 Section I, Part I of Gefantia, or a view of what has passed, what is now passing, and during the present century what will pass in the world. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kurt Ziegler, Lake Placid, FL. Gefantia. By Charles Francois, Tipsenia de la Roche. Section I, Chapter I, The Hurricane. I was on the borders of Guinea towards the deserts that bounded on the north. I contemplated the immense wilds, the very idea of which shocks the firmest mind. On a sudden I was seized with an ardent desire to penetrate into those deserts, and see how far nature denies herself to mankind. Perhaps, said I, among these scorching plains there is some fertile spot unknown to the rest of the world. Perhaps I shall find men who have neither been polished nor corrupted by commerce with others. In vain did I represent to myself the dangers and even the almost certain death to which such an enterprise would expose me. I could not drive the thought out of my head. One winter's day, for it was in the dog-days, the wind being southwest, the sky clear, and the air temperate, furnished with something to assuage hunger and thirst, with a glass mask to save my eyes from the clouds of sands, and with a compass to guide my steps. I set out from the borders of Guinea and advanced into the desert. I went on two whole days without seeing anything extraordinary. In the beginning of the third I perceived all around me nothing but a few almost sapless shrubs and some tufts of rushes, most of which were dried up by the heat of the sun. These are nature's last productions in those barren regions. Here her teeming virtue stops, nor can life be farther extended in those frightful solitudes. I had scarce continued my course two hours over a sandy soil, where I meets no object but scattered rocks, when the wind growing higher, began to put in motion the surface of the sands. At first the sand only played about the foot of the rocks and formed small waves which lightly skimmed over the plain. Such are the little billows which are seen to rise and gently roll on the surface of the water when the sea begins to grow rough at the approach of a storm. The sandy waves soon became larger, dashed and broke one another, and I was exposed to the most dreadful of hurricanes. Frequent whirlwinds arose, which collecting the sands carried them in rapid gyrations to a vast height with horrible whistlings. Instantly after the sands left to themselves fell down in straight lines and formed mountains. Clouds of dust were mixed with the clouds of the atmosphere, and heaven and earth seemed jumbled together. Sometimes the thickness of the whirlwinds deprived me entirely of the light of the sun, and sometimes red transparent sands shown from afar the air appeared in a blaze and the sky seemed to dissolve into sparks of fire. Meantime, now tossed into the air by a sudden gust of wind, and now hurled down by my own weight, I found myself one while in clouds of sand and another while in a gulf. Every moment I should have been either buried or dashed to pieces, had not a benevolent being, who will appear presently, protected me from all harm. The terrible hurricanes ceased with the day, the night was calm, and the worryness overcoming my fears I fell asleep. Chapter 2 The Fine Prospect The sun had not yet risen when I waked, but the first rays enlightened the east and objects began to be visible. Sleep had recovered my strength and called my spirits. When I was awake my fears returned, and the image of death presented itself again to my anxious thoughts. I was standing on a high rock, from whence I could view everything round me. I cast with horror my eyes on that sandy region, where I thought I should have found my grave. What was my surprise when towards the north I spied an even, vast, fertile plain. From a state of the profoundest sorrow in an instant I'd passed, which usually requires time, to a state of the highest joy. Nature put on a new face, and the frightful view of so many rocks, confusedly dispersed among the sands, served only to render more affecting and more agreeable the prospect of that delightful plain. I was going to enter. O Nature! How admirable are thy distributions! How wisely managed the various scenes thou presentest to our side! The plants, which grow on the edge of the plain, are very small. The soil does not yet supply sufficient moisture. But as you advance, vegetation flourishes, and gives them a larger size and more height. The trees are seen to rise by degrees, and soon afford a shelter under their boughs. At last, trees, co-evil with the world, appear with their tops in the clouds, and form an immense amphitheater which majestically displays itself to the eye of the traveller, and proclaims that such a habitation is not made for mortals. Everything seemed new to me in this unknown land. Everything threw me into astonishment. Not any of Nature's productions which my eyes eagerly ran over resembles those that are seen anywhere else. Trees, plants, insects, reptiles, fishes, birds, all were formed in a manner extraordinary, and at the same time elegant and infinitely varied. But what struck me with the greatest wonder, was that in a universal sensibility, closed with all imaginable forms animated the bodies that seemed the least susceptible of it, even to the very plants all gave signs of sensation. I walked on slowly in this enchanted abode. A delicious coolness kept my senses open to the pleasure. A sweet scent glided into my blood with the air. I breathed, my heart beat with an unusual force, and joy enlightened by soul in its most gloomy recesses. CHAPTER III. THE VOICE One thing surprised me. I did not see any inhabitants in these gardens of delight. I know not how many ideas disturbed my mind on that occasion, when a voice struck my ears uttering these words. Stop and look steadfastedly before thee. Behold him who has inspired thee to undertake so dangerous a voyage. Amazed, I looked a good while and saw nothing. At last I perceived a sort of spot, a kind of shade fixed in the air a few paces from me. I continued to look at it more attentively, and fancied I saw a human form with a counten so mild and engaging, that instead of being terrified, the sight was to me a fresh motive of joy. I am, said the benevolent shade, the prefect of this island. Thy inclination to philosophy has prepossessed me in thy favour. I have followed thee in thy late journey, and defended thee from the hurricane. I will now show thee the rarities of the place, and then I will take care to restore thee safe to thy country. This solitude with which thou art so charmed, stands in the midst of a temptuous ocean of moving sands. It is an island surrounded with inaccessible deserts, which no mortal can pass without a supernatural aid. Its name is Gefantia. It was given to the elementary spirits the day before the Garden of Eden was allotted to the parent of mankind. Not that the spirits spend their time here in ease and sloth. What would you do, O ye feeble mortals? If dispersed in the air, in the sea, in the bowels of earth, in the sphere of fire, they did not incessantly watch for your welfare. Without our care the unbridled elements would long sense have effaced all remains of humankind. Why cannot we preserve you entirely from their disorderly sallies? Alas! our power extends not so far. We cannot totally screen you from all the evils that surround you. We only prevent your utter destruction. It is here the elementary spirits come to refresh themselves after their labours. It is here they hold their assemblies, and concert the best measures for the administration of the elements. CHAPTER IV THE REVERSE Of all the countries in the world, added the prefect, Gefantia is the only one where nature still preserves her primitive vigor. She is incessantly laboring to increase the numerous tribes of vegetables and animals, and to produce new kinds. She organizes all with admirable skill, but she does not always succeed in rendering them perpetual. The mechanism of propagation is the masterpiece of her wisdom. Sometimes she fails, and her productions return forever into nothing. We cherish, with our utmost care, such as are sufficiently organized to produce their kind, and then plant them out in the earth. A naturalist wonders sometimes to find plants that had never been noticed before. It is because we had just then supplied the earth with them, of which he had not the least suspicion. Sometimes also these exotics, not meeting with the proper climate, decay by degrees and the species is lost. Such are those productions which are mentioned by the anteants and which the moderns complain are nowhere to be found. Such a plant still subsists but has long grouped and lost its qualities, and deceives this physician who is daily disappointed. The art is blamed, it is not known that the fault is in nature. I have now a collection of new symbols of the greatest virtue, and I should have imparted them to mankind before now, had not there been strong reasons to induce me to delay it. For instance, I have a sovereign plant to fix the human mind, and which would give steadiness even to a Babylonian, but for these fifty years I have been diligently observing Babylon, and have not found one single moment wherein the inclinations, customs, and manners have been worth fixing. I have another plant, most excellent for checking the two lively sallies of the spirit of invention, but thou notesest how rare these sallies are nowadays, never was invention at a lower ebb. One would think that everything has been said, and that nothing more remain but to adapt things to the taste and mode of the age. I have a root which would never fail to ally that sourceness of the learned who censure one another, but I observe that without their abusing and railing at each other, no man would concern himself about their disputes. It is a sort of pleasure to see them bring themselves as well as learning into contempt. I leave the malignity of the readers to divert themselves with the malignity of the authors. Moreover, do not imagine that nature sleeps in any part of the earth. She strenuously labors even in those infinitely minute spaces where the eye cannot reach. At Giphantia she disposes matter on extraordinary plans, and perpetually tends to produce something new. She everywhere incessantly repeats her labors, still endeavoring to carry her works to a degree of perfection which she never attains. These flowers which so agreeably strike the eye, she strives to render still more beautiful. These animals, which to you seem so dexterous, she endeavors to render still more so. In short, man that to you appears so superior to the rest, she tries to render still more perfect, but in this her endeavors prove the most unsuccessful. Indeed, one would think that mankind do all in their power to remain in a much lower rank than nature designs them, and they seldom fail to turn to their hurt the best disposition she gives them for their good. On the Babylonians, for instance, nature has bestowed an inexhaustible fund of agreeableness. Her aim was manifestly to form a people the most amiable. They were made to enliven reason, to root out the thorns that spring from their approaches of the sciences, to soften the austerity of wisdom, and, if possible, to adorn virtue. Thou knowest it, her favors which should have been diffused on these subjects have been diverted from their destination, and frivolousness and debauchery have been clothed with them. In the hands of the Babylonians, Vise loses all her deformity. Behold in their manners, their discourses, their writings, with what discretion Vise unveils herself, with what art she engages, with what address she insinuates. You have not yet thought of her, and she is seated in your heart. Even he who, by his function, lifts up his voice against her, dares not paint her in her true colors. In a word, where no one does Vise appear less Vise than at Babylon, even to the very names, all things are changed, all things are softened. The sincere and honest are nowadays your mootish men who are outwardly all-complicessence, but inwardly full of corruption. Good company are not the virtuous, but those who excel in palliating Vise. The man of fortitude is not he that bears the shocks of fortune unmoved, but he that braves providence. Bare-faced irreligion is now styled free-thinking, blasphemy is called boldness of speech, and the most shameful excesses gallantry. Thus it is that with what they might become a pattern to all nations, the Babylonians, to say no worse, are grown libertines of the most seducing and most dangerous kind. Chapter 5 The Apparitions I return, continues the prefect of Gevantia, to the elementary spirits. They're constant abode in the air, always full of vapors and exultations. In the sea, never mixed with salts and earths. In the fire, perpetually used about a thousand heterogeneous bodies. In the earth, where all the other elements are blended together. This abode, I say, by degrees spoils the pure essence of the spirits, whose original nature is to be, as to their material substance, all fire, all air, or other unmixed element. This degradation has sometimes gone so far, as that by the mixture of the different elements, the spirits have acquired a sufficient consistency to render them visible. People have seen them in the fire, and called them salamanders and cyclops. They have seen them in the air, and called them sylphs, zeffers, aquilons. They have seen them in the water, and called them cenymphs, niads, naryads, tritons. They have seen them in the caverns, deserts, woods, and have called them gnomes, sylvans, fawns, satyrs, etc. From the astonishment caused by these apparitions, men sunk into fear, and fear begot superstition. To these, creatures like themselves, they erected altars which belong only to the Creator. Their imagination magnifying what they had seen, they soon formed a hierarchy of chimerical deities. The sun appeared to them a luminous chariot guided by Apollo through the celestial plains, thunder a fiery bolt darted by Jupiter at the heads of the guilty. The ocean, a vast empire, where Neptune ruled the waves. The bowls of the earth, the gloomy residents of Pluto, where he gave laws to the pale and timorous ghosts. In a word, they filled the world with gods and goddesses. The earth itself became a deity. When the elementary spirits perceived how apt their apparitions were to lead men into error, they took measures to be no longer visible. They devised a sort of refiner by which, from time to time, they get rid of all extraneous matter. From fence forward, no mortal eye has ever seen the least glimpse of these spirits. End of Section 1. Section 2 of Gefantia by Charles Francois, Tipshanya, Delaroche. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 6 The Surfaces Meanwhile the Prefect moved on and I followed. Quite astonished and pensive. At our coming out of the wood we found ourselves before a hill, at the foot of which stood a hollow column above a hundred feet high in thick in proportion. I saw issuing out of the top of the column vapours, much like the exhalations raised by the sun, in such abundance that they were very visible. From the same column I saw coming out and dispersing themselves in the air, certain human forms, certain images still lighter than the vapours by which they were supported. Behold, says the Prefect, the refiner of the elementary spirits. The column is filled with four essences, each of which has been extracted from each element. The spirits plunge into them, and by a mechanism, too long to be described, get rid of all extraneous matter. The images which thou seest coming out of the column are nothing more than very thin surfaces which surrounded them, and served to make them visible. These surfaces partake of the different qualities of the spirits who excel more or less in certain respects, as visages are expressive of the characters of men, who differ infinitely. Thus there are images or surfaces of science, of learning, of prudence, of wisdom, etc. Men often clothe themselves with them, and like masks these surfaces make them appear very different from what they really are. Hence it is that you constantly meet with the appearance of every good, of every virtue and every quality, though the things themselves are scarce to be found anywhere. At Babylon especially, these surfaces are in singular esteem, all is seen there in appearance. A Babylonian had rather be nothing and appear everything than to be everything and appear nothing. So you see, only surfaces everywhere and of every kind. Surface of modesty, the only thing needful for a Babylonian lady, it is called decency. Surface of friendship, by the means of which all Babylon seems to be but one family. Friendship is like a strong band made of very weak threads twisted together. A Babylonian is tied to no one by the band, but he is tied to each of his fellow citizens by a single thread. Surface of piety, formerly much in use and of great influence, nowadays totally in disrepute. It gives people a certain gothic air quite ridiculous in the eyes of the moderns. It is now found only among a few adherents to the old bigots, and in an order of men, who, on account of their function, cannot lay it aside, how desirous so ever they may be. Surface of opulence, one of the most striking things in Babylon. Behold in the temples, in the assemblies, in the public walks, those citizens so richly dressed, those women so adorned, those children so neat, so lively, and who promise so fair to be one day as frivolous as their fathers, follow them to their homes, furniture of the best taste, commodious apartments, houses like little palaces, all continues to proclaim opulence. But stop there, if you go any farther, you will see families in distress and hearts overflowing with cares. Surface of probity, for the use of politicians and those who concern themselves with the management of others. These great men cannot be as honest as the lower people, they have certain maxims from which they think it essential never to depart, and from which it is no less essential that they appear extremely remote. Surface of patriotism, of which the real substance has long since disappeared. We must distinguish, in the conduct of the Babylonians, between the theory and the practice. The theory turns entirely upon patriotism. Public good, national interest, glory of the Babylonian name, all this is the language of theory. The practice hangs solely upon the hinge of private interest. It is very remarkable that in this respect the Babylonians have long been dupes of one another. Each plainly perceived that country did not much affect him, but he heard others talk of it so often and so affectionately that he verily believed there was still such a thing as a true patriot. But now their eyes are open and they see that all are alike. Chapter 7 The Globe Such as the lot of the elementary spirits continued the prefect of Gephanthea. No sooner are they out of the probation column where they are purified, but they return to their usual labours, and to see where their presence is most necessary, and where men have most need of their assistance. At their coming out of the column they ascend this hill. Thereby a mechanism which required the utmost skill of the spirits, everything that passes in all parts of the world is seen and heard. Thou art going to try the experiment thyself. On each side of the column is a large staircase of above a hundred steps which leads to the top of the hill. We went up, and were scarce halfway when my ears were struck with a disagreeable humming which increased as we advanced. When we came to a platform in which the hill ends, the first thing that struck my eyes was a globe of considerable diameter. From the globe proceeded the noise which I heard. At a distance it was humming. Near it was a frightful thundering noise, formed by a confused mixture of shouts for joy, ravens of despair, shrieks, complaints, singings, murmurs, acclamations, laughter, groans, and whatever proclaims the immoderate, sorrow and extravagant joy of mortals. Small imperceptible pipes, said the Prefect, come from each point of the earth's surface and end at this globe. The inside is organized so that the motion of the air which is propagated through the imperceptible pipes and grows weaker in time resumes fresh force at the entrance into the globe and becomes sensible again. Hence these noises and humming. But what would these confused sounds signify, if means were not found to distinguish them? Behold the image of the earth painted on the globe, the islands, the continents, the oceans which surround, join, and divide all. Thus thou not see Europe, that quarter of the earth that hath done so much mischief to the other three. Burning Africa, where the arts and the wants to attend them have never penetrated. Asia, whose luxury, passing to the European nations, has done so much good, according to some, and so much hurt, according to others. America, still died with the blood of its unhappy inhabitants. Who men of a religion, that breathes peace and good will, came to convert and barbarously murder. Observe what point of the globe thou pleases. Place there the end of this rod which I give thee, and putting the other end to thy ear. Thou shalt hear distinctly whatever is said in the corresponding part of the earth. Chapter 8 Discourses Surprised at this prodigy, I put the end of the rod upon Babylon. I applied my ear, and heard what follows. Since you consult me about this writing, I will fairly give you my opinion. I think it is discreet and too much so. What, not a word against the government, against the manners, against religion? Who will read you? If you did not know how tired people are with history, morality, philosophy, verse, prose, and all of that. The whole world are turned writers, and you will more easily find an author than a reader. How make an impression on the crowd? How draw attention, unless by strokes leveled, right or wrong, against placement, by luscious touches of imagination proper to excite the gust of pleasures blended by excess, by the trait arguments which, though repeated a thousand times, still please, because they attack what we dread. This, in my opinion, is the only course for a writer to take who has any pretensions to fame. Mind our philosophers, when they reflect, for instance, on the nature of the soul, they fall into a doubt which, with all their reason, they cannot get out of. Do they come to write? They resolve the difficulty, and the soul is mortal. If they assert this, it is not from an inward persuasion, but from a desire to write, and to write such things as will be read. Again, if you had made yourself a party, if you belonged to one of those clubs, where the censor passes from hand to hand, and where each in his turn is the idol, but no, you are among the literary cabals like a divine who should pretend to be neither Jenseness nor Molinist. Who, think ye, will take care of your interests? Who will preach you up? Who will enlist your name among those we respect? I moved to the end of the rod about a twentieth part of an inch lower, and I heard, probably, a farmer of the impulse who was making his calculations upon the people. It is not true, said he, that in the occasions of the state, everyone should contribute in proportion to his means, after a deduction of his necessary expenses. Is it not also true, that a very short man spends less in clothes than a very tall one? Is it not true, that this difference of expense is very considerable, since there is occasion for summer habits, winter habits, spring habits, autumn habits, country habits, writing habits, and I know not how many others? There should be likewise morning and evening habits, but the morning is not known at Babylon. I would therefore have all his majesty's subjects measured and taxed each, inversely as his stature. Another consideration of equal weight. A tax on bachelors has been talked of, but it was not considered. Money should be raised upon those who are rich enough to be married, and especially upon those who are rich enough to venture upon having children. And therefore married men should be taxed in a ratio compounded of the amount of their capitation and the number of their children. I have in my pocket-book I know not how many projects as good as these, and which I have very luckily devised. Each man has his talents, this is mine, and it is well known how much it is to be prized nowadays. At a little distance a grammarian was making his observations. Three languages, said he, are spoken at Babylon. That of the mob, that of the petite maitre, and that of the better sort. The first serves to express in a disagreeable manner shocking things. With all their judgment some authors have written in this language, and the Babylonians, with all their niceness, have read them with pleasure. The second is made up of a certain contexture of words without any meaning. You may talk this language a whole day together, and when you have done it will be found you have said nothing at all. To enter into the character of the idiom it is essential to talk incessantly without reason, and as far as possible from common sense. The third wants a certain precision, a certain force and certain graces, but it is susceptible of a singular elegance and clearness. It will not perhaps be expressive enough of the flights of the poet or the transports of the musician, but it expresses with admirable ease all the ideas of him who observes, compares, discusses, and seeks the truth. Without doubt it is the properest language for reasoning, and most unhappily it is the least used for that purpose. Me thought I heard a woman's voice at a little distance and put my rod there. I confessed, said she, I am foolishly fond of this romance. Nothing can be better penned. However, this same Julia, who holds out during three volumes, does not surrender till the end of the fourth, makes the intrigue a little too tedious. It is also pity that the viscount advances so slowly. He uses such preambles, spends so much time in protestations and presses his conquest with so much caution that he has put me, who am none of the liveliest, a hundred times out of patience. Surely the author was little acquainted with the manners of the nation. Chapter 9 Happiness The end of my rod by chance fell upon an assembly where they were talking of happiness. Each declared his opinion as follows. At length, says one, this superb colonnade is laid open. I think of removing those pitiful little houses which darken that grand and beautiful front. They repend of having built underground to adorn a place. Taste is reviving, the arts are going to flourish. Very shortly Babylon will proclaim the magnificence of the monarch and the happiness of the people. It is a great question whether colonnades, fine squares, and large cities will make a nation happy. They must be enriched. Industry must be excited, agriculture encouraged, manufacturers increased, and trade made to flourish, without which all the rest is nothing. Nonsense, I have said it, and I say it again. If we will be happy our manners must be more simple, the circle of our wants contracted, and in a country life we must withdraw from the vices which attend the luxury of cities. I do not know wherein consists the happiness of nations, but I think the happiness of individuals consists in the health of the body and the peace of mind. Assuredly not. Health causes no lively impression and tranquility is tiresome. To be happy you must enjoy a great reputation, for at every instant your ear will be tickled with encomiums. Yes, and at every instant your ear will be grated with censures, because there is no pleasing everybody. It is my opinion every man is happy in proportion to his authority and power. For one can gratify oneself in the same proportion, yes, but then what eagerness will be wanting which stamps a value upon things, if all was in our power we should care for nothing. For my part I am of opinion that to be happy we must despise all things, that is the only way to avoid all kind of vexation and trouble whatsoever. And I think we should concern ourselves with everything, by that means we shall partake of every occasion of joy. Now I think we should be indifferent to everything, as the means of enjoying an unchangeable happiness. I take wisdom to be the thing, for that alone will set us above all events. And I say it must be folly, for folly creates her own happiness, independently of anything cross or disagreeable about her. You are all all of you in the wrong, nothing general can be a sign that may be productive of the happiness of particular persons. So many men, so many minds, this desires one kind of happiness, and that another, one wishes for riches, another is content with necessaries. This would love and be loved, that considers the passions as the bane of the soul. Every one must steady himself and follow his own inclination. Not at all, and you are as much mistaken as the rest. In vain do I persuade myself that I should be happy, if I possess such a thing, the moment I have it I find it insufficient, and wish for another. We desire without end, and never enjoy. A certain man was continually travelling about, and always on foot, quite tired out, he said, if I had a horse I should be contented. He had a horse, but the rain, the cold, the sun were still troublesome to him. A horse, says he, is not sufficient, a chariot only can screen me from the inclemancies of the air. His fortune increased, and a chariot was bought. What followed? Exercise till then had kept our traveller in health. As soon as that ceased he grew infirm and gouty, and presently after it was not possible for him to travel either on foot or on horseback or in a chariot. I did not keep the rod any longer in one place, but I moved it here and there without distinction, and I heard only broken discourses, such as these. War, taxes, misery are dreaded, insignificant fears all these. Alas, mine are very different. I have here framed a system upon earthquakes, and by calculation I find that near the centre of the globe there is now forming an internal fire that will turn the world upside down. Within six months the earth will burst like a bomb, and all nature, yes, all nature vanishes in my eyes. Thou alone dost exist for me, extinguish, my dear, extinguish the flame thou hast lighted in thy bosom. What a moment, pleasure drowns all my senses, my soul, penetrated with delight, seems to be upon the wing. She beats, she trembles, she flies. O receive her, my dear, she is wholly thine. Ah, I hear my husband's footsteps, let us run. Courage, brave soldiers, strike home, revenge your country, let the blood flow and give no quarter. May the islanders perish and the Babylonians live. I do aware, for my part, that all of the nations there is not once OK as the Babylonians. They always take things on the most smiling side. One day of prosperity makes them forget a whole year of adversity. Even at their own misery they all sing, and an epigram pays them for their losses caused by the follies of the great. Oh, how little are our great ones, and how foolish are our wise ones. I cannot help thinking a man an imperfect creature. I plainly see nature's efforts to make him reasonable, but I see too these efforts are fruitless. Materials are wanting, but there are two ages, the age of weakness in which we are born and pass two-thirds of life, and the age of infancy in which we grow old and die. I have indeed heard talk of an age of reason, but I do not see it come. I conclude therefore, and I say, yes, madam, of transparent cotton. The discovery was very lately made in Terra Australis, so no more coals and deflections. Transparent handkerchiefs, gloves, and stockings will defend from the weather, and at the same time give us a sight of that admirable bosom, those charming arms, that divine leg. Doubts everywhere, certainly nowhere. How tired I am to hear, to read, to reflect, and to know nothing precisely. Who will tell me only what is? This, sir, is the countryman who leaving his plow, has come to talk with you about the affair of those poor orphans which has not ended. That is true, but what would you have? We are so overwhelmed. No matter it shall be decided. Ah, good sir! I am glad to see you. I owe you a compliment. The last wig I had of you makes me look ten years older. Surely the gentleman did not think I had so magisterial a face. Do you know, my dear sir, that it is enough to make me look ridiculous and you to forfeit your reputation? Grant, O Lord, three weeks of a westerly wind that my ship may sail. O Lord, three weeks of an easterly wind that my ship may arrive. Give me, O God, give me children. O God, send a malignant fever upon my ungracious son. O Lord, grant me a husband. O God, rid me of mine. Perhaps all this hodgepodge will not be relished by most of my readers. I should be sorry for it. To what end then do mortals hold such odd, such silly and such contradictory discourses? The act of Gafantia presented me with a mirror. Thou canst only, says he, guess at things. But with thy rod and that glass, thou art going to hear and see both at once. Nothing will escape thee. Thou wilt be as present to whatever passes. From space to space continued the prefect. There are in the atmosphere portions of air which the spirits have so ranged, and they receive the rays reflected from the different parts of the earth, and remit them to this mirror, so that by inclining the glass different ways, the several parts of the earth's surface will be visible on it. They will all appear one after the other, if the mirror is placed successively in all possible aspects. It is in thy power to view the habitations of every mortal. I hastily took up the wonderful glass. In less than a quarter of an hour I surveyed the whole earth. I perceived many void spaces, even in the most populous countries. And yet I saw men crowding, jostling, and destroying one another, as if they had wanted room. I looked about a good while for happiness, and found it nowhere, not even in the most flourishing kingdoms. I saw only some signs of it in the villages, which by their remoteness were screened from the contagion of the cities. I beheld in one view the vast countries which nature meant to separate by still-vaster oceans, and I saw men cover the sea with ships, and by that means join even these distant countries. This is plainly acting, said I, against nature's intentions. Such proceedings cannot be crowned with success. Accordingly, Europe does not appear more happy since her junction with America, and I do not know whether she has not more reason to lament it. I saw prejudices vary with the climates, and, everywhere, do much good and much harm. I beheld wise nations rejoice at the birth of their children, and deplore the death of their relations and friends. I beheld others more wise stand round the newborn babe, and weep bitterly at the thoughts of the storms he was to undergo in the course of his life. They reserved their rejoicings for funerals, and congratulated the deceased upon their being delivered from the miseries of this world. I saw the earth covered with monuments of all kinds, which human weakness erects to the ambition of heroes. In the very temples, the brass and the marble, which contain the remains of the dead, present images of war, and breathe slaughter. The very statues of those friends of mankind, of those Pacific sovereigns, whom the calamities of the time involve in short wars, are adorned with warlike instruments and nations in chains, as if laurels died in blood were only worthy to crown kings. I saw the most respectable of human propensities carry men to the strangest excesses. Some were addressing their prayers to the sun, others were employing the aid of the moon, and others prostrating themselves before mountains. One was trembling at the aspect of thundering jove, another was bending the knee to an ape. The ox, the dog, the cat, had their alters. Incense was burning even to vegetables. Grain, beans, and onions had their worship and votaries. I saw the race of mankind divide themselves into as many parties as religions. These parties I saw divest themselves of all humanity and clothe themselves with fanaticism, and these fanatics worry one another like wild beasts. I saw men who adored the same God, who sacrificed upon the same altar, who preached to the people the doctrine of peace and love. I saw these very men fall out about unintelligible questions and mutually hate, persecute, and destroy one another. Oh God, what will become of man if thy goodness doth not exceed their weakness and folly? In a word, I saw the several nations diversified in a thousand respects. I'll agree in there not being one better than another. All men are bad, the Ultramontane by system, the Iberian by pride, the Batavian by interest, the German by roughness, the Islander by humor, the Babylonian by Caprice, and all by a general corruption of heart. CHAPTER XII. THE TRIAL After this general survey of the whole earth, I had a mind to view Babylon in particular. Having turned my glass to the north, and inclining it gently to the twentieth meridian, I tried to find out that great city. Among the places that passed in succession under my eyes, there was one that fixed my attention. I saw a country house, neither small nor great, neither too much adorned nor too naked. All about it was more embellished by nature than by art. It overlooked gardens, groves, and some ponds which bounded a hill on the east. A country feast was at this time celebrating, to which all the neighboring inhabitants were come. Some stretched on the green turf, were drinking large droughts, and entertaining one another with their former amores, and several were performing dances, which the old men did not think so fine as those of time past. Seeest thou, says the prefect to me, in the balcony, that young lady who with a smiling air is viewing the site. She was married some days ago, and it is on her account that this feast is made. Her name is Sophia, she has beauty as you see, fortune, wit, and what is worth more than all the rest, a stock of good sense. She had five lovers at one time, none made a deep impression in her heart, none were displeasing to her, she could not tell to which to give the preference. One day she said to them, I am young, and it is not my intention to enter yet into the hands of matrimony, which is always done too soon. If my hand is so valuable as by your eager addresses you seem to think, exert your endeavours to deserve it. But I declare to you that I shall not make any choice these several years. Of Sophia's five lovers the first was much inclined to extravagance. Women, says he, are taken with the outside, let us spend freely and spare nothing. The second had a fund of economy which bordered upon avarice. Sophia, says he, who has a solid judgment, must think him best that shows himself capable of amassing riches, let us turn to commerce. The third was proud and haughty. Surely, says he, Sophia, who has noble thoughts, will be touched with the luster of glory, let us take to arms. The fourth was a studious man. Sophia, says he, who has so much sense, will incline to where the most is to be found. Let us continue to cultivate our mind and to strive to distinguish ourselves among the learned. The fifth was an indolent man, who gave himself little concern about wordly affairs. He was at a loss what course to take. Each pursued his plan and pursued it without a door which love alone is capable of inspiring. The prodigal expended part of his estate in clothes, in equipages, in domes-sticks. He built a fine house, furnished it nobly, kept open table, gave balls and entertainments of all kinds. Nothing was talked of but his generosity and magnificence. The merchant set all the springs of commerce in motion, traded to all parts of the world and became one of the richest men of his country. The military man sought occasions and soon signalized himself. The studious man redoubled his efforts, made discoveries and became famous. Meanwhile the indolent lover made his reflections and believing if he remained unactive he should be excluded. He strove to conquer his indolence. The estate he had from his ancestors seemed to him very sufficient and he did not care to meddle with commerce. The hurry of war was quite opposite to his temper and he had no mind to take arms. He had never read but for his amusement the sciences did not seem to him worth the pains to come at them. He had no ambition to become learned. What then is to be done? Let us wait, says he, time will show. So he remained at his country house pruning his trees, reading horrors, and now and then going to see the only object that disturbed his tranquility. Every solving to take some course the time slipped away and he took none. The fatal hour approaches, said he sometimes to Sophia, you are going to make your choice and most assuredly it will not be in my favour. Yet a few days and I am undone. This peaceful retreat, those delightful fields you will not grace, you will not enliven with your presence. Those serene days that I reckoned to pass with you in the purest of pleasures were only flattering dreams with which love charmed my senses. O Sophia, all that stirs the passions and troubles the repose of men has no power over me. My desires are all centred in you and I am going to lose you for ever. You are too reasonable, replied Sophia, to take it ill that I should choose where I think I shall be happy. At last the time was expired and not without many reflections Sophia resolved to make her choice. She said to the prodigal, if I have been the aim of your expenses, I am sorry for it, but what you have done for my sake you would have done had I been out of the question. You have lavished away one part of your estate to obtain a wife. You would spend the other to avoid the trouble of management. I advise you never to think of it. She told the merchant, soldier and scholar, I am sensible, you have shown a great regard for me, but I think too you have shown no less. You for riches, you for glory, and you for learning. In trying to fix my inclination, each has followed his own, each would do as much for himself as for me. Should I choose one of you, his views would still rest upon the other objects. One would be busy with increasing his fortune, the other with his promotion in the army, and the third with his progress in the sciences. I cannot therefore satisfy any one of you, and my desire is to engross the heart of the man who engrosses mine. The same day she saw the solitary gentleman. You have long waited for it, said she to him, and I am at last going to declare my mind. You know what your rifles have done to obtain my consent, see what they were and what they are. For your part, such as you was, such you remain, I think I see the reason. Indifferent to all other things, you have but one passion, and I am its object. I alone can render you happy. Well then, my happiness shall be in creating yours. I will share the delights of your solitude, and will endeavor to increase them. CHAPTER XIII. THE TALENTS I returned to my first object, and after a long search I perceived on the mirror a spot of land which seemed wrapped in a cloud. There issued from thence a confused noise like the murmurs of an ebbing tide. The sun quickly dispersed the vapours, and I saw Babylon. I saw their spectacles wherein the calamities of past times are lamented, in order to forget the calamities of the present. I saw academies where they should examine and discuss, but where they dispute and quarrel. Temples that were built against the restoration of religion, orators who foretell to the seduced people the most terrible disasters, and hearers who measure the expressions and criticize the style. A palace wherein are placed magistrates for the security of your property, and where you are conducted by guides who fleece you. I cast my eyes on the public walks and gardens, ever open to idleness, coquetry, and recreation. I beheld sitting alone on the grass a person who, with a smile, was pinning down his ideas. I fixed the paper and read what follows. One day Jupiter proclaimed through the whole earth that he had resolved to distribute different talents to the different nations, that on such a day the distribution would be made at Olympus, and that the geniuses of the several nations should repair thither. The genius of Babylon stayed not till the day appointed, but came the first of all to Jupiter's palace. He made his appearance with that air of confidence which is natural to him. He uttered, I not know how many very handsome and well-turned compliments, and made presents to all the celestial court with the grace peculiar to him. He gave the Father of the Gods a quintal of wildfire of a late invention, that his thunder may be more effectual, and people begin to have faith. To Apollo, a Babylonian grammar, that he may reform the oddities of the language. To Minerva a collection of romances, that she may correct their licentiousness and teach the romances to write decently. To Venus two small votive pictures. To thank her for that the last year there were at Babylon but two hundred thousand inhabitants who bore the long and painful marks of her favors. He made his court to the gods, wedled the goddesses, said and did so many handsome and pleasant things, that nothing was talked of at Jupiter's court but the agreeableness of the genius of Babylon. Meanwhile the day appointed was come, and Jupiter, having advised with his council, made the distribution of the different talents to the geniuses of the several nations. To this he assigned the gift of philosophy, to that the gift of legislation, and to another the gift of eloquence. He said to one, be thou the most ingenious, to another be thou most learned, and thou the most frugal, and thou the most warlike, and thou the most politic, and be thou, said he, speaking to the genius of Babylon, whatever thou chooses to be. Delighted with his success and returning home, the genius of Babylon is at all. He framed, I know not how many schemes, and executed none. He made most excellent laws, and afterwards embroiled them with numberless explanations and comments. He would likewise turn theologist, and engage in disputes which proved fatal to him. He traded, gained much, enlarged his expenses, and became richer and less easy. Orator, poet, merchant, philosopher, he was everything, and in many things he attained to perfection, but never could keep his ground. CHAPTER 14 THE TASTE OF THE AGE Two men of letters were walking at a little distance. Will you not own, said one of them, that, two centuries ago, our learning was in its infancy, and hardly showed to what degree it might arrive. In the last century it took root and rose so high that nothing was seen above it. The greatest masters among the Greeks and Latins were taken for patterns. They were equal, if not surpassed. Success inspires confidence, and too much confidence breeds neglect. To have the eye always on the anteanced grew distasteful. They have had their merit, said the Babylonians, and we have ours, who can say we do not equal them. They therefore set up for themselves, and the taste not the more general and of all the nations, but the taste peculiar to them characterized their works. See almost all our poems, our histories, our speeches, our books. All is after the Babylonian mode. Much of the art, little of nature. A vast superficies. No depth. All is florid, light, lively, sparkling. All is pretty. Nothing is fine. Methinks I foresee the judgment of posterity. They will consider the works of the seventeenth century as the greatest efforts of the nation towards the excellent, and the works of the eighteenth as pictures wherein the Babylonians have taken pleasure to paint themselves. If our writers are capable to go back and resume their great patterns, it is known what they can do. They are sure to please all the world, and for ever, but if they continue to stand on their own bottom, their works will be only trinkets of fancy, on which the present taste stamps a value, and which another taste will soon bury in oblivion. End of Section 3. Section 4 of Gafantia by Charles Francois, Tipshanya, Delaroche This Libra Vox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 15 The Female Reasoner I saw two women apart, one of which was talking. She looked around her every moment with that air of uneasiness which expresses a confidence the most mysterious. I lent my ear, and with great difficulty I heard what follows. I am obliged to thee, my dear Countess, for the idea thou hast conceived of my prudence. Harken, I will hide nothing from thee. Thou shalt see how far I may be relied on. We women are forced to guess things. They will never be told us plainly. But, with a little attention, it is easy for us to see how matters are. For my part I have reflected on the maxims of the wise men of our days, and from fence have drawn these conclusions. It is only the mob that trouble themselves now about a future state. The rewards and punishments of another world are words without a meaning, which have long been discarded by people of fashion. Beasts and men, of beasts the chief, are made to be guided by the senses. They should be actuated solely by the passions. Let each attentively listen to what is inspired into him by nature, and let him follow her inspirations. That is the way to happiness. On the other hand, society cannot subsist without laws, and laws cannot be accommodated to the passions of every citizen. They therefore, who have placed their happiness in what is forbidden by law, cannot behave too circumspectly. They must always walk in the shade. Mystery should follow their steps, and cast a veil on all their proceedings. In a word, they may do what they will, provided they appear to do what they ought. These, my dear countess, are the maxims I have gathered from the philosophy of the time. I will not mention their influence on my conduct. Perhaps I really am what I appear to be, but I should be quite otherwise, that I might appear always such. O Babylon, said I to myself, the leaven has fermented the whole mass. Thou appearst very corrupt, but thou art still more corrupt than thou appearst. Chapter 16 The Crocodiles During the course of my travels, I saw in Persia, on the plains watered by the Tegin, a dispute arise which divided the country and bred a surprisingly aminosity in the people. I was curious to see how that matter stood. I placed the mirror in the proper position, and then put the end of the rod upon the globe, so as I could see and hear what was doing. The plain was covered with two numerous armies, which were just going to join battle. The ground of the coral was this. A pious and learned musselman, who used to read the Al-Quran with the zeal of an archangel and the penetration of a seraphim, took it in his head one day to ask whether the dove, that instructed Mohammed, spoke Hebrew or Arabic. Some said one thing, some another, and two parties were formed. They disputed, they rode at large pro and con, and could not agree. To the warmth of the contest were added bitterness, malignity, its inseparable companion, and policy, which endeavours to make an advantage of everything. One party persecuted the other, or was persecuted, according as they were or were not uppermost. They began with the forfeiture of estates and banishments, and ended in an open war. The secretaries had caballed so well that the people rose in arms against one another. The two armies were just going to engage when a vulnerable old man advanced, and convening the heads made the following speech. Harkin, O ye people of Korasan. There was in Egypt a famous city called Ombi. It was near another great city, named Tentris. Both were situated on the fertile banks of the Nile. In that part the river bred a great number of crocodiles, and these voracious animals so fiercely attacked these two cities, that the inhabitants were going to remove. The governors of Tentris were apprehensive that their authority would vanish, and the citizens would become dispersed. They assembled therefore the tenterites and said, You suffer the destructive animals to increase and multiply in peace. Hear what we have to declare to you in the name of the Nile, your foster-father, and your god. Woe be unto you, if you remain any longer in the state of indolence. Arm without delay, and wage war against the monsters that devour your wives and children. It was the injunction of the Nile, and not to be disputed. The tenterites took up arms, but it was with great disadvantage, and never was advice more imprudent. The crocodiles, invulnerable in almost all the parts of their bodies, killed many more men than the men killed monsters. The governors of Ombi used a different artifice to keep the Ombites from leaving their city. Harkin, said they to them, The God Nile speaks to you by our mouth. I create plenty among the Ombites. I enrich their lands, I fatten their flocks, my waters flow, and they grow rich. The crocodile is my servant, and I permit him now and then to feed upon some of them. This is the only tribute I require for all my benefits, and instead of rejoicing and having it in their power by a single act to render themselves agreeable to me, they destroy one another, if my servant seizes a few children. Let them cease to complain, or I will cease to feed them. I will withhold my waters and all shall perish. The moment the Ombites knew the crocodile to be the favorite of the Nile, they erected orders to him, and far from complaining when he was pleased to feed on their children, they gloried in it. Is there a woman more happy than I, said an Ombite, I enjoy a competent fortune, have a loving husband, and three of my children have been eaten by the servant of our God Nile. In the meantime, the favorite of the Nile was killed by the Tenderites and worshipped by the Ombites. Discord and animosity inflamed them against one another, and they went to war, which ended in the destruction of both. Thus perished two cities, dupes of their sincerity, devoured by the crocodile, and butchered by each other. Let this example open your eyes, O yet unfortunate inhabitants of this happy climate. Seize to be victims of an irregular zeal. Worship God, keep silence, and live in peace. Scarce had the old man done speaking, when a general murmur and menacing look showed him how little he had moved the assembly, so he withdrew with a sigh. Immediately the battle was joined, and I turned away my eyes that I might not behold these mad people destroy one another. I have a great deal more to show you, says the Prefect. Let us lay down the mirror and draw it and walk on. Chapter 17 The Storm Some paces from the noisy globe the earth is hollowed, and there appears a descent of forty or fifty steps of turf, at the foot of which there is a beaten, subterranean path. We went in, and my guide, after leading me through several dark turnings, brought me at last to the light again. He conducted me into a hall of middling size, and not much adorned, where I was struck with a sight that raised my astonishment. I saw, out of a window, a sea which seemed to me to be about a quarter of a mile distant. The air, full of clouds, transmitted only that pale light which forbodes a storm. The raging sea ran mountains high, and the shore was whitened with the foam of the billows which broke on the beach. By what miracle, said I to myself, has the air, serene a moment ago, been so suddenly obscured? By what miracle do I see the ocean in the center of Africa? Upon saying these words, I hastily ran to convince my eyes of so improbable a thing. But in trying to put my head out of the window, I knocked it against something that felt like a wall. Stunned with the blow, and still more with so many mysteries, I drew back a few paces. Thy hurry, said the prefect, occasions thy mistake. That window, that vast horizon, those thick clouds, that raging sea, are all but a picture. From one astonishment I fell into another. I drew near with fresh haste my eyes were still deceived, and my hand could hardly convince me that a picture should have caused such an illusion. The elementary spirits, continued the prefect, are not so able painters as naturalists. Thou shalt judge by their way of working. Thou knowest that the rays of light, reflected from different bodies, make a picture and paint the bodies upon all polished surfaces, on the retina of the eye, for instance on water, on glass. The elementary spirits have studied to fix these transient images. They have composed a most subtle matter. Very viscous, and proper to harden and dry, by the help of which a picture is made in the twinkle of an eye. They do over with this matter a piece of canvas, and hold it before the objects they have a mind to paint. The first effect of the canvas is that of a mirror. There are seen upon it all the bodies far and near, whose image the light can transmit. But what the glass cannot do, the canvas, by means of the viscous matter, retains the images. The mirror shows the objects exactly, but keeps none, our canvas shows them with the same exactness, and retains them all. This impression of the images is made the first instant they are received on the canvas, which is immediately carried away into some dark place. An hour after, the subtle matter dries, and you have a picture so much more the valuable, as it cannot be imitated by art nor damaged by time. We take, in their purest source, the luminous bodies, the colors which painters extract from different materials, and which time never fails to alter. The justness of the design, the truth of the expression, the gradation of the shades, the stronger or weaker strokes, the rules of perspective, all these we leave to nature. Who, with a shore, and never-ending hand, draws upon our canvas's images which deceive the eye, and make reason to doubt whether, what are called real objects, are not phantoms which impose upon the sight, the hearing, the feeling, and all senses at once. The prefect then entered into some physical discussions. First, on the nature of the glutinous substance which intercepted and retained the rays. Secondly, upon the difficulties of preparing and using it. Thirdly, upon the struggle between the rays of light and the dried substance. Three problems which I propose to the naturalists of our days, and leave to their sagacity. Meanwhile, I could not take my eyes from the picture. A sensible spectator, who from the shore beholds a temptuous sea, feels not more lively impressions. Such images are equivalent to the things themselves. The prefect interrupted my ecstasy. I keep you too long, says he, upon this storm, which by the elementary sparse design to represent allegorically the troublesome state of this world, and mankind's stormy passage through the same. Turn thy eyes, and behold what will feed thy curiosity and increase thy admiration. Chapter 18 The Gallery or The Fortune of Mankind Scarce had the prefect said these words, when a folding door opened on our right, and led us into an immense gallery where my wonder was turned into amazement. On each side, above two hundred windows led in the light to such a degree, that the eye could hardly bear a splendor. The spaces between them were painted with that art, I have just been describing. Out of each window was some part of the territory of the elementary spirits. In each picture appeared woods, fields, seas, nations, armies, whole regions, and all these objects were painted with such truth that I was often forced to recollect myself that I ought not fall into illusion. I could not tell, every moment, whether what I was viewing out of the window was not a painting, or what I was looking at in a picture was not a reality. Survey with thy eyes, said the prefect, survey the most remarkable events that have shaken the earth and decided the fate of men. Alas! what remains of all these powerful springs, of all these great exploits? The most real signs of them are the traces they have left upon our canvases in the forming these pictures. The most ancient actions, whose luster has preserved their memory, are the actions of violence. Nimrod, the mindy hunter, after having worried the wild beasts, attacks his fellow creatures. See in the first picture that gigantic man, the first of those heroes so renowned. See in his looks pride, ambition, and ardent desire of rule. He framed the first scheme of a kingdom, and uniting men under the pretense of binding them together he enslaved them. Belaus, Nenas, Samiramis ascended the throne, which they strengthened by fresh acts of violence. And of above thirty kings who were successively reigned, only one closed the wounds of mankind. Let Asia take a breath, and governed like a philosopher, his name is almost forgot. History, which glows at the sight of renowned and tragical events, languishes over peaceable reigns. And scarce mentions such sovereigns. Sardana Pallas ends this series of kings. Enemy to noise, disorder, and war. He misspends his time, shuts himself up in his palace, and sinks into effeminacy. The women thou seeest about him, neither think nor exist but for him. His looks give them life, and he receives life from theirs. What do I say? He seeks himself with astonishment, and finds himself not. A surfeit of pleasures destroys his taste. He does not live, but languish. In the meantime, two of his generals loathing peace, form schemes of conquest, and feed themselves with bloody projects. They deem themselves alone worthy to reign, because they alone breathe war in the midst of the public tranquility. See where they attack and dethrone their effeminate monarch, and forcing him to destroy himself, they seize and share his dominions. Thus the Assyrian Empire was dismembered, after having kept Asia in continual alarms above 1200 years. King succeeded both at Nineveh and at Babylon, and all became famous for wars and ravages. One of them laid Egypt waste, plundered Palestine, burnt Jerusalem, put out the eyes of a king whose children he had murdered, drove from their country whole nations and put them in chains, and after such expeditions he ordered altars to be erected to him, and worshipped to be paid to him as a beneficent god. See at the foot of his image, incense burning and nations lying prostrate, and admire how far the pride and objection of mortals extend. The next picture represents the infancy of Cyrus, and the particular moment wherein he gave signs of that intolerable haughtiness, considered by the historians as the first sallies of a greatness of soul, which to display as self wants only great occasions. Cyrus, both by right of birth and right of conquest, united Assyria and Medea to Persia, and was the founder of the largest empire that ever existed. His successors still think they're bound too narrow. They sent into Greece, which was then signalized in Europe, armies infinitely numerous, the which are destroyed, and the spirit of conquest had on that occasion the fate which unhappily it has not always. The Greeks, freed from these powerful enemies, turned their arms against one another. They are animated by jealousy, inflamed by the warm and dangerous eloquence of their orators, and torn by civil wars. Persia falls into the same convulsions. And when perhaps everything was tending to peace, Alexander appears, and all are embroiled worse than ever. This picture shows him in that tender age wherein he lamented his father's conquests, and saw with grief human bloodshed by wounds he had not made. Scarce was he on the throne when he carried desolation into Greece, Persia, and India. The world did not suffice for his murdering progress, and his heart was still unsatisfied. That other picture represents his death. That destructive thunderbolt is at last extinguished. Alexander expires, and casting his dying eyes on the grand monarchy he is going to leave. Nothing seems to comfort him, but the prospect of the bloody tragedies of which his death is to be the signal. All of Alexander's dominions, those to whom they belonged of right, had the least share. The empire was divided among his generals. War was soon kindled amongst them, continued among their descendants, and ruined all the countries of which they had the rule. Among so many war-like kings, Ptolemy Philadelphus appeared like a lily raised by chance in a field of thorns. See in that immense library the monarchs surrounded with old sages, who are giving him an account of the numberless volumes which are before his eyes. He was too great a lover of mankind to disturb their tranquility, and held him in such estimation that he collected from all countries the productions of their wit. These kinds of riches seemed to him alone worthy of his care. He saw them with the same eye that other kings behold those metals which they search for in the bowels of the earth, or which they fetch from the extremities of the world through rivulets of blood. Wilt's discord rages amongst Alexander's successors and their descendants. Already appeared in the center of Italy the first sparks of the flame that was to spread over the universe and consume all nations. Like those bodies of vast weight, which not being in their just position, swing themselves to and fro for some moments, and then fix themselves immovably. Rome, subject successively to kings, consuls, dissimvers, military tribunes, settles a government and begins the conquest of the world. This ambitious nation, direct at first their forces against their neighbors. In vain did the several Italian states struggle for five hundred years against the fate of Rome. One while in subjection, another while in rebellion. Now conquerors, now conquered, they were all in the end forced to submit to the yoke. Italy subdued and calmed, that is, reduced to the state of those robust bodies, which by being exhausted fall into a consumption and weakness. The Romans crossed the seas and go into Africa in search of fresh enemies and other spoils. Carthage, as ambitious, perhaps is powerful, but more unfortunate than her rival, after a long and violent contest, is overcome and destroyed. Corinth and Numantia share the same fate. About this time, Varietus raised himself in the same manner as the Romans. In this picture he is a huntsman, in that robber, in the third a general of an army, and in the fourth he mounts the throne of Lusitania. But he was only a victim crowned by fortune to be sacrificed to the ambition of the Romans. Asia is soon open to these insatiable conquerors. The empire daily enlarges and that enormous power overruns all the known world. The first passion of the Romans was glory. During seven centuries patriotism, which policy cherished with so great success, directed the love of glory in favor of the Republic, and the Romans signalized themselves no less by their attachment to their country than by their warlike exploits. This space was filled with a long train of heroes and those that followed, despairing to become famous in the same manner, sought to distinguish themselves by other methods. Rome was the mistress of the world. It appeared glorious to become master of Rome. Sila, Marius, and some others, showed that such a project was not impracticable. Caesar accomplished it. That bolstered conqueror, who was reproached with so many things, effaced them all by his virtue. By his military virtue which destroyed above a million of men, oppressed his fellow citizens and enslaved his country. In vain did the Republic exert her utmost endeavors to save her expiring liberty. She was exhausted and stretched her hands to Augustus, who, from a bad citizen, became the best of masters. Raised to the Empire, he put an end to war, and soon gave mankind a peace the most universal they had ever enjoyed. The elementary spirits have given an idea of the pleasure of this general tranquility, by the agreeable prospect of the landscapes which are here represented. This peace, pray, says I, interrupting the prefect, suspend a moment the rapid recital of so many revolutions, give me leave to examine this picture, and a little time to calm the perturbation of my mind. How I love to see that beautiful sky, those plains that lose themselves at a distance, those pastures filled with flocks, those fields covered with corn, the breath of ore blows far from those climates with the vertiginous spirit of heroism. This is indeed the seat of peace and tranquility. My imagination carries me to those delightful valleys, I behold in contemplate nature, whose labours nothing interrupts, producing on every side life and pleasure. My thoughts are composed and my spirits sedate amidst the tranquility that reigns in those places. My blood-grown cool flows in my veins with the same gentle motion as the rivulets that water those green terfs. And the passions now have on my mind only the effect of the zephyr, which seems to play gently among the branches of leafy trees. End of Section 4. Section 5 of Gephanthea by Charles Francois Tipshanya Delaroche This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 19 The Other Side of the Gallery The Prefect soon returned to the thread of his discourse. The quickness, wherewith he ran over the gallery, hardly gave me time to view the several pictures he was explaining. I had not seen him before, nor did I afterwards see him speak with so much action. His face was inflamed, his eyes darted fire, and his words were too slow for his eagerness. The language, the manners, the laws of the Romans, said he, were spread over the world. The nations, conquered and settled, became members of the empire, and all the known world made but one family. By what fatality was Augustus's peace, which seemed so unalterable, of so short a duration? Mankind only breathed, and were soon inflicted with new wounds. When Rome had no more kingdoms to subdue, she had rebels to reduce. Several nations, thinking it a great happiness or a great glory to be parted from the body of the empire, rebelled in Europe, in Asia, in Africa. All were repressed. Thus most of the nations, formerly attacked and defeated, now the aggressors and reduced, continued to be hurled from one misfortune to another. And the following pictures, those which represent the more celebrated times of the first emperors, will still go on to present to thee spectacles of blood. The three rains of Titus, Antonius and Marcus Aurelius were three fine days in a severe winter. Those times, nevertheless, were times of peace, in comparison of those that had gone before, and those that came after. The empire was like a body with a good constitution, but which however is attacked with some disorders, and shows that it is not far from its decline. Whilst the Romans, at first to extend, then to support and sometimes to enrich themselves, kept the world in awe, pulled down what attempted to rise, and penetrated wherever they were alert by rich spoils. Towards the north, in those frozen climates, where nature seems to reach only to expire, there arose and increased, in the bosom of peace and silence, nations who were one day to humble the pride of the masters of the world. Three centuries had not yet passed since Augustus's peace, when, in the reign of Valerianus, the deceitful hope of a more commodious and happy life armed these unpolished people. See where they are coming out of their huts, tumultuously gathering together, marching in disorder, and showing the way to the hideous multitudes who followed one another from age to age. These foreign enemies, coming when the empire was rent with internal rebellions, shook the Colossus. It withstood, however, for some time, the wait which pulled it down, and one while ready to fall, and another while erect, it seemed sometimes to be going to stand firm again. Among the emperors who signalized themselves against the barbarians, Probus contributed the most to support the majesty of the Roman name. Valiant but still more humane, he abhorred war and continually waged it. Thus thou observe, in the picture before thee, that bald old man, his heir of candor, his respectable countenance, the plainness of everything about him. It is Probus, represented in the moment when, holding Rome's enemies humbled, full of the idea that general peace he always desired, he said, yet a few days and the empire will have no farther occasion for soldiers. Words which rendered him worthy of veneration of the whole earth, but which caused him to be murdered. Time passed, the efforts of the barbarians redoubled, and blood continued to be shed. Meanwhile the enemies of Rome grew warlike, and her defenders degenerated. Of this the chief causes were pride, which increasing wants forces the citizen to refer everything to his private interest. The folly of most of the emperors, which bred in the people a numbness which a few years confirm, and which whole ages cannot remove, perhaps to a weariness of the spirits, for that ambition, that haughtiness, or if you please, that Roman grandeur, was in the course of things an excessive effort, which, like an epidemical distemper, not come to its height, must necessarily abate by degrees. However this may be, a century and a half after their first invasions the barbarians began to make real progress, and dismember the western part of the empire. Amidst the troubles that then existed, some kingdoms were established which still remained to this day. Just as earthquakes, which raising the sea drown whole regions, produce also new islands amidst the waves. See the Goths, who after traversing sword in hand, part of Asia and all Europe, are settling in Spain. See the angels, a people of Germany, who are passing into Great Britain, and under pretense of aiding, are seizing it. See the Franks, other Germans, who are coming to free the Goths from the Roman yoke, and making them to submit to theirs. In these unhappy times, Rome herself shares the same fate which she had made so many cities undergo. She is plundered and sacked at several times. But the next pictures present to thee, in a point of view still more dreadful, regions laid waste, fields bathed in blood, and cities in ashes. These are the exploits of Attila and his rapid incursions in Macedonia, Miza, Thrace, Italy, and almost through the whole world which he ravaged. So many desolations, proceeding from several conquerors, have made so many heroes. Coming from a single hand they form a terrible monster. It is thus that military virtues show themselves in their true colors, and become horrible when they meet in a center. During Attila's ravages, certain Italians flying from his fury withdraw to the Adriatic seaside. Behold in this picture the men pale, the women disheveled, and the children in tears. Some hide themselves among the rocks, others dig themselves subterraneous retreats, some ascend the hills, and as far as their eyes can reach look wither the merciless conqueror, whose name alone makes them tremble, is still pursuing them to those desolate places, so little proper for the habitation of men. On every side thou can't see nothing but destruction and horror. Very soon, however proud, Venice is going to rise out of these melancholy ruins. Shortly after, the last blow is given to the Western Empire. Tyrannocized by its rulers, rent by factions, weakened by continual losses, and pressed by a fatal destiny, it shakes under some emperors, and falls under Augustalus. Rome and Italy, successively apprayed to two barbarians, are afterwards united to the Eastern Empire, from which by frist misfortunes they were soon after detached again. Two centuries passed in cruel vicitudes, when a new scourge, Mohammed, arose in the East. He was deemed at first, but as an imposter worthy of contempt, but he had an understanding capable of the greatest things, and a boldness which carried him to the highest enterprises. It was known how far he was able to go, when his progress was much greater than that of the rest of the world. He was no longer opposed to the highest enterprises. It was known how far he was able to go, when his progress could no longer be opposed. He overran part of the East, and out of the ruins founded the Kingdom of the Caliphs. The nations he subdued by force of arms, he won by seduction, and more fatal still to mankind than all the heroes whose pernicious actions die with them, he soled the human species with a stain that will never be effaced. In the West, the misfortunes of the Romans are renewed. The Lombards waste Italy, the Moors settle in Spain, and once they threaten the French, new swarms of barbarians are going to invade the finest countries of Europe. At this time, from the bosom of France arises a prince full of genius, and of that military adore which, in a calm, would have brought on a storm. But which, finding the tempest formed, like an impetuous wind blew it away. It was Charlemagne. In this picture he checks the Saracens. In that he subdues Germany. Moreover he destroys in Italy the power of the Lombards, founds the temporal authority of the Popes, and receives the crown of the Western Empire. Charlemagne's empire soon fell to pieces. The partitions of the princes, and the ambition of some chiefs, detach whole nations from it. Weak or avaricious emperors give or sell liberty to others. The rest is under particular lords. The sovereign scarce keeps the title and shadow of authority. Does thou observe that battle? Seeest thou a numerous army defeated by fifteen hundred men? It is the area of liberty of the Helvetic body. Members of the empire, but apposed by tyrants, the Swiss shake off the yoke and form a government, the wisdom of which cannot be too much admired. Their commerce extends but to necessaries. They have soldiers only for their defense, and these two are trained among other nations. A constant peace reigns in the Republic. Without covetousness, without jealousy, without ambition, liberty and necessaries content them. They are a people that talk the least of philosophy and are the most philosophical. Whilst the new Western Empire is rent, the Eastern is destroyed. Thou seest coming out of Asia, the last swarm of barbarians which were to fall upon Europe. They advance, and like huge masses which acquire more force and proportion to the height they fall from, they crush Constantinople and seize the Eastern Empire, which they still possess to this day. Such is the disastrous conjecture of the compenduous history of mankind. The crowd of particulars is only a crowd of less noted calamities. The total of the nations, especially the European, is like a mass of quicksilver, which the lightest impression puts in motion, which the least shake divides and sub-divides, and of which chance unites again the parts in a thousand different manners. Who will find the means to fix them? End of section 5. End of the first part. Section 6 Part 2 of Gifantia by Charles Francois Tipshanya Delaroche. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 1 The Re-Past My zeal has carried me farther than I should have imagined, added the prefect. It is time to think of what concerns thee. The air of Gifantia is lively and full of active corpuscles. It keeps up the spirits, and in spite of the fatigues, thou hast endured in the desert. It does not suffer thee to have the least sense of wearingness. It does not suffer thee to have the least sense of wearingness. However, thou hast need of a more solid food. I have ordered thee a repast, and I will regale thee after the manner of the elementary spirits. We went out of the gallery, and the prefect conducted me to a grotto, of which the architecture was so strange that I dare not venture to describe it. The whole furniture was a marble table and a cane chair, on which he bid me sit down. Whatever I saw at Gifantia was extraordinary. The repast to which I was invited was not less so. Thirty salt-sellers filled with salts of different colors were placed on the table in a circle round a fruit, much like our melons. There was also a glass decanter full of water, round which other salt-sellers formed another circle. These preparations were not very tempting. I never had less appetite. However, not to affront a host, to whom I was so much obliged, I tasted the fruit that he offered me. The purest chemical earth purged of all foreign matter would have more taste. I forced myself to swallow a few bits. I drank a glass of water, and I told the prefect that my strength was more than sufficiently recruited, and, if he pleased, we would continue to visit the rarities of Gifantia. The repast had, said he, the complacence to taste the fruit and the liquor. Thou wilt further oblige me to season them both. The salts which stand round them have, perhaps, more virtue than thou art aware of. I invite thee to try. Upon these words I viewed the salt-sellers more attentively. I saw that each had a label, and I read upon those that surround the insipid fruit, salt of woodcock, salt of quail, salt of wild duck, salt of trout, etc. Upon the others I read concrete juice of renish, of champagne, of burgundy, of uskaba, of oil of venus, of citron, etc. Having taken a small slice of the fruit, I spread upon it a grain of one of those salts, and putting it into my mouth I took it for the wing of a nortelin. I spread upon the salt-seller from whence I had the salt, and saw the word nortelin on the label. Astonished at this phenomenon I spread upon another slice salt of turbo, and I thought I was eating one of the finest turbos the channel had ever produced. I tried the same experiment upon the water. According to the salt I dissolved in it. I drank wine of beyond, of nuise, of wine. My Lord, said I to the prefect, you have shown me the columns, the globe, the mirror, the pictures. I have admired the mechanisms of these masterpieces, and the wonderful skill of elementary spirits. But now my admiration is turned to desire. Is a mortal allowed to enter into the physical mysteries of the spirits? May I learn from you this invaluable secret of your saline powders? Added I, men, especially the Babylonians, seek with eagerness whatever can please the senses. And one of the things which raises the greatest emulation is to have a table covered with exquisite dainties. Therefore fathers did not look upon a good cook as a person divine. The most simple preparation sufficed for their food. They thought no wines excelled those of their own country, but sometimes those good men made a little too free with them. The modern Babylonians disgusted at this simplicity and hating hard drinking have taken a different method. They are become sober but of essential and ambitious sobriety which, by unheard of, extracts and mixtures, perpetually creates new tastes. They search in the smallest fibers of the animals for the purest substance of essences. They enclose a little file the produce of what would suffice for the nourishment of the most numerous families. The most exquisite wines cannot satisfy their palate. They esteem nothing but what is owing to a violence done to the order of nature's productions. They extract the most active spirit of wine and there to add all the spices of India. And with such liquors, the countries of the world flow in their veins. You see, continued I, that with the secret of your savory crystallizations I should be able to satisfy the nicest palates and please the most curious lovers of variety. But what is much more important these saline extracts which are not prepared by the pernicious arts of the distiller and cook, these extracts I say by health would revive among us the primitive constitutions would be restored by degrees and mankind would resume a new youthful vigor. In all respects a man might be a glutton without danger and that is saying a great deal of a vice which has become incorrigible. I was not refused in less than half an hour the prefix taught me the whole art. I actually resolved the savers with the same ease that Newton did the colors from all the fruits that go to decay from all the plants of no use from even the herbs of the field in a word from all bodies whatever I extracted their savory parts I analyzed these parts I reduced them to their primitive particles and then uniting them again in all imaginable proportions I formed saline powders which gives such a taste I can enclose in a small snuff box wherewith to make in an instant a complete entertainment courses, ragouts fricassees, desserts coffee, tea with all kinds of wine and other liquors from a single bit though ever so insipid I produce at pleasure the wing of a partridge the thigh of a woodcock the tongue of a carp etc in order to feed such a wonderful quality of work except elseselve I used to build hook 대 a shop out of everything minutos well when I, the time was kind of complete I built hook convey to them the substance of the people. May lay their greedy hands upon my salt, and undertake to distribute it, charged with some light tax. These light taxes are known always to grow heavier, and end with crushing, much like those snowballs which rolling down from the top of the mountains, and soon grow immensely large, root up trees, throw down houses, and destroy the fields. Let these gentlemen give in our newspapers a positive assurance that they will never meddle with the management of my savers. The next day I will publish my secret, distribute my powders, and regale all Babylon. I think I know the world. These gentlemen, you will see, will keep silence, and my salt, and nobody will be regaled. CHAPTER II THE CURNALS My dinner ended with my lesson learned. We say'd out again. Let us, said the Prefect, take the benefit of this long shady walk, and go to the grove at the end of it. By the way, I will explain some matters relating to what I am going to show thee. Adam had just been driven out of paradise, continued the Prefect. The tree, from which the fatal apple was gathered, disappeared. Everlasting peace, unmixed pleasure vanished, and death covered the earth with her mournful veil. Witnesses of Adam's sin and punishment, the elementary spirits remained in a consternation mixed with astonishment and fear. All was silent, like the dreadful calm, which in a gloomy night succeeds the flashes of lightning. One of our spirits perceiving on the ground the remains of the fatal apple hastily took them up, and found three kernels. These were so many treasures. The forbidden tree, which was the cause of man's misery, was to have been the cause of his happiness. It contained the shoots of the sciences, arts, and pleasures. The little men know of these things is nothing in comparison of what this mysterious tree would have disclosed in their favor. It was to vegetate, blossom, and bear seed for ever, and the least of these seeds would have been the source of more delights than ever existed among the children of men. We took great care of the three kernels, which had escaped the total ruin just then befallen mankind. This was not sufficient to repair their unhappy fate, but it helped to soften it. As soon as they were returned to Gafantia, we consulted upon what we could do in favor of mankind so terribly fallen. Most of the spirits took the office of governing the elements, and as far as lay in their power, of directing their motions, according to the wants of men. Those that remained at Gafantia were entrusted with the sewing of the three kernels, and carefully to mind what they produced. CHAPTER III. ANCIENT LOVE As we were talking, we entered into a pretty large grove, in the midst of which I perceived a star formed by most beautiful shrubs. From every part of these shrubs there darted forth a luminous matter, where upon were painted all the colors of the rainbow. Thus the sun, viewed through the bowels of a thick tree, seems crowded with sparkling rays, on which shined the liveliest and most variegated colors. The first kernel taken from the fatal apple and committed to the ground, said the prefect of Gafantia, produced a shrub of the nature of those Thalcius. Its leaves were like those of the Myrtle. Its purple blossoms, speckled with white, were raised round their stalks in form of pyramids. Its bows were thick and interwoven with one another in a thousand different ways. It was the most beautiful tree nature had ever produced. Therefore it was her most favorite object. A soft zephyr, gently moving its leaves, seemed to animate them, and never were they ruffled by the impetuous north winds. Never was the course of its sap obstructed by winter's frost, or its moisture exhausted by summer scorching heats. An eternal spring rained around it. This single tree was the tree of love. It is well known what influenced the extraneous particles of the air have upon us. Some accelerate or retard the motions of the blood. Others dull or raise the spirits. Sometimes they brighten the imagination, and sometimes they cloud it with the gloomy vapors of melancholy. Those that were exhaled from the tree of love, and dispersed over the earth, brought the seeds of the most alluring pleasure. Till then men left to a blind instinct, which inclined them to propagate their species, shared that advantage, if it is one, with the rest of the animals. But like a flower which opens to the first rays of the sun, their hearts soon yielded to the first impressions of love, and instinct gave place to sentiment. With that passion they received a new life. The face of nature seemed changed. Everything became engaging. Everything touched them. The other passions disappeared, or were in respect of this, like brooks to a river in which they were going to be lost. Superior to all events, love heightened pleasure, assuaged pain, and gave charm to things the most indifferent. It enlivened the graces of youth, alleviated the infirmatives of age, and lasted as long as life. Its power was not confined to the creating a tender and unchangeable attachment to the object beloved. It was inspired also with a certain sentiment of sweetness, which was infused into all men, and united them together. Society was then as an endless chain. Each link was composed of two hearts joined by love. The pleasure of others was a torment to none. Gloomy jealousy had not possessed the human heart, nor envy shed or venom there. Concord multiplied pleasures. A man was not more pleased with his own than with the happiness of others. Mankind was yet in infancy, and unacquainted with excesses. Adversity did not depress them into annihilation, nor prosperity puffed them up to the loss of their senses. Their wants were few, the arts had not increased them. Frightful poverty appeared not among them, because they knew not riches. Everyone had necessaries, because none had superfluities. Utter strangers to the ridiculousness of rank, they were not exalted with insolence, nor did they surviolently cringe. No man was low, because no man was high. All was in order, and men were as happy as their state would admit of. Oh Nature, why dost thou not still enlighten us with those days of peace, harmony, and love? CHAPTER IV THE GRAFTS The stinging nettle and wild briar increase and are renewed, continued the prefect. The tree of love had not that privilege. This blossoms vanished without leaving a kernel, and its shoes planted in the ground did not take root. They died and Nature groaned. Meanwhile this only tree was going to decay. Its sap withdrew from most of the branches, and the faded leaves withered on their bowels. The elementary spirits were sensible how valuable the treasure was, that the sons of men were going to lose, and were under the deepest concern for them. They studied therefore to find the means to fix love upon earth, and imagined they had succeeded. They took from the languishing and exhausted tree its best shoots and grafted them upon different stalks. This precaution saved love, but at the same time altered its nature. Nourished by an extraneous sap, these shoots and their emanations quickly degenerated, so the exotic plants which grow in our gardens by the assiduous care of the gardener changed their nature and lose almost all their virtues. Love then existed among men, but what love? It sprung from caprice, was attached without choice, and vanished with levity. It became such as it is at this day amongst you. It is no longer that common band which united mankind and rendered them happy. It is on the contrary, an inexhaustible fountain of discord. Formerly it was stronger alone than all the passions together. It was subject only to reason. Now it is overcome by the weakest passion, and hearkens to anything but reason. To say the truth, it is no longer love. Phantoms have taken its place, and received the homage of men. One in the highest ranks only finds objects worthy his vows. He thinks it love. It is only ambition. Another fixes his heart where fortune is lavish of her gifts. He imagines, love directs him, but it is thirst of riches. Another flies from where delicateness of sentiments calls for his care and regard, and runs where an easy object hardly gives him time to desire. What is the ground of his haste? A depraved appetite for pleasure. Of pure, sincere, and unmixed love there is none left. The graphs are quite spoiled. At Babylon degenerated love varied with the fashions, the manners, and everything else. At first it gave to the Romantic. This was in the days of our good night's serent. It was all fire, transport, ecstasy. The eye of the fair was a sun. The heart of the lover was a volcano, and the rest of the same stamp. In time it was found that all this was departing a little from nature. In order therefore to make it more natural, love was dressed like a shepherd with a flock and pipe, and spoke the language of the swain. In the heart of his noisy and tumultuous city, a Babylonian sung the refreshing coolness of the groves, invited his mistress to drive her flock thither, and offered to guard it against the wolves. The pastoral language being drained, the sentiment was refined, and the heart analyzed. Never had love appeared so subdued. To make a tolerable compliment to a girl beloved, a man must have been a pretty good metaphysician. The Babylonians, weary of thinking so deeply, from the height of these sublime metaphysics, fell into free speeches, double meanings, and wanton stories. Their behavior was agreeable to their talk, and love, after having been a valiant night-errant, a whining shepherd and a sublime metaphysician, is at last grown in libertine. It will soon become a debauchee, if it is not so already, after which nothing remains but to turn religious, and this is what I expect. Moreover, the Babylonians flatter themselves with being a people the most respectful to ladies, and boast of having it from their ancestors. In this respect, as in all others, two things must be distinguished at Babylon, the appearance and the reality. No place where women are more honored, in reality no place where they are less esteemed. Outwardly nothing but homages, inwardly nothing but contempt. It is even a principle of Babylon that the men cannot have, in an assembly, too much respect for the sex, nor in private, too little.