 This is Chapter 1 and 2 of the Sincere Huron. The Sincere Huron, or La Angenoux, by Voltaire, translated by Francis Ashmore. Chapter 1 One day Saint Dunstan, an Irishman by nation, in a saint by trade, quitted Ireland riding on a small mountain, which took its course towards the coast of France, and set his saintship down in the bay of San Marlowe. As soon as he had alighted, he gave his blessing to the mountain, which, after some profound bows, politely took its leave and returned to its former situation. In this spot, Saint Dunstan laid the foundation of a small priory, and gave it the name of Priory Mountain, which it still retains, as everyone knows. In the year 1689, on the fifteenth day of July in the evening, the Abbot Curcabon, prior of Our Lady of the Mountain, happened to take the air along the shore with his sister. The prior, now a little declined in age, was a very good pastor, greatly beloved of his neighbors, as he had formerly been of their wives. What added most to the respect paid him was that among all his clerical neighbors, he only could walk to bed after supper. He was tolerably read in theology, and when weary of reading Saint Augustine, he refreshed himself with the rabble-aise, so that all the world spoke well of him. Mademoiselle Curcabon, who had never been married, notwithstanding her hearty wishes to be so, had preserved a freshness of complexion in her forty-fifth year. Her character was that of a good and sensible woman. She was fond of pleasure and was a devoutee. As they walked the prior, looking on the sea, said to his sister, It is here, alas, that our poor brother embarked with our dear sister-in-law, Madame Curcabon, his wife, on board the Swallow Frigate twenty years ago, to serve the king in Canada. Had he not been killed, we might probably see him again. Do you believe, says Mademoiselle Curcabon, that our sister-in-law was eaten by the Cherokees as we have been told? Certain it is. Had they not eaten her, she would have come back. I shall grieve for her all my life. She was a charming woman, and our brother, who had a great deal of understanding, would no doubt have obtained a large fortune. They were thus expressing themselves with mutual tenderness, when they perceived a small ship enter the bay of rents with the tide. The vessel was from England and came to sell provisions. The crew instantly leaped on shore without taking any notice of the prior, or Mademoiselle, his sister, who were both shocked at the little attention shown them. But such was the behavior of a well-formed youth, who, darting himself over the heads of his companions, stood suddenly before Mademoiselle Curcabon. Unaccustomed to bowing, he made her a sign with his head. His figure and his dress attracted the notice of brother and sister. His head was uncovered, and his legs were bare. Instead of shoes, he wore a kind of sandal. His long hair flowed in tresses from his head. A small, close doublet displayed the symmetry of his shape, and he had a sweet martial air. He held, in one hand, a small bottle of Barbados water, and in the other a bag which contained a goblet and some sea biscuit. He spoke French very intelligibly, and offered some of his Barbados water to Mademoiselle Curcabon and her brother. He drank with them. He made them drink a second time, and all with an air of such native simplicity must charm them quite. They offered him their service, and asked him who he was, and wither he was going. The young man answered that he knew not where he should go, that he had some curiosity, and that he had a desire to see the coast of France, that once he had seen it he should return. The prior, judging by his accent that he was not an Englishman, took the liberty of asking what countryman he was. I am a Huron, answered the youth. Mademoiselle Curcabon, amazed and enchanted to see a Huron, who had behaved so politely to her, begged the young man's company to supper. He complied immediately, and all three went together to the priory of Our Lady of the Mountain. Short and round Mademoiselle devoured him with her little eyes, and kept saying to her brother, this tall lad has a complexion of lilies and roses. What a fine skin he has for a Huron. Very true sister, says the prior. She put a hundred questions one after the other, and the traveler answered them all very pertinently. The report was soon spread that they had a Huron at the priory, and all the genteel company of the country came to supper. The abbot of St. Ives came with Mademoiselle his sister, a fine, handsome, well-educated girl. The bailiff, the tax-gatherer, and their wives came all together. The foreigner was seated between Mademoiselle Curcabon and Mademoiselle St. Ives. The company eyed him with admiration. They all questioned him together. They did not confound the Huron, but at length, wearied with so much noise, he told them in a sweet but serious tone, Gentlemen, in my country, one talks after another. How can I answer you if you will not allow me to hear you? Reason brings people to a momentary reflection. They were all silent. M. Bailiff, who always made the most of a foreigner wherever he found him, and who was the most famous man for asking questions in the province, opening a mouth half a foot wide, began, Sir, what is your name? I have always been called the sincere, answered the Huron, and the English have confirmed that name because I always speak as I think and act as I like. But being born a Huron, how did you get to England? I was carried thither, being made prisoner by the English, after some resistance. The English, who love brave people because they are brave, and as honest as we, proposed my either returning to my family or going with them to England, I accepted the latter, having natural inclination for traveling. But Sir, says the Bailiff, with his usual gravity, how could you think of abandoning your father and mother? I never knew either father or mother, says the foreigner. This affected the company. They all repeated, neither father nor mother. We will supply their place, says the mistress of the house to her brother the prior. How interesting is the character of this Huron gentleman. He thanked her with a noble and proud cordiality, but gave her to understand that he wanted not the assistance of any one. I perceive, Mr. Huron, said the huge Bailiff, that you talk better French than can be expected from an Indian, a Frenchman, he answered, whom they had made prisoner when I was a boy, and with whom I contracted a great friend trip instructed me. I presently learn what I have an inclination to learn. When I came to Plymouth, I met one of those French refugees whom you, I know not why, called Huguenots. He improved my knowledge of your language, and, as soon as I could express myself intelligently, I came to see your country. Thus I liked the French well enough when they do not ask too many questions. Notwithstanding this slight hint, the Abbey of St. Ives asked him which of the three languages pleased him the best, the Huron, the English, or the French, the Huron, to be sure, he answered. Is it possible, fries mademoiselle curcabong? I always thought French was the first language after that of lower Brittany, then all were eager to know how, in Huron, they asked for snuff. He replied, Tyre, what signifies to eat, Essenton. Mademoiselle curcabong was impatient to know how they called to make love. He informed her, Travinder, and insisted, not without reason, that these words were well worth their synonyms in French and English. Travinder especially seemed very pretty to the whole company. The prior, who laid in his library a Huron grammar, which had been given him by the Reverend Father Sagar Thaddad, a raccolect, and famous missionary, rose from the table to consult it. He returned, quite panting, with tenderness and joy, and acknowledged the foreigner for a true Huron. The company speculated a little on the multiplicity of languages, and all agreed that, had it not been for the affair of the Tower of Babel, the whole world would have spoken French. The inquisitive Bailiff, who till now had entertained some suspicions of the foreigner, conceived the deepest respect for him. He spoke to him with more civility than before, but the Huron took no notice of it. Mademoiselle St. Ives was very curious to know how the Hurons made love by performing great actions to please objects which resemble you. The whole company admired and applauded. Mademoiselle St. Ives blushed, and was extremely well pleased. Mademoiselle Kirkabon blushed likewise, but was not so well pleased. She was a little peaked that this gallantry was not addressed to her. But she was a good-natured woman, and her affection for the Huron was not at all diminished. She asked him, with great complacency, how many mistresses he had at home. Only one answered the foreigner. Miss Abacaba, the good friend of my dear nurse, the reed is not more straight, the ermine is not more white, no lamb is meeker, no eagle is fiercer, nor any stag swifter than was my Abacaba. One day she pursued a hare, not above fifty leagues from my habitation. A base algonquin, who dwells a hundred leagues further, took the hare from her. I was told of it. I ran thither, and one stroke of my club levelled him to the ground. I brought him to the feet of my mistress bound hand and foot. Abacaba's parents were for eating him, but I always had a disrelage for such kind of dishes. I therefore set him at liberty, and made him my friend. Abacaba was so pleased with my conduct that she preferred me to all her lovers. Perhaps how she would have continued to love me had she not been devoured by a bear. I slew the bear, and for a long time wore his hide, but that has not consoled me. Mademoiselle St. Ives felt a secret pleasure at hearing that Abacaba had been his only mistress, and that she was no more. Yet she understood not the cause of her own pleasure. I was riveted on the Huron, and he was highly applauded by the whole company for delivering an Algonquin from the spits of his countrymen. The inconsiderate bailiff was now grown so violent that he even proceeded to ask the Huron what religion he was of. Whether he had chosen the English, the French, or that of the Huguenots, I am of my own religion, said he, just as you are of yours. Lord, cried Mademoiselle Kirkabon, I see already that the profane English have not once thought of baptizing him. Good God, said Mademoiselle St. Ives, how is it possible that the Huron should not be Roman Catholics? Have not those Reverend Fathers the Jesuits converted all the world? The Huron assured her that in his country nobody was converted, that no true American ever changed his opinion, and that there was not in their language a word to express inconstancy. These last words extremely pleased Mademoiselle St. Ives. Oh, we'll baptize him, we'll baptize him, said Miss Kirkabon to the prior. You shall have the honor, my dear brother, and I will be his godmother. The abbot of St. Ives shall present him at the font. It will make a fine appearance. It will be talked of all over Brittany, and will do us great honor. The company were all of the same mind with the mistress of the house. They all cried, we'll baptize him. The Huron interrupted them by saying that in England everyone was allowed to live as he pleased. He rather showed some aversion to the proposal which was made, and could not help telling them that the laws of the Huron were full as good as those of lower Brittany. He finished with saying that he should return the next day. The bottles grew empty and the company went to bed. After the Huron had been conducted to his room, Mademoiselle Kirkabon and her friend Mademoiselle St. Ives could not help peeping through the keyhole to see how a Huron went to bed. They saw that he spread the blankets on the floor and laid himself upon them with the finest attitude in the world. Chapter 2 The Huron called the Anjanu acknowledged by his relations. The Anjanu, according to Custom, awoke with the sun and at the crowing of the cock which is called in England and Hurania the trumpet of the day. He did not imitate what is styled good company, who languished in the bed of indolence till the sun has performed half his daily career, unable to sleep, but not disposed to rise and lose so many precious hours in that doubtful state between life and death and who nevertheless complain that life is too short. He had already traversed two or three leagues and killed fifteen brace of game with shot only when, upon his return, he found the prior of Our Lady of the Mountain and his discreet sister walking in their nightcaps in their little garden. He presented them with the spoils of his morning labor and taking from his bosom a kind of little talisman which he constantly wore about his neck. He entreated them to accept it as an acknowledgment of their kind reception they had given him. It is, he said, the most valuable thing I am possessed of. I have been assured that I shall always be happy whilst I carry this little toy about me, and I give it to you that you may always be happy. The prior and Mademoiselle smiled with pity at the frankness of the ingenue. This present consisted of two little portraits, very ill-done, tied together with a greasy piece of string. Mademoiselle Kirkabon asked him if there were any painters in Hurania. No, replied the ingenue. I had this curiosity from my nurse. Her husband had obtained it by conquest in stripping some of the French of Canada who had made war upon us. This is all I know of the matter. The prior looked attentively upon these pictures, whilst he changed color. His hands trembled, and he seemed much affected. By our lady of the mountain, he cried out, I believe these to be the faces of the captain, my brother, and his lady. Mademoiselle, after viewing them with the same emotion, thought likewise. They were both struck with astonishment and joy blended with grief. They were melted. They both wept. Their hearts throbbed, and during their disorder the pictures were interchanged between them at least twenty times in a second. They seemed to devour the Huron's pictures with their eyes. They asked one after another, and even both at once, at what time and in what place how these miniatures fell into the hands of his nurse. They reckoned and computed the time from the captain's departure. They recollected having received advice that he had penetrated as far as the country of the Hurons, and from that time they had never heard anything more of him. The Huron had told them that he had never known either father or mother. The prior, who is a man of sense, observed that he had a little beard, and he knew very well that Hurons never had any. His chin was somewhat hairy, and he was therefore the son of a European. My brother and sister-in-law were never seen after the expedition against the Hurons in 1669. My nephew must have been sucking at the breast. The Huron nurse has preserved his life and been a mother to him. At length, after a hundred questions and answers, the prior and his sister concluded that the Huron was their own nephew. They embraced him, whilst tears streamed from their eyes, and the Huron laughed to think that an Indian should be the nephew to a prior in Lower Brittany. All the company went downstairs. Monsieur de Saint-Ives, who was a great physiognomist, compared the two pictures with the Huron's countenance. They observed, very skillfully, that he had the mother's eyes, the forehead and nose of the late Captain Kirkabon, and the cheeks common to both. Mademoiselle Saint-Ives, who had never seen either father or mother, was strenuously of the opinion that the young man had a perfect resemblance of them. They all admired the providence and the interconnectedness of the events of this world. In a word they were so persuaded, so convinced, the birth of the Huron, that he himself consented to be the prior's nephew, saying that he would soon have him for his uncle as another. He went to return thanks in the church of Our Lady of the Mountain, whilst the Huron, with an air of indifference, amused himself with drinking in the house. The English, who had brought him over, and who were ready to set sail, came to tell him that it was time to depart. Probably, said he to them, you have not met with any of your uncles or aunts. I shall stay here. Go you back to Plymouth. I give you all my clothes, as I no longer have any occasion for things of this world, since I am the nephew of a prior. The English set sail without being at all concerned whether the Huron had any relations or not in lower Brittany. After the uncles, the aunt, and the company had sung to Dayum, after the Bailiff had once more overwhelmed the Huron with questions, after they had exhausted all their astonishment, joy and tenderness, the prior of the mountain and the Abbey St. Ives concluded that the Huron should be baptized with all possible expedition. The case was very different to the tall, robust Indian of twenty-two than an infant who was regenerated without his knowing anything of the matter. It was necessary to instruct him, and this appeared difficult, for the Abbey St. Ives supposed that a man who was not born in France could not be endowed with common sense. The prior indeed observed to the company that though, in fact, the ingenuous gentleman, his nephew, was not so fortunate as to be born in lower Brittany, he was not upon that account any way deficient in sense, which might be concluded from all his answers, and that doubtless nature had greatly favoured him as well on his father as on his mother's side. He was then asked if he had ever read any book. He said he had read Rabelais translated into English, and some passages in Shakespeare which he knew by heart that these books belonged to the captain on board whose ship he came from America to Plymouth, and that he was very well pleased with them. The bailiff failed not, putting many questions to him concerning these books. I acknowledged, said the Huron, I thought I understood some things, but not the whole. The Abbey of St. Ives reflected upon this discourse that it was in this manner that he had always read, and that most men read no other way. Have you, said he to the Huron, doubtless read the Bible? Never, Monsieur Abbey. It was not among the captain's books, I have never heard it mentioned. This is the way of those cursed English, said Mademoiselle Kirkabon. They mined more a piece of Shakespeare's, a plum pudding, or a bottle of rum than they do the Pentateuch. They have never converted any Indian in America. They are certainly cursed by God, and we shall conquer Jamaica and Virginia from them in a very short time. Be this as it may, the most skillful tailor in all St. Molo was sent for, to dress the Huron from head to foot. The company separated, and the bailiff went elsewhere to display his inquisitiveness. Mademoiselle St. Ives, in parting, returned several times along Stranger, and made him lower curtsies than ever she did anyone in her whole life. The bailiff, before he took his leave, presented Mademoiselle St. Ives with a stupid dalt of his son, just come from college, but she scarce looked at him, so much was she taken up with the politeness of the Huron. This is the end of chapters one and two of the sincere Huron by Voltaire. Chapters three through seven of the sincere Huron or L'Angeneux. This is a LibriVox recording in the public domain. This recording by Roy Schreiber. Chapter three, the Huron converted. The prior, finding that he was somewhat advanced in years, and that God had sent him a nephew for his consolation, took it into his head that he would resign benefit in his favour if he succeeded in baptising him and of making him enter into orders. The Huron had an excellent memory. The firmness of the organs of lower Brittany, strengthened by the climate of Canada, had made his head so vigorous that when he was struck upon it, he scarce felt it, and when anything was graven in it, nothing could efface it. Nothing had ever escaped his memory. His infancy had not been loaded with useless fool-aries which overwhelm ours. Things entered into his head without being clouded. The prior at length resolved to make him read the New Testament. The Huron devoured it with great pleasure, but not knowing at what time or in what country all the adventures related in this book had happened, he did not in the least doubt that the action had been lower Brittany and he swore that he would cut off capises and Pontius Pilate's ears if he ever met those scoundrels. His uncle, charmed with these good dispositions, soon brought him to the point. He applauded his zeal, but at the same time acquainted him that it was needless as these people had been dead upwards of sixteen hundred and ninety years. The Huron soon got the whole part. He sometimes proposed difficulties that greatly embarrassed the prior. He was often obliged to consult the Abbey St. Ives who, not knowing what to answer, brought a Jesuit of lower Brittany to perfect the conversion of the Huron. Grace at length operated and the Huron promised to become a Christian. He did not doubt but that the first step toward it was circumcision. Four said he, I do not find in the book that it was not circumcised. It is therefore evident that I must make a sacrifice of my foreskin and the sooner the better. He sent for the surgeon of the village and desired him to perform the operation thinking thereby greatly to rival Joyce, Mademoiselle Kirkabon and all the company when the thing was once done. The surgeon would never perform such an operation. Quated the family who screamed out the good Kirkabon trembled lest her nephew whom she knew unskillfully himself and that fatal consequences should ensue in which the ladies through the goodness of their hearts are always concerned. The prior rectified the Huron's mistake, representing to him that circumcision was no longer in fashion, that baptism was much more gentle and salutary, that the law of grace was not like the law of rigor. The Huron, who had much good sense and was well disposed disputed, but soon acknowledged his error. Seldom happens in Europe among disputants. In a word he promised to let himself be baptized whenever they pleased. It was necessary that he should go previously to confession, and this was the greatest difficulty to surmount. The Huron had constantly in his pocket. The book his uncle had given him. He did not find there that a single apostle had ever been confessed, and this made him very restive. The prior silenced him by showing him, in the epistle of St. James the Minor, these words confess your sins to one another. The Huron was mute, and confessed his sins to a recollette. When he had done, he dragged the recollette from the confessional chair, seizing him with a vigorous arm, placed himself in his seat, making the recollect kneel before him. Come, my friend, it is said to one another, I have related my sins to you. You shall not stir until you recount yours. Whilst he said this, he fixed his great knee against his adversary's stomach. The recollect roared and groaned until he made the church echo. The noise brought people to his assistance, who found the catechumen cuffing the monk in the name of St. James the Minor. The joy at baptizing at once a lower Briton, a Huron, and an Englishman, surmounted all these singularities. There were even some theologians of the opinion that confession was not necessary as baptism supplied the place of everything. The bishop of St. Marlowe was chosen for the ceremony, who, flattered as may be believed at baptizing a Huron, arrived in a pompous equipage followed by his clergy. Mademoiselle St. Ives put on the best gown to bless God and sent for a hairdresser from St. Marlowe to shine at the ceremony. The inquisitive bailiff brought the whole country with him. The church was magnificently ornamented, but when the Huron was summoned to attend the baptismal font he was not to be found. His uncle and aunt sought for him everywhere. It was imagined he was gone hunting according to his usual custom. Everyone convened to the festival, searched the neighboring woods and villages, but no intelligence could be obtained of the Huron. They began to fear he was returned to England. Some remembered that he had said he was very fond of that country. The prior and his sister were persuaded that nobody was baptized there, and were troubled for their nephew's soul. The bishop was confounded and ready to return home. The prior and the abbey were in despair. The bailiff interrogated all passengers with his usual gravity. Mademoiselle Kirkabon melted into tears. Mademoiselle St. Ives did not weep, but she vented such deep size as seemed to testify to her sacramental disposition. They were walking in this melancholy mood among the willows and the reeds upon the banks of the Little River Rents. When they perceived in the middle of the stream a large figure, tolerably white, with its two arms across its breast, they screamed out and ran away, with curiosity being stronger than any other consideration. They slipped softly among the reeds, and when they were pretty certain they could not be seen, they were willing to decry what it was. Chapter 4 The Huron Baptized. The prior and the abbey having run to the riverside, they asked the Huron what he was doing. In faith, said he, gentlemen, I am waiting to be baptized. I have been an hour in the water up to my neck, and I do not think it's civil to let me be quite spent. My dear nephew said the prior to him tenderly, this is not the way of being baptized in lower Brittany. Put on your clothes and come with us. Mademoiselle St. Ives listening to the discourse said in a whisper to her companion, Mademoiselle, do you think he will put on his clothes in such a hurry? The Huron, however, replied to the prior. You will not make me believe now as you did before. I have studied very well since, and I am very certain that there is no other kind of baptism. The eunuch of Queen Candace was baptized in a rivulet. I defy you to show me in the book you gave me that people were ever baptized any other way. I either will not be baptized at all, for the ceremony shall be performed in the river. It was in vain to remonstrate to him that customs altered. He was headstrong for he was both a Breton and a Huron. He always returned to the eunuch of Queen Candace, and though Mademoiselle and his aunt who had observed him through the willows were authorized to tell him that he had no right to quote such a man, they nevertheless said nothing, so great was their discretion. The bishop came himself to speak to him which was a great thing, but he could not prevail. The Huron disputed him, show me, said he, in the book my uncle gave me, one single man that was baptized in a river, and I will do whatever you please. His aunt, in despair, had observed the first time her nephew bowed. He made a much lower bow to Mademoiselle's St. Ives than to anyone in the company that he had not even saluted the bishop with so much respect blended with cordiality, as he did that agreeable young lady. She thought it advisable to apply to her in this great embarrassment. She entreated her to use her influence to engage the Huron, to be baptized according to the custom of Brittany, thinking that her nephew could never be a Christian if he persisted in being christened in a stream. Mademoiselle St. Ives blushed at the secret pleasure of being appointed to execute so important a commission. She modestly approached the Huron and, squeezing his hand in quite a noble manner, she said to him, what would you do nothing to please me? And in uttering these words she raised her eyes from a downcast look into a grateful tenderness. Oh yes, Mademoiselle, everything you require, all that you command, Mademoiselle St. Ives had the glory of affecting in two words, what neither the importunities of the prior, the repeated interrogations of the bailiff, for the reasoning of the bishop could affect. She was sensible of her triumph, but she was not yet sensible of its utmost latitude. Baptism was administered and received with all decency, magnificence, and propriety possible. His uncle and aunt yielded to the Abbey St. Ives and his sister the favor of supporting the Huron upon the font. Mademoiselle St. Ives eyes sparkled with joy at being a godmother. She was ignorant of the full extent to which this high title subjected her. She accepted the honor without being acquainted with its fatal consequences. As there never was any ceremony that was not followed by a good dinner, she would be seated at table after the christening. The humorous of Lower Brittany said they did not choose to have their wine baptized. A prior said that wine, according to Solomon, cherished the heart of man. The bishop added that the patriarch Judea ought to have tied his ascult to the wine and steeped his cloak in the blood of the grape, and that he was sorry for not allotted vines. Everyone endeavored to say a good thing upon the Huron's christening and strokes of gallantry to the godmother. The bailiff, ever interrogating, asked the Huron if he was faithful in keeping his promises. How, said he, can I fail to keep them since I have deposited them in the hands of Mademoiselle St. Ives. Huron grew warm. He had drank plentifully with health. If, said he, I had been baptized with your hand, I feel that the water which was poured upon the nape of my neck would have burnt me. The bailiff thought this was too poetical, being ignorant that allegory is a familiar figure in Canada, but his godmother was very well pleased. Huron had, at his baptism, received the name of Hercules. The bishop of St. Marlowe frequently inquired who was this titular saint whom he had never heard mentioned before. The Jesuit, who was a very learned man, told him that he was a saint who had wrought twelve miracles. There was a thirteenth, which was well worth the other twelve, but it was not proper for a Jesuit to mention it. It was the transforming of fifty girls into women in one night's time. A wag, who is present, related this miracle very feelingly. They both cast down their eyes and judged from the physiognomy of the Huron that he was worthy of the saint whose name he bore. Chapter 5 The Huron in Love It must be acknowledged that from the time of this christening and this dinner Mademoiselle St. Ives passionately wished that the bishop would make her again an assistant with Monsieur Hercules in some other fine ceremony. However, as she was well brought up very modest, she did not dare entirely agree with herself in regard to these tender sentiments. But, if a look, a word, a gesture, a thought, escape from her, she concealed it admirably well under the veil of modesty. She was tender, lively, and sagacious. As soon as the bishop was gone, the Huron and Mademoiselle St. Ives met together, without thinking they were in search of one another. They spoke together without premeditating and they said, the sincere youth immediately declared that he loved her with all his heart and that the beauteous Abba Caba with whom he had been desperately in love in his own country was far inferior to her. Mademoiselle replied with her usual modesty that the prior her uncle and the lady her aunt should be spoken to immediately and that, on her side, she would say a few words to her dear brother, the Abba of St. Ives and that she flattered herself to meet with no opposition. The youth replied that the consent of anyone was entirely superfluous, that it appeared to him extremely ridiculous to go and ask others what they were to do, that when two parties were agreed, there was no occasion for a third to accomplish their union. I never consult with anyone, said he, when I have a mind to breakfast, to hunt, or to sleep. I am sensible, but in love it is not a miss to have the consent of the person whom we wish for, but as I am neither in love with my uncle nor my aunt I have no occasion to address myself to them in this affair, and if you will believe me, you may equally dispense with the advice of the Abba St. Ives. It may be supposed that the young lady exerted all the delicacy of her wit to bring the Huron to the terms of good-breeding. She was even angry, but soon softened. In a word, it cannot be said how the conversation would have ended if the declining day had not brought the Abba, the conductor's sister home. The Huron left his uncle and aunt to rest, being somewhat fatigued with the ceremony and their long dinner. He passed part of the night in writing verses in the Huron language upon his well-beloved, for it should be known there is no country where love has not rendered lovers poets. The next day his uncle spoke to him in the following manner after breakfast in the presence of Mademoiselle Kirkabon, who was quite melted at the discourse. Heaven be praised that you have the honour, my dear nephew, to be a Christian of lower Brittany. But this is not enough. I am somewhat advanced in years. My brother has left only a little bit of ground, which is a very small matter. I have a good priory. If you will only make yourself sub-Diquan, as I hope you will, I will resign my priory in your favour and you will live quite at your ease after having been the consolation of my old age. The Huron replied, Uncle, much may be due you. Live as long as you can. I do not know what it is to be a sub-Diquan or what it is to resign, but everything will be agreeable to me, provided I have Mademoiselle St. Ives at my disposal. Good God, nephew! What is it you say? You love young lady to distraction? Yes, Uncle. Alas, nephew, it is impossible you should ever marry her. It is very possible, Uncle, for she not only squeezed my hand when she left me, but she promised she would ask me in marriage. I certainly shall wed her. It is impossible, I tell you, she is your godmother. It is a dreadful sin for a godmother to give her hand to her godson. It is contrary to all laws human and divine. Why the deuce, Uncle, should it be forbidden to marry one's godmother when she is young and handsome? I do not find in the book you gave me that it was wrong to marry young women who assisted in christenings. I perceive every day that an infinite number of things are done here which are not in your book, and nothing is done that is said in it. I must acknowledge to you that this astonishes and displeases me. If I am deprived of the charming Mademoiselle St. Ives on account of my baptism I give you notice. I will run away with her and un-baptize myself. The prior was confounded. His sister wept. My dear brother, said she, our nephew must not damn himself. Our holy father, the pope can give him a dispensation and then he may be happy in a christen-like manner, the person he likes. The ingenuous Hercules embraced his aunt. For God's sake, said he, who is this charming man, who is so gracious as to promote the amours of girls and boys, I will go and speak to him this instant. The dignity and character of the pope was explained to him, and the Huron was still more astonished than before. My dear uncle, said he, there is not a word of all this in your book. I have traveled and am acquainted with the sea. We are now upon the coast of the ocean and I must leave Mademoiselle St. Ives to go and ask her to leave to have her of a man who lives towards the Mediterranean 400 leagues from hence and whose language I do not understand. This is most incomprehensibly ridiculous, but I will go first to the Abbey of St. Ives who lives only a league from hence and I promise you, I will wed my mistress before night. Whilst he was yet speaking, the bailiff entered and, according to his usual custom, asked him where he was going. I am going to be married, replied the ingenuous Hercules running along. In less than a quarter of an hour he was with his charming dear mistress who was still asleep. Ah, my dear brother, said Mademoiselle Kirkabon to the prior, who will never make a sub-deacon of our nephew. The bailiff was very much displeased at this journey, for he had laid claim to Mademoiselle St. Ives in favor of his son, who is still greater and more insupportable than his father. Chapter 6 The Huron flies to his mistress and becomes quite furious. No sooner had the ingenuous Hercules reached the house than having asked an old servant which was his mistress's apartment he forced open the door, which was badly fastened, and flew toward the bed. Mademoiselle St. Ives startled out of her sleep, cried Ah, what? Is it you? Stop! What are you about? He answered, I am going to marry, and I would actually have consummated nuptials if she had not opposed him with all the decency of a young lady so well educated. The Huron did not understand railering. He found all these evasions extremely impertinent. Miss Abba Caba, my first mistress, did not behave in this manner. You have no honesty. You promised me marriage and you will not marry. This is being deficient in the first law of honor. I will teach you to keep your word and I will replace you in virtue. He possessed an intrepid masculine virtue worthy of his namesake Hercules, whose name he was given at his christening, and he was going to practice it in all its latitude, and the alarming outcries of the lady, more discreetly virtuous, brought the sagacious Abba to St. Ives and his housekeeper, an old devotee servant, and the parish priest. The sight of these moderated the courage of the assailant. Good God cried the Abba. My dear neighbor, what are you about? My duty! replied the young man. I am fulfilling my promises which are sacred. Mademoiselle St. Ives adjusted herself, not without blushing. The lover was conducted into another apartment. The Abba remonstrated to him the enormity of his conduct. The Huron defended himself upon the privileges of the law of nature, and she understood perfectly well. The Abba maintained that the law positive should be allowed all its advantages without. Conventions agreed upon between man, the law of nature would almost constantly be nothing more than natural felony. Notaries, priests, witnesses, contracts, and dispensations are absolutely necessary. The ingenuous Hercules made answer with the observation constantly adopted by savages. You are then great rogues since so many precautions are necessary. This remark somewhat disconcerted the Abba. There are, I acknowledge, libertines and cheats among us, and there would be as many among the Hurons if they were united in a great city. But at the same time we have discreet, honest, enlightened people, and these are the men who have framed the laws. The more upright we are, more readily we should submit to them, as we thereby set an example to the vicious who respect those bounds which virtue has given herself. This answer struck the Huron. It has already been observed that his mind was well disposed. He was softened by flattering speeches which promised him hopes all the world is caught in these snares, and Mademoiselle St. Ives herself appeared after having been at her toilet. Everything was now conducted with the utmost good-breeding, but notwithstanding this decorum, sparkling eyes of the ingenuous Hercules constantly made his mistress blush, and the company tremble. It was with much difficulty he was sent back to his relations. It was again necessary for the charming Mademoiselle St. Ives to interfere. The more she found the influence she had upon him, the more she loved him. She made him depart, and was much afflicted at it. At length, when he was gone, the Abe, who was not only Mademoiselle St. Ives' elder brother by many years, but also her guardian, endeavored to wean his word from the importunities of the dreadful lover, he went to consult the bailiff who had always intended his son for the Abe's sister, and advised him to place the poor girl in a convent. This was a terrible stroke. Such a measure would to a young lady unaffected with any particular passion have been inexpressible punishment, but to a love-sick maid equally sagacious and tender it was despair itself. When the ingenuous Hercules returned to the priors, he related all that had happened with his usual frankness. He met with the same remonstrances which had some effect upon his mind, though none upon his senses. But the next day, when he wanted to return to his mistress, in order to reason with her upon the law of nature and the law of convention, the bailiff acquainted him with insulting joy that she was in a convent. Very well said he, I'll go, you're in this convent. That cannot be, said the bailiff, and then entered into a long explanation of the nature of a convent, telling him that this word was derived from conventus in Latin, which signifies an assembly. The Huron could not comprehend why he might not be admitted to this assembly. He was informed that this assembly was a kind of prison in which girls were shut up, a shonking institution unknown in Hurania and in England. He became furious, as was his namesake Hercules, when the rightus, king of the ochalia, not less cruel than the abbey of St. Ives, refused him the beauteous Iola, his daughter, not inferior in beauty, to the abbey's sister. He was upon the point of going to set fire to the convent and to carry off his mistress or be burnt with her. Mademoiselle terrified at such a declaration gave up all hope of ever seeing her nephew a subdeacon, and weeping said, the devil was certainly in him since he has been christened. The Huron repulses the English. The ingenuous Hercules walked toward the sea-coast, wrapped in a deep and gloomy melancholy with his double-charged fusée upon his shoulder and his cutlass by his side, shooting now and then a bird and often tempted to shoot himself, but he had still some affection for life for the sake of his dear mistress. By Tern's cursing his uncle and aunt all lower Brittany and his christening and then blessing them as they had introduced him to the knowledge of her he loved, he resolved upon going to burn the convent and he stopped short for fear of burning his mistress. The waves of the channel are not more agitated by the easterly and westerly winds than was his heart so many contrary emotions. He was walking very fast along without knowing whether he was going when he heard the beat of a drum. He saw at a great distance a vast multitude, part of whom ran toward the coast and the other part flew from it. A thousand shrieks echoed on every side. Curiosity and courage hurried him that instant toward the spot where the greatest clamor arose which he attained in a few steps. The commander of the militia who had supped with him at the priors knew him immediately and he ran to the Huron with open arms. Ah, it is the sincere American! He will fight for us upon which the militia, which were almost dead with fear, recovered themselves crying out with one voice it is the Huron, the ingenuous Huron. Gentlemen, said he, what is the matter? Why are you so scared? Have they shut your mistresses up in convents? Instantly a thousand confused voices cried out Do you not see the English who are landing? Very well, said the Huron. They are brave people. They never proposed making me a subdeacon. They never carried off my mistress. The commander made him understand that they were coming to pillage the abbey of the mountain, drink his uncle's wine, and perhaps carry off at Moselle Saint Ives. That the little vessel which had set him on shore in Brittany had come only to reconnoiter the coast. That they were committing acts of hostility without having declared war against France, and that the province was entirely exposed to them. If this be the case, said he, they violate the law of nature. Let me alone. I lived a good while among them. I am acquainted with their language, and I will speak to them. I cannot think they have so wicked a design. During this conversation, the English fleet approached. The Huron ran toward it, and having jumped into a little boat soon rode to the Admiral's ship, and, having gone on board, asked whether it was true that they were come to ravage the coast without having honestly declared war. The Admiral and all his crew burst into laughter, made him drink some punch, and sent him back. The ingenuous Hercules, peaked at this reception, thought now of nothing else but beating his old friends for his countrymen and the prior. The gentlemen of the neighborhood ran from all quarters and joined them. They had some cannon, and he discharged them one after the other. The English landed, and he flew toward them when he killed three of them with his own hands. He even wounded the Admiral, who had made a joke of him. The whole militia were animated with his prowess. The English returned to their ships, and went on board, and the whole coast echoed with the shouts of victory. Long live the King! Long live the ingenuous Hercules! Everyone ran to embrace him. Everyone strove to stop the bleeding of some slight wounds he had received. Ah, said he, if Mademoiselle St. Ives were here, she would put on a plaster from me. The bailiff who had hid himself in his cellar during the battle, came to pay his compliments like the rest. But he was greatly surprised when he heard the ingenuous Hercules say to a dozen young men, well disposed for his service, who surrounded him. My friends, having delivered the Abbey of the Mountains, is nothing. We must rescue a hymnth. The warm blood of these youth were fired at the expression. He was already followed by crowds who repaired to the convent if the bailiff had not immediately acquainted the commandant with their design, and he had not sent a detachment after the joyous troop. The thing would have been done. The Huron was conducted back to his uncle and aunt, who overwhelmed him with tears and tenderness. I see very well, said his uncle, that you will never be either a officer, and one still braver than my brother, the captain, and probably as poor. Mademoiselle Kirkabon could not stop an incessant flood of tears, while she embraced him, saying, he will be killed, too, like my brother. It were much better he were a subdeacon. The Huron had, during the battle, picked up a large purse full of guineas, which probably the Admiral lost. He had no doubt that this purse could buy all and above all make Mademoiselle St. Ives a great lady. Everyone persuaded him to repair to Versailles to receive the recompense to his service. The commandant and the principal officers furnished him with certificates in abundance. The uncle and aunt also approved this journey. He was to be presented to the king without any difficulty. This alone would give him great weight in the province. These two good folks went to the English purse a considerable present out of their own savings. The Huron said to himself, when I see the king I will ask Mademoiselle St. Ives of him in marriage, and certainly he will not refuse me. He set out accordingly amidst the acclamations of the whole district, stifled with embraces, bathed in tears by his aunt, blessed by his uncle, and recommending himself to the charming Mademoiselle St. Ives. CHAPTER 8 The Huron goes to court, subs upon the road with some Huguenots. The ingenuous Hercules took to some more road in the coach, because that was, at that time, the only conveyance. Mademoiselle St. Ives of him in marriage, he was to be presented to the king. Mademoiselle St. Ives of him in marriage, he was to be presented to the king. Mademoiselle St. Ives of him at that time, the only conveyance. When he came to some more, he was astonished to find the city almost deserted, and see several families going away. He was told that half a dozen years before, some more contained upwards of 50,000 inhabitants, and that at present there were not 6,000. He mentioned this at an inn whilst he stopped. Several Protestants were at table, some complained bitterly, others trembled with rage, others said, we abandon our sweet fields, we fly our country, and why do you fly from your country, gentlemen, because we must otherwise acknowledge the pope, and why not acknowledge him? Have you no godmothers? Then that you want to marry, for I am told that he is the one that grants this permission. Ah, sir, the pope says that he is master of the domains of kings. Here we are, for the most part, drapers and manufacturers. If the pope says he is the master of your clothes and manufactures, you do very well not to acknowledge him. But as to kings, this is their business, and why do you trouble yourself with it? Here a little black man took up the argument, and very learnedly set forth the grievances of the company. He talked of the revocation in a pathetic manner the fate of 50,000 fugitive families and of 50,000 others converted by dragoons, that the ingenuous Hercules could not refrain from shedding tears. Wentz arises, said he, that so great a king, whose renowned expands itself even to the Hurons, should thus deprive himself of so many hearts that would have loved him, and so many arms that would have served him. Just upon, like other great kings, replied the little orator, he has been made to believe that as soon as he utters a word all people think as he does, and that he can make us change our religion just as his musician Lully in a moment changes the decorations of his opera. He has not only already lost five or six hundred thousand very useful subjects, but he has turned many of them into enemies, and King of England, who is at this time master of England, has composed several regiments of these identical Frenchmen who otherwise would have fought for their monarch. Such a disaster is the more astonishing as the present pope to whom Louis XIV sacrifices a part of his people is his declared enemy. A violent quarrel has subsisted between them for near nine years. It has been carried so far that France was in hopes of casting off the yoke by which it has been kept in subjugation for so many ages to this foreigner, and more particularly, of not giving him any more money, which is the prime business of the affairs of this world. Therefore appears evident that this great king has been imposed upon as well with respect to his interest as the extent of his power and that even the magnanimity of his heart has been struck at. The Huron melted more and more and asked, who were the Frenchmen who thus deceived a monarch so dear to the Hurons? They are the Jesuits, he was answered and particularly Father Lechez, the king's confessor. It is to be hoped that God will one day punish them for it, and that they will be driven out as they now drive us. Can any misfortune equal ours? Mechur Levois sets us on all sides with Jesuits and Dragoons. Well, gentlemen, replied the Huron who could contain himself no longer. I am going to Versailles to receive the recompense of my services. I will speak to Mechur Levois. I am told it is he who makes war from his closet. I shall see the king, and I will acquaint him with the truth. It is impossible not to yield to this truth when it is felt. I shall return very soon to marry Mademoiselle Saint-Ives, and I beg you to present at our nuptials. These good people now took him for some great Lord who traveled incognito in the coach. Some took him for the king's fool. There was at table a disguised Jesuit who acted as a spy for the Reverend Father Lechez. He gave him an account of everything that passed, and Father Lechez reported what the spy wrote to Mechur Levois. The Huron in the letter arrived almost at the same time at Versailles. Chapter 9 The Arrival of the Huron at Versailles Reception at court The ingenuous Huron was set down from a po de chambre a vehicle that goes from Paris to Versailles which resembles a little-covered bumble in the court of the kitchens. He asked the chairman what hour the king can be seen. The chairman laughed in his face just as the English admiral had done, and he beat them. They were for retaliation, and the scene had like to have proved bloody if a life-guardsman who was a gentleman of Brittany had not passed by and dispersed the mob. Sir, said the traveler to him, you appear to me to be a brave man. I am nephew to the prior of our lady of the mountain. I have killed Englishmen, and I have come to speak to the king. I beg you will conduct me to the king. I am a bolder, ravished to find a man of courage from his province who did not seem equated with the customs of the court, told him that this was not the manner of speaking to the king, that it was necessary to be presented by Monsieur de Levoix. Very well, then, conduct me to Monsieur Levoix, who will doubtless conduct me to the king. It is more difficult, commissioner at war, and this will be just the same as if you spoke to the minister. They accordingly repair to M. Alexander's, who is First Clark, but they cannot be introduced. He being closely engaged in business with the lady of the court, and no person is allowed admittance." "'Well,' said the life-guardsman, there is no harm done. Let us go to M. Alexander's, First Clark. This will be just the same as if you spoke to M. Alexander himself. The Huron, quite astonished, followed him. They remained together a half hour in a little anti-chamber." "'What is this?' said the ingenuous Huron. Is all the world invisible in this country? It is much easier to fight in lower Brittany against Englishmen than to meet with people at Versailles with whom one half-business." He then amused himself for some time with relating his amours to his countrymen. But the clock-striking recalled a soldier to his post. When a mutual promise was given of meeting on the morrow, the Huron remained another half-hour in the anti-chamber, ruminating upon Mademoiselle St. Ives and the difficulty of speaking to kings and First Clarks. At length the patron appeared. "'Sir,' said the ingenuous Hercules, if I had waited to repulse the English as long as you have made me wait for my audience, they would certainly have ravaged all of lower Brittany without opposition.' These words struck Clark. He at length said to the inhabitant of Brittany, "'What is your request?' "'A recompense,' said the other. "'These are my titles,' showing his certificates. The Clark read and told him that probably he might obtain leave to purchase a lieutenancy. "'Me? What? Must I pay money for having repulse the English? Must I pay a tax to be killed for you whilst you are peaceably giving your audiences here? You are certainly jesting.' "'I require a company of cavalry for nothing. I require the king shall set Mademoiselle St. Ives at liberty from the convent, and that he give her to me in marriage. I want to speak to the king in favor of fifty thousand families whom I propose restoring to him. In a word I want to be useful. Let me be employed and advanced.' "'What is your name, sir, who talk in such a high style?' "'Oh, oh,' answered the Huron. "'You have not then read my certificates? This is the way. They are treated. My name is Hercules de Curcobon. I am christened, and I am lodged at the Blue Dial.' The Clark concluded, like the people of Samour, that his head was turned, and did not pay him any further attention. The same day the Reverend Father de La Ches, confessor to Louis XIV, received his spies' letter, which accused the Breton Curcobon of favoring in his heart the Huguenots and condemning the conduct of the Jesuits. M. de Lavoie had, on his side, received a letter from the inquisitive Bailiff, which depicted the Huron as a wicked lewd fellow inclined to burn convents and carry off the nuns. Hercules, after having walked in the gardens of Versailles, which had become irksome to him, after having supper, like a native of Huronia and lower Brittany, had gone to rest in the pleasing hope of seeing the King the next day, obtaining Mademoiselle St. Ives in marriage, having, at least, a company of cavalry, and of setting aside the persecution against the Huguenots. He was rocking himself asleep, with these flattering ideas, when the constables entered his chamber and seized upon his double-charged fuset and his great saber. He took in an inventory of his ready money, and then conducted him to the castle erected by King Charles V, son of John II, near the street of St. Antoine, at the gate of the Tournelles. What was the Huron's astonishment in his way thither the reader is left to imagine? He at first fancied it was all a dream, and remained for some time in a state of stupefication, presently transported with rage that gave him more than common strength. He collared two of his conductors who were with him in the coach, flung them out the door, cast himself after them, and then dragged the third who wanted to hold him. He fell in the attempt, and then they tied him up and replaced him in the carriage. This, then, said he, is what one gets for driving the English out of lower Brittany. What would you say, my charming Mademoiselle St. Ives, if you could see me in this situation? They at length arrived at the place of their destination. He was carried without any noise into the chamber in which he was to be locked up like a dead corpse going into the grave. This room was already occupied by an old solitary student of Port Royle named Gordon, who had been languishing there for two years. See, said the chief of the constables, here is company I bring you, and immediately the enormous bolts on this strong door, secured with large iron bars, were fastened upon them. These two captives were thus separated from all the universe besides. CHAPTER X The Huron is shut up in the Bastille with a Jansenist. Monsieur Gordon was a healthy old man of serene disposition, who was acquainted with two great things. The one was to bear adversity, the other to console the afflicted. He approached his companion with an open sympathizing air, and said to him, whilst he embraced him, Whoever thou art that has come to partake of my grave, be assured that I shall constantly forget myself to soften your torments in the infernal abyss wherein we are plunged. Let us adore providence that has conducted us here. Let us suffer in peace and trust in hope. These words had the same effect upon the youth as English drops, which recall a dying person to life and show to his astonish eyes a glimpse of light. After the first compliments were over, Gordon, without urging him to relate the cause of his misfortune, inspired him by the sweetness of his discourse, and by that interest which two unfortunate persons share with each other, with the desire of opening his heart, and of disburdening himself of the weight which oppressed him. He could not guess the cause of his misfortune, and the good man Gordon was as much astonished as himself. God must doubtless, said the Jansenist to the Huron, have great designs upon you, since he conducted you from Lake Ontario into England, from Fence into France, caused you to be baptized in Lower Brittany, and has now lodged you here for your salvation. The faith says, Hercules, I believe the devil alone has interfered in my destiny. My countrymen in America would never have treated me with the barbarity I have experienced. They have not the least idea of it. They are called savages, they are good people, but rustic, and the men of this country are refined villains. I am indeed, said he, greatly surprised, to have come from another world to be shut up under four bolts with a priest. But when I consider what an infinite number of men set out from one hemisphere to go and get killed in the other, and are cast away in the voyage, and are eaten by the fishes, I cannot discover the gracious designs of God over all these people. Their dinner was brought them through a wicket. The conversation turned upon providence, letters of cachet, and upon the art of not sinking under disgrace to which all men in this world are exposed. It is two years since I have been here, said the old man, without any other consolation than myself and books, and yet I have never been a single moment out of temper. I am assured, Gordon, cried Hercules, you are not then in love with your godmother. If you were as well acquainted with Madam Ozel St. Ives as I am, you would be in a state of desperation. But these words he could not refrain from tears, which greatly relieved him from his oppression. How is it, then, that tears solace us? It seems to me that they should have quite the opposite effect. My son, said the good old man, everything is physical about us. All secretions are useful to the body, and all that comforts it comforts the soul. We are the machines of providence. The ingenuous Huron, who as we have already observed more than once, had a great share of understanding, entered deeply into consideration of this idea, the seeds whereof appeared to be within himself. After which he asked his companion why his machine, for two years, had been confined by four bolts. By effectual grace, answered Gordon, I pass for a Jansenist. I know Arno and Nicole, the Jesuits have persecuted us. We believe that the Pope is nothing more than a bishop. Like another, and therefore Father Lecheze has obtained from the King his penitent and order for robbing me without any justice of the most precious inheritance of man, liberty. This is strange, said the Huron. All the unhappy people I have met with have been made solely by the Pope. With respect to your effectual grace I acknowledge I do not understand what you mean, but I consider it as a great favor that God has let me, in my misfortune, meet a man who pours into my heart such consolations as I thought myself incapable of receiving. The conversation became each day more interesting and instructive. The souls of the two captives seemed to unite in one body. The old man knew a great deal, and the young man was willing to acquire much instruction. At the end of the first month he eagerly applied himself to the study of geometry. The young man made him read Raoul's physics, which book was still in fashion, and he had good sense enough to find in it nothing but doubts and uncertainties. He afterwards read the first volume of the inquiry after truth. This instructive work gave him new light. What said he? Does our imagination and our senses deceive us to that degree? What? Are not our ideas formed by objects? Can we not acquire them by ourselves? When he had gone through the second volume, he was not so well satisfied, and he concluded it was much easier to destroy than to build. His colleague, astonished that a young ignoramus should make such a remark, conceived a very high opinion of his understanding, and was more strongly attached to him. Your Mollebranche, said he to Gordon one day, seems to have written half his book whilst in possession of his reason, and the other half in the assurance only of imagination and prejudice. Some days after, Gordon asked him what he thought of the soul and the manner in which we receive our ideas of volition, grace, and free agency. Nothing, replied the Huron, if I think something is that we are under the power of the eternal being, like the stars and the elements, that he operates everything in us, that we are small wheels of an immense machine, of which he is the soul, that he acts according to general law, not from particular views. This is all that appears to me intelligible. All the rest is to me a dark abyss. But this, my son, would be making God the author of sin. But, Father, your effectual grace would equally make him the author of sin, for certainly all those to whom his grace was refused with sin, and not he who gives up the evil, the author of evil. This sincerity greatly embarrassed the good old man. He found that all his endeavors to extricate himself from this quagmire were ineffectual, and he heaped such quantities of words upon the other, which seemed to have meaning, but which, in fact, had none, in the style of physical promotion, that the Huron could not help pitying him. This question evidently determined the origin of good and evil, and poor Gordon was reduced to the necessity of returning to Pandora's box, or someady's egg pierced by Arameany, the enmity between Typhoon and Osiris, and at last original sin, and these he grouped together in profound darkness, without throwing the least glimmering wealth of light upon one another. However, this romance of the soul diverted their thoughts from the contemplation of their own misery, and by a strange magic the multitude of calamities dispersed throughout the world diminished the sensation of their own miseries. They did not dare complain when all mankind was in a state of sufferance, but in the repose of night, the image of the charming Mademoiselle St. Ives afaced from the mind of her lover, every metaphysical and moral idea, he awoke with his eyes bathed in tears, and the old Jansenist forgot his effectual grace, and the Abbey St. Cyrain and Jancinius himself to allow consolation to a youth whom he judged guilty of a mortal sin. After their lectures and their reasonings were over, their adventures furnished them with subjects of conversation, and after this store was exhausted they read together or separately. The Huron's understanding daily increased, and he would certainly have made great progress in mathematics if the thoughts of Mademoiselle St. Ives had not frequently distracted him. He read histories, which made him melancholy. The world appeared to him too wicked and too miserable. In fact, history is nothing more than a picture of crimes and misfortunes. The crowd of innocent and peaceable men are always invisible upon this vast theater. The Dramatis personae are composed of ambitious perverse men. The pleasure, which history affords, is derived from the same source as tragedy, which would languish and become insipid, were it not inspired by strong passions, great crimes, and piteous misfortunes. Clio must be armed with a poignard as well as melponnais. Though the history of France is not less filled with horrors than those of other nations, it nevertheless appeared to him so disgusting in the beginning, so dry in the continuation, and so trifling in the end, even in the time of Henry IV, ever destitute of monuments or foreign to those fine discoveries which have illuminated other nations, that he was obliged to resolve upon not being tired to go through all the particulars of obscure calamities confined to a little corner of the world. Gordon thought like him. They both laughed with pity when they read of the sovereigns of Feson-Zaks and Feson-Sagut and Astricht. Such a study could be relished only by their heirs, if they had any. The brilliant ages of Rome and Republic made him sometimes quite indifferent as to any other part of the globe. The spectacle of victorious Rome, the lawgiver of nations, engrossed his whole soul. He glowed in contemplating a people who governed for seven hundred years by the enthusiasm of liberty and glory. Thus rolled days, weeks, and months, and he would have thought himself happy in the sanctuary of despair if he had not loved. The natural goodness of his heart softened still more when he reflected upon the prior of Our Lady of the Mountain and the sensible Kirkabon, but must they think he would often repeat when they can get no tidings of me. They must think me an ungrateful wretch. This idea rendered him inconsolable. He pitied those who loved him much more than he pitied himself. CHAPTER XI. HOW THE HERON DISCLOSES HIS GENIUS. Everything aggrandizes the soul, and an enlightened friend affords consolation. Our captive had these two advantages in his favor, which he had never expected. I shall begin to believe in metamorphosis, for I have been transformed from a brute into a man. He formed a chosen library with part of the money which was allowed him to dispose of. His friend encouraged him to commit to writing such observations as occurred to him. These are his notes upon ancient history. I imagine that nations were for a long time like myself, that they did not become enlightened till very late, that for many ages they were occupied with nothing but the present moment which elapsed, that they thought very little of what passed and never of the future. I have traversed five or six hundred leagues in Canada, and I do not meet with any single monument, not one in any way acquainted with the actions of his predecessors. Is it not the natural state of man, the human species of this continent, peer to me superior to that of the other? They have extended their being for many ages by arts and knowledge. Is it because they have beards upon their chin, and God has refused this ornament to the Americans? I do not believe it. For I find the Chinese have very little beard, and that they have cultivated arts for upwards of five thousand years. In effect, if their annals go back for four thousand years, the nation must necessarily have been united and in a flourishing state more than five hundred centuries. One thing particularly strikes me in this ancient history of China, which is that almost everything is probable and natural. I admire it because it is not tinctured with anything of the miraculous. Why have all other nations adopted fabulous origins? The ancient chroniclers of the history of France, who by the by are not very ancient, make the French descended from one Frankus, the son of Hector. The Romans said they were the issue of a Phrygian, though there was not in their whole language a single word that had the least connection to the language of Phrygia. The gods had inhabited Egypt for ten thousand years, and the devils Schethea where they engendered the Huns. I meet with nothing before Thucydides, romances similar to Amidesises, and far less amusing. Apparitions, oracles, prodigies, sorceries, metamorphoses are interspersed throughout, with the explanation of dreams which are the bases of the destiny of the greatest empires and the smallest states. Here are speaking beasts, their brutes that are adored, gods transformed into men, and men into gods. If we must have fables, let us at least have such as appear the emblem of truth. I admire the fables of philosophers, but I laugh at those of children, and I hate those of imposters. One day he hit upon the history of the Emperor Justinian. It was there related that some apodities of Constantinople had delivered in very bad Greek, an edict against the greatest captain of the age, because this hero had uttered the following words in the warmth of conversation. Truth shines forth with its proper light, and people's minds are not illuminated by flaming piles. The apodities declared that this proposition was heretical, bordering on heresy, and that the contrary action was Catholic, universal, and Grecian. The minds of people are not enlightened, but with flaming piles, and truth cannot shine forth with its own light. These Linnistolians thus condemned several discourses of the captain, and published an edict. What? said the Huron with much emotion. Shall such people publish edicts? They are not edicts, replied Gordon. They are contradictions which all the world laughed at in Constantinople and the Emperor I. He was a wise prince who knew how to reduce the Linnistolian apodities to a state incapable of doing anything but good. He knew that these gentlemen, and several other pastaphors, had tried the patience of the emperors, his predecessors, with contradictions in more serious matters. He did very right, said the Huron. The pastaphors should be supported and constrained. He committed several other observations to paper, which astonished old Gordon. What? said he to himself. Have I consumed fifty years in instruction, and I fear I have not attained to the degree of natural good sense of this child, who is almost a savage. I tremble to think I have so arduously strengthened prejudice, and he listens to simple nature only. The good man had some little books of criticism. Some of those periodical pamphlets were in men incapable of producing anything themselves, blackened the productions of others, were a viset in sultz racine, a fadit fenelon. The Huron ran over some of them. I compare them to certain gnats that lodged their eggs in the posteriors of the finest horses, which do not, however, prevent their running. The two philosophers scarce-dained to cast their eyes upon these excrements of literature. They soon after went through the elements of astronomy. The Huron sent for some globes. He was ravished at this great spectacle. How hard it is, said he, that I should only begin to be acquainted with heaven when the power of contemplating it is ravished from me. Jupiter and Saturn revolve in these immense spaces. Millions of suns illuminate myrids of worlds. And in this corner of the earth, wither I am cast, there are beings that deprive me of seeing and thinking of those worlds wither my eye might reach, and even that in which God created me. The light created for the whole universe is lost to me. It is not hidden from me in the northern horizon, where I passed my infancy and youth. Without you, my dear Gordon, I should be annihilated. CHAPTER XII The Huron Sentiments Upon Theatrical Pieces The young Huron resembled one of those vigorous trees, which planted in an ungrateful soil, extends in a little time its root and branches when transferred to a more favorable spot, and it was extraordinary that this favorable spot should be a prison. Among the books which employed the leisure of the two captives were some poems, and the translation of Greek tragedies, and some dramatic pieces in French. Those passages that dwelt on love communicated at once pleasure and pain to the soul of the Huron. They were but so many images of his dear Mademoiselle St. Ives. The fable of the two pigeons rent his heart, but he was far estranged from his tender dove. Moldier enchanted him. He taught him the manners of Paris and of human nature. To which of his comedies do you give the preference, doubtless to Tartuffe? I am of your opinion, said Gordon. It was a Tartuffe that flung me into this dungeon, and perhaps they were Tartuffes who have been the cause of your misfortunes. What do you think of these Greek tragedies? They are very good for Grecians. But when he read the modern F of Genia, Phaedrus, Andromache, and Othella, he was in ecstasy. He sighed, he wept, and he learned them by heart without having any such intention. Ried Rotogun, said Gordon, that is said to be a capital production, the other pieces which have given you so much pleasure are trifles compared to this. The young man had scarce got through the first page before he said, This is not written by the same author. How do you know it? I know nothing yet, but these lines touch neither my ear nor my heart. Oh! said Gordon. The versification does not signify. The Huron asked, What must I judge by then? After having read the piece very attentively without any other design than being pleased, he looked steadfastly at his friend with astonishment, not knowing what to say. At length, being urged to give his opinion with respect to what he felt, this was the answer he made. I understood very little of the beginning, the middle disgusted me, but the last scene greatly moved me, though there appears to me but little probability in it. I have no prejudices for or against anyone, but I do not remember twenty lines, I who recollect them all when they please me. This piece nevertheless passes for the best upon our stage. If that be the case, said he, it is perhaps like many people who are not worthy of the places they hold. After all, this is a matter of taste, and mine cannot yet be formed. I may be mistaken, but you know I am accustomed to say what I think, or rather what I feel. I suspect that illusion, fashion, and caprice often warp the judgments of men. Here he repeated some lines from Effiginia, which he was full of, and though he declaimed them but indifferently, he uttered them with such truth and sensation that he made the old Jansenist weep. He then read Sinna, which did not excite his tears, but his admiration. The end of chapters 8 through 12.