CHAPTER XXIX. SOME EXPLANATIONS—A HUMAN APPETITE—A DINNER AND A BONNE BOUCHE.

The brigadier and myself remained behind to discuss the general bearings of this unexpected event.

“Your rigid demand for motives, my good sir,” I remarked, “reduces the Leaplow political morality very much, after all, to the level of the social-stake system of our part of the world.”

“They both depend on the crutch of personal Interests, it is true; though there is, between them, the difference of the interests of a part and of the interests of the whole.”

“And could a part act less commendably than the whole appear to have acted in this instance?”

“You forget that Leaplow, just at this moment, is under a moral eclipse. I shall not say that these eclipses do not occur often, but they occur quite as frequently in other parts of the region, as they occur here. We have three great modes of controlling monikin affairs, viz., the one, the few, and the many—”

“Precisely the same classification exists among men!” I interrupted.

“Some of our improvements are reflected backward; twilight following as well as preceding the passage of the sun,” quite coolly returned the brigadier. “We think that the many come nearest to balancing the evil, although we are far from believing even them to be immaculate. Admitting that the tendencies to wrong are equal in the three systems (which we do not, however, for we think our own has the least), it is contended that the many escape one great source of oppression and injustice, by escaping the onerous provisions which physical weakness is compelled to make, in order to protect itself against physical strength.”

“This is reversing a very prevalent opinion among men, sir, who usually maintain that the tyranny of the many is the worst sort of all tyrannies.”

“This opinion has got abroad simply because the lion has not been permitted to draw his own picture. As cruelty is commonly the concomitant of cowardice, so is oppression nine times out of ten the result of weakness. It is natural for the few to dread the many, while it is not natural for the many to dread the few. Then, under institutions in which the many rule, certain great principles that are founded on natural justice, as a matter of course, are openly recognized; and it is rare, indeed, that they do not, more or less, influence the public acts. On the other hand, the control of a few requires that these same truths should be either mystified or entirely smothered: and the consequence is injustice.”

“But, admitting all your maxims, brigadier, as regards the few and the many, you must yourself allow that here, in your beloved Leaplow itself, monikins consult their own interests; and this, after all, is acting on the fundamental principle of the great European social-stake system.”

“Meaning that the goods of the world ought to be the test of political power. By the sad confusion which exists among us, at this moment, Sir John, you must perceive that we are not exactly under the most salutary of all possible influences. I take it that the great desideratum of society is to be governed by certain great moral truths. The inferences and corollaries of these truths are principles, which come of heaven. Now, agreeably to the monikin dogmas, the love of money is ‘of the earth, earthy’; and, at the first blush, it would not seem to be quite safe to receive such an inducement as the governing motive of one monikin, and, by a pretty fair induction, it would seem to be equally unwise to admit it for a good many. You will remember, also, that when none but the rich have authority, they control not only their own property, but that of others who have less. Your principle supposes, that in taking care of his own, the elector of wealth must take care of what belongs to the rest of the community; but our experience shows that a monikin can be particularly careful of himself, and singularly negligent of his neighbor. Therefore do we hold that money is a bad foundation for power.”

“You unsettle everything, brigadier, without finding a substitute.”

“Simply because it is easy to unsettle everything and very difficult to find substitutes. But, as respects the base of society, I merely doubt the wisdom of setting up a qualification that we all know depends on an unsound principle. I much fear, Sir John, that, so long as monikins are monikins, we shall never be quite perfect; and as to your social-stake system, I am of opinion that as society is composed of all, it may be well to hear what all have to say about its management.”

“Many men, and, I dare say, many monikins, are not to be trusted even with the management of their own concerns.”

“Very true; but it does not follow that other men, or other monikins, will lose sight of their own interests on this account, if vested with the right to act as their substitutes. You have been long enough a legislator, now, to have got some idea how difficult it is to make even a direct and responsible representative respect entirely the interests and wishes of his constituents; and the fact will show you how little he will be likely to think of others, who believes that he acts as their master and not as their servant.”

“The amount of all this, brigadier, is that you have little faith in monikin disinterestedness, in any shape; that you believe he who is intrusted with power will abuse it; and therefore, you choose to divide the trust, in order to divide the abuses; that the love of money is an ‘earthy’ quality, and not to be confided in as the controlling power of a state; and, finally, that the social-stake system is radically wrong, inasmuch as it is no more than carrying out a principle that is in itself defective.”

My companion gaped, like one content to leave the matter there. I wished him a good morning, and walked upstairs in quest of Noah, whose carnivorous looks had given me considerable uneasiness. The captain was out; and, after searching for him in the streets for an hour or two, I returned to our abode fatigued and hungry.

At no great distance from our own door, I met Judge People’s Friend, shorn and dejected, and I stopped to say a kind word, before going up the ladder. It was quite impossible to see a gentleman, whom one had met in good society and in better fortunes, with every hair shaved from his body, his apology for a tail still sore from its recent amputation, and his entire mien expressive of republican humility, without a desire to condole with him. I expressed my regrets, therefore, as succinctly as possible, encouraging him with the hope of seeing a new covering of down before long, but delicately abstaining from any allusion to the cauda, whose loss I knew was irretrievable. To my great surprise, however, the judge answered cheerfully; discarding, for the moment, every appearance of self-abasement and mortification.

“How is this?” I cried; “you are not then miserable?”

“Very far from it, Sir John—I never was in better spirits, or had better prospects, in my life.”

I remembered the extraordinary manner in which the brigadier had saved Noah’s head, and was fully resolved not to be astonished at any manifestation of monikin ingenuity. Still I could not forbear demanding an explanation.

“Why, it may seem odd to you, Sir John, to find a politician, who is apparently in the depths of despair, really on the eve of a glorious preferment. Such, however, is in fact my case. In Leaplow, humility is everything. The monikin who will take care and repeat sufficiently often that he is just the poorest devil going, that he is absolutely unfit for even the meanest employment in the land, and in other respects ought to be hooted out of society, may very safely consider himself in a fair way to be elevated to some of the dignities he declares himself the least fitted to fill.”

“In such a case, all he will have to do then, will be to make his choice, and denounce himself loudest touching his especial disqualifications for that very station?”

“You are apt, Sir John, and would succeed, if you would only consent to remain among us!” said the judge, winking.

“I begin to see into your management—after all, you are neither miserable nor ashamed?”

“Not the least in the world. It is of more importance for monikins of my calibre to seem to be anything than to be it. My fellow-citizens are usually satisfied with this sacrifice; and, now principle is eclipsed, nothing is easier.”

“But how happens it, judge, that one of your surprising dexterity and agility should be caught tripping? I had thought you particularly expert, and infallible in all the gyrations. Perhaps the little affair of the cauda has leaked out?”

The judge laughed in my face.

“I see you know little of us, after all, Sir John. Here have we proscribed caudae, as anti-republican, both public opinions setting their faces against them; and yet a monikin may wear one abroad a mile long with impunity if he will just submit to a new dock when he comes home, and swear that he is the most miserable wretch going. If he can throw in a favorable word, too, touching the Leaplow cats and dogs—Lord bless you, sir! they would pardon treason!”

“I begin to comprehend your policy, judge, if not your polity. Leaplow being a popular government, it becomes necessary that its public agents should be popular too. Now, as monikins naturally delight in their own excellences, nothing so disposes them to give credit to another, as his professions that he is worse than themselves.”

The judge nodded and grinned.

“But another word, dear sir—as you feel yourself constrained to commend the cats and dogs of Leaplow, do you belong to that school of philocats, who take their revenge for their amenity to the quadrupeds, by berating their fellow-creatures?”

The judge started, and glanced about him as if he dreaded a thief-taker. Then earnestly imploring me to respect his situation, he added in a whisper, that the subject of the people was sacred with him, that he rarely spoke of them without a reverence, and that his favorable sentiments in relation to the cats and dogs were not dependent on any particular merits of the animals themselves, but merely because they were the people’s cats and dogs. Fearful that I might say something still more disagreeable, the judge hastened to take his leave, and I never saw him afterward. I make no doubt, however, that in good time his hair grew as he grew again into favor, and that he found the means to exhibit the proper length of tail on all suitable occasions.

A crowd in the street now caught my attention. On approaching it, a colleague who was there was kind enough to explain its cause.

It would seem that certain Leaphighers had been travelling in Leaplow; and, not satisfied with this liberty, they had actually written books concerning things that they had seen, and things that they had not seen. As respects the latter, neither of the public opinions was very sensitive, although many of them reflected on the Great National Allegory and the sacred rights of monikins; but as respects the former, there was a very lively excitement. These writers had the audacity to say that the Leaplowers had cut off all their caudae, and the whole community was convulsed at an outrage so unprecedented. It was one thing to take such a step, and another to have it proclaimed to the world in books. If the Leaplowers had no tails, it was clearly their own fault. Nature had formed them with tails. They had bobbed themselves on a republican principle; and no one’s principles ought to be thrown into his face, in this rude manner, more especially during a moral eclipse.

The dispensers of the essence of lopped tails threatened vengeance; caricaturists were put in requisition; some grinned, some menaced, some swore, and all read!

I left the crowd, taking the direction of my door again, pondering on this singular state of society, in which a peculiarity that had been deliberately and publicly adopted, should give rise to a sensitiveness of a character so unusual. I very well knew that men are commonly more ashamed of natural imperfections than those which, in a great measure, depend on themselves; but then men are, in their own estimation at least, placed by nature at the head of creation, and in that capacity it is reasonable to suppose they will be jealous of their natural privileges. The present case was rather Leaplow than generic; and I could only account for it, by supposing that nature had placed certain nerves in the wrong part of the Leaplow anatomy.

On entering the house, a strong smell of roasted meat saluted my nostrils, causing a very unphilosophical pleasure to the olfactory nerves, a pleasure which acted very directly, too, on the gastric juices of the stomach. In plain English, I had very sensible evidence that it was not enough to transport a man to the monikin region, send him to parliament, and keep him on nuts for a week, to render him exclusively ethereal, I found it was vain “to kick against the pricks.” The odor of roasted meat was stronger than all the facts just named, and I was fain to abandon philosophy, and surrender to the belly. I descended incontinently to the kitchen, guided by a sense no more spiritual than that which directs the hound in the chase.

On opening the door of our refectory, such a delicious perfume greeted the nose, that I melted like a romantic girl at the murmur of a waterfall, and, losing sight of all the sublime truths so lately acquired, I was guilty of the particular human weakness which is usually described as having the “mouth water.”

The sealer had quite taken leave of his monikin forbearance, and was enjoying himself in a peculiarly human manner. A dish of roasted meat was lying before him, and his eyes fairly glared as he turned them from me to the viand, in a way to render it a little doubtful whether I was a welcome visitor. But that honest old principle of seamen which never refuses to share equally with an ancient mess-mate, got the better even of his voracity.

“Sit down, Sir John,” the captain cried, without ceasing to masticate, “and make no bones of it. To own the fact, the latter are almost as good as the flesh. I never tasted a sweeter morsel!”

I did not wait for a second invitation, the reader may be sure; and in less than ten minutes the dish was as clear as a table that had been swept by harpies. As this work is intended for one in which truth is rigidly respected, I shall avow that I do not remember any cultivation of sentiment which gave me half so much satisfaction as that short and hurried repast. I look back to it, even now, as to the very beau ideal of a dinner! Its fault was in the quantity, and not in quality.

I gazed greedily about for more. Just then, I caught a glimpse of a face that seemed looking at me with melancholy reproach. The truth flashed upon me in a flood of horrible remorse. Rushing upon Noah like a tiger, I seized him by the throat, and cried, in a voice of despair:

“Cannibal! what hast thou done?”

“Loosen your grip, Sir John—we do not relish these hugs at Stunin’tun.”

“Wretch! thou hast made me the participator of thy crime! We have eaten Brigadier Downright.”

“Loosen, Sir John, or human natur’ will rebel.”

“Monster! give up thy unholy repast—dost not see a million reproaches in the eyes of the innocent victim of thy insatiable appetites?”

“Cast off, Sir John, cast off, while we are friends, I care not if I have swallowed all the brigadiers in Leaplow—off hands!”

“Never, monster! until thou disgorgest thy unholy meal!”

Noah could endure no more; but, seizing me by the throat, on the retaliating principle, I soon had some such sensations as one would be apt to feel if his gullet were in a vice. I shall not attempt to describe very minutely the miracle that followed. Hanging ought to be an effectual remedy for many delusions; for, in my case, the bowstring I was under certainly did wonders in a very short time. Gradually the whole scene changed. First came a mist, then a vertigo; and finally, as the captain relaxed his hold, objects appeared in new forms, and instead of being in our lodgings in Bivouac, I found myself in my old apartment in the Rue de Rivoli, Paris.

“King!” exclaimed Noah, who stood before me, red in the face with exertion; “this is no boy’s play, and if it’s to be repeated, I shall use a lashing! Where would be the harm, Sir John, if a man had eaten a monkey?”

Astonishment kept me mute. Every object, just as I had left it the morning we started for London, on our way to Leaphigh, was there. A table, in the centre of the room, was covered with sheets of paper closely written over, which, on examination, I found contained this manuscript as far as the last chapter. Both the captain and myself were attired as usual; I a la Parisien and he a la Stunin’tun. A small ship, very ingeniously made, and very accurately rigged, lay on the floor, with “Walrus” written on her stern. As my bewildered eye caught a glimpse of this vessel, Noah informed me that, having nothing to do except to look after my welfare (a polite way of characterizing his ward over my person, as I afterward found), he had employed his leisure in constructing the toy.

All was inexplicable. There was really the smell of meat. I had also that peculiar sensation of fulness which is apt to succeed a dinner, and a dish well filled with bones was in plain view. I took up one of the latter, in order to ascertain its genus. The captain kindly informed me that it was the remains of a pig, which had cost him a great deal of trouble to obtain, as the French viewed the act of eating a pig as very little less heinous than the act of eating a child. Suspicions began to trouble me, and I now turned to look for the head and reproachful eye of the brigadier.

The head was where I had just before seen it, visible over the top of a trunk; but it was so far raised as to enable me to see that it was still planted on its shoulders. A second look enabled me to distinguish the meditative, philosophical countenance of Dr. Reasono, who was still in the hussar-jacket and petticoat, though, being in the house, he had very properly laid aside the Spanish hat with bedraggled feathers.

A movement followed in the antechamber, and a hurried conversation, in a low, earnest tone, succeeded. The captain disappeared, and joined the speakers. I listened intently, but could not catch any of the intonations of a dialect founded on the decimal principle. Presently the door opened, and Dr. Etherington stood before me!

The good divine regarded me long and earnestly. Tears filled his eyes, and, stretching out both hands towards me, he asked:

“Do you know me, Jack?”

“Know you, dear sir!—Why should I not?”

“And do you forgive me, dear boy?”

“For what, sir?—I am sure, I have most reason to demand your pardon for a thousand follies.”

“Ah! the letter—the unkind—the inconsiderate letter!”

“I have not had a letter from you, sir, in a twelvemonth; the last was anything but unkind.”

“Though Anna wrote, it was at my dictation.”

I passed a hand over my brow, and had dawnings of the truth.

“Anna?”

“Is here—in Paris—and miserable—most miserable!—on your account.”

Every particle of monikinity that was left in my system instantly gave way to a flood of human sensations.

“Let me fly to her, dear sir—a moment is an age!”

“Not just yet, my boy. We have much to say to each other, nor is she in this hotel. To-morrow, when both are better prepared, you shall meet.”

“Add, never to separate, sir, and I will be patient as a lamb.”

“Never to separate, I believe it will be better to say.”

I hugged my venerable guardian, and found a delicious relief from a most oppressive burden of sensations, in a flow of tears,

Dr. Etherington soon led me into a calmer tone of mind. In the course of the day, many matters were discussed and settled. I was told that Captain Poke had been a good nurse, though in a sealing fashion; and that the least I could do was to send him back to Stunin’tun, free of cost. This was agreed to, and the worthy but dogmatical mariner was promised the means of fitting out a new “Debby and Dolly.”

“These philosophers had better be presented to some academy,” observed the doctor, smiling, as he pointed to the family of amiable strangers, “being already F. U. D. G. E.’s and H. O. A. X.’s. Mr. Reasono, in particular, is unfit for ordinary society.”

“Do with them as you please, my more than father. Let the poor animals, however, be kept from physical suffering.”

“Attention shall be paid to all their wants, both physical and moral.”

“And in a day or two, we shall proceed to the rectory?”

“The day after to-morrow, if you have strength.”

“And to-morrow?”

“Anna will see you.”

“And the next day?”

“Nay, not quite so soon, Jack; but the moment we think you perfectly restored, she shall share your fortunes for the remainder of your common probation.”