Complete Works of Thomas Love Peacock

by Thomas Love Peacock

  Mr. Oran had long before shown a taste for music, and with some little instruction from a marine officer in the Tornado, had become a proficient on the flute and French horn. He could never be brought to understand the notes; but, from hearing any simple tune played or sung two or three times, he never failed to perform it with great exactness and brilliancy of execution. I shall merely observe, en passant, that music appears, from this and several similar circumstances, to be more natural to man than speech. The old captain was fond of his bottle of wine after dinner, and his glass of grog at night. Mr. Oran was easily brought to sympathise in this taste; and they have many times sat up together half the night over a flowing bowl, the old captain singing Rule Britannia, True Courage, or Tom Tough, and Sir Oran accompanying him on the French horn.

  During a summer tour in Devonshire, I called on my old friend Captain Hawltaught, and was introduced to Mr. Oran. You, who have not forgotten my old speculations on the origin and progress of man, may judge of my delight at this happy rencontre. I exerted all the eloquence I was master of to persuade Captain Hawltaught to resign him to me, that I might give him a philosophical education. Finding this point unattainable, I took a house in the neighbourhood, and the intercourse which ensued was equally beneficial and agreeable to all three.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. And what part did you take in their nocturnal concerts, with Tom Tough and the French horn?

  Mr. Forester. I was seldom present at them, and often remonstrated, but ineffectually, with the captain, on his corrupting the amiable simplicity of the natural man by this pernicious celebration of vinous and spirituous orgies; but the only answer I could ever get from him was a hearty damn against all water-drinkers, accompanied with a reflection that he was sure every enemy to wine and grog must have clapped down the hatches of his conscience on some secret villainy, which he feared good liquor would pipe ahoy; and he usually concluded by striking up Nothing like Grog; Saturday Night, or Swing the flowing Bowl, his friend Oran’s horn ringing in sympathetic symphony.

  The old captain used to say that grog was the elixir of life: but it did not prove so to him; for one night he tossed off his last bumper, sang his last stave, and heard the last flourish of his Oran’s horn. I thought poor Oran would have broken his heart; and, had he not been familiarised to me, and conceived a very lively friendship for me before the death of his old friend, I fear the consequences would have been fatal.

  Considering that change of scene would divert his melancholy, I took him with me to London. The theatres delighted him, particularly the opera, which not only accorded admirably with his taste for music, but where, as he looked round on the ornaments of the fashionable world, he seemed to be particularly comfortable, and to feel himself completely at home.

  There is, to a stranger, something ludicrous in a first view of his countenance, which led me to introduce him only into the best society, where politeness would act as a preventive to the propensity to laugh; for he has so nice a sense of honour (which I shall observe, by the way, is peculiar to man), that if he were to be treated with any kind of contumely, he would infallibly die of a broken heart, as has been seen in some of his species. With a view of ensuring him the respect of society which always attends on rank and fortune, I have purchased him a baronetcy, and made over to him an estate. I have also purchased of the Duke of Rottenburgh one half of the elective franchise vested in the body of Mr. Christopher Corporate, the free, fat, and dependent burgess of the ancient and honourable borough of Onevote, who returns two members to Parliament, one of whom will shortly be Sir Oran. (Sir Telegraph gave a long whistle.) But before taking this important step, I am desirous that he should finish his education. (Sir Telegraph whistled again.) I mean to say that I wish, if possible, to put a few words into his mouth, which I have hitherto found impracticable, though I do not entirely despair of ultimate success. But this circumstance, for reasons which I will give you by and by, does not at all militate against the proofs of his being a man.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. If he be but half a man, he will be the fitter representative of half an elector; for as that ‘ large body corporate of one,’ the free, fat, and dependent burgess of Onevote, returns two members to the honourable house, Sir Oran can only be considered as the representative of half of him. But, seriously, is not your principal object an irresistible exposure of the universality and omnipotence of corruption by purchasing for an oran outang one of those seats, the sale of which is unblushingly acknowledged to be as notorious as the sun at noon-day? or do you really think him one of us?

  Mr. Forester. I really think him a variety of the human species; and this is a point which I have it much at heart to establish in the acknowledgment of the civilised world.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. Buffon, whom I dip into now and then in the winter, ranks him, with Linnaeus, in the class of Simiae.

  Mr. Forester. Linnaeus has given him the curious denominations of Troglodytes, Homo nocturnus, and Homo silvestris: but he evidently thought him a man; he describes him as having a hissing speech, thinking, reasoning, believing that the earth was made for him, and that he will one day be its sovereign.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. God save King Oran! By the bye, you put me very much in mind of Valentine and Orson. This wild man of yours will turn out some day to be the son of a king, lost in the woods, and suckled by a lioness:—’ No waiter, but a knight templar’: — no Oran, but a true prince.

  Mr. Forester. As to Buffon, it is astonishing how that great naturalist could have placed him among the singes, when the very words of his description give him all the characteristics of human nature. It is still more curious to think that modern travellers should have made beasts, under the names of Pongos, Mandrills, and Oran Outangs, of the very same beings whom the ancients worshipped as divinities under the names of Fauns and Satyrs, Silenus and Pan.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. Your Oran rises rapidly in the scale of being: — from a baronet and M.P. to a king of the world, and now to a god of the woods.

  Mr. Forester. When I was in London last winter, I became acquainted with a learned mythologist, who has long laboured to rebuild the fallen temple of Jupiter. I introduced him to Sir Oran, for whom he immediately conceived a high veneration, and would never call him by any name but Pan. His usual salutation to him was in the following words:

  Which he thus translated:

  King of the world! enthusiast free, Who dwell’st in caves of liberty!

  And on thy wild pipe’s notes of glee Respondent Nature’s harmony!

  Leading beneath the spreading tree The Bacchanalian revelry!

  ‘This,’ said he, ’is part of the Orphic invocation of Pan. It alludes to the happy existence of the dancing Pans, Fauns, Orans, et id genus omne, whose dwellings are the caves of rocks and the hollows of trees, such as undoubtedly was, or would have been, the natural mode of life of our friend Pan among the woods of Angola. It alludes, too, to their musical powers, which in our friend Pan it gives me indescribable pleasure to find so happily exemplified. The epithet Bacchic, our friend Pan’s attachment to the bottle demonstrates to be very appropriate; and the epithet Koa-poKpanop, king of the world, points out a striking similarity between the Orphic Pan and the Troglodyte of Linnaeus, who believes that the earth was made for him, and that he will again be its sovereign.’ He laid great stress on the word AGAIN, and observed, if he were to develop all the ideas to which this word gave rise in his mind, he should find ample matter for a volume. Then repeating several times, Uav Koo-poKparup, and iterum fore telluris imperantem, he concluded by saying he had known many profound philosophical and mythological systems founded on much slighter analogies.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. Your learned mythologist appears to be non compos.

  Mr. Forester. By no means. He has a system of his own, which only appears in the present day more absurd than other systems, because it has fewer followers. The manner in which the spirit of system twists everything to its own views is truly wonderful. I believe th
at in every nation of the earth the system which has most followers will be found the most absurd in the eye of an enlightened philosophy.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. But if your Oran be a man, how is it that his long intercourse with other varieties of the human species has not taught him to speak?

  Mr. Forester. Speech is a highly artificial faculty. Civilised man is a highly artificial animal. The change from the wild to the civilised state affects not only his moral, but his physical nature, and this not rapidly and instantly, but in a long process of generations. The same change is obvious in domestic animals, and in cultivated plants. You know not where to look for the origin of the common dog, or the common fowl. The wild and tame hog, and the wild and tame cat, are marked by more essential differences than the oran and the civilised man. The origin of corn is as much a mystery to us as the source of the Nile was to the ancients. Innumerable flowers have been so changed from their original simplicity, that the art of horticulture may almost lay claim to the magic of a new creation. Is it then wonderful that the civilised man should have acquired some physical faculties which the natural man has not? It is demonstrable that speech is one. I do not, however, despair of seeing him make some progress in this art. Comparative anatomy shows that he has all the organs of articulation. Indeed he has, in every essential particular, the human form, and the human anatomy. Now I will only observe that if an animal who walks upright — is of the human form, both outside and inside — uses a weapon for defence and attack — associates with his kind — makes huts to defend himself from the weather, better I believe than those of the New Hollanders — is tame and gentle — and instead of killing men and women, as he could easily do, takes them prisoners and makes servants of them — who has, what I think essential to the human kind., a sense of honour; which is shown by breaking his heart, if laughed at, or made a show, or treated with any kind of contumely — who, when he is brought into the company of civilised men, behaves (as you have seen) with dignity and composure, altogether unlike a monkey; from whom he differs likewise in this material respect, that he is capable of great attachment to particular persons, of which the monkey is altogether incapable; and also in this respect, that a monkey never can be so tamed that we may depend on his not doing mischief when left alone, by breaking glasses or china within his reach; whereas the oran outang is altogether harmless; — who has so much of the docility of a man that he learns not only to do the common offices of life, but also to play on the flute and French horn; which shows that he must have an idea of melody and concord of sounds, which no brute animal has; — and lastly, if joined to all these qualities he has the organ of pronunciation, and consequently the capacity of speech, though not the actual use of it; if I say, such an animal be not a man, I should desire to know in what the essence of a man consists, and what it is that distinguishes a natural man from the man of art. That he understands many words, though he does not yet speak any, I think you may have observed, when you asked him to take wine, and applied to him for fish and partridge.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. The gestures, however slight, that accompany the expression of the ordinary forms of intercourse, may possibly explain that.

  Mr. Forester. You will find that he understands many things addressed to him on occasions of very unfrequent occurrence. With regard to his moral character, he is undoubtedly a mail) and a much better man than many that are to be found in civilised countries, as, when you are better acquainted with him, I feel very confident you will readily acknowledge. to consider the mechanism of speech, that such various actions and configurations of the organs of speech as are necessary for articulation can be natural to man. Whoever thinks this possible, should go and see, as I have done, Mr. Braid wood of Edinburgh, or the Abbé de l’Epée in Paris, teach the dumb to speak; and when he has observed all the different actions of the organs, which those professors are obliged to mark distinctly to their pupils with a great deal of pains and labour, so far from thinking articulation natural to man, he will rather wonder how, by any teaching or imitation, he should attain to the ready performance of such various and complicated operations.’

  ‘Quoique l’organe de la parole soit naturel à l’homme, la parole ellemême ne lui est pourtant pas naturelle.’ — ROUSSEAU, Discours sur l’Inégalité, note .

  ‘The oran outang, so accurately dissected by Tyson, had exactly the same organs of voice that a man has.’ — Ancient Metaphysics, vol iii p. 44.

  ‘I have been told that the oran outang who is to be seen in Sir Ashton Lever’s collection, had learned before he died to articulate some words.’ — Ibid

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. I shall be very happy, when his election comes on for Onevote, to drive him down in my barouche to the honourable and ancient borough.

  Mr. Forester promised to avail himself of this proposal; when the iron tongue of midnight tolling twelve induced them to separate for the night.

  CHAPTER VII

  THE PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION

  THE NEXT MORNING, while Sir Telegraph, Sir Oran, and Mr. Forester were sitting down to their breakfast, a post-chaise rattled up to the door; the glass was let down, and a tall, thin, pale, grave-looking personage peeped from the aperture. ‘This is Mr. Fax,’ said Mr. Forester, ‘the champion of calm reason, the indefatigable explorer of the cold clear springs of knowledge, the bearer of the torch of dispassionate truth, that gives more light than warmth. He looks on the human world, the world of mind, the conflict of interests, the collision of feelings, the infinitely diversified developments of energy and intelligence, as a mathematician looks on his diagrams, or a mechanist on his wheels and pulleys, as if they were foreign to his own nature, and were nothing more than subjects of curious speculation.’

  Mr. Forester had not time to say more; for Mr. Fax entered, and shook hands with him, was introduced in due form to Sir Telegraph, and sat down to assist in the demolition of the matériel of breakfast.

  Mr. Fax. Your Redrose Abbey is a beautiful metamorphosis. — I can scarcely believe that these are the mouldering walls of the pious fraternity of Rednose, which I contemplated two years ago.

  Mr. Forester. The picturesque tourists will owe me no good-will for the metamorphosis, though I have endeavoured to leave them as much mould, mildew, and weather-stain as possible.

  Mr. Fax. The exterior has suffered little; it still retains a truly venerable monastic character.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. Something monastic in the interior too. — Very orthodox old wine in the cellar, I can tell you. And the Reverend Father Abbot there, as determined a bachelor as the Pope.

  Mr. Forester. If I am so, it is because, like the Squire of Dames, I seek and cannot find. I see in my mind’s eye the woman I would choose, but I very much fear that is the only mode of optics in which she will ever be visible.

  Mr. Fax. No matter. Bachelors and spinsters I decidedly venerate. The world is overstocked with featherless bipeds. More men than com is a fearful pre-eminence, the sole and fruitful cause of penury, disease, and war, plague, pestilence, and famine.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. I hope you will not long have cause to venerate me. What is life without love? A rosebush in winter, all thorns, and no flowers.

  Mr. Fax. And what is it with love? A double-blossomed cherry, flowers without fruit; if the blossoms last a month, it is as much as can be expected: they fall, and what comes in their place? Vanity, and vexation of spirit.

  Sir Telegraph Paxarett. Better vexation than stagnation: marriage may often be a stormy lake, but celibacy is almost always a muddy horsepond.

  Mr. Fax. Rather a calm clear river —

  Mr. Forester. Flowing through a desert, where it moves in loneliness, and reflects no forms of beauty.

  Mr. Fax. That is not the way to consider the case. Feelings and poetical images are equally out of place in a calm philosophical view of human society. Some must marry, that the world may be peopled: many must abstain, that it may not be overstocked. Little and good is very applicable in this case. It
is better that the world should have a smaller number of peaceable and rational inhabitants, living in universal harmony and social intercourse, than the disproportionate mass of fools, slaves, coxcombs, thieves, rascals, liars, and cutthroats, with which its surface is at present encumbered. It is in vain to declaim about the preponderance of physical and moral evil, and attribute it, with the Manicheans, to a mythological principle, or, with some modern philosophers, to the physical constitution of the globe. The cause of all the evils of human society is single, obvious, reducible to the most exact mathematical calculation; and of course susceptible not only of remedy but even of utter annihilation. The cause is the tendency of population to increase beyond the means of subsistence. The remedy is an universal social compact, binding both sexes to equally rigid celibacy, till the prospect of maintaining the average number of six children be as clear as the arithmetic of futurity can make it.

  Mr. Forester. The arithmetic of futurity has been found in a more than equal number of instances to baffle human skill. The rapid and sudden mutations of fortune are the inexhaustible theme of history, poetry, and romance; and they are found in forms as various and surprising, in the scenes of daily life, as on the stage of Drury Lane.