“ ‘Where am I?’ said I to myself, all in confusion at these childish tricks. ‘What means this blower of bubbles, and all these decrepit infants employ’d in making them fly about? Who will let me into the secret of these things?’—Besides, the little scraps of stuff had struck me; and I observed that the larger they were, the less those that wore them interested themselves in the bubbles. This singular remark embolden’d me to accost him, who was the least undress’d of the company.
“I saw one, whose shoulders were half covered with pieces so well fitted together, that the seams were not to be seen. He walk’d forward and backward in the crowd, with very little concern for what they were doing. He had an affable air, a smiling mouth, a noble gait, a mild look; and I went directly to him, and asked him without ceremony: ‘Who are you? Where am I? And who are all these folks?’
“He answered, ‘I am Plato. You are in the region of hypotheses, and these folks are systematics.’
“ ‘But by what chance,’ replied I, ‘is the divine Plato here, and what does he do among these madmen?’
“ ‘Raising recruits,’ said he. ‘At a distance from this Portico I have a sanctuary, whither I conduct those who abandon systems.’
“ ‘And how do you employ them?’
“ ‘In knowing man, practising virtue, and sacrificing to the graces.’
“ ‘These are noble employments: but what mean these shreds of fluff, whereby you look more like beggars than philosophers?’
“ ‘Oh! what a question do you propose to me,’ said he with a sigh, ‘and what thoughts do you bring back to my mind? This temple was formerly that of philosophy. Alas! how much this place is changed! The chair of Socrates was here.’
“ ‘How,’ said I, interrupting him, ‘had Socrates a straw, and did he blow bubbles?’
“ ‘No, no,’ replied Plato, ‘it was not by such means that he merited of the Gods the name of the wisest of men. His constant occupation, during life, was forming heads and hearts. The secret was lost at his death. Socrates died, and the bright days of philosophy were no more. These pieces of stuff, which those very systematics think it an honour to wear, are scraps of his garment. Scarcely had his eyes been closed, when those, who aspired to the title of philosophers, seized his robe, and tore it in pieces.’
“ ‘I understand,’ said I, ‘these pieces served as tickets both to them and their long posterity.’
“ ‘Who will collect these scraps,’ continued Plato, ‘and restore us Socrates’s robe?
“While he was uttering these words, I saw at a distance a child walking towards us in a slow but sure pace. He had a little head, slender body, weak arms and short legs: but all these parts increased in all dimensions, according as he came forward. In the progress of his successive growth, he appear’d to me under a hundred different forms; I saw him directing a long telescope towards the heavens, estimating the fall of bodies by means of a pendulum, determining the weight of the air by a tube fill’d with quicksilver, and discomposing light with a prism. He was now become an enormous Colossus: his head touch’d the heavens, his feet were lost in the abyss, and his arms reach’d from one to the other pole. With his right hand he brandished a torch, whose light spread a vast way in the sky, enlightened even the bottom of the waters, and penetrated into the entrails of the earth. I ask’d Plato, what that gigantic figure was, that was coming towards us.
“ ‘It is experience,’ said he. Scarcely had he made me this short answer, when I saw experience draw near, and the columns of the portico of hypotheses to shake, its arches to sink in, and its pavement to crack under our feet. ‘Let us fly,’ said Plato, ‘let us fly: this edifice has but a moment to stand.’ At these words he departs, and I follow him. The Colossus arrives, strikes the portico, it tumbles down with a frightful noise, and I awake.”
“Ah! Prince,” cried Mirzoza, “ ’tis you that ought to dream. I would indeed be very glad, that you had had a good night: but now that I know your dream, I should be very sorry that you had not dream’d it.”
“Madam,” said Mangogul, “I could point out nights better spent than that of this dream, which gives you so much pleasure; and if I had been master of making the journey, or not; it is very probable, that, not hoping to find you in the country of hypotheses, I should have bent my course elsewhere. And then, either I should not have the headache, which I actually feel, or at least I should have reason to make myself easy under it.”
“Prince,” replied Mirzoza, “it is to be hoped, that it will soon go off; and that one or two experiments of your ring will rid you of it.”
“I must try,” said Mangogul. The conversation lasted some time longer between the Sultan and Mirzoza; so that he did not quit her till eleven, when he went upon the expedition related in the following chapter.
XXX
Fourteenth Trial of the Ring
The Mute Toy
Of all the ladies, who shone at the Sultan’s court, none had more charms and wit than young Egle, the wife of his highness’s great cupbearer. She was of all Mangogul’s parties, who was much taken with the cheerfulness of her conversation: and as if there could be neither pleasure nor amusement without Egle, she was also of all the parties of the grandees of his court. Balls, public diversions, drawing rooms, feasts, private suppers, hunting matches, play, everywhere Egle was invited, and everywhere she appear’d: it seem’d as if the taste of amusements multiplied her, according to the will of those who desired her company. Wherefore it is needless to say, that if no woman was as much sought after as Egle, there
