Chapter III: Introduction (2)

“I am obliged to thee, my dear Countess, for the idea thou hast conceived of my prudence. Hearken; 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 thence 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 leven has fermented the whole mass. Thou appearest very corrupt; but thou art still more corrupt than thou appearest.

CHAP. XVI.
THE CROCODILES.

During the course of my travels, I saw in Persia, on the plains watered by the Tedjen, a dispute arise which divided the country and bred a surprising animosity in the people. I was curious to see how that matter stood: I placed the mirrour 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 quarrel was this:

A pious and learned Musulman, who used to read the Alcoran 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 Mahomet, spoke Hebrew or Arabic. Some said one thing, some another; and two parties were formed. They disputed, they wrote 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 every thing. 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 sectaries had caballed so well, that the people rose in arms against one another.

The two armies were just going to ingage, when a venerable old man advanced, and convening the heads, made the following speech:

“Hearken, O ye people of Chorasan. There was in Egypt a famous city called Ombi; it was near another great city named Tentyris: both were situated on the fertile banks of the Nile[2]. 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 governours of Tentyris were apprehensive that their authority would vanish, and the citizens would come to be dispersed. They assembled therefore the Tentyrites 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 this 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 Tentyrites 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 governours of Ombi used a different artifice to keep the Ombites from leaving their city.

“_Hearken_, (said they to them) _the God_ Nile _speaks to you by our mouth: I create plenty among the Ombites, I inrich 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 at 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 with-hold my waters and all shall perish._

“The moment the Ombites knew the Crocodile to be the favourite of the Nile, they erected altars 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 mean time, the favourite of the Nile was killed by the Tentyrites and worshipped by the Ombites. Discord and animosity inflamed them against one another; 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 ye unfortunate inhabitants of this happy climate. Cease 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 looks 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 mirrour and rod, and walk on.

CHAP. XVII.
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 subterraneous 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 a 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 forebodes 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 subtile 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 mirrour; 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 mirrour shows the objects exactly, but keeps none; our canvases show 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 subtile matter dries, and you have a picture so much the more valuable, as it cannot be imitated by art nor damaged by time. We take, in their purest source, in the luminous bodies, the colours 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 sure and never-erring hand, draws upon our canvases 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 the 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.

Mean while, I could not take off my eyes from the picture. A sensible spectator, who from the shore beholds a tempestuous sea, feels not more lively impressions: such images are equivalent to the things themselves.

The Prefect interrupted my extasy. I keep you too long (says he) upon this storm, by which the elementary spirits designed 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.

CHAP. XVIII.
THE GALLERY OR THE FORTUNE OF MANKIND.

Scarce had the Prefect said these words; when a folding-door opened on our right, and let us into an immense Gallery, where my wonder was turned into amazement.

On each side, above two hundred windows let in the light to such a degree, that the eye could hardly bear its splendor. The spaces between them were painted with that art, I have just been describing. Out of each window, was seen 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 might not fall again into illusion. I could not tell, every moment, whether what I was viewing out of a 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. Alass! 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 forming these pictures[3].

The most antient actions, whose lustre has preserved their memory, are the actions of violence. Nimrod, the mighty 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, an ardent desire of rule. He framed the first scheme of a kingdom, and uniting men under the pretence of binding them together, he enslaved them.

Belus, Ninus, Semiramis ascend the throne, which they strengthen by fresh acts of violence! and of above thirty kings who successively reigned, only one closed the wounds of mankind, let Asia take 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.

Sardanapalus ends this series of kings. Enemy to noise, disorder and war, he mispends his time, shuts himself up in his palace, and sinks into effeminacy. The women, thou seest 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 mean time, two of his generals[4] loathing peace, form schemes of conquests, and feed, themselves with bloody projects. They deem themselves alone worthy to reign, because they alone breathe war in the midst of the publick tranquillity. 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 twelve hundred years.

Kings succeeded both at Nineveh and at Babylon; and all became famous for wars and ravages[5]. 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 worship to be paid him as to a beneficent God. See at the foot of his image, incense burning and nations lying prostrate; and admire how far the pride and abjection of mortals extend[6].

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 itself wants only great occasions. Cyrus, both by right of birth and right of conquest, united Assyria and Media to Persia, and was the founder of the largest empire that ever existed.

His successors still think their bounds too narrow: they send 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, turn 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 every thing 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 blood shed 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.

Of all Alexander’s dominions, those to whom they belonged of right, had the least share. The empire was divided among his generals[7]. War was soon kindled amongst them, continued among their descendants, and ruined all the countries of which they had the rule.

Among so many warlike kings, Ptolemy Philadelphus appeared like a lily raised by chance in a field of thorns. See in that immense library, the monarch 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 tranquillity; and held them in such estimation, that he collected from all countries the productions of their wit[8]. These kinds of riches seemed to him alone worthy 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.

Whilst 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 a vast weight, which, not being in their just position, swing themselves to and fro for some moments, and then fix themselves immoveably; Rome, subject successively to kings, consuls, decemvirs, military tribunes, settles a government and begins the conquest of the world.

This ambitious nation, direct at first their forces against their neighbours. 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 cross the seas, and go into Africa in search of fresh enemies and other spoils. Carthage as ambitious, perhaps as 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, Viriatus raised himself in the same manner as the Romans. In this picture, he is a huntsman; in that, a 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[9].

Asia is soon opened to these insatiable conquerors. The empire daily enlarges, and that enormous power over-runs 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 favour 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 mistress of the world; it appeared glorious to become master of Rome. Sylla, Marius, and some others, showed that such a project was not impracticable: Cæsar accomplished it. That boasted 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 endeavours 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 tranquillity, by the agreeable prospect of the landskips 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 war blows far from those climates the vertiginous spirit of heroism. This is indeed the seat of peace and tranquillity. My imagination carries me to those delightful vallies: I behold and contemplate nature, whose labours nothing interrupts, producing on every side life and pleasure. My thoughts are composed and my spirits sedate amidst the tranquillity 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 turfs; 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.

CHAP. XIX.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GALLERY.

The Prefect soon resumed 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 reigns of Titus, Antoninus, 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 shews that it is not far from its decline.

Whilst the Romans, at first to extend, then to support and sometimes to inrich themselves, kept the world in awe, pulled down what attempted to rise, and penetrated wherever they were allured 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 weight 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. Dost thou observe, in the picture before thee, that bald old man, his air of candor, his respectable countenance, the plainness of every thing about him? It is Probus represented in the moment when, beholding Rome’s enemies humbled, full of the idea of 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 the 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.

Mean while, 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 every thing 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 too 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 come to its height, must necessarily abate by degrees.

However this may be, a century and half after their first invasions, the Barbarians began to make real progresses, and dismember the Western part of the empire. Amidst the troubles that then existed, some kingdoms were established which still remain 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 Angles, a people of Germany, who are passing into Great Britain, and, under pretence of aiding, are seizing it: see the Franks, other Germans, who are coming to free the Gauls 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[10].

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, Mysia, Thrace, Italy, and almost through the whole world which he ravaged. So many desolations, proceeding from several conquerors, would 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 colours, and become horrible when they meet in a center[11].

During Attila’s ravages, certain Italians flying from his fury, withdraw to the Adriatic sea-side. Behold in this picture the men pale, the women dishevelled, 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 whither 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 canst 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. Tyrannized by its rulers, rent by factions, weakened by continual losses, and pressed by a fatal destiny, it shakes under some emperors, and falls under Augustulus. Rome and Italy, successively a prey to two Barbarians, are afterwards united to the Eastern empire, from which by fresh misfortunes they were soon after detached again.

Two centuries passed in cruel vicissitudes, when a new scourge, Mahomet, arose in the East. He was deemed at first but as an impostor worthy of contempt: but he had an understanding capable of the greatest things, and a boldness which carried him to the highest enterprizes. It was known how far he was able to go, when his progress could no longer be opposed. He over-ran part of the East, and out of the ruins founded the kingdom of the Khalifs. 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 sullied the human species with a stain which probably will never be effaced[12].

In the West, the misfortunes of the Romans are renewed. The Lombards waste Italy, the Moors settle in Spain, from whence 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 ardor which, in a calm, would have brought on a storm; but which, finding the tempest formed, like an impetuous wind, blew it away: this was Charlemain. 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.

Charlemain’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.

Dost thou observe that battle? seest thou a numerous army defeated by fifteen hundred men? It is the æra of the liberty of the Helvetic body. Members of the empire, but oppressed 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 defence, and these too 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[13]. They advance: and, like huge masses which acquire more force in 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 contexture of the compendious 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 subdivides, and of which chance unites again the parts in a thousand different manners. Who will find the means to fix them?

THE END OF THE FIRST PART.

GIPHANTIA:

PART II.

LONDON,
Printed in the Year MDCCLX.

TABLE
OF THE
CHAPTERS.