordered his intelligent and faithful domestics to follow them; and as for himself, he advanced in a litter by the side of the Nile, always making reflections. "How is it possible," said he to himself, "that a serpent .should be master of almost all the world, as he boasts, and as so many learned men acknowl- edge, and that he nevertheless obeys an old woman? How is it, that he is sometimes called to the council of the Most High, while he creeps upon earth ? In what manner can he enter by his power alone into the bodies of men, and that so many men pretend to dislodge him by means of words? In short, why does he pass with a small neighboring people for having ruined the human race? And how is it that the human race are entirely ignorant of this? I am old, I have studied all my life, but I see a crowd of inconsistencies which I cannot reconcile. I cannot account for what has happened to myself, neither for the great things which I long ago performed, nor ):hps!e pf which I have been witness. Every- 224 The White Bull. thing well considered, I begin to think that this world subsists by contradictions, rerum concordia discors, as my master Zoroaster formerly said." While he was plunged in this obscure meta- physical reasoning — obscure like all metaphysics — a boatman singing a jovial song, made fast a small boat by the side of the river, and three grave per- sonages, half clothed in dirty, tattered garments, landed from it; but preserved, under the garb of poverty, the most majestic and gugust air. These strangers were Daniel, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah. CHAPTER VI. HOW MAMBRES MET THREE PROPHETS, AND GAVE THEM A GOOD DINNER. These three great men whc had the prophetic light in their countenance, knew the wise Mambres to be one of their brethren, by some marks of the same light which he had still remaining, and pros- trated themselves before his litter. Mambres like- wise knew them to be prophets, more by their un- couth dress, than by those gleams of fire which proceeded from their august heads. He conjectured that they came to learn news of the white bull; and conducting himself with his usual propriety, he alighted from his carriage and advanced a few steps towards them, with dignified politeness. He raised 'them up, caused tents to be erected, and prepared a The White Bull. 225 dinner, of which he rightly judged that the prophets had very great need. He invited the old woman to it, who was only about five hundred paces from them. She accepted the invitation, and arrived leading her white bull. Two soups were served up, one de Bisque, and the other a la Reine. The first course consisted of a carp's tongue pie, livers of eel-pouts, and pikes; fowls dressed with pistachios, pigeons with truffles and olives ; two young turkeys with gravy of cray- fish, mushrooms, and morels ; and a chipolata. The second course was composed of pheasants, par- tridges, quails, and ortolans, with four salads; the epergne was in the highest taste ; nothing could be more delicious than the side dishes ; nothing more brilliant and more ingenious than the dessert. But the wise Mambres took great care to have no boiled beef, nor short ril$S, nor tongue, nor palate of an ox, nor cow's udder, lest the unfortunate monarch near at hand should think that they insulted him. This great and unfortunate prince was feeding near the tent ; and never did he feel in a more cruel manner the fatal revolution which had deprived him of his throne for seven long years. "Alas," said he to himself, "this Daniel who has changed me into a bull, and this sorceress, my keeper, make the best cheer in the world ; while I, the sovereign of Asia, am reduced to the necessity of eating grass, and drinking water." When they had drunk heartily of the wine of Vol. 2—15 226 The White Bull. Engaddi, of Tadmor, and of Shiraz, the prophets and the witch conversed with more frankness than at the first course. "I must acknowledge," said Daniel, "that I did not live so well in the lion's den." "What, sir," said Mambres, "did they put you into a den of lions? How came you not to be devoured?" "Sir," said Daniel, "you know very well that lions never eat prophets." "As for me," said Jeremiah, "I have passed my whole life starving of hunger. This is the only day I ever ate a good meal; and were I to spend my life over again, and had it in my power to choose my condition, I must own I would much rather be comp- troller-general or bishop of Babylon, than prophet at Jerusalem." Ezekiel cried, "I was once ordered to sleep three hundred and ninety days upon my left side, and to eat all that time bread of wheat, and barley, and beans, and lentils, cooked in the strangest manner. Still I must own that the cookery of Seigneur Mam- bres is much more delicate. However, the pro- phetic trade has its advantages, and the proof is, that there are many who follow it." After they had spoken thus freely, Mambres en- tered upon business. He asked the three pilgrims the reason of their journey into the dominions of the king of Tanis. Daniel replied, "That the king- dom of Babylon had been all in a flame since The White Bull. 227 Nebuchadnezzar had disappeared; that according to the custom of the court, they had persecuted all the prophets, who passed their lives in sometimes seeing kings humbled at their feet, and sometimes receiving a hundred lashes from them; that at length they had been obliged to take refuge in Egypt for fear of being starved." Ezekiel and Jeremiah likewise spoke a long time in such fine terms, that it was almost impossible to understand them. As for the witch, she had always a strict eye over her charge. The fish of Jonah con- tinued in the Nile, opposite to the tent, and the ser- pent sported upon the grass. After drinking coffee, they took a walk by the side of the Nile; and the white bull, perceiving the three prophets, his ene- mies, bellowed most dreadfully, ran furiously at them, and gored them with his horns. As prophets never have anything but skin upon their bones, he would certainly have run them through; but the ruler of the world, who sees all and remedies all, changed them immediately into magpies; and they continued to chatter as before. The same thing happened since to the Pierides; so much has fable always imitated sacred history. This incident caused new reflections in the mind of Mambres. "Here," said he, "are three great prophets changed into magpies. This ought to teach us never to speak too much, and always to observe a suitable discretion." 228 The White Bull. He concluded that wisdom was better than elo- quence, and thought profoundly as usual; when a great and terrible spectacle presented itself to his eyes. CHAPTER VH. HOW KING AMASIS WANTED TO GIVE THE WHITE BULL TO BE DEVOURED BY THE FISH OF JONAH, AND DID NOT DO IT. Clouds of dust floated from south to north. The noise of drums, fifes, psalteries, harps, and sackbuts was heard. Several squadrons and battalions ad- vanced, and Amasis, king of Tanis, was at their head upon an Arabian horse caparisoned with scarlet trappings embroidered with gold. The heralds pro- claimed that they should seize the white bull, bind him, and throw him into the Nile, to be devoured by the fish of Jonah ; "for the king our lord, who is just, wants to revenge himself upon the white bull, who has bewitched his daughter." The good old man Mambres made more reflections than ever. He saw very plainly that the malicious raven had told all to the king, and that the princess ran a great risk of being beheaded. "My dear friend," said he to the serpent, "go quickly and comfort the fair Amasidia, my foster daughter. Bid her fear nothing whatever may hap- pen, and tell her stories to alleviate her inquietude ; for stories always amuse the ladies, and it is only The White Bull. 249 by interesting them that one can succeed in the world." Mambres next prostrated himself before Amasis, king of Tanis, and thus addressed him: "O king, live forever! The white bull should certainly be sacrificed, for your majesty is always in the right ; but the ruler of the world has said this bull must not be swallowed up by the fish of Jonah till Memphis shall have found a god to supply the place of him who is dead. Then thou shalt be revenged, and thy daughter exorcised, for she is possessed. Your piety is too great not to obey the commands of the ruler of the universe." Amasis, king of Tanis, remained for some time silent and in deep thought. "The god Apis," said he, at length, "is dead! God rest his soul! When do you think another ox will be found to reign over the fruitful Egypt?" "Sire," replied Mambres, "I ask but eight days." "I grant them to you," replied the king, who was very religious, "and I will remain here the eight days. At the expiration of that time I will sacrifice the enemy of my daughter." Amasis immediately ordered that his tents, cooks, and musicians should be brought, and remained here eight days, as it is related in Manethon. The old woman was in despair that the bull she had in charge had but eight days to live. She raised phantoms every night, in order to dissuade the king from his cruel resolution ; but Amasis for- 230 The White Bull. got in the morning the phantoms he had seen in the night; similar to Nebuchadnezzar, who had always forgotten his dreams. CHAPTER VIII. HOW THE SERPENT TOLD STORIES TO THE PRINCESS TO COMFORT HER. Meanwhile the serpent told stories to the fair Amasidia to soothe her. He related to her how he had formerly cured a whole nation of the bite of certain little serpents, only by showing himself at the end of a staff (Num. xx. 9). He informed her of the conquests of a hero who made a charming contrast with Amphion, architect of Thebes. Am- phion assembled hewn stones by the sound of his violin. To build a city he had only to play a riga- doon and a minuet; but the other hero destroyed them t)y the sound of rams' horns. He executed thirty-one powerful kings in a country of four leagues in length and four in breadth. He made stones rain down from heaven upon a battalion of routed Amorites; and having thus exterminated them, he stopped the sun and moon at noonday be- tween Gibeon and Ajalon, in the road to Beth-Horon, to exterminate them still more, after the example of Bacchus, who had stopped the sun and the moon in his journey to the Indies. The White Bull. 231 The prudence which every serpent ought to have did not allow him to tell the fair Amasidia of the powerful Jephthah, who made a vow and be- headed his daughter because he had gained a bat- tle. This would have struck terror into the mind of the fair princess. But he related to her the ad- ventures of the great Samson, who killed a thou- sand Philistines with the jawbone of an ass, who tied together three hundred foxes by the tail, and who fell into the snares of a lady, less beautiful, less tender, and less faithful than the charming Amasidia. He related to her the story of the unfortunate Sechem and Dinah, as well as the more celebrated adventures of Ruth and Boaz; those of Judah and Tamar; those even of Lot's two daughters; those of Abraham and Jacob's servant maids; those of Reuben and Bilhah; those of David and Bath- sheba; and those of the great King Solomon. In short, everything which could dissipate the grief of a fair princess. CHAPTER IX. HOW THE SERPENT DID NOT COMFORT THE PRINCESS. "All these stories tire me," said Amasidia, for she had understanding and taste. "They are good for nothing but to be commented upon among the Irish by that madman Abbadie, or among the Welsh 232 The White Bull. by that prattler d'Houteville. Stories which might have amused the great-great-great-grandmother of my grandmother appear insipid to me who have been educated by the wise Mambres, and who have read "Human Understanding," by the Egyptian philosopher named Locke,* and the "Matron of Ephesus." I choose that a story should be founded on probability, and not always resemble a dream. I desire to find nothing in it trivial or extravagant ; and I desire above all, that under the appearance of fable there may appear some latent truth, obvious to the discerning eye, though it escape the observation of the vulgar. "I am weary of a sun and of a moon which an old beldam disposes of at her pleasure, of moun- tains which dance, of rivers which return to their sources, and of dead men who rise again ; but I am above measure disgusted when such insipid stories are written in a bombastic and unintelligible man- ner. A lady who expects to see her lover swallowed up by a great fish, and who is apprehensive of being beheaded by her own father, has need of amuse- ment; but suit my amusement to my taste." "You impose a difficult task upon me," replied the serpent. "I could have formerly made you pass a few hours agreeably enough, but for some time past I have lost both my imagination and memory. Alas! what has become of those faculties with *The doctrine of metempsychosis must be relied upon to explain this seeming anachronism. — E. The White Bull. a.33 which I formerly amused the ladies? Let me try, however, if I can recollect one moral tale for your entertainment. "Five and twenty thousand years ago King Gnaof and Queen Patra reigned in Thebes with its hundred gates. King Gnaof was very handsome, and Queen Patra still more beautiful. But their home was unblest with children, and no heirs were born to continue the royal race. "The members of the faculty of medicine and of the academy of surgery wrote excellent treatises upon this subject. The queen was sent to drink mineral waters; she fasted and prayed; she made magnificent presents to the temple of Jupiter Am- mon, but all was to no purpose. At length a — " "Mon Dieu!" said the princess, "but I see where this leads. This story is too common, and I must likewise tell you that it offends my modesty. Relate some very true and moral story, which I have never yet heard, to complete the improvement of my understanding and my heart, as the Egyptian pro- fessor Linro says." "Here, then, madam," said the beautiful serpent, "is one most incontestably authentic. "There were three prophets all equally ambitious and discontented with their condition. They had in common the folly to wish to be kings; for there is only one step from the rank of a prophet to that of a monarch, and man always aspires to the highest step in the ladder of fortune. In other respects 234 The White Bull. their inclinations and their pleasures were totally different. The first preached admirably to his as- sembled brethren, who applauded him by clapping their hands, the second was distractedly fond of music, and the third was a passionate lover of the fair sex. "The angel Ithuriel presented himself one day to them when they were at table discoursing on the sweets of royalty. "The Ruler of the World,' said the angel to them, 'sends me to reward your virtue. Not only shall you be kings, but you shall constantly satisfy your ruling passions. You, first prophet, I make king of Egypt, and you shall continually preside in your council, who shall applaud your eloquence and your wisdom; and you, second prophet, I make king over Persia, and you shall continually hear most heavenly music; and you, third prophet, I make king of India, and I give you a charming mistress who shall never forsake you.' "He to whose lot Egypt fell began his reign by as- sembling his council, which was composed only of two hundred sages. He made them a long and elo- quent speech, which was very much applauded, and the monarch enjoyed the pleasing satisfaction of intojcicating himself with praises uncorrupted by flattery. "The council for foreign affairs succeeded to the privy council. This was much more numerous, and a, new speech received still greater encomiums. And The "White Bull. 235 it was the same in the other councils. There was not a moment of intermission in the pleasures and glory of the prophet king of Egypt. The fame of his elo- quence filled the world. "The prophet king of Persia began his reign by an Italian opera, whose choruses were sung by fifteen hundred eunuchs. Their voices penetrated his soul even to the very marrow of the bones, where it resides. To this opera succeeded another, and to the second a third, without interruption. "The king of India shut himself up with his mis- tress, and enjoyed perfect pleasure in her society. He considered the necessity of always flattering her as the highest felicity, and pitied the wretched situ- ation of his two brethren, of whom one was obliged always to convene his council, and the other to be continually at an opera. "It happened at the end of a few days that each of these kings became disgusted with his occupa- tion, and beheld from his window certain wood- cutters who came from an ale-house, and who wer^ going to work in a neighboring forest. They walked arm in arm with their sweethearts, with whom they were happy. The kings begged of the angel Ithuriel that he would intercede with the Ruler of the World, and make them wood-cutters." "I do not know whether the Ruler of the World granted their request or not," interrupted the tender Amasidia, "and I do not care much about it, but I know very well that I sh9uld ask for nothing of any 236 The White Bull. one were I yvith my lover, with my dear Nebuchad- nezzar !" The vaults of the palace resounded this mighty name. At first Amasidia had only pronounced Ne — , afterwards Neb — , then Nebu — . At length passion hurried her on, and she pronounced entire the fatal name, notwithstanding the oath she had sworn to the king, her father. All the ladies of the court repeated Nebuchadnezzar, and the malicious raven did not fail to carry the tidings to the king. The countenance of Amasis, king of Tanis, sunk, because his heart was troubled. And thus it was that the serpent, the wisest and most subtle of ani- mals, always beguiled the women, thinking to do them service. Amasis, in a fury, sent twelve alguazils for his daughter. These men are always ready to execute barbarous orders, because they are paid for it. CHAPTER X. HOW THEY WANTED TO BEHEAD THE PRINCESS, AND DID NOT DO IT. No sooner had the princess entered the camp of the king, than he said to her: "My daughter, you know that all princesses who disobey their fathers are put to death ; without which it would be impos- sible that a kingdom could be well governed. I charged you never to mention the name of your The White Bull 237 lover, Nebuchadnezzar, my mortal enemy, who de- throned me about seven years ago, and disappeared. In his place you have chosen a white bull, and you have cried Nebuchadnezzar. It is just that I be- head you." The princess repHed: "My father, thy will be done; but grant me some time to bewail my sad fate." "That is reasonable," said King Amasis; "and it is a rule established among the most judicious prin- ces. I give you a whole day to bewail your destiny, since it is your desire. To-morrow, which is the eighth day of my encampment, I will cause the white bull to be swallowed up by the fish, and I will behead you precisely at nine o'clock in the morning." The beautiful Amasidia then went forth in sor- row, to bewail her father's cruelty, and wandered by the side of the Nile, accompanied by the ladies of her train. The wise Mambres pondered beside her, and reckoned the hours and the moments. "Well! my dear Mambres," said she to him, "you have changed the waters of the Nile into blood, according to custom, and cannot you change the heart of Amasis, king of Tanis, my father ? Will you suffer him to behead me to-morrow, at nine o'clock in the morning?" "That depends," repUed the reflecting Mambres, "upon the speed and diligence of my couriers." 238 The White Bull. The next day, as soon as the shadows of the obe> Hsks and pyramids marked upon the ground the ninth hour of the day, the white bull was securely bound, to be thrown to the fish of Jonah ; and they brought to the king his large sabre. "Alas! alas!" said Nebuchadnezzar to himself, "I, a king, have been a bull for nearly seven years; and scarcely have I found the mistress I had lost when I am condemned to be devoured by a fish." Never had the wise Mambres made such pro- found reflections ; and he was quite absorbed in his melancholy thoughts when he saw at a distance all he expected. An innumerable crowd drew nigh. Three figures of Isis, Osiris, and Horus, joined to- getheri advanced, drawn in a carriage of gold and precious stones by a hundred senators of Memphis, preceded by a hundred girls playing upon the sacred sistrums. Four thousand priests, with their heads shaved, were each mounted upon a hippo- potamus. At a great distance appeared with the same pomp the sheep of Thebes, the dog of Bubastis, the cat of Phoebe, the crocodile of Arsinoe, the goat of Mendes, and all the inferior gods of Egypt, who came to pay homage to the great ox, to the mighty Apis, as powerful as Isis, Osiris, and Horus, united together. In the midst of the demi-gods, forty priests car- ried an enormous basket, filled with sacred onions. The White Bull. 239 These were, it is true, gods, but they resembled onions very much. On both sides of this aisle of gods, followed by an innumerable crowd of people, marched forty thousand warriors, with helmets on their heads, scimitars upon their left thighs, quivers at their shoulders, and bows in their hands. All the priests sang in chorus, with a harmony which ravished the soul, and which melted it, "Alas! alas! our ox is dead — We'll have a finer in its stead." And at every pause was heard the sound of the sistrums, of cymbals, of tabors, of psalteries, of bag- pipes, harps, and sackbuts. Amasis, king of Tanis, astonished at this spec- tacle, beheaded not his daughter. He sheathed his scimitar. CHAPTER XI. APOTHEOSIS OF THE WHITE BULL TRIUMPH OF THE WISE MAMBRES ^THE SEVEN YEARS PROCLAIMED BY DANIEL ARE ACCOMPLISHED NEBUCHADNEZ- ZAR RESUMES THE HUMAN FORM, MARRIES THE BEAUTIFUL AMASIDIA, AND ASCENDS THE THRONE OF BABYLON. "Great king," said Mambres to him, "the order of things is now changed. Your majesty must set the example. O king! quickly unbind the white bull, and be the first to adore him." 240 The White Bull. Amasis obeyed, and prostrated himself with all his people. The high priest of Memphis presented to the new god Apis the first handful of hay; the Princess Amasidia tied to his beautiful horns fes- toons of roses, anemones, ranunculaceae, tulips, pinks, and hyacinths. She took the liberty to kiss him, but with a profound respect. The priests strewed palms and flowers on the road by which they were to conduct him to Memphis. And the wise Mam- bres, still making reflections, whispered to his friend the serpent: "Daniel changed this monarch into a bull, and I have changed this bull into a god!" They returned to Memphis in the same order, and the king of Tanis, in some confusion, followed the band. Mambres, with a serene and diplomatic air, walked by his side. The old woman came after, much amazed. She was accompanied by the ser- pent, the dog, the she-ass, the raven, the pigeon, and the scape-goat. The great fish mounted up the Nile. Daniel, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah, changed into magpies, brought up the rear. When they had reached the frontiers of the king- dom, which are not far distant. King Amasis took leave of the bull Apis, and said to his daughter: "My daughter, let us return into my dominions, that I may behead you, as it has been determined in my royal breast, because you have pronounced the name of Nebuchadnezzar, my enemy, who de- The White Bull. 241 throned me seven years ago. When a father has sworn to behead his daughter, he must either fulfil his oath or sink into hell forever, and I will not damn myself out of love for you." The fair Princess Amasidia replied to the King Amasis : "My dear father, whom it pleases you go and behead, but it shall not be me. I am now in the territories of Isis, Osiris, Horus, and Apis. I will never forsake my beautiful white bull, and I will continue to kiss him, till I have seen his apotheosis in his stable in the holy city of Memphis. It is a weakness pardonable in a young lady of high birth." Scarce had she spoken these words, when the ox Apis cried out: "My dear Amasidia, I will love you whilst I live!" This was the first time that the god Apis had been heard to speak during thp forty thousand years that he had been worshipped. The serpent and the she-ass cried out, "The seven years are accomplished!" Arid the three magpies repeated, "The seven years are accomplished !" All the priests of Egypt raised their hands to heaven. The god on a sudden was seen to lose his two hind legs, his two fore legs were changed into two human legs; two white muscular arms grew from Vol. 2—16 242 The White Bull. his shoulders; his taurine visage was changed to the face of a charming hero ; and he once more became the most beautiful of mortals. "I choose," cried he, "rather to be the lover of the beautiful Amasidia than a god. I am Nebu- chadnezzar, King of Kings!" This metamorphosis astonished all the world ex- cept the wise Mambres. But what surprised no- body was that Nebuchadnezzar immediately mar- ried the fair Amasidia in presence of this assembly. He left his father-in-law in quiet possession of the kingdom of Tanis, and made noble provision for the she-ass, the serpent, the dog, the pigeon, and even for the raven, the three magpies, and the large fish; showing to all the world that he knew how to forgive as well as to conquer. The old woman had a considerable pension placed at her disposal. The scape-goat was sent for a day into the wild- erness, that all past sins might be expiated; and had afterwards twelve sprightly goats for his com- panions. The wise Mambres returned to his palace and made reflections. Nebuchadnezzar, after having embraced the magician, his benefactor, governed in tranquillity the kingdoms of Memphis, Babylon, Damascus, Bal- bec, Tyre, Syria, Asia Minor, Scythia, the countries of Thiras, Mosok, Tubal, Madai, Gog, Magog, Javan, Sogdiana, Aroriana, the Indies, and the The White Bull. 243 Isles ; and thfe people of this vast empire cried out aloud every morning at the rising of the sun: "Long live great Nebuchadnezzar, king of kings, who is no longer an ox!" Since which time it has been a custom in Baby- lon, when the sovereign, deceived by his satraps, his magicians, treasurers or wives, at length ac- knowledges his errors, and amends his conduct, for all the people to cry out at his gate: "Long live our great king, who is no longer an ox!" THE MAN OF FORTY CROWNS. CHAPTER I. NATIONAL POVERTY. An old man, who is forever pitying the present times, and extolling the past, was saying to me: "Friend, France is not so rich as it was under Henry IV." "And why?" "Because the lands are not so well cultivated; because hands are wanting for the cultivation; and because the day-laborer having raised the price of his work, many land-owners let their inheritances He fallow." "Whence comes this scarcity of hands ?" "From this, that whoever finds in himself any- thing of a spirit of industry, takes up the trade of embroiderer, chaser, watchmaker, silk-weaver, at- torney, or divine. It is also because the revocation of the Edict of Nantes has left a great void in the kingdom; because nuns and beggars of all kinds have greatly multiplied; because the people in gen- eral avoid as much as possible the hard labor of cultivation, for which we are born by God's destina- tion, and which we have rendered ignominious by our own opinions; so very wise are we! 244 The Man of Forty Crowns. 245 "Another cause of our poverty lies in our new wants. We pay our neighbors four miUions of Hvres on one article, and five or six upon another; such, for example, as a stinking powder for stuffing up our noses, brought from America. Our coffee, tea, chocolate, cochineal, indigo, spices, cost us above sixty millions a year. All these were unknown to us in the reign of Henry IV., except the spices, of which, however, the consumption was not so great as it is now. We burn a hundred times more wax-lights than were burnt then, and get more than half of the wax from foreign countries, because we neglect our own hives. We see a hundred times more diamonds in the ears, round the necks, and on the hands of our city ladies of Paris, and other great towns, than were worn by all the ladies of Henry IV. 's court, the queen included. Almost all the su- perfluities are necessarily paid for with ready specie. ' "Observe especially that we pay to foreigners above fifteen millions of annuities on the Hotel de Ville, and that Henry IV., on. his accession, having found two millions of debt in all on this imaginary hotel, very wisely paid off a part, to ease the state of this burden. "Consider that our civil wars were the occasion of the treasures of Mexico being poured into the kingdom, when Don Philip el Discreto took it into his head to buy France, and that since that time our foreign wars. have eased us of a good half of our money. 246 The Man of Forty Crowns, "These are partly the causes of our poverty — a poverty which we hide under varnished ceilings, or with the help of our dealers in fashion. We are poor with taste. There are some ofiRcers of revenue, there are contractors or jobbers, there are mer- chants, very rich ; their children, their sons-in-law, are also very rich; but the nation in general is un- fortunately not so." This old man's discourse, well or ill grounded, made a deep impression on me; for the curate of my parish, who had always had a friendship for me, had taught me a little of geometry and of history; and I began to reflect a little, which is very rare in my province. I do not know whether he was right or not in everything, but being very poor, I could very easily believe that I had a great many com- panions in my misery. CHAPTER II. DISASTER OF THE MAN OF FORTY CROWNS. I very readily make known to the universe that I have a landed estate which would yield me forty crowns a year, were it not for the tax laid on it. There came forth several edicts from certain per- sons, who, having nothing better to do, govern the state at their fireside. The preamble of these edicts was, "that the legislative and executive was bom, jure divino, the co-proprietor of my land" ; and that The Man of Forty Crowns. 247 I owe it at least the half of what I possess. The enormity of this legislative and executive power made me bless myself. What would it be if that power which presides over "the essential order of society," were to take the whole of my little estate ? The one is still more divine than the other. The comptroller-general knows that I used to pay in all but twelve livres; that even this was a heavy burden on me, and that I should have sunk under it, if God had not given me the talent of making wicker baskets, which helped to carry me through my trials. But how should I, on a sudden, be able to give the king twenty crowns? The new ministers also said in their preamble that it was not fit to tax anything but the land, be- cause everything arises from the land, even rain itself, and consequently that nothing was properly liable to taxation but the fruits of the land. During the last war one of their collectors came to my house, and demanded of me, for my quota, three measures of corn and a sack of beans, the whole worth twenty crowns, to maintain the war — of which I never knew the reason, having only heard it said that there was nothing to be got by it for our country, and a great deal to lose. As I had not at that time either corn, or beans, or money, the legislative and executive power had me dragged to prison; and the war went on as well as it could. On my release from the dungeon, being nothing but ?kin and bone, whom should I meet but a jolly 248 The Man of Forty Crowns. fresh-colored man in a coach and six? He had six footmen) to each of whom he gave for his wages more than the double of my revenue. His head steward, who, by the way, looked in as good plight as himself, had of him a salary of two thousand livres, and robbed him every year of twenty thou- sand more. His mistress had in six months stood him in forty thousand crowns. I had formerly known him when he was less well-to-do than my- self. He owned, by way of comfort to me, that he enjoyed four hundred thousand livres a year. "I suppose, then," said I, "that you pay out of this income two hundred thousand to the state, to help to support that advantageous war we are car- rying on, since I, who have but just a hundred and twenty livres a year, am obliged to pay half of them." "I?" said he, "I contribute to the wants of the state? You are surely jesting, my friend. I have inherited from an uncle his fortune of eight millions, which he got at Cadiz and at Surat; I have not a foot of land ; my estate lies in government contracts and in the funds. I owe the state nothing. It is for you to give half of your substance — you who are a proprietor of land. Do you not see that if the minister of the revenue were to require anything of me in aid of our country, he would be a blockhead that could not calculate? for everything is the produce of the land. Money and the paper currency are nothing but pledges of exchange. ... If, The Man of Forty Crowns. 249 after having laid the sole tax, the tax that is to sup- ply the place of all others, on those commodities, the government were to ask money of me, do you not see that this would be a double load? that it would be asking the same thing twice over? My uncle sold at Cadiz to the amount of two millions of your corn, and of two millions of stuffs made of your wool; upon these two articles he gained 100 per cent. You must easily think that this profit came out of lands already taxed. What my uncle bought for ten pence of you, he sold again for above fifty livres at Mexico; and thus he made a shift to return to his own country with eight millions clear. "You must be sensible, then, that it would be a horrid injustice to re-demand of him a few farthings on the ten pence he paid you. If twenty nephews like me, whose uncles had gained each eight mil- lions at Buenos Ayres, at Lima, at Surat, or at Pondicherry, were, in the urgent necessities of the state, each to lend to it only two hundred thousand livres, that would produce four millions. But what horror would that be! Pay then thou, my friend, who enjoys quietly the neat and clear revenue of forty crowns ; serve thy country well, and come now and then to dine with my servants in livery." This plausible discourse made me reflect a good deal, but I cannot say it much comforted me. 250 The Man of Forty Crowns. CHAPTER III. CONVERSATION WITH A GEOMETRICIAN. It sometimes happens that a man has no answer to make, and yet is not persuaded. He is over- thrown without the feeling of being convinced. He feels at the bottom of his heart a scruple, a repug- nance, which hinders him from believing what has been proved to him. A geometrician demonstrates to you that between a circle and a tangent you may thread a number of curves, and yet cannot get one straight line to pass. Your eyes, your reason, tell you the contrary. The geometrician gravely answers you that it is an infinitesimal of the second order. You stare in stupid silence and quit the field all astonished, without having any clear idea, without comprehending anything, and without hav- ing any reply to make. Consult but a geometrician of more candor, and he explains the mystery to you. "We suppose," says he, "what cannot be in nature, lines which have length without breadth. Naturally and philosophically speaking, it is impos- sible for one real line to penetrate another. No curve, nor no right line, can pass between two real lines that touch one another. These theorems that puzzle you are but sports of the imagination, ideal chimeras, whereas true geometry is the art of meas- uring things actually existent." The Man of Forty Crowns. 251 I was perfectly well satisfied with the confession of the sensible mathematician, and, with all my mis- fortune, could not help laughing on learning that there was a quackery even in that science which is called the sublime science. My geometrician was a kind of philosophical patriot, who had deigned to chat with me sometimes in my cottage. I said to him: "Sir, you have tried to enlight«i the cockneys of Paris on a point of the greatest concern to man- kind : that of the duration of human life. It is to you alone that the ministry owes its knowledge of the due rate of annuities for lives, according to dif- ferent ages. You have proposed to furnish the houses in town with what water they may want, and to deliver us at length from the shame and ridicule of hearing water cried about the streets, and of seeing women enclosed within an oblong hoop, carrying two pails of water, both together of about thirty pounds weight, up to a fourth story. Be so good, in the name of friendship, to tell me how many two-handed bipeds there may be in France?" The Geometrician. — It is assumed that there may be about twenty millions, and I am willing to adopt this calculation as the most profitable, till it can be verified, which it would be very easy to do, and which, however, has not hitherto been done, because one does not always think of everything. The Man of Forty Crowns. — How many acres, think you, the whole territory of France contains? 2^2 The Man of Forty Crowns. The Geometrician. — One hundred and thirty millions, of which almost half is in roads, in towns, villages, moors, heaths, marshes, sands, barren lands, useless convents, gardens of more pleasure than profit, uncultivated grounds, and bad grounds ill cultivated. We might reduce all the land which yields good returns to seventy-five millions of square acres; but let us state them at fourscore millions. One cannot do too much for one's country. The Man of Forty Crowns. — ^How much may you think each acre brings in yearly, one year with another, in corn, seeds of all kinds, wine, fish- ponds, wood, metals, cattle, fruit, wool, silk, oil, milk, clear of all charges, without reckoning the tax? The Geometrician. — Why, if they produce each twenty-five livres (about twenty English shil- lings) it is a great deal; but not to discourage our countrymen, let us put them at thirty livres. There are acres which produce constantly regenerating value, and which are estimated at three hundred livres ; there are others which only produce three livres. The mean proportion between three and three hundred is thirty, for you must allow that three is to thirty as thirty is to three hundred. If, indeed, there were comparatively many acres at thirty livres, and very few at three hundred, our ac- count would not hold good ; but, once more, I would not be over-punctilious. The Man of Forty Crowns. 253 The Man of Forty Crowns. — Well, sir, how much will these fourscore millions of acres yield of revenue, estimated in money ? The Geometrician. — The account is ready made; they will produce two thousand four hun- dred millions of livres of the present currency. The Man of Forty Crowns — I have read that Solomon possessed, of his own property, twenty-five thousand millions of livres, in ready money; and certainly there are not two thousand four hundred millions of specie circulating in France, which, I am told, is much greater and much richer than Solo- mon's country. The Geometrician. — There lies the mystery. There may be about nine hundred millions circulat- ing throughout the kingdom, and this money, pass- ing from hand to hand, is sufficient to pay for all the produce of the land and of industry. The same crown may pass ten times from the pocket of the cultivator into that of the ale-housekeeper and of the tax-gatherer. The Man of Forty Crowns. — I apprehend you. But you told me that we are, in all, about twenty millions of inhabitants, men, women, old and young. How much, pray, do you allow for each ? The Geometrician. — One hundred and twenty livres, or forty crowns. The Man of Forty Crowns. — ^You have just gtj?ssed pi^ revenue. I haye four acres, which^ 254 The Man of Forty Crowns. reckoning the fallow years with those of produce, bring me in one hundred and twenty livres, which is little enough, God knows. But if every individual were to have his contin- gent, would that be no more than five^ louis d'ors a year? The Geometrician. — Certainly not, according to our calculation, which I have a little amplified. Such is the state of human nature. Our life and our fortune have narrow limits. In Paris they do not, one with another, live above twenty-two or twenty-three years; and, one with another, have not, at the most, above a hundred and twenty livres a year to spend. So that your food, your raiment, your lodging, your movables, are all represented by the sum of one hundred and twenty livres. The Man of Forty Crowns. — ^Alas! What have I done to you, that you thus abridge me of my fortune and life? Can it then be true that I have but three and twenty years to live, unless I rob my fellow-creatures of their share? The Geometrician. — This is incontestable in the good city of Paris. But from these twenty-three years you must deduct ten, at the least, for your child- hood, as childhood is not an enjoyment of life; it is a preparation; it is the porch of the edifice; it is the tree that has not yet given fruits; it is the dawn of a day. Then again, from the thirteen years which remain to you, deduct the time of sleep, and that of tiresomeness of life, and that will be at least The Man of Forty Crowns. 255 a moiety. You will then have six years and a half left to pass in vexation, in pain, in some pleasures, and in hopes. The Man of Forty Crowns. — Merciful heaven ! At this rate your account does not allow us above three years of tol6rable existence. The Geometrician — That is no fault of mine. Nature cares very little for individuals. There are insects which do not live above one day, but of which the species is perpetual. Nature resembles those great princes who reckon as nothing the loss of four hundred thousand men, so they but accom- plish their august designs. The Man of Forty Crowns. — Forty crowns and three years of life ! What resource can you im- agine against two such curses? The Geometrician. — As to life, it would be requisite to render the air of Paris more pure ; that men should eat less and take more exercise; that mothers should suckle their own children; that people should be no longer so ill-advised as to dread inoculation. This is what I have already said, and as to fortune, why, even marry and rear a family. The Man of Forty Crowns. — How! Can the way to live more at ease be to associate to my own bad circumstances those of others ? The Geometrician. — Five or six bad circum- stances put together form a tolerable establishment. Get a good wife, and we will say only two sons and two daughters. This will make seven hundred and 256 The Man of Forty Crowns. twenty livres for your little family ; that is to say, if distributive justice were to take place, and that each individual had a hundred and twenty livres a year. Your children, in their infancy, stand you in almost nothing; when grown up they will ease and help you. Their mutual aid will save you a good part of your expenses, and you may live very happily, like a philosopher. Always provided, how- ever, that those worthy gentlemen who govern the state have not the barbarity to extort from each of you twenty crowns a year. But the misfortune iSj we are no longer in the golden age, where the men, born all equals, had an equal part in the nutritive productions of uncultivated land. The case is now far from being so good a one, as that every two- handed biped possesses land to the value of a hun- dred and twenty livres a year. The Man of Forty Crowns. — 'Sdeath! You ruin us. You said but just now that in a country of fourscore millions of inhabitants each of them ought to enjoy a hundred and twenty livres a year, and now you take them away from us again. The Geometrician — I was computing accord- ing to the registers of the golden age, but we must reckon according to that of iron. There are many inhabitants who have but the value of ten crowns a year, others no more than four or five, and above six millions of men who have absolutely nothing. The Man of Forty Crowns. — Nothing ? Why, they would perish of hunger in three days' time. The Man of Forty Crowns. 257 The Geometrician. — Not in the least. The oth- ers, who possess their portions, set them to work and share with them. It is from this arrangement that the pay comes for the divine, the confectioner, the apothecary, the preacher, the actor, the attorney, and the hackney-coachman. You thought yourself very ill off to have no more than a hundred and twenty livres a year, reduced to a hundred and eight by your tax of twelve livres. But consider the sol- diers who devote their blood to their country at the rate of fourpence a day. They have not above sixty-three livres a year for their livelihood, and yet they make a comfortable shift, by a number of them joining their little stock and living in common. The Man of Forty Crowns. — So, then, an ex- Jesuit has more than five times the pay of a soldier. And yet the soldiers have done more service to the state under the eyes of the king at Fontenoy, at Lawfeld, at the siege of Fribourg, than the rever- end father Lavalette ever did in his life. The Geometrician. — Nothing can be truer; nay, every one of these turned-adrift Jesuits, hav- ing now become free, has more to spend than what ht cost his convent. There are even some among them who have gained a good deal of money by scribbling pamphlets against the parliaments, as, for example, the reverend father Patouillet, and the reverend father Nonnotte. In short, in this world every one sets his wits to work for a livelihood. One is at the head of a manufactory of stuffs; another Vol. 2 — 17 2,58 The Man of Forty Crowns. of porcelain ; another undertakes the opera ; another the "Ecclesiastical Gazette;" another a tragedy in familiar life, or a novel or romance in the English style. This maintains the stationer, the inkmaker, the bookseller, the hawkery who might else be re- duced to beggary. There is nothing, then, but the restitution of the hundred and twenty livres to those who have nothing that makes the state flourish. The Man of Forty Crowns. — ^A pretty way of flourishing, truly! The Geometrician. — ^And yet there is no other. In every country it is the rich that enable the poor to live. This is the soul source of the industry of com- merce. The more industrious a nation itself is, the more it gains from foreign countries. Could we, on our foreign trade, get ten millions a year by the bal- ance in our favor, there would, in twenty years, be two hundred millions more in the nation. This would afford ten livres a head mor6, on the sup- position of an equitable distribution. That is to sayr that the dealers would make each poor per- son earn ten livres the more, once paid, in the hopes of making still more considerable gains. But com- merce, like the fertility of the earth, has its bounds, otherwise its progression would be ad infinitum. Nor, besides, is it clear that the balance of our trade is constantly favorable to us. There are times in which we lose. The Man of Forty Crowns. — I have heard much talk of population. If our inhabitants were The Man of Forty Crowns. 259 doubled, so that we numbered forty millions of people instead of twenty, what would be the conse- quence ? The Geometrician. — It would be this : that, one with another, each would have, instead of forty, but twenty crowns to live upon; or that the land should produce double the crops it now does ; or that there should be double the national industry, or of gain from foreign countries ; or that half of the peo- ple should be sent to America; or that one-half of the nation should eat the other. The Man of Forty Crowns. — Let us then re- main satisfied with our twenty millions of inhabi- tants, and with our hundred and twenty livres a head, distributed as it shall please the Lord. Yet this situation is a sad one, and your iron age is hard indeed. The Geometrician. — There is no nation that is better off, and there are many that are worse. Do you believe that, there is in the north wherewithal to afford to each inhabitant the value of a hundred and twenty of our livres a year? If they had had the equivalent of this, the Huns, the Vandals, and the Franks would not have deserted their country in quest of establishments elsewhere, which they, conquered, fire and sword in hand. The Man of Forty Crowns. — If I were to listen to you, you would persuade me presently that I am happy with my hundred and twenty livres. 26o The Man of Forty Crowns. The Geometrician. — ^If you would but think yourself happy you would then be so. The Man of Forty Crowns — A man cannot imagine what actually is not, unless he be mad. The Geometrician. — I have already told you that, in order to be more at your ease, and more happy than you are, you should take a wife; to which I tack, however, this clause: that she has, as well as you, one hundred and twenty livres a year; that is to say, four acres at ten crowns an acre. The ancient Romans had each but one. If your children are industrious they can each earn as much by their working for others. The Man of Forty Crowns. — So that they may get money without others losing it. The Geometrician. — Such is the law of all na- tions ; there is no living but on these terms. The Man of Forty Crowns. — And must my wife and I give each of us the half of our produce to the legislative and executive power, and the new ministers of state rob us of the price of our hard labor, and of the substance of our poor children, before they are able to get their livelihood? Pray tell me, how much money will these new ministers of ours bring into the king's coffers by this jure divino system? The Geometrician. — ^You pay twenty crowns on four acres which bring you in forty. A rich man, who possesses four hundred acres, will, by the new tariff, pay two thousand crowns, and the The Man of Forty Crowns. 261 whole fourscore millions of acres will yield to the king twelve hundred millions of livres a year, or four hundred millions of crowns. The Man of Forty Crowns. — That appears to me impracticable and impossible. The Geometrician. — And very much you are in the right to think so ; and this impossibility is a geometrical demonstration that there is a funda- mental defect in the calculation of our new min- isters. The Man of Forty Crowns. — Is not there also demonstrably a prodigious injustice in taking from me the half of my corn, of my hemp, of the wool of my sheep, etc., and at the same time to require no aid from those who shall have gained ten, twenty, or thirty thousand livres a year, by my hemp, of which they will have made linen; by my wool, of which they will have made cloth ; by my corn, which they will have sold at so much more than it cost them? The Geometrician. — The injustice of this ad- ministration is as evident as its calculation is erro- neous. It is right to favor industry, but opulent industry ought to contribute to support the state. This industry will have certainly taken from you a part of your one hundred and twenty livres, and appropriated that part to itself, in selling you your shirts and your coat twenty times dearer tha;n they would have cost you if you had made them yourself. The manufacturer who shall have en- 262 The Man of Forty Crowns. riched himself at your expense will, I allow, have also paid wages to his workmen, who had nothing of themselves; but he will, every year, have sunk and put by a sum that will, at length, have produced to him thirty thousand livres a year. This fortune, then, he will have acquired at your expense. Nor can you ever sell him the produce of your land dear enough to reimburse you for what he will have got by you ; for were you to attempt such an advance of your price he would procure what he wanted cheaper from other countries. A proof of which is, that he remains constantly possessor of his thirty thousand livres a year, and you of your one hundred and twenty livres, that often diminish instead of increasing. It is then necessary and equitable that the re- fined industry of the trader should pay more than the gross industry of the farmer. The same is to be said of the collectors of the revenue. Your tax had previously been but twelve livres, before our great ministers were pleased to take from you twenty crowns. Of these twelve livres the collector retained tenpence, or ten sols, for himself. If in your province there were five hundred thousand souls he will have gained two hundred and fifty thousand livres a year. Suppose he spends fifty thousand ; it is clear that at the end of ten years he will be two millions in pocket. It is then but just that he should contribute his proportion, otherwise everything would be perverted and go to ruin. The Man of Forty Crowns. 263 The Man of Forty Crowns. — I am very glad you have taxed the officer of the revenue. It is some relief to my imagination. But since he has so well increased his superfluity, what shall I do to aug- ment my small modicum ? The Geometrician, — I have already told you — ^by marrying, by laboring, by trying to procure from your land some sheaves of corn in addition to what it previously produced. The Man of Forty Crowns. — Well! granted, then, that I shall have been duly industrious ; that all my countrymen will have been so too ; and that the legislative and executive power shall have re- ceived a good round tax ; how much will the nation have gained at the end of the year ? The Geometrician. — Nothing at all, unless it shall have carried on a profitable foreign trade. But life will have been more agreeable in it. Every one will, respectively, in proportion, have had more clothes, more linen, more movables than he had be- fore. There will have been in the nation a more abundant circulation. The wages would have been, in process of time, augmented, nearly in proportion to the number of the sheaves of corn, of the tods of wool, of the ox-hides, of the sheep and goats, that will have been added ; of the clusters of grapes that will have been squeezed in the wine-press. More of the value of commodities will have been paid to the king in money, and the king will have returned more value to those he will have employed 264 The Man of Forty Crowns. under his orders; but there will not be half a crown the more in the kingdom. The Man of Forty Crowns. — What will then remain to the government at the end of the year ? The Geometrician. — Once more, nothing. This is the caSe of government in general. It never lays by anything. It will have got its living — that is to say, its food, raiment, lodging, movables. The subject will have done so, too. Where a government amasses treasure, it will have squeezed from the cir- culation so much money as it will have amassed. It will have made so many wretched as it will have put by forty crowns in its coffers. The Man of Forty Crowns. — At this rate, then, Henry IV. was but a mean-spirited wretch, a miser, a plunderer ; for I have been told that he had chest- ed up in the Bastille above fifty millions of livres according to our present currency. The GEOMETRiciAN.-^He was a man as good and as prudent as he was brave. He was preparing to make a just war, and by amassing in his coffers twenty-two millions of the currency of that time, besides which he had twenty more to receive, which he left in circulation, he spared the people above a hundred millions that it would have cost if he had not taken those useful measures. He made himself morally sure of success against an enemy who had not taken the like precaution. The probabilities were prodigiously in his favor. His twenty-two millions in bank proved that there was then in this kingdom The Man of Forty Crowns. 265 twenty-two millions of surplusage of the territorial produce, so that nd one was a sufferer. The Man of Forty Crowns.— My father then told me the truth when he said that the subject was in proportion more rich under the administration of the Duke of Sully than under that of our new min- isters, who laid on the single tax, the sole tax, and who, out of my forty crowns, have taken away twenty. Pray tell me, is there another nation in the world that enjoys this precious advantage of the sole tax? The Geometrician. — Not one opulent nation. The English, who are not much given to laughing, could not, however, help bursting out when they heard that men of intelligence among us had pro- posed this kind of administration. The Chinese exact a tax from all the foreign trading ships that resort to Canton. The Dutch pay, at Nagasaki, when they are received in Japan, under pretext that they are not Christians. The Laplanders and the Samoieds are indeed subjected to a sole tax in sables or marten-skins. The republic of San Marino pays nothing more than tithes for the maintenance of that state in its splendor. There is, in Europe, a nation celebrated for its equity and its valor that pays no tax. This is Swit- zerland. But thus it has happened. The people have put themselves in the place of the dukes of Austria and Zahringen. The small cantons are democratical, and very poor. Each inhabitant pays but a trifling 266 The Man of Forty Crowns. sum toward the support of this little republic. In the rich cantons the people are charged, for the state, with those duties which the archdukes of Austria and the lords of the land used to exact. The Prot- estant cantons are, in proportion, twice as rich as the Catholic, because the state, in the first, possesses the lands of the monks. Those who were formerly sub- jects to the archdukes of Austria, to the duke of Zahringen, and to the monks, are now the subjects of their own country. They pay to that country the same tithes, the same fines of alienation, that they paid to their former masters, and as the subjects, in general, have very little trade, their merchandise is liable to no charges, except some small staple du- ties. The men make a trade of their courage, in their dealings with foreign powers, and sell them- selves for a certain term of years, which brings some money into their country at our expense ; and this example is as singular a one in the civilized world as is the sole tax now laid on by our new legislators. The Man of Forty Crowns. — So, sir, the Swiss are not plundered, jure divino, of one-half of their goods; and he that has four cows in Switzerland is not obliged to give two of them to the state? The Geometrician — ^Undoubtedly not. In one canton, upon thirteen tons of wine, they pay one and drink the other twelve. In another canton, they pay the twelfth, and drink the remaining eleven, The Man of Forty Crowns. 267 The Man of Forty Crowns. — Why am I not a Swiss ? That cursed tax, that single and singularly iniquitous tax, that has reduced me to beggary! But then again, three or four hundred taxes, of which it is impossible for me to retain or pronounce the bare names, are they more just and more tol- erable ? Was there ever a legislator who, in found- ing a state, wished to create counsellors to the king, inspectors of coal-measurers, gangers of wine, meas- urers of wood, searchers of hog-tongues, comptrol- lers of salt butter? or to maintain an army of rascals twice as numerous as that of Alexander, com- manded by sixty generals, who lay the country under contribution, who gain every day signal victories, who take prisoners, and who sometimes sacrifice them in the air, or on a boarded stage, as the an- cient Scythians did, according to what my vicar told me? Now, was such a legislation, against which so many outcries were raised, and which caused the shedding of so many tears, much better than the newly imposed one, which at one stroke cleanly and quietly takes away half of my subsistence? I am afraid that on a fair liquidation it will be found that under the ancient system of the revenue they used to take, at times and in detail, three-quarters of it. The Geometrician. — Iliacos intra muros pec- catur et extra. Est modus in rebus. Caveas ne quid nimis. The Man of Forty Crowns, — I have learned a 268 The Man of Forty Crowns. little of history, and something of geometry, but I do not understand a word of Latin. The Geometrician. — The sense is pretty nearly as follows: There is wrong on both sides. Keep to a medium in everything. Nothing too much. The Man of Forty Crowns. — I say, nothing too much ; that is really my situation ; but the worst of it is, I have not enough. The Geometricianj — I allow that you must per- ish of want, and I, too, and the state, too, if the new administration should continue only two years longer ; but it is to be hoped heaven will have mercy on us. The Man of Forty Crowns. — We pass our lives in hope, and die hoping to the last. Adieu, sir; you have enlightened me, but my heart is grieved. The Geometrician. — This is, indeed, often the fruit of knowledge. CHAPTER IV. AN ADVENTURE WITH A CARMELITE. When I had thanked the academician of the Acad- emy of Sciences for having set me right, I went away quite out of heart, praising Providence, but muttering between my teeth these doleful words: "What! to have no more than forty crowns a year to live on, nor more than twenty-two years to live! Alas! may pur life be yet shorter, since it is to be so miserable ]" The Man of Forty Crowns. 269 As I was saying this, I found myself just opposite a very imposing house. Already was I feeling my- self pressed by hunger. I, had not so much as the hundred and twentieth part of the sum that by right belongs to each individual. But as soon as I was told that this was the palace of my reverend fathers, the bare-footed Carmelites, I conceived great hopes, and said to myself, "Since these saints are humbleenough to go bare-footed, they will be charitable enough to give me a dinner." I rang. A Carmelite came to the doOr. "What would you please to have, my son ?" "A morsel of bread, my reverend father. The new edicts have stripped me of everything." "Son, know that we ourselves beg charity ; we do not bestow it." "What! while your holy institute forbids you to wear shoes, you have the house of a prince, and can you refuse to give me a meal !" "My son, it is true, we go without stockings and shoes ; that is an expense the less ; we feel no more cold in our feet than in our hands. As to our fine house, we built it very easily, and we have a hundred thousand livres a year of income from houses in the same street." "So, then ! you suffer me to die of hunger, while you have an income of a hundred thousand livres! I suppose you pay fifty thousand of these to the new government ?" "Heaven preserve us from paying a single far- ayo The Man of Forty Crowns. thing ! It is only the produce of the land, cultivated by laborious hands, callous with work, and moistened with tears, that owes taxes to the legislative and ex- ecutive power. The alms which have been bestowed upon us have enabled us to build those houses by the rent of which we get a hundred thousand livres a year. But these alms, coming from the fruits of the earth, and having, consequently, already paid the tax, ought not to pay twice. They have sanctified the faithful believers, who have impoverished themselves to enrich us, and we continue to beg charity, and to lay under contribution the Faubourg of St. Ger- main in order to sanctify a still greater number of the faithful believers." Having thus spoken, the Carmelite politely shut the door in my face. I then passed along and stopped before the Hotel of the Mousquetaires gris, and related to those gen- tlemen what had just happened to me. They gave me a good dinner and a half-crown (mm ecu). One of them proposed to go directly and set fire to the convent; but a musketeer, more discreet than he, remonstrated with him, insisting that the time for action had not yet arrived, and implored him to wait patiently a little longer. The Man of Forty Crowns. 27 1 CHAPTER V. AUDIENCE OF THE COMPTROLLER-GENERAL. I went, with my half-crown, to present a petition to the comptroller-general, who was that day giving audience. His ante-chamber was filled with people of all kinds. There were there especially some with more bluff- faces, more prominent bellies, and more arro- gant looks than my man of 'eight millions. I durst not draw near to them ; I saw them, but they did not observe me. A monk, a great man for tithes, had begun a suit at law against certain subjects of the state, whom he called his tenants. He had already a larger income than the half of his parishioners put together, and was moreover lord of the manor. His claim was, that whereas his vassals had, with infinite pains, con- verted their heaths into vineyards, they owed him a tithe of the wine, which, taking into the account the price of labor, of the vine-props, of the casks and cellarage, would carry off above a quarter of the produce. "But," said he, "as the tithes are due, jure divino, I demand the quarter of the substance of my tenants, in the name of God." The minister of the revenue said to him, "I see how charitable you are." 1']l The Man of Forty Crowns. A farmer-general, extremely well-skilled in as- sessments, interposed, saying : "Sir, that village can afford nothing to this monk, as I have, but the last year, made the parishioners pay thirty-two taxes on their wine, besides their overcon- sumption of the allowance for their own drinking. They are entirely ruined. I have seized and sold their cattle and movables, and yet they are still my debt- ors. I protest, then, against the claim of the reverend father." "You are in the right," answered the minister of the revenue, "to be his rival ; you both equally love your neighbor, and you both edify me." A third, a monk and lord of the manor, whose tenants were in mortmain, was waiting for a decree of the council that should put him in possession of all the estate of a Paris simpleton who, having inadver- tently lived a year and a day in a house subject to this servitude and enclosed within the property of this priest, had died at the year's end. The monk was claiming all the estate of this person, and claim- ing it jure divino. The minister found by this that the heart of this monk was as just and as tender as those of the others. A fourth, who was comptroller of the royal do- mains, presented a specious memorial, in which he sought to justify his having reduced twenty families to beggary. They had inherited property from their uncles, their aunts, their brothers, or cousins, and The Man of Forty Crowns. 273 were liable to pay the duties. The officers of the do- main had generously proved to them that they had not set the full value on their inheritances — ^that they were much richer than they belifeved, and, conse- quently, having condemned them to a triple fine, ruined them in charges, and threw the heads of the families into jail, he had^ bought their best possessions without untying his purse-strings. The comptroller-general said to him, in a tone in- deed rather bitter: "Euge, controlleur hone et Melts, quia sU'p'ra pauca fuisti Udelis, fermier- general te constituaih." But to a master of the requests, who was standing at his side, he said in a low voice : "We must make these blood-suckers, sacred and profane, disgorge. It is time to give some relief to the people, who, without our care, and our equity, would have nothing to live upon, in this world at least, however they might fare in the other." Some, of profound genius, presented projects to him. One of' them had imagined a scheme to lay a tax on wit. "All 'the world," said he, "will 'be eager to pay, as no one cares to pass for a fool." The minister declared to him, "I- exempt you from the tax." Another proposed to lay the only tax upon songs and laughing, in consideration that we were the mer- riest nation under the sun, and that a song was a re- lief and comfort for everything. But the minister Vol. 2—18 274 The Man of Forty Crowns. observed that of late there were hardly any songs of pleasantry made ; and he was afraid that, to escape the tax, we would become too serious. The next that presented himself was a trusty and loyal subject, who offered to raise for the king three times as much by making the nation pay three times less. The minister advised him to learn arithmetic. A fourth proved to the king in the way of friend- ship, that he could not raise above seventy-five mil- lions, but that he was going to procure him two hun- dred and twenty-five. "You will oblige me in this," said the minister, "as soon as we shall have paid the public debts." At length, who should appear but a deputy of the new author, who makes the legislative power co-pro- prietor of all our lands, jure divino, and who was giving the king twelve hundred, millions of revenue. I knew the man again who had flung me into prison for not having paid my twenty crowns, and throwing myself at the feet of the comptroller-general, I im- plored his justice ; upon which he burst out a-laugh- ing, and telling me it was a trick that had been played me, he ordered the doers of this mischief in jest to pay me a hundred crowns damages, and exempted me from the land-tax for the rest of my life. I said to him, "God bless your honor !" The Man of Forty Crowns. 275 CHAPTER VI. THE MAN OF FORTY CROWNS MARRIES^ BECOMES A FATHERj AND DESCANTS UPON THE MONKS. The Man of Forty Crowns having improved his understanding, and having accumulated a moderate fortune, married a very pretty girl, who had a hun- dred crowns a year of her own. As soon as his son was bom, he felt himself a man of some consequence in the state. He was famous for making the best baskets in the world, and his wife was an excellent seamstress. She was bom in the neighborhood of a rich abbey of a hundred thousand livres a year. Her husband asked me one day why those gentlemen, who were so few in number, had swallowed so many of the forty-crown lots ? "Are they more useful to their country than I am ?" "No, dear neighbor." "Do they, like me, contribute at least to the population of it?" "No." "Do they cultivate the land ? Do they defend the state when it is attacked?" "No, they pray to God for us." "Well, then, I will pray to God for them in return." Question. — How many of these useful gentry, men and women, may the convents in this kingdom contain ? Answer. — By the lists of the superintendents, taken toward the end of the last century, there were about ninety thousand. Question. — ^According to our ancient accownt. 276 The Man of Forty Crowns. they ought not, at forty crowns a head, to possess above ten miUion eight hundred thousand livres. Pray, how much have they actually ? Answer. — They have to the amount of fifty mil- lions, including the masses, and alms to the mendi- cant monks, who really lay a considerable tax on the people. A begging friar of a convent in Paris pub- licly bragged that his wallet was worth fourscore thousand livres a year. Question. — Let us now consider how much the distribution of ftfty millions among ninety thousand shaven crowns gives to each? Let us see, is it not five hundred and fifty-five livres ? Answer. — Yes, and a considerable sum it is in a numerous society, where the expenses even diminish by the quantity of consumers ; for ten persons may live together much cheaper than if each had his sep- arate lodging and table. Question. — So that the ex- Jesuits, to whom there is now assigned a pension of four hundred livres, are then really losers by the bargain. Answer. — I do not think so, for they are almost all of them retired among their friends, who assist them. Several of them say masses for money, which they did not do before ; others get to be preceptors ; some are maintained by female bigots ; each has made a shift for himself; and, perhaps, at this time, there are few of them who have tasted of the world, and of liberty, that would resume their former chains. The monkish life, whatever they may say, is not at all to The Man of Forty Crowns. 277 be envied. It is a maxim well known that the monks are a kind of people who assemble without knowing, live without loving, and die without regretting each other. Question. — You think, then, that it would be do- ing them a great service to strip them of all their monks' habits? Answer. — They would undoubtedly gain much by it, and the state still more. It would restore to the country a number of subjects, men and women, who have rashly sacrificed their liberty, at an age to which the laws do not allow a capacity of disposing of ten- pence a year income. It would be taking these corpses out of their tombs, and afford a true resurrection. Their houses might become hospitals, or be turned into places for manufactures. Population would be increased. All the arts would be better cultivated. One might at least diminish the number of these vol- untary victims by fixing the number of novices. The country would have subjects more useful, and less unhappy. Such is the opinion of all the magistrates, such the unanimous wish of the public, since its un- derstanding is enlightened. The example of England and other states is an evident proof of the necessity of this reformation. What would England do at this time, if, instead of forty thousand seamen, it had forty thousand monks? The more they are multi- plied, the greater need there is of a number of indus- trious subjects. There are undoubtedly buried in the cloisters many talents which are lost to the state. To 278 The Man of Forty Crowns. make a kingdom flourish, there should be the fewest priests and the most artisans possible. So far ought the ignorance and barbarism of our forefathers to be from being any rule for us, that they ought rather to be an admonition to us to do what they would do if they were in our place, with our improvements in knowledge. Question. — It is not then out of hatred to monks that you wish to abolish them, but out of love to your country? I think as you do. I would not have my son a monk. And if I thought I was to rear children for nothing better than a cloister, I would not wish to become a father. Answer. — Where, in fact, is that good father of a family that would not groan to see his son and daugh- ter lost to society ? This is seeking the safety of the soul. It may be so, but a soldier that seeks the safety of his body, when his duty is to fight, is punished. We are all soldiers of the state ; we are in the pay of society ; we become deserters when we quit it. Why, then, has monkishness prevailed? Because, since the. days of Constantine, the government has ' been everywhere absurd and detestable ; because the Roman Empire came to have more monks than sol- diers; because there were a hundred thousand of them in Egypt alone; because they were exempt from labor and taxes ; because the chiefs of those bar- barous nations which destroyed the empire, having turned Christians, in order to govern Christians, ex- ercised the most horrid tyranny ; because, to avoid the The Man of Forty Crowns. 279 fury of these tyrants, people threw themselves in crowds into cloisters, and so, to escape one servi- tude, put themselves into another ; because the popes, by instituting so many different orders of sacred drones, contrived to have so many subjects to them- selves in other states ; because a peasant likes rather to be called reverend father, and to give his benedic- tions, than to follow a plough's tail ; because he does not know that the plough is nobler than a monk's habit ; because he had rather live at the expense of fools than by a laborious occupation; in short, be- cause he does not know that, in making a monk of himself, he is preparing for himself unhappy days, of which the sad groundwork will be nothing but a tedium vita and repentance. Question. — I am satisfied. Let us have no monks, for the sake of their own happiness, as well as ours. But I am sorry to hear it said by the land- lord of our village, who is father to four boys and three girls, that he does not know how to dispose of his daughters, unless he makes nuns of them. Answer. — This too often repeated plea is at once inhuman, detrimental to the country, and destructive to society. Every time that it can be said of any condition of life whatever, that if all the world were to embrace it mankind would perish, it is proved that that condition is a worthless one, and that whoever embraces it does all the mischief to mankind that in him lies. Now, it being a clear consequence that if all the a8o The Man of Forty Crowns. youth of both sexes were to shut themselves up in cloisters the world would perish, monkery is, if it were but in that light alone, the enemy to human ;ia- ture, independently of the horrid evils it has formerly caused. Question. — Might not as much be said of sol- diers ? Answer. — Certainly not, for if every subject car- ried arms in his turn, as formerly was the practice in all republics, and especially in that of Rome, the soldier is but the better farmer for it. The soldier, as a good subject ought to do, marries, and fights for his wife and children. Would it were the will of heaven that every laborer was a soldier and a married man! They would make excellent subjects. But a monk, merely in his quality of a monk, is good for nothing but to devour the substance of his country- men. There is no truth more generally acknowl- edged. Question. — But, sir, the daughters of poor gen- tlemen, who cannot portion them off in marriage, what are they to do? Answer.' — Do! They should do, as has a thou- sand times been said, like the daughters in England, in Scotland, Ireland, Switzerland, Holland, half Ger- many, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Tartary, Turkey, Africa, and in almost all the rest of the globe. They Will prove much better wives, much better mothers, when it shall have been the custom, as in Germany, to marry women without fortune. A woman, Indus- The Man of Forty Crowns. 281 trious and a good economist, will do more good in a house than a daughter of a farmer of the revenue, who spends more in superfluities than she will have brought of income to her husband. There is a necessity for houses of retreat for old age, for infirmity, for deformity. But by the most detestable of all abuses, these foundations are for well-made persons. Let a humpbacked old woman present herself to enter into a cloister, and she will be rejected with contempt, unless she will give an immense portion to the house. But what do I say? Every nun must bring her dower with her; she is else the refuse of the convent. Never was there a more intolerable abuse. Question. — Thank you, sir. I swear to you that no daughter of mine shall be a nun. They shall learn to spin, to sew, to make lace, to embroider, to render themselves useful. I look upon the vows of convents to be crimes against one's country and one's self. Now, sir, I beg you will explain to me, how comes it that a certain writer, in contradiction to human kind, pretends that monks are useful to the popula- tion of a state, because their buildings are kept in better repair than those of the nobility, and their lands better cultivated? Answer. — He has a mind to divert himself; he knows but too well that ten families, who have each five thousand livres a year in land, are a hundred, nay, a thousand times more useful than a convent that enjoys fifty thousand livres a year, and which has 282 The Man of Forty Crowns. always a secret hoard. He cries up the fine houses built by the monks, and it is precisely those fine houses that provoke the rest of the subjects ; it is the very cause of complaint to all Europe. The vow of poverty condemns those palaces, as the vow of humil- ity protests against pride, and as the vow of extin- guishing one's race is in opposition to nature. QuESTiQN. — Bless me ! Who can this be that ad- vances so strange a proposition ? Answer. — It is the friend of mankind [Mon- sieur le M. de Mirabeau, in his book called L' Amides Hommes. It is against this marquis that the jest on the only tax is levelled; a tax proposed by him], or rather the friend of the monks. Question. — I begin to think it advisable to be very distrustful of books. Answer. — The best way is to make use, with re- gard to them, of the same caution as with men. Choose the most reasonable, examine them, and never yield unless to evidence. CHAPTER VII. ON TAXES PAID TO A FOREIGN POWER. About a month ago the Man of Forty Crowns came to me, holding both his sides, which seemed ready to burst with laughing. In short, he laughed so heartily that I could not help laughing also, with- out knowing at what. So true it is, that man is bom The Man of Forty Crowns. 283 an imitative animal, that instinct rules us, and that the great emotions of the soul are catching. Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adflent, Humani vultus. When he had his laugh out, he told me that he had just come from meeting with a man who called himself the prothonotary of the Holy See, and that this personage was sending away a great sum of money to an Italian, three hundred leagues off, in the name and behalf of a Frenchman, on whom the king had bestowed a small fief or fee; because the said Frenchman could never enjoy this benefit of the king's conferring, if he did not give to this Italian the first year's income. "The thing," said I, "is very true ; but it is not quite such a laughing matter either. It costs France about four hundred thousand livres a year, in petty duties of this kind, and in the course of two cen- turies and a half, that this custom has lasted, we have already sent to Italy fourscore millions." "Heavenly father!" he exclaimed, "how many forty crowns would that make ? Some Italian, then, subdued us, I suppose, two centuries and a half ago, and laid that tribute upon us !" "In good faith," answered I, "he used to impose on us, in former times, in a much more burdensome way. That is but a trifle in comparison to what, for a long time, he levied on our poor nations of Europe." Then I related to him how those holy usurpations had taken place and came to be established. He 284 The Man of Forty Crowns. knows a little of history, and does not want for sense. He easily conceived that we had been slaves, and that we were still dragging a little bit of our chain that we could not get rid of. He spoke much, and with energy, against this abuse ; but with what re- spect for religion in general. With what reverence did he express himself for the bishops ! How heartily did he wish them many forty crowns a year, that they might spend them in their dioceses in good works. He also wished that all the country vicars might have a number of forty crowns, that they might live with decency. "It is a sad thing," said he, "that a vicar should be obliged to dispute with his flock for two or three sheaves of corn, and that he should not be amply paid by the country. These eternal contests for imaginary rights, for the tithes, destroy the respect that is owing to them. The unhappy ciiltivator who shall have already paid to the collectors his tenth penny, and the twopence a livre, and the tax, and the capitation, and the purchase of his exemption from lodging soldiers — after he shall have lodged soldiers — for this unfor- tunate man, I say, to see the vicar take away in ad- dition the tithe of his produce, he can no longer look on him as his pastor, but as one that flays him alive — that tears from him the little skin that is left him. He feels but too sensible, that while they are, jure divino, robbing him of his tenth sheaf, they have the diabolical cruelty not to give him credit for all that it will have cost him to make that sheaf grow. What The Man of Forty Crowns. 285 then remains to him for himself and family ? Tears, want, discouragement, despair, and thus he dies of fatigue and misery. If the vicar were paid by the country, he would be a comfort to his parishioners, instead of being looked on by them as their enemy." The worthy man melted as he uttered these words ; he loved his country, and the public good was his idol. He would sometimes emphatically say, "What a nation would the French be if it pleased !" We went to see his son, whom the mother, a very neat and clean woman, was nursing. "Alas !" said the father, "here thou art, poor child, and hast nothing to pre- tend to but twenty-three years of life, and forty crowns a year." CHAPTER Vni. ON PROPORTIONS. The produce of the extremes is equal to the pro- duce of the means; but two sacks of corn stolen are not, to those who stole them, as the loss of their lives is to the interest of the person from whom they were stolen. The prior of , from whom two of his domes- tic servants in the country had stolen two measures of corn, has just had the two delinquents hanged. This execution has cost him more than all his harvest has been worth to him; and since that time he has not been able to get a servant. If the laws had ordained that such as stole their 286 The Man of Forty Crowns. master's corn should work in his grounds during their lives in fetters, and with a bell at their neck, fixed to a collar, the prior would have been a considerable gainer by it. "Terror should be preventively employed against crimes"; very true, but work, on compulsion, and lasting shame, strike more terror than the gallows. There was, some months ago at London, a male- factor who had been condemned to be transported to America to work there at the sugar works with the negroes. In England any criminal, as in many other countries, may get a petition presented to the king, either to obtain a free pardon or a mitigation of the sentence. This one presented a petition to be hanged, alleging that he mortally hated work, and that he had rather suffer strangling for a minute than to make sugar all his lifetime. Others may think otherwise; every one to his taste. But it has been already said, and cannot be too often repeated, that a man hanged is good for nothing, and that punishments ought to be useful. Some years ago, in Turkey, two young men were condemned to be empaled, for having (without tak- ing off their caps), stood to see the procession of the Lama pass by. The Emperor of China, who is a man of very good sense, said, that for his part, he should have condemned them to walk bareheaded, in every public procession, for three months afterwards. "Proportion punishments to crimes," says the The Man of Forty Crowns. 287 Mdrquis Beccaria; but those who made the laws were not geometricians. I hate the laws of Draco, which punish equally crimes and faults, wickedness and folly. Let us — especially in all litigations, in all dissensions, in all quarrels^distinguish the aggressor from the party offended, the oppressor from the oppressed. An of- fensive war is the procedure of a tyrant ; he who de- fends himself is in the character of a just man. As I was absorbed in these reflections, the Man of Forty Crowns came to me all in tears. I asked, with emotion, if his son, who was by right to live twenty- three years, was dead ? "No," said he, "the little one is very well, and so is my wife ; but I was summoned to give evidence against a miller, who has been put to the torture, ordinary and extraordinary, and who has been found innocent. I saw him faint away under redoubled tortures. I heard the crash of his bones. His out- cries and screams of agony are not yet out of my ears ; they haunt me. I shed tears for pity, and shudder with horror. His tears drew mine. I trembled, too, like him, for I have naturally an extreme sensibility. My memory then represented to me the dreadful fate of the Calas family : A virtuous mother in irons — ^her children in tears, and forced to fly — her house given up to pillage — a respectable father of a family broken with torture agonizing on a wheel. 288 The Man of Forty Crowns. and expiring in the flames ; a son loaded with chains, and dragged before the judges, one of whom said to him: "We have fust now broken yoii/r father on the wheel; we will break you alive, too." I remember the family of Sirveny whom one of my friends met with among the mountains cbvered with ice, as they were flying from the persecution of a judge, as ignorant as he was unjust. This judge (he told me) had condemned an innocent family to death on a supposition, without the least shadow of pnoof, that the father and mother, assisted by two of their daughters, had cut the throat of the third, and drowned her besides, for going to mass. I saw in judgments of this kind at once an excess of stupidity, of injusticej and of barbarity. The Man of Forty Crowns joined with me in pity- ing human nature. I had in my pocket the discourse of an attorney-general of Dauphiny, which turned upon very important matters. I read to him the fol- lowing passages: "Certainly those must have been truly great men, who, at first, dared to take upon themselves the office of governing their fellow creatures, and to set their shoulders to the burden of the public welfare ; who, for the sake of the good they meant to do to men, exposed themselves to their ingratitude, and for the public repose renounced their own ; who made them- sdves, as one may say, middle-men between their fel- The Man of Forty Crowns. 289 low creatures and Providence, to compose for them, by artifice, a happiness which Providence seems other- wise to have refused to them by any other means. "What magistrate was ever so careless of his re- sponsibilities and duties to humanity as to entertain such ideas ? Could he, in the solitude of his closet, without shuddering with horror and pity, cast his eyes on those papers, the unfortunate monuments of guilt or of innocence ? Should he not think he hears a plaintive voice and groans issue from those fatal writings, and press him to decide the destiny of a subject, of a husband, of a father, or of a whole fam- ily? What judge can be so unmerciful (if he is charged with but one single process) as to pass in cold blood before the door of a prison ? Is it I (must he say to himself) who detain in that execrable place my fellow creature, perhaps my countryman, one of humankind, in short? Is it I that confine him every day — ^that shut those execrable doors upon him? Perhaps despair will have seized him. He sends up to heaven my name loaded with his curses, and doubtless calls to witness against me that great judge of the world who observes us and will judge us both. "Here a dreadful sight presents itself on a sudden to my eyes : The judge, tired with interrogating by words, has recourse to interrogation by tortures. Im- patient in his inquiries and researches, and perhaps irritated at their inutility, he has brought to him torches, chains, levers, and all those mstruments in- Vol, 2 — 19 290 The Man of Forty Crowns. vented for producing pain. An executioner comes to interpose in the functions of the magistracy, and ter- minates by violence a judicial interrogation. "Gentle philosophy! thou who never seekest truth but with attention and patience, couldst thou expect, in an age that takes thy name, that such in- struments would be employed to discover that truth? "Can it be really true that our laws approve this inconceivable method, and that custom consecrates it ? "Their laws imitate their prejudices, their public punishments are as crUel as their- private vengeance, and the acts of their reason are scarce less unmerci- ful than those of their passions. What can be the cause of this strange contrariety ? It is because our prejudices are ancient, and our morality new; it is because we are as penetrated with our opinions as we are inattentive to our ideas ; it is because our passion for pleasures hinders us from reflecting on our wants, and that we are more eager to live than to direct our- selves right ; it is, in a word, because our morials are gentle without being good ; it is because we are polite, and are not so much as humane." These fragments, which eloquence had dictated to humanity, filled the heart of my friend with a sweet consolation. He admired with tenderness. "What !" said he, "are such masterpieces as these produced in a province? I had been told that Paris was all the world, or the only place in it." "It is»" sMd I, "the only place for producing comic operas ; 5ut there are at this time, in the provinces, The Man of Forty Crowns. 291 magistrates who think with the same virtue and ex- press themselves with the same force. Formerly, the oracles of justice, like those of morality, were noth- ing but matter of mere ridicule. Dr. Balouard de- claimed at the bar, and Harlequin in the pulpit. Philosophy has at length come, and has said, 'Do not speak in public, unless to set forth new and useful truths, with the eloquence of sentiment and of rea- son. But, say the praters, if we have nothing new to say, what then? Why, hold your tongues, replies philosophy. All thosevvain discourses for parade, that contain nothing but phrases, are like the fire on the eve of St. John's, kindled on that day of the year in which there is the least want of it to heat one's self — it causes no pleasure, and not so much as the ashes of it remain. Let all France read good books. But notwith- standing all the progress of the human understand- ing, there are few that read, and among those who sometimes seek instruction, the reading for the most part is very ill chosen. My neighbors, men and women, pass their time, after dinner, at playing an English game, which I have much difficulty to pro- nounce, since they call it whist. Many good citizens, many thick heads, who take themselves for good heads, tell you, with an air of importance, that books are good for nothing. But, Messieurs, the critics, do not you know that you are governed only by books? Do not you know that the statutes, the military code. 292 The Man of Forty Crowns. and the gospel are books on which you continually depend? Read; improve yourselves. It is reading alone that invigorates the understanding ; conversa- tion dissipates it ; play contracts it. Thus it was that the Man of Forty Crowns pro- ceeded to form, as one may say, his head and his heart. He not only succeeded to the inheritance of his two fair cousins, but he came also to a fortune left by a very distant relation, who had been a sub- farmer of the military hospitals, where he had fat- tened himself on the strict abstinence to which he had put the wounded soldiers. This man never would marry. He never would own any of his relations. He lived in the height of debauchery, and died at Paris of a surfeit. He was, as any one may see, a very useful member of the state. Our new philosopher was obliged to go to Paris to get possession of the inheritance of this relative. At first the farmers of the domain disputed it with him. He had the good luck, however, to gain his cause, and the generosity to give to the poor of his neighborhood, who had not their contingent of forty crowns a year, a part of the spoils of the deceased son of fortune. After which he set himself about satis- fying his passion for having a library. He read every morning and made extracts. In the evening he consulted the learned to know in what language the serpent had talked to our good mother ; whether the soul is in the callous body, or in the pineal gland ; whether St. Peter lived five and twenty years The Man of Forty Crowns. 293 at Rome ; what specific difference there is between a throne and a dominion ; and why the negroes have a flat nose. He proposed to himself, besides, never to govern the state, nor to write any pamphlets against new dramatic pieces. He was called Mr.' Andrew, which was his Christian name. Those who have known him do justice to his modesty and to his qual- ities, both natural and acquired. CHAPTER IX. A GREAT QUARREL. During the stay of Mr. Andrew at Paris there hap- pened a very important quarrel. The point was to decide whether Marcus Antoninus was an honest man and whether he was in hell or in purgatory, or in limbo, waiting till the day of resurrection. All the men of sense took the part of Marcus Antoninus. They said : "Antoninus has been always just, tem- perate, chaste, and beneficent. It is true, he has not so good a place in paradise as St. Anthony, for pro- portions ought to be observed, as has been before rec- ommended. But certainly the soul of Antoninus is not roasting on a spit in hell. If he is in purgatory, he ought to be delivered out of it ; there need only be masses said for him. Let the Jesuits, who have no longer anything to do, say three thousand masses for the repose of the soul of Marcus Antoninus. Put- ting each mass at fifteen pence, they will get two 294 The Man of Forty Crowns. thousand two hundred and fifty livres by it. Be- sides, some respect is owing to a crowned head. He should not be lightly damned. The party opposed to these good people pretended, on the contrary, that no compounding for salvation ought to be allowed to Marcus Antoninus ; that he was a heretic ; that the Carpocratians and the Alogi were not so bad as he ; that he had died without con- fession ; that it was necessary to make an example ; that it was right to damn him, if but to teach better manners to the emperors of China and Japan — ^to those of Persia, Turkey, and Morocco — ^to the kings of England, Sweden, Denmark, and Prussia — ^to the stadtholder of Holland — to the avoyers of the Canton at Berne, who no more go to confession than did the Emperor Marcus Antoninus ; that, in short, there is an unspeakable pleasure in passing sentence against a dead sovereign, which one could not fulminate against him in his lifetime, for fear of losing one's ears. This quarrel became as furious as was formerly that of the Ursulines and the Annonciades. . . . In short, it was feared that it would come to a schism, as in the time of the hundred and one Mother Goose's tales, and of certain bills payable to the bearer in the other world. To be sure, a schism is something very terrible. The meaning of the word is a division in opinion, and till this fatal moment all men had been agreed to think the same thing. Mr. Andrew, who was an excellent member of so- The Man of Forty Crowns. 295 ciety, invited the chiefs of the two parties to sup with him. He is one of the best companions that we have. His humor is gentle and lively; his gayety is not noisy ; he is open, frank, and easy. He has not that sort of wit which seems to aim at stifling that of others. The authority which he conciliates to him- self is due to nothing but his graceful manner, to his moderation, and to a round, good-natured face, which is quite persuasive. He could have brought to sup cheerfully together a Corsican and a Genoese — a rep- resentative of Geneva and a negative man — ^the mufti and an archbishop. He managed so dextrously as to make the first stroke that the disputants of both parties aimed at each other fall to the ground, by turn- ing off the discourse and by telling a very diverting tale, which pleased equally the damning and the damned. In short, when they had got a little good- humored and elevated with wine, he made them sign an agreement that the soul of Marcus Antoninus should remain in statu quo — that is to say, nobody knows where — ^till the day of final judgment. The souls of the doctors of divinity returned qui- etly to their limbos after supper, and all was calm. This adjustment of the quarrel did great honor to the Man of Forty Crowns ; and, since then, whenever any very peevish virulent dispute arose among men of let- ters, or among men not of letters, the advice given was, "Gentlemen, go and sup at Master Andrew's!" 296 The Man of Forty Crowns. CHAPTER X. A RASCAL REPULSED. The reputation which Mr. Andrew had acquired for pacifying quarrels — ^by giving good suppers — drew upon him last week a singular visit. A dark- complexioned man, shabbily enough dressed, rather crook-backed, with his head leaning toward one shoulder, a haggard eye and dirty hands, asked to be inyited to a supper with his enemies. "Who are your enemies ?" said Mr. Andrew, "and who are you ?" "Alas, sir," said he, "I am forced to confess that I am taken for one of those wretches that compose libels to get bread, and who are forever crying out, 'Religion! religion! religion!' in order to come into some little benefice. I am accused of having calumni- ated some of the most truly religious subjects, the most sincere adorers of divinity, and the most honest men of the kingdom. It is true, sir, that in the heat of composition there often fall from the pen of those of my trade certain little inadvertencies or slips, which are taken for gross errors, and some liberties taken with the truth, which are termed impudent lies. Our zeal is looked upon in the light of a horrid mix- ture of villainy and fanaticism. It has been alleged that while we are ensnaring the easy faith of some silly old women, we are the scorn and execration of all the men of worth who can read. The Man of Forty Crowns. 297 "My enemies are the principal members of the most illustrious academies of Europe, writers much esteemed, and beneficent members of society. I have but just published a book under the title of "Anti- philosophical." I had nothing but the best intentions*, and yet no one would buy my book. Those to whom I made presents of it threw it into the fire, telling me it was not only anti-reasonable, but anti-Christian, and extremely anti-decent." "Well, then I" said Mr. Andrew to him, "follow the example of those to whom you presented your libel, throw it into the fire, and let no more be said of it. It is unnecessary to ask you to sup \vith men of wit, who can never be your enemies, since they will never read you." "Could not you, sir, at least," said the hypocrite to him, "reconcile me with the relations of the deceased Monsieur de Montesquieu, to whose memory I of- fered an iridignity, that I might give honor and glory to the reverend father Rout. "Zounds !" said Mr. Andrew, "the reverend father Rout has been dead this long time ; go and sup with him." 298 ' The Man of Forty Crowns. CHAPTER XI. THE GOOD SENSE OF MR. ANDREW. But how greatly did the sense of Mr. Andrew im- prove in vigor from the time he procured a library ! He lives with books as with men, and is careful in his choice of them. What a pleasure it is to gain instruc- tion, to enlarge one's mind by studying the best works of the greatest authors. He congratulates himself on being born at a time when human reason is tending toward perfection. "How unhappy should I have been," he used to say, "if the age I live in had been that in which they used to condemn to the galleys those who wrote against the categories of Aristotle." Distress had weakened the springs of Mr. An- drew's soul; but good fortune restored their elas- ticity. There are many Andrews in the world to whom nothing is wanting but a turn of the wheel of fortune to make of them men of true merit. He is now well acquainted with all the affairs of Europe, and especially with the progress of the hu- man understanding. I He recently remarked to me that Reason travels by slow journeys from north to south, in company with her two intimate friends. Experience and Toleration. Agriculture and Commerce attend them. When Rea- son presented herself in Italy, the congregation of the Index sternly repulsed her. All she could do was to The Man of Forty Crowns. 299 secretly send some of her agents, who, in spite of her enemies, do some good. Let but some years more pass, and it is to be hoped that the country of the Scipios will no longer be that of harlequins in monks' habits. She has sometimes met with cruel foes in France ; but she has now so many friends in that kingdom that she stands a good chance of at length becoming first minister there. When she presented herself in Bavaria and Aus- tria, she found tWo or three great wig-blocks that stared at her with stupid and astonished eyes. Their greeting was: "Madam, we never heard of you; we do not know you." Her answer to which was : "Gentlemen, in time you will come to know me and to love me. I have been well received at Berlin, at Moscow, at Copenhagen, at Stockholm. It is long ago that I have been naturalized by Act of Parliament in England, through the labors of Locke, Gordon, Trenchard, Lord Shaftesbury, and a number of others of the same nation. You will, some day or other, confer on me the like grant. I am the daughter of Time. I expect everything from my father." When she passed over the frontiers of Spain and Portugal, she blessed God on observing that the fires of the Inquisition were less frequently kindled. She rejoiced on seeing the Jesuits expelled; but was afraid that, while the country had been cleared of the foxes, it was still left exposed to the ravages of wolves. 300 The Man of Forty Crowns. If she makes any fresh attempts to gain entrance into Italy it is thought she will begin by establishing herself at Venice ; and that she will take up her, abode in the kingdom of Naples, in spite of the liquefaction of the saint's blood in that country, which awakens in her mind mournful reflections on human credul- ity. It is pretended that she has an infallible secret for untying the strings of a crown, which are en- tangled, nobody knows how, in those of a mitre. CHAPTER XII. THE GOOD SUPPER AT MR. ANDREW'S. We supped at Mr. Andrew's yesterday, together with a Doctor Sorbonne, with Monsieur Pinto, the celebrated Jew, with the chaplain of the Protestant chapel of the Dutch ambassador, the secretary of the Prince Gallitsin of the Greek Church, a Calvinist Swiss captain, two philosophers, and three ladies of great wit. The supper was a very long one ; and yet, so polite it must be owned we are grown — so much is one afraid at supper to give any cause of offence to one's brethren, that there was no more disputing upon re- ligion than as if not one of those at table had ever had any. It is not so with the Regent Coge, and the ex- Jesuit Patouillet, and with all the animals of that kind. Those pitiful creatures will say more stupidly abusive things in one pamphlet of two pages than The Man of Forty Crowns. 301 the best company in Paris can say agreeable and in- structive ones in a supper of four hours. And what is stranger yet, they dare not telj a man to his face what they have the impudence to print. The conversation turned at first on a piece of pleas- antry in the "Persian Letters," ii? which it is re- peated, after a number of grave personages, that the world is not only growing worse, but that it is be- coming depopulated, so that if the proverb should have any truth in it, that "the more fools there are, the more laughter," laughing is likely to be soon banished from the face of the earth. The Doctor of Sorbonne assured us that, in fact, the world was almost reduced to nothing. He quoted the Father Petau, who demonstrates that in less than three hundred years the descendants of one of the sons of Noah (I forget whether it was Shem or Japheth), amounted to six hundred and twelve mil- lions three hundred and fifty-eight thousand true be- lievers within two hundred and eighty-five years after the universal deluge. Mr. Andrew asked, why in the time of Philip le Bel, that is to say, about three hundred years after Hugh Capet, there were not six hundred and twenty- three thousand millions of princes of the royal fam- ily? "It is," said the Doctor of Sorbonne, "because the stock of faith has greatly decreased." A great deal was said about Thebes and its hun- dred gates, and of the million of soldiers that issued 302 The Man of Forty Crowns. out of those gates with the twenty thousand chariots of war. "Shut the book there," said Mr. Andrew : "Since I have taken to reading I beg to suspect that the same genius that wrote Garagantua used of yore to write all the histories." "But, in short," said one of the company, "Thebes, Memphis, Babylon, Nineveh, Troy, Seleucia were great cities once, and now no longer exist." "Granted," answered the secretary of the Prince Gallitsin; "but Moscow, Constantinople, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Lyons (which is better than ever Troy was), and all the towns of France, Ger- many, Spain, and the North were then deserts." The Swiss captain, a gentleman of great knowl- edge, owned to us that when his ancestors took it into their heads to quit their mountains and their prfecipices to go and take forcible possession, as was but reasonable, of a finer country, Csesar, who saw with his own eyes the list of those emigrants, found that their number amounted to three hundred and sixty-eight thousand, inclusive of the old, the chil- dren, and the women. At this time the single canton of Berne possesses as many inhabitants, which is not quite the half of Switzerland, and I can assure you that the thirteen cantons have above seven hundred and twenty thousand souls, including the natives who are serving or carrying on business in other countries. From such data gentlemen of learning make absurd The Man of Forty Crowns. 303 calculations and they base fallacious systems on no better footing. The question next agitated was whether the citi- zens of Rome, in the time of the Caesars, were richer than the citizens of Paris in the time of Monsieur Silhouette ? "Oh," says Mr. Andrew, "this is a point on which I have some call to speak. I was a long time the Man of Forty Crowns, but I conceive that the citizens of Rome had more. Those illustrious robbers on the highway pillaged the finest countries of Asia, of Africa, and of Europe. They lived splendidly on the produce of their rapines ; but yet there were doubt- less some beggars at Rome. I am persuaded that among those conquerors of the world there were some reduced to an income of forty crowns a year, as I formerly was." "Do you know," said a learned member of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-lettres, "that it cost Lucullus, for every supper he gave in the sa- loon of Apollo, thirty-nine thousand three hundred and twelve livres of our money; but that the cele- brated epicurean Atticus did not expend above two hundred and thirty livres a month for his table." "If that be true," said I, "he deserved to be presi- dent of the Miser-society, lately established in Italy. I have read, as you have done, in Florus, that incred- ible anecdote j but, perhaps Florus had never supped with Atticus, or else his text, like so many others. 304 The Man of Forty Crowns, has been corrupted by copyists. No Florus shall ever make me believe that the friend of Caesar and of Pom- pey, of Cicero and of Antony, all of whom were often entertained at his house, got off for something less than ten louis d'or a month. But thus exactly 'tis that history is written." Madam Andrew, for her part, told the learned member of the Academy that if he would keep her table for ten times as much, she would be greatly obliged to him. I am persuaded that this evening at Mr. Andrew's cost him as much as the monthly expense of Atticus. As for the ladies, they expressed a doubt whether the suppers of Rome were more agreeable than those of Paris. The conversation was very gay though lean- ing a little to the learned. There was no talk of new fashions nor of the ridiculous part of any one's char- acter or conduct, nor of the scandalous history of the day. The question upon luxury was discussed and searched to the bottom. It was mooted whether or' not luxury had been the ruin of the Roman Empire ; and it was proved that the two empires of the east and west owed their destruction to nothing but to religious controversies and to the monks ; and, in fact, when Alaric took Rome, its whole attention was en- grossed by theological disputes ; when Mahomet took Constantinople the monks defended much better the eternity of the light of Mount Tabor, which they The Man of Forty Crowns. 305 saw on their navel, than they defended the town against the Turks. One of our men of learning made a very signifi- cant remark. It was that those two great empires were annihilated, but that the works of Virgil, Hor- ace, and Ovid still exist. From the age of Augustus they made but one skip to the age of Louis XIV. A lady put the ques- tion why it was that with a great deal of wit there was no longer produced scarcely any work of genius ? Mr. Andrew answered that it was because such works had been produced in the last age. This idea was finely spun, and yet solidly true. It bore a thor- ough handling. After that they fell with some harshness upon a Scotchman, who had taken it into his head to give rules to taste, and to criticise the most admirable passages of Racine, without understanding French. But there was one De- nina still more severely treated. He had abused Montesquieu's "Spirit of Laws" without compre- hending him, and had especially censured what is the most liked and approved in that work. This recalled to my mind Boileau's making a parade of his affected contempt of Tasso. One of the company advanced that Tasso, with all his faults, was as superior to Homer as Montesquieu, with his still greater imperfections, was above the farrago of Grotius. But there was presently a strong opposition made to these false criticisms, Vol. 2 — 20 3o6 The Man of Forty Crowns. dictated by national hatred and prejudice. The Seignior Denina was treated as he deserved, and as pedants ought to be by men of wit. It was especially remarked, with much sagacity, that the greatest part of the literary works of this age, as well as of the conversations, turned on the examination of the masterpieces of the last century, in which we are like disinherited children, who are taking an estimate of their father's estate. It was confessed that philosophy had made great progress, but that the language and style was somewhat cor- rupted. It is the nature of all these conversations to make transitions from one subject to another. All these objects of curiosity, of science, and of taste, soon vanished, to give way to the great scene which the Empress of Russia and the King of Poland were giving to the world. They had been just raising up and restoring the rights of oppressed humanity, and' establishing liberty of conscience in a part of the globe of a much greater extent than the old Roman Empire. This service done to human kind, this example given to so many courts, was men- tioned with the applause it deserved. Healths were drunk to the philosophical empress, to the royal philosopher, and to the philosophical primate, with the wish of their having many imitators. Even the doctors of Sorbonne admired them, for there are some persons of good sense in that body, as there were formerly some men of wit among the Boeotians. The Man of Forty Crowns. 307 The Russian secretary astonished us with a recital of the great establishments they were forming in Russia. It was asked why people were, in general, more fond of reading the history of Charles XII., who passed his life in destroying, than that of Peter the Great, who consumed his in creating? On this we concluded that, weakness and a frivolous turn of mind are the causes of this preference; that Charles XII. was the Don Quixote, and Peter, the Solon of the North; that superficial understand- ings prefer a wild, extravagant heroism to the great views of a legislator; that the particulars of the foundation of a town are less pleasing to them than the rashness of a man who, at the head of only his domestics, braves an army of ten thousand Turks; and that, in short, most readers love amusement better than instruction. Thence it is that a hundred women read "The Thousand and One Arabian Nights" for one that reads two chapters of Locke. What was not talked of at this supper — of which I shall long retain the remembrance? It was also in course to say a word of the actors and actresses, that eternal subject of the table-talk of Versailles and of Paris. It was agreed that a good declaimer was as rare as a good poet. For my part, I must own that Plato's banquet could not have given me more pleasure than that of Monsieur and Madame Andrew. Oar very pretty gentlemen and our very fine 3o8 The Man of Forty Crowns. ladies would, doubtless, have found it dull, and been tired with it. They pretend to be the only good company ; but neither Mr. Andrew nor I ever willingly sup with that kind of good company.