“Delight of my heart,” replied Mangogul, “you run into lamentations without considering the matter sufficiently. Then have you forgot Haria’s pack? By Jove, a comedian, I think, is as good as a pug-dog.”
“You say right, prince,” resumed the favorite. “I am a fool for interesting myself for creatures that do not deserve it. Let Palabria idolize her boobies! Let Salica have her vapors treated by Farfadi in her own way! Let Haria live and die among her dogs! Let Eriphila abandon herself to all the buffoons of Congo! What is all this to me? I only risk a castle thereby. Nay, I perceive that I must have no thoughts of it, and I have taken my resolution accordingly.”
“Farewell then the little monkey,” says Mangogul.
“Farewell the little monkey,” replies Mirzoza; “and the good opinion which I had conceived of my sex; I believe I shall never resume it. Prince, you will allow me not to suffer a women to enter these doors this fortnight at least.”
“But you must have some company,” added the Sultan.
“I shall enjoy your company, or please myself in expecting it,” replied the favourite: “and if any moments remain on my hands, I shall dispose of them in favor of Ricaric and Selim, who are attached to me, and whose conversation I love. When I happen to be tired of the erudition of my lecturer, your courtier will divert me with the adventures of his youth.”
XXXV
Conversation on Literature
The favorite loved men of genius, without pretending to be a genius herself. On her toilette, among jewels and other female ornaments, the novels and pamphlets of the time were to be met with, and she talk’d of them wonderfully well. From a Cavagnol and Biribi she passed with ease and propriety to the course of an academician, or other learned man: and everybody confessed, that the natural delicacy of her understanding made her discover beauties or defects in those several works, which had sometimes escaped their lucubrations. Mirzoza astonished them by her penetration, embarrassed them by her questions; but never abused the advantages which her wit and beauty gave her: and people were not sorry for being detected in the wrong by her. Towards the close of an evening, which she had passed with Mangogul, Selim came, and she sent for Ricaric. The African author has reserved Selim’s character for another place: but he informs us here, that Ricaric was a member of the academy of Congo; that his erudition had not hindered him from being a man of wit; that he had acquired a profound knowledge of former ages; that he had a scrupulous attachment to the ancient rules which he cited eternally; that he was a machine by principles; and that it was impossible to be a more zealous partisan of the first writers of Congo; but more especially of one Miroufla, who, about 3040 years before, had composed a sublime poem in the Caffrian language, on the conquest of a great forest, out of which the Caffres expelled the monkeys, who were in possession of it from time immemorial. Ricaric had translated it into Congese, and published a very beautiful edition of it, illustrated with notes, Scholia, various readings, and all the embellishments of a Benedictine edition. Besides, they had of him two bad tragedies writ according to all the rules, a panegyric on crocodiles, and some operas.
“I bring you, madam,” says Ricaric with a low bow, “a novel, which is ascribed to the marchioness Tamazi; but in which we unluckily discover the hand of Mulhazen, the answer of our president Lambadago to the discourse of the poet Tuxigraphus, which we received yesterday; and the Tamerlane of this last.”
“This is admirable!” says Mangogul. “The press goes on incessantly; and if the husbands of Congo performed their duty as well as the writers, in less than ten years I might be enabled to set sixteen hundred thousand men on foot, and promise myself the conquest of Monoémugi. We will read the novel at leisure. Now let us see the harangue, especially that part which relates to me.”
Ricaric turn’d it over, and light on this passage. “The ancestors of our august emperor have rendered themselves illustrious without doubt. But Mangogul, greater than they, has prepared quite different subjects of admiration for future ages. What do I say of admiration? Let us speak more accurately; of incredulity. If our ancestors had cause to assert, that posterity would esteem as fables the wonders of Kanaglou’s reign; how much more reason have we to think, that our descendants will refuse credit to the prodigies of wisdom and valor, of which we are witnesses?”
“My poor Mr. Lambadago,” says the Sultan, “you are but a retailer of phrases. What I have reason to believe, is that your successors will one day eclipse my glory by that of my son, as you make my father’s vanish before mine; and so on, as long as there will be one academician left. What think you, Mr. Ricaric?”
“Prince, all that I can say,” answered Ricaric, “is, that the passage which I have read to your highness, was extremely relished by the public.”
“So much the worse,” replied Mangogul. “Then the true taste of eloquence is lost in Congo? It was not thus that the sublime Homilogo praised the great Aben.”
“Prince,” said Ricaric, “true eloquence is nothing but the art of speaking in a noble, and at the same time agreeable and persuasive manner.”
“Add, and sensible,” continued the Sultan, “and upon this principle judge your friend Lambadago. With all the respect that I have for modern eloquence, he is but a false declaimer.”
“But, prince,” answered Ricaric, “without passing the bounds of that, which I owe your highness, will you permit me—”
“What I give
