No More Learning

10282 (#102) ##########################################

10282
THOMAS MOORE
Cling to these yet cool lips, and share
The last pure life that lingers there! "
She fails she sinks; as dies the lamp
In charnel airs or cavern damp,
So quickly do his baleful sighs
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes.
One struggle; and his pain is past-
Her lover is no longer living!
One kiss the maiden gives, one last
Long kiss, which she expires in giving!
--
"Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul,
As true as e'er warmed a woman's breast,-
"Sleep on; in visions of odor rest;
In balmier airs than ever yet stirred
The enchanted pile of that lonely bird,
Who sings at the last his own death-lay
And in music and perfume dies away! "
Thus saying, from her lips she spread
Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed
Such lustre o'er each paly face,
That like two lovely saints they seemed,
Upon the eve of Doomsday taken
From their dim graves in odor sleeping;
While that benevolent Peri beamed
Like their good angel calmly keeping
Watch o'er them till their souls would waken.
But morn is blushing in the sky;
Again the Peri soars above,
Bearing to heaven that precious sigh
Of pure self-sacrificing love.
High throbbed her heart, with hope elate:
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright spirit at the gate
Smiled as she gave that offering in;
And she already hears the trees
Of Eden with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze
That from the throne of Alla swells;
And she can see the starry bowls
That lie around that lucid lake


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THOMAS MOORE
10283
Upon whose banks admitted souls
Their first sweet draught of glory take!
But ah! even Peris' hopes are vain:
Again the fates forbade, again
The immortal barrier closed. "Not yet,"
The angel said, as with regret
He shut from her that glimpse of glory:
"True was the maiden, and her story,
Written in light o'er Alla's head,
By seraph eyes shall long be read.
But, Peri, see the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not: holier far
-
Than even this sigh the boon must be
That opes the gates of heaven for thee. »
Now upon Syria's land of roses
Softly the light of eve reposes,
And like a glory the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon,
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer in a vale of flowers
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
To one who looked from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks.
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sunlight falls;
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls.
Of ruined shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light;
And yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam
Of the warm west, as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows such as span
The unclouded skies of Peristan.
-
And then the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum


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10284
THOMAS MOORE
Of the wild bees of Palestine,
Banqueting through the flowery vales;
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods so full of nightingales.
But naught can charm the luckless Peri:
Her soul is sad, her wings are weary;
Joyless she sees the sun look down
On that great temple once his own,
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,
Flinging their shadows from on high
Like dials which the wizard Time
Had raised to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie concealed
Beneath those chambers of the sun
Some amulet of gems, annealed
In upper fires, some tablet sealed
With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spelled by her illumined eyes,
May teach her where beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean, lies the boon,
The charm, that can restore so soon
An erring spirit to the skies.
Cheered by this hope, she bends her thither;-
Still laughs the radiant eye of heaven,
Nor have the golden bowers of even
In the rich west begun to wither;-
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging,
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing with eager hands and eyes
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,
-
That fluttered round the jasmine stems
Like wingèd flowers or flying gems:
And near the boy, who, tired with play,
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount,
Impatient fling him down to drink.
Then swift his haggard brow he turned
To the fair child, who fearless sat,


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THOMAS MOORE
10285
Though never yet hath day-beam burned
Upon a brow more fierce than that:
Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire;
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed,-
The ruined maid, the shrine profaned,
Oaths broken, and the threshold stained
With blood of guests! -there written, all,
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing angel's pen,
Ere mercy weeps them out again.
-
Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening-time
Softened his spirit) looked and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play;
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze
As torches that have burnt all night,
Through some impure and godless rite,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.
But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air
From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod
Kneels with his forehead to the south,
Lisping the eternal name of God
From purity's own cherub mouth;
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again.
Oh! 'twas a sight,- that heaven, that child,-
A scene, which might have well beguiled
Even haughty Eblis of a sigh
For glories lost and peace gone by!
And how felt he, the wretched man
Reclining there, while memory ran


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10286
THOMAS MOORE
O'er many a year of guilt and strife,-
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace.
"There was a time," he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child!
When, young and haply pure as thou,
I looked and prayed like thee; but now-— »
He hung his head; each nobler aim
And hope and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept - he wept!
Blest tears of soul-felt penitence;
In whose benign, redeeming flow
Is felt the first, the only sense
Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.
"There's a drop," said the Peri, "that down from the moon
Falls through the withering airs of June
Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power,
So balmy a virtue, that even in the hour
That drop descends, contagion dies
And health reanimates earth and skies!
Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,
The precious tears of repentance fall?
Though foul thy fiery plagues within,
One heavenly drop hath dispelled them all! "
And now-behold him kneeling there
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven
The triumph of a soul forgiven!
'Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they lingered yet,
There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek.
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam;
But well the enraptured Peri knew
'Twas a bright smile the angel threw


## p. 10287 (#107) ##########################################

THOMAS MOORE
10287
Ο
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near!
"Joy, joy forever! my task is done-
The gates are passed, and heaven is won!
Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am
To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad
Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,
And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad!
-
"Farewell, ye odors of earth, that die
Passing away like a lover's sigh:
My feast is now of the Tooba Tree,
Whose scent is the breath of Eternity!
"Farewell, ye vanishing flowers that shone
In my fairy wreath so bright and brief:
Oh! what are the brightest that e'er have blown
To the lote-tree springing by Alla's throne,
Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf.
Joy, joy forever! my task is done —
The gates are passed, and heaven is won! "
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM
H! THE days are gone, when beauty bright
My heart's chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night,
Was love, still love.
New hope may bloom,
And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream;
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream.
Though the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past;
Though he win the wise, who frowned before,
To smile at last:
He'll never meet
A joy so sweet,
In all his noon of fame,


## p. 10288 (#108) ##########################################

10288
THOMAS MOORE
As when first he sung to woman's ear
His soul-felt flame,
And at every close she blushed to hear
The one loved name.
No, that hallowed form is ne'er forgot
Which first love traced;
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste.
'Twas odor fled
As soon as shed;
'Twas morning's winged dream:
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream;
Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream.
THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING
HE time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing.
The light that lies
In woman's eyes,
THE
Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorned the lore she brought me:
My only books
Were woman's looks,
And folly's all they've taught me.
Her smile when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the sprite
Whom maids by night
Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, Beauty won me;
But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray
Was turned away,
Oh! winds could not outrun me.
And are those follies going?
And is my proud heart growing
Too cold or wise
For brilliant eyes
Again to set it glowing?


## p. 10289 (#109) ##########################################

THOMAS MOORE
10289
No-vain, alas! the endeavor
From bonds so sweet to sever:
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance
Is now as weak as ever.
BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS
B
ELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts fading away:
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear:
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.
COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM
Co
OME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer:
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still
here;
Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.
Oh, what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,—
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss,
And thy angel I'll be through the horrors of this:
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too!
XVIII-644


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10290
THOMAS MOORE
NORA CREINA
ESBIA hath a beaming eye,
L$
But no one knows for whom it beameth;
Right and left its arrows fly,
But what they aim at no one dreameth.
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
My Nora's lid that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one
Like unexpected light surprises!
O my Nora Creina, dear,
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
Beauty lies
In many eyes,
But Love in yours, my Nora Creina.
Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
But all so close the nymph hath laced it,
Not a charm of beauty's mold
Presumes to stay where nature placed it.
Oh! my Nora's gown for me,
That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
Leaving every beauty free
To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear,
My simple, graceful Nora Creina,
Nature's dress
Is loveliness-
The dress you wear, my Nora Creina.
Lesbia hath a wit refined,
But when its points are gleaming round us,
Who can tell if they're designed
To dazzle merely, or to wound us?
Pillowed on my Nora's heart,
In safer slumber Love reposes
-
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses.
O my Nora Creina dear,
My mild, my artless Nora Creina!
Wit, though bright,
Hath no such light
As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina.


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THOMAS MOORE
10291
OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT
FT, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood's years,
OFT
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
When I remember all
The friends, so linked together,
I've seen around me fall
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but him departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME
OH
H! BREATHE not his name,-let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.


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THOMAS MOORE
10292
'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
Is the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
'T's
No flower of her kindred,
No rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS
THE
HE harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er;
And hearts that once beat high for praise
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.


## p. 10293 (#113) ##########################################

THOMAS MOORE
10293
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.
SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL
MIRIAM'S SONG
«And Miriam, the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her
hand;
and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. »
- EXOD. xv. 20.
-
OUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea:
Jehovah has triumphed his people are free!
Sing - for the pride of the tyrant is broken:
His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave-
How vain was their boast; for the Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea:
Jehovah has triumphed—his people are free!
Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord!
His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword.
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?
For the Lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory,
And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea:
Jehovah has triumphed-his people are free!
―
"THOU ART, O GOD»
«The day is thine, the night is also thine; thou hast prepared the light and
the sun.
"Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and
winter. "- PSALM 1xxiv. 16, 17.
THOU
HOU art, O God, the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we, see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from thee;
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine!


## p. 10294 (#114) ##########################################

10294
THOMAS MOORE
!
When day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into heaven,
Those hues, that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are thine.
When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes,
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are thine.
When youthful spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.
THE BIRD LET LOOSE
THE
HE bird let loose in eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam;
But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadows dim her way.
So grant me, God, from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to thee!
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs:
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings!


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## p. 10294 (#117) ##########################################

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10295
SIR THOMAS MORE
(1478-1535)
BY ANNA MCCLURE SHOLL
IR THOMAS MORE is conspicuous among English men of letters,
not solely because of the quality of his English and Latin
prose; but in the main for the humanistic spirit of his cult-
ure. In an age when his nation was not distinguished for liberality
of thought nor for breadth of human view, Thomas More linked to
his mediæval devoutness a passion for intellectual freedom which
places him in the first rank of modern thinkers. He obtains perhaps
broader recognition, as one whose public and private life was of such
exalted purity and high-minded fidelity to a fixed ideal, that later
generations have found in his character the essential elements of
sainthood.
He was born in 1478, in the morning twilight of the Renaissance.
The strong new life of Italy, awakening to the beauty and won-
der of the world and of man, under the inspiration of the Hellenic
spirit, had not yet communicated its full warmth and vigor to the
nations of the north. England was still mediæval and scholastic when
Thomas More was a page in the household of Cardinal Morton. Even
the great universities were under the domination of the schoolmen.
Greek was neglected for the dusty Latin of scholasticism. The highly
susceptible nature of Thomas More felt nevertheless the influence of
the classical revival, with its accompanying revival of humanitarian
sympathies. Humane in temperament, of a sweet and reasonable
mind, he was drawn naturally to the study of the Greek classics. At
the same time his inheritance of the simple Christian piety of an
earlier day inclined him to asceticism. His soul was mediæval; his
mind was modern. Self-repression and self-expansion struggled within
him for the mastery. The hair shirt and the wooden pillow were
placed over against the delights of the new learning. The career of
Thomas More was determined by his father, a lawyer of distinction,
who wished his son to be a devotee neither of religion nor of lit-
erature. In 1494, after a two-years' residence at Oxford, More was
entered at New Inn to begin the study of law. From thenceforth his
career was to be more and more involved with the troubled politics
of England in the reigns of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. For a time,


## p. 10296 (#120) ##########################################

10296
SIR THOMAS MORE
however, he was to advance quietly in his chosen profession, matur-
ing under the influences of life in the world, and under the enriching
forces of his friendship with Erasmus. In Erasmus, the cultured and
philosophical representative of the new era, More found satisfaction
for needs of his own nature which neither the study of law nor the
exercises of devotion could wholly meet. The author of the Uto-
pia' would follow the leadership of love into many paths which
might otherwise have offered no thoroughfare. It is in the 'Utopia'
that the friend of Erasmus, the lover of Greek humanism, the mod-
ern thinker, escapes from the trammels of his age and environment,
and gives expression to the best that is within him.
As far as was possible More sought to give a practical outlet to
his high and prophetic ideals. In doing so he ran contrary to the
tendency of his time, and paid the last penalty of such a course -
martyrdom. From the accession of Henry VIII. in 1509, to 1532, the
year in which More resigned the Great Seal, his career indicated not
only his moral and intellectual greatness, but the pressure of his
individuality against the trammels of an age too strait for it. The
justice and mercy of Sir Thomas More belong rather to the nineteenth
century than to the sixteenth, despite their setting in the religious
thought and feeling of the Middle Age.
The landmarks of his life, his appointment as under-sheriff of
London in 1510, his embassy to Flanders in 1514 and to Calais in
1517, his admission to the Privy Council in 1518, his promotion to the
Under-Treasurership in 1521 and his knighting in the same year, his
election as Speaker of the House of Commons in 1523, his advance-
ment to the Lord Chancellorship in 1529-these events were steps
in an uncongenial progress towards an undesired goal. Between the
author of the 'Utopia' and Henry VIII. there was a great gulf fixed.
The monarch might walk and talk familiarly with his Lord Chan-
cellor in the pleasant gardens of More's home at Chelsea, but this
friendship of royal imposition was the artificial linking of a modern
man with a feudal tyrant. The conflict of Sir Thomas More with
Henry VIII. over the divorce of Katherine of Aragon was less one
of religion than of the old order with the new. The execution of
More in 1535, for refusing to accept the Act of Supremacy, was but
the natural outcome of this conflict.
――
In the Utopia' More embodied his ideals of society and govern-
ment, for which he had found so few mediums of expression in the
actual order about him. A critic in the Quarterly Review justly says
of the book that "it is an indictment of the state of society in which
More found himself, and an aspiration after a fairer and juster order-
ing of the commonwealth. We can trace in it something vaticinatory;
some forecast of the prophetic soul of the great world dreaming on


## p. 10297 (#121) ##########################################

SIR THOMAS MORE
10297
things to come. " Another critic, Rudbart, finds it underlain with
three great truths: that toleration should prevail in matters of reli-
gious belief; that all political power should not be vested in a single
hand; that the well-being of the body politic depends upon the ethi-
cal and religious fitness of its members.
'Utopia,' the island of Nowhere, where labor is recreation, where
want is not, where men are brothers, remains still an ideal to modern
minds of a certain type. The charm of the book itself lies partly in
its attractive subject-a golden age is always of interest partly
in its quaint and fragrant style.
In the annals of English literature, Sir Thomas More the Lord
Chancellor is less remembered than Sir Thomas More the friend
of Erasmus and of Holbein, the head of the patriarchal household at
Chelsea, the father of Margaret Roper. As one of the first-born of
an age whose hospitality he was not destined to enjoy, he possesses
a strong claim upon the interest and sympathy of modern genera-
tions.
Alena Mazure Sholl
-
A LETTER TO LADY MORE
[Returning from the negotiations at Cambray, Sir Thomas More heard
that his barns and some of those of his neighbors had been burned down; he
consequently wrote the following letter to his wife. Its gentleness to a sour-
tempered woman, and the benevolent feelings expressed about the property of
his neighbors, have been much admired. The spelling is modernized. ]
Μ'
ISTRESS ALICE, in my most heartywise I recommend me to
you. And whereas I am informed by my son Heron of
the loss of our barns and our neighbors' also, with all the
corn that was therein; albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is great
pity of so much good corn lost, yet sith it hath liked him to
send us such a chance, we must and are bounden, not only to
be content, but also to be glad of this visitation. He sent us
all that we have lost; and sith he hath by such a chance taken
it away again, his pleasure be fulfilled! Let us never grudge
thereat, but take it in good worth, and heartily thank him, as
well for adversity as for prosperity. And peradventure we have
more cause to thank him for our loss than for our winning,


## p. 10298 (#122) ##########################################

10298
SIR THOMAS MORE
for his wisdom better seeth what is good for us than we do
ourselves. Therefore I pray you be of good cheer, and take all
the household with you to church, and there thank God, both for
that he has given us, and for that he has taken from us, and for
that he hath left us; which, if it please him, he can increase
when he will. And if it please him to leave us yet less, at his
pleasure be it!
I pray you to make some good ensearch what my poor neigh-
bors have lost, and bid them take no thought therefor; for if I
should not leave myself a spoon, there shall no poor neighbor
of mine bear no loss by any chance happened in my house. I
pray you be, with my children and your household, merry in God;
and devise somewhat with your friends what way were best to
take for provision to be made for corn for our household, and
for seed this year coming, if we think it good that we keep
the ground still in our hands. And whether we think it good
that we so shall do or not, yet I think it were not best suddenly
thus to leave it all up, and to put away our folk off our farm,
till we have somewhat advised us thereon. Howbeit if we have
more now than ye shall need, and which can get them other
masters, ye may discharge us of them. But I would not that
any man were suddenly sent away, he wot not whither.
At my coming hither, I perceived none other but that I
should tarry still with the King's grace. But now I shall, I
think, because of this chance, get leave this next week to come
home and see you, and then shall we further devise together
upon all things, what order shall be best to take.
And thus as heartily fare-you-well, with all our children, as
ye can wish. At Woodstock, the third day of September [1528],
by the hand of your loving husband,
THOMAS MORE, Knight.
LIFE IN UTOPIA
From 'Utopia'
THE
HERE are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built,
the manners, customs, and laws of which are the same, and
they are all contrived as near in the same manner as the
ground on which they stand will allow. The nearest lie at least
twenty-four miles' distance from one another, and the most remote


## p. 10299 (#123) ##########################################

SIR THOMAS MORE
10299
are not so far distant but that a man can go on foot in one
day from it to that which lies next it. Every city sends three of
their wisest senators once a year to Amaurot, to consult about
their common concerns; for that is the chief town of the island,
being situated near the centre of it, so that it is the most con-
venient place for their assemblies. The jurisdiction of every city
extends at least twenty miles; and where the towns lie wider,
they have much more ground. No town desires to enlarge its
bounds, for the people consider themselves rather as tenants than
landlords.
They have built, over all the country, farm-houses for hus-
bandmen; which are well contrived, and furnished with all things
necessary for country labor. Inhabitants are sent, by turns, from
the cities to dwell in them; no country family has fewer than
forty men and women in it, besides two slaves. There is a mas-
ter and a mistress set over every family, and over thirty fam-
ilies there is a magistrate. Every year twenty of this family
come back to the town after they have stayed two years in the
country, and in their room there are other twenty sent from the
town, that they may learn country work from those that have
been already one year in the country, as they must teach those
that come to them the next from the town. By this means such
as dwell in those country farms are never ignorant of agricult-
ure, and so commit no errors which might otherwise be fatal and
bring them under a scarcity of corn. But though there is every
year such a shifting of the husbandmen, to prevent any man
being forced against his will to follow that hard course of life.
too long, yet many among them take such pleasure in it that
they desire leave to continue in it many years.
These husbandmen till the ground, breed cattle, hew wood
and convey it to the towns either by land or water, as is most
convenient. They breed an infinite multitude of chickens in a
very curious manner: for the hens do not sit and hatch them,
but a vast number of eggs are laid in a gentle and equal heat
in order to be hatched; and they are no sooner out of the shell,
and able to stir about, but they seem to consider those that feed
them as their mothers, and follow them as other chickens do
the hen that hatched them. They breed very few horses, but
those they have are full of mettle, and are kept only for exercis-
ing their youth in the art of sitting and riding them; for they
do not put them to any work, either of plowing or carriage, in


## p. 10300 (#124) ##########################################

10300
SIR THOMAS MORE
which they employ oxen. For though their horses are stronger,
yet they find oxen can hold out longer; and as they are not sub-
ject to so many diseases, so they are kept upon a less charge and
with less trouble. And even when they are so worn out that
they are no more fit for labor, they are good meat at last. They
sow no corn but that which is to be their bread: for they drink
either wine, cider, or perry, and often water, sometimes boiled
with honey or liquorice, with which they abound; and though
they know exactly how much corn will serve every town and
all that tract of country which belongs to it, yet they sow much
more, and breed more cattle, than are necessary for their con-
sumption, and they give that overplus of which they make no
use to their neighbors.
When they want anything in the country which it does not
produce, they fetch that from the town, without carrying any-
thing in exchange for it. And the magistrates of the town take
care to see it given them; for they meet generally in the town.
once a month, upon a festival day. When the time of harvest
comes, the magistrates in the country send to those in the towns,
and let them know how many hands they will need for reaping.
the harvest; and the number they call for being sent to them,
they commonly dispatch it all in one day.
HE THAT knows one of their towns knows them all- they
are so like one another, except where the situation makes some
difference. I shall therefore describe one of them, and none
is so proper as Amaurot; for as none is more eminent (all the
rest yielding in precedence to this, because it is the seat of their
supreme council), so there was none of them better known to
me, I having lived five years all together in it.
It lies upon the side of a hill, or rather a rising ground. Its
figure is almost square: for from the one side of it, which shoots
up almost to the top of the hill, it runs down in a descent for
two miles, to the river Anider; but it is a little broader the
other way that runs along by the bank of that river. The Anider
rises about eighty miles above Amaurot, in a small spring at first.
But other brooks falling into it, of which two are more consider-
able than the rest, as it runs by Amaurot it is grown half a mile
broad; but it still grows larger and larger, till after sixty miles'
course below it, it is lost in the ocean. Between the town and
the sea, and for some miles above the town, it ebbs and flows


## p. 10301 (#125) ##########################################

SIR THOMAS MORE
10301
every six hours with a strong current. The tide comes up about
thirty miles so full that there is nothing but salt water in the
river, the fresh water being driven back with its force; and above
that, for some miles, the water is brackish; but a little higher,
as it runs by the town, it is quite fresh; and when the tide ebbs,
it continues fresh all along to the sea. There is a bridge cast
over the river, not of timber, but of fair stone, consisting of
many stately arches; it lies at that part of the town which is
farthest from the sea, so that the ships, without any hindrance,
lie all along the side of the town.
There is likewise another river that runs by it, which, though
it is not great, yet it runs pleasantly, for it rises out of the same
hill on which the town stands, and so runs down through it and
falls into the Anider. The inhabitants have fortified the fountain-
head of this river, which springs a little without the towns; that
so, if they should happen to be besieged, the enemy might not
be able to stop or divert the course of the water, nor poison it;
from thence it is carried in earthen pipes to the lower streets.
And for those places of the town to which the water of that
small river cannot be conveyed, they have great cisterns for
receiving the rain-water, which supplies the want of the other.
The town is compassed with a high and thick wall, in which
there are many towers and forts; there is also a broad and deep
dry ditch, set thick with thorns, cast round three sides of the
town, and the river is instead of a ditch on the fourth side. The
streets are very convenient for all carriage, and are well shel-
tered from the winds. Their buildings are good, and are so uni-
form that a whole side of a street looks like one house. The
streets are twenty feet broad. There lie gardens behind all
their houses; these are large, but inclosed with buildings, that
on all hands face the streets, so that every house has both a door
to the street and a back door to the garden. Their doors have
all two leaves, which, as they are easily opened, so they shut of
their own accord; and there being no property among them, every
man may freely enter into any house whatsoever. At every ten
years' end they shift their houses by lots. They cultivate their
gardens with great care, so that they have both vines, fruits,
herbs, and flowers in them; and all is so well ordered and so
finely kept that I never saw gardens anywhere that were both so
fruitful and so beautiful as theirs. And this humor of ordering
their gardens so well is not only kept up by the pleasure they


## p. 10302 (#126) ##########################################

10302
SIR THOMAS MORE
find in it, but also by an emulation between the inhabitants of the
several streets, who vie with each other. And there is, indeed,
nothing belonging to the whole town that is both more useful
and more pleasant. So that he who founded the town seems
to have taken care of nothing more than of their gardens; for
they say the whole scheme of the town was designed at first
by Utopus, but he left all that belonged to the ornament and
improvement of it to be added by those that should come after
him, that being too much for one man to bring to perfection.
Their records, that contain the history of their town and State,
are preserved with an exact care, and run backwards seventeen
hundred and sixty years. From these it appears that their houses
were at first low and mean, like cottages, made of any sort of
timber, and were built with mud walls and thatched with straw.
But now their houses are three stories high; the fronts of them
are faced either with stone, plastering, or brick, and between the
facings of their walls they throw in their rubbish. Their roofs
are flat; and on them they lay a sort of plaster, which costs very
little, and yet is so tempered that it is not apt to take fire, and
yet resists the weather more than lead. They have great quan-
tities of glass among them, with which they glaze their windows;
they use also in their windows a thin linen cloth, that is so oiled
or gummed that it both keeps out the wind and gives free admis-
sion to the light.
SLAVERY AND PUNISHMENTS FOR CRIME
From Utopia'
THE
HEY do not make slaves of prisoners of war, except those
that are taken in battle; nor of the sons of their slaves,
nor of those of other nations: the slaves among them are
only such as are condemned to that state of life for the commis-
sion of some crime, or, which is more common, such as their mer-
chants find condemned to die in those parts to which they trade,
whom they sometimes redeem at low rates; and in other places.
have them for nothing. They are kept at perpetual labor, and are
always chained, but with this difference, that their own natives
are treated much worse than others; they are considered as more
profligate than the rest, and since they could not be restrained by
the advantages of so excellent an education, are judged worthy


## p. 10303 (#127) ##########################################

SIR THOMAS MORE
10303
of harder usage. Another sort of slaves are the poor of the
neighboring countries, who offer of their own accord to come and
serve them; they treat these better, and use them in all other
respects as well as their own countrymen, except their impos-
ing more labor upon them, which is no hard task to those that
have been accustomed to it: and if any of these have a mind
to go
back to their own country,-which indeed falls out but
seldom, as they do not force them to stay, so they do not send
them away empty-handed.
·
Their law does not determine the punishment for other crimes;
but that is left to the Senate, to temper it according to the cir-
cumstances of the fact. Husbands have power to correct their
wives, and parents to chastise their children, unless the fault is
so great that a public punishment is thought necessary for strik-
ing terror into others. For the most part slavery is the punish-
ment even of the greatest crimes; for as that is no less terrible
to the criminals themselves than death, so they think the pre-
serving them in a state of servitude is more for the interest
of the commonwealth than killing them; since as their labor is
a greater benefit to the public than their death could be, so the
sight of their misery is a more lasting terror to other men
than that which would be given by their death. If their slaves
rebel, and will not bear their yoke and submit to the labor that
is enjoined them, they are treated as wild beasts, that cannot
be kept in order neither by a prison nor by their chains; and
are at last put to death. But those who bear their punishment
patiently, and are so much wrought on by that pressure that lies
so hard on them that it appears they are really more troubled for
the crimes they have committed than for the miseries they suffer,
are not out of hope but that at last either the Prince will by his
prerogative, or the people by their intercession, restore them again
to their liberty, or at least very much mitigate their slavery.


## p. 10304 (#128) ##########################################

10304
JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
(1780-1849)
AJJI BABA, one of the most delightful of all the disreputable
rascals in literature, was invented, or rather discovered,
in Persia by James Justinian Morier, about the year 1808.
In that year Mr. Morier went to Tehrân as private secretary of the
English minister to the Persian court. He was born in Constantino-
ple, where his father held the position of British consul; brought up
in an Oriental atmosphere, although he passed some years at Harrow;
and was dedicated to the Oriental diplomatic or consular service. At
the age of twenty-eight he had his first Persian experience. From
1811 to 1815 he was again in Persia as secretary and chargé d'affaires.
He wrote two works on Persia, which were greatly valued in Eng-
land for their historical information and keen insight into Persian
character. In 1824 appeared 'Hajji Baba,' the ripened product of
his observation and experience. It became at once a favorite of the
intelligent reading public, and speedily passed through several edi-
tions. This popularity it has never lost, and new editions have con-
stantly been in demand. The latest (Macmillan & Co. ) was published
in 1895 with a biographical introduction by the Hon. George Cur-
zon, and with the original illustrations made from drawings by the
author. 'Hajji Baba in England,' a narrative which followed this
classic, gives the droll experiences of Mirza Firouz, Persian envoy to
the court of St. James, whither he is supposed to have been accom-
panied by Hajji.
Mr. Morier seems to have been saturated with the Oriental feeling;
and his knowledge of the Persian character, in all grades of society,
is so comprehensive, his acquaintance with Persian literature so sym-
pathetic, and his study of its religion, morals and manners, and way
of regarding life, is so deep, that the narrative put into the mouth of
the barber of Ispahan strikes no false note. The story has no com-
panion for verisimilitude in all those written by foreigners of another
age and another race; including all the romances of Greek and Roman
life, which invariably smell of erudition and of archæology. Hajji
tells his story like a Persian, and his tale is worthy to rank with the
'Arabian Nights. ' Hajji is as unconscious of his cheerful rascality,
and of the revelations he is making of his people, as the story-tellers
of the 'Nights' are of the Occidental view of the moral law.
As a


## p. 10305 (#129) ##########################################

JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
10305
picture of Oriental life his narrative fits in well with the 'Arabian
Nights'; but it has also kinship to Benvenuto Cellini and to Gil
Blas. ' But there is a great difference between the 'Arabian Nights'
and 'Hajji Baba. ' The latter is a satire, and was bitterly resented
by the Persians as a satire; whereas the same sort of revelations in
the 'Tales' seem to them genial and natural. To them this satire is
particularly offensive in the exposure of the pillars of the church,-
the dervishes and the mollahs,—and Hajji's apparently unconscious
admission of the natural vices of cowardice, lying, and deceit. As a
keen piece of satire it has never been surpassed; and it is heightened
by coming from the mouth of a good-natured adventurer and thief.
The reader will not go amiss of entertainment on any page of this
curious book; but we have selected from it the following account of
the Persian physician and how the Shah took physic, as fairly repre-
sentative of its humor, and complete in itself.
HAJJI AS A QUACK
From The Adventures of Hajji Baba'
T LENGTH one morning Asker called me to him and said:-
A "Hajji my friend, you know how thankful I have always
expressed myself for your kindness to me when we were
prisoners together in the hands of the Turcomans, and now I
will prove my gratitude. I have recommended you strongly to
Mirza Ahmak, the king's Hakîm bashi, or chief physician, who
is in want of a servant; and I make no doubt that if you give
him satisfaction, he will teach you his art, and put you in the
way of making your fortune. You have only to present yourself
before him, saying that you come from me, and he will imme-
diately assign you an employment. "
I had no turn for the practice of physic, and recollecting the
story which had been related to me by the dervish, I held the
profession in contempt: but my case was desperate; I had spent
my last dînar, and therefore I had nothing left me but to ac-
cept of the doctor's place. Accordingly, the next morning I pro-
ceeded to his house, which was situated in the neighborhood of
the palace; and as I entered a dull, neglected court-yard, I there
found several sick persons, some squatted against the wall, others
supported by their friends, and others again with bottles in their
hands, waiting the moment when the physician should leave the
women's apartments to transact business in public. I proceeded
XVIII-645


## p. 10306 (#130) ##########################################

10306
JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
to an open window, where those who were not privileged to
enter the room stood, and there I took my station until I should
be called in. Within the room were several persons, who came
to pay their court to the doctor (for every man who is an offi-
cer of the court has his levee); and from remarking them I learnt
how necessary it was, in order to advance in life, to make much
of everything, even the dog or the cat if they came in my
way, of him who can have access to the ear of men in power. I
made my reflections upon the miseries I had already undergone,
and was calculating how long it would take me to go through a
course of cringing and flattery to be entitled to the same sorts
of attention myself, when I perceived, by the bows of those near
me, that the doctor had seated himself at the window, and that
the business of the day had commenced.
The Hakim was an old man, with an eye sunk deep into his
head, high cheek-bones, and a scanty beard. He had a consider-
able bend in his back; and his usual attitude, when seated, was
that of a projecting chin, his head reclining back between his
shoulders, and his hands resting on his girdle, whilst his elbows
formed two triangles on each side of his body. He made short
snappish questions, gave little hums at the answers, and seemed
to be thinking of anything but the subject before him. When
he heard the account of the ailments of those who had come to
consult him, and had said a few words to his little circle of para-
sites, he looked at me; and after I had told him that I was the
person of whom the poet had spoken, he fixed his little sharp
eyes upon me for a second or two, and then desired me to wait,
for that he wished to speak to me in private. Accordingly, he
soon after got up and went out of the room; and I was called
upon to attend him in a small separate court, closely walled on
all sides, except on the one where was situated the khelwet, or
private room, in which the doctor was seated.
As soon as I appeared, the doctor invited me into the room,
and requested me to be seated; which I did with all the humil-
ity which it is the etiquette for an inferior to show towards his
superior, for so great an honor.
He informed me that the poet had spoken very favorably
of me, and had said that I was a person to be depended upon,
particularly on account of my discretion and prudence; that I
had seen a great deal of life; that I was fertile in expedients;
and that if any business in which circumspection and secrecy


## p. 10307 (#131) ##########################################

JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
10307
were necessary was intrusted to me, I should conduct it with all
the ability required. I bowed repeatedly as he spoke, and kept
my hands respectfully before me, covered with the border of my
sleeve, whilst I took care that my feet were also completely hid.
He then continued, and said: "I have occasion for a person
of your description precisely at this moment, and as I put great
confidence in the recommendation of my friend Asker, it is my
intention to make use of your good offices; and if you succeed
according to my expectations, you may rest assured that it will
be well for you, and that I shall not remain unmindful of your
services. "
Then requesting me to approach nearer to him, and in a low
and confidential tone of voice, he said, looking over his shoulders
as if afraid of being overheard:-
"Hajji, you must know that an ambassador from the Franks
is lately arrived at this court, in whose suite there is a doctor.
This infidel has already acquired considerable reputation here.
He treats his patients in a manner quite new to us, and has
arrived with a chest full of medicines, of which we do not even
know the names. He pretends to the knowledge of a great
many things of which we have never yet heard in Persia. He
makes no distinction between hot and cold diseases, and hot and
cold remedies, as Galenus and Avicenna have ordained, but gives
mercury by way of a cooling medicine; stabs the belly with a
sharp instrument for wind in the stomach; and what is worse
than all, pretends to do away with the small-pox altogether, by
infusing into our nature a certain extract of cow, a discovery
which one of their philosophers has lately made. Now this will
never do, Hajji. The small-pox has always been a comfortable
source of revenue to me; I cannot afford to lose it because an
infidel chooses to come here and treat us like cattle.
We can-
not allow him to take the bread out of our mouths. But the
reason why I particularly want your help proceeds from the fol-
lowing cause. The grand vizier was taken ill, two days ago,
of a strange uneasiness, after having eaten more than his usual
quantity of raw lettuce and cucumber, steeped in vinegar and
sugar. This came to the Frank ambassador's ears, who in fact
was present at the eating of the lettuce; and he immediately sent
his doctor to him, with a request that he might be permitted
to administer relief. The grand vizier and the ambassador, it
seems, had not been upon good terms for some time, because the
-


## p. 10308 (#132) ##########################################

10308
JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
latter was very urgent that some demand of a political nature
might be conceded to him, which the vizier, out of consideration
for the interests of Persia, was obliged to deny; and therefore,
thinking that this might be a good opportunity of conciliating
the infidel, and of coming to a compromise, he agreed to accept
of the doctor's services. Had I been apprised of the circum-
stance in time, I should easily have managed to put a stop to
the proceeding; but the doctor did not lose an instant in adminis-
tering his medicine, which, I hear, only consisted of one little
white and tasteless pill From all accounts, and as ill luck
would have it, the effect it has produced is something quite mar-
velous. The grand vizier has received such relief that he can
talk of nothing else; he says that he felt the pill drawing the
damp from the very tips of his fingers'; and that now he has
discovered in himself such newness of strength and energy that
he laughs at his old age, and even talks of making up the com-
plement of wives permitted to him by our blessed Prophet. But
the mischief has not stopped here: the fame of this medicine,
and of the Frank doctor, has gone throughout the court; and
the first thing which the King talked of at the selam (the audi-
ence) this morning was of its miraculous properties. He called
upon the grand vizier to repeat to him all that he had before
said upon the subject; and as he talked of the wonders that it
had produced upon his person, a general murmur of applause and
admiration was heard throughout the assembly. His Majesty then
turned to me and requested me to explain the reason why such
great effects should proceed from so small a cause; when I was
obliged to answer, stooping as low as I could to hide my con-
fusion, and kissing the earth:-'I am your sacrifice: O King of
kings, I have not yet seen the drug which the infidel doctor has
given to your Majesty's servant, the grand vizier; but as soon as
I have, I will inform your Majesty of what it consists. In the
mean while, your humble slave beseeches the Centre of the Uni-
verse to recollect that the principal agent, on this occasion, must
be an evil spirit, an enemy to the true faith, since he is an
instrument in the hands of an infidel,—of one who calls our holy
Prophet a cheat, and who disowns the all-powerful decrees of
predestination. '
"Having said this, in order to shake his growing reputation,
retired in deep cogitation how I might get at the secrets of the
infidel, and particularly inquire into the nature of his prescription,


## p. 10309 (#133) ##########################################

JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
10309
which has performed such miracles; and you are come most
opportunely to my assistance. You must immediately become
acquainted with him: and I shall leave it to your address to pick
his brain and worm his knowledge out of him; but as I wish
to procure a specimen of the very medicine which he adminis-
tered to the grand vizier, being obliged to give an account of it
to-morrow to the Shah, you must begin your services to me by
eating much of lettuce and raw cucumber, and of making your-
self as sick to the full as his Highness the vizier. You may then
apply to the Frank, who will doubtless give you a duplicate of
the celebrated pill, which you will deliver over to me. "
"But," said I, who had rather taken fright of this extraor-
dinary proposal, "how shall I present myself before a man whom
I do not know? Besides, such marvelous stories are related of
the Europeans, that I should be puzzled in what manner to be-
have. Pray give me some instructions how to act. "
"Their manners and customs are totally different from ours,
that is true," replied Mirza Ahmak: "and you may form some
idea of them, when I tell you that instead of shaving their heads
and letting their beards grów, as we do, they do the very con-
trary; for not a vestige of hair is to be seen on their chins, and
their hair is as thick on their heads as if they had made a vow
never to cut it off: then they sit on little platforms, whilst we
squat on the ground; they take up their food with claws made.
of iron, whilst we use our fingers; they are always walking about,
we keep seated; they wear tight clothes, we loose ones; they
write from left to right, we from right to left; they never pray,
we five times a day; in short, there is no end to what might be
related of them: but most certain it is, that they are the most
filthy people on the earth, for they hold nothing to be unclean;
they eat all sorts of animals, from a pig to a tortoise, without the
least scruple, and that without first cutting their throats; they will
dissect a dead body without requiring any purification after it. ”
"And is it true," said I, "that they are so irascible, that if
perchance their word is doubted, and they are called liars, they
will fight on such an occasion till they die? "
"That is also said of them," answered the doctor; "but the
case has not happened to me yet: however, I must warn you of
one thing, which is, that if they happen to admire anything
that you possess, you must not say to them, as you would to one
of us, 'It is a present to you, it is your property,' lest they should


## p. 10310 (#134) ##########################################

10310
JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
take you at your word and keep it, which you know would be
inconvenient, and not what you intended; but you must endeavor
as much as possible to speak what you think, for that is what
they like. "
"But then, if such is the case," said I, "do not you think
that the Frank doctor will find me out with a lie in my mouth,—
pretending to be sick when I am well, asking medicine from him
for myself when I want it for another? "
"No, no," said the Mirza: "you are to be sick, really sick,
you know, and then it will be no lie. Go, Hajji my friend,” said
he, putting his arm round my neck: "go, eat your cucumbers
immediately, and let me have the pill by this evening. " And
then coaxing me, and preventing me from making any further
objections to his unexpected request, he gently pushed me out
of the room; and I left him, scarcely knowing whether to laugh
or to cry at the new posture which my affairs had taken. To
sicken without any stipulated reward was what I could not
consent to do, so I retraced my steps with a determination of
making a bargain with my patron: but when I got to the room,
he was no longer there, having apparently retreated into his
harem; and therefore I was obliged to proceed on my errand.
I inquired my way to the ambassador's house, and actually
set off with the intention of putting the doctor's wishes into exe-
cution, and getting, if possible, a writhing disorder on the road;
but upon more mature reflection I recollected that a stomach-
ache was not a marketable commodity, which might be pur-
chased at a moment's notice; for although lettuce and cucumber
might disagree with an old grand vizier, yet it was a hundred
to one but they would find an easy digestion in a young person
like me. However, I determined to obtain the pill by stratagem,
if I could not procure it in a more direct manner. I consid-
ered that if I feigned to be ill, the doctor would very probably
detect me, and turn me out of his house for a cheat; so I pre-
ferred the easier mode of passing myself off for one of the serv-
ants of the royal harem, and then making out some story by
which I might attain my end. I accordingly stepped into one of
the old-clothes shops in the bazaar, and hired a cloak for myself
such as the scribes wear; and then substituting a roll of paper
in my girdle instead of a dagger, I flattered myself that I might
pass for something more than a common servant.
I soon found out where the ambassador dwelt. Bearing in
mind all that Mirza Ahmak had told me, I rather approached the


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JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
10311
door of the doctor's residence with fear and hesitation. I found
the avenues to it crowded with poor women bearing infants in
their arms, who, I was told, came to receive the new-fashioned
preservative against the small-pox. This, it was supposed for
political reasons, the Franks were anxious to promote; and as the
doctor performed the operation gratis, he had no lack of patients,
- particularly of the poorer sort, who could not approach a Per-
sian doctor without a present or a good fee in their hand.
On entering, I found a man seated in the middle of the room,
near an elevated wooden platform, upon which were piled boxes,
books, and a variety of instruments and utensils, the uses of
which were unknown to me. He was in dress and appearance
the most extraordinary-looking infidel I had ever seen. His
chin and upper lip were without the vestige of a hair upon them,
as like a eunuch as possible. He kept his head most disrespect-
fully uncovered, and wore a tight bandage round his neck, with
other contrivances on the sides of his cheeks, as if he were anx-
ious to conceal some wound or disease. His clothes were fitted
so tight to his body, and his outward coat in particular was cut
off at such sharp angles, that it was evident cloth was a scarce
and dear commodity in his country. The lower part of his dress
was particularly improper; and he kept his boots on in his room,
without any consideration for the carpet he was treading upon,
which struck me as a custom subversive of all decorum.
I found that he talked our language; for as soon as he saw
me, he asked me how I did, and then immediately remarked that
it was a fine day, which was so self-evident a truth that I imme-
diately agreed to it. I then thought it necessary to make him
some fine speeches, and flattered him to the best of my abilities,
informing him of the great reputation he had already acquired
in Persia; that Locman was a fool when compared to one of his
wisdom; and that as for his contemporaries, the Persian physi-
cians, they were not fit to handle his pestle for him. To all this
he said nothing. I then told him that the King himself, having
heard of the wonderful effects of his medicine upon the person
of his grand vizier, had ordered his historian to insert the circum-
stance in the annals of the empire as one of the most extraordi-
nary events of his reign; that a considerable sensation had been
produced in his Majesty's seraglio, for many of the ladies had
immediately been taken ill, and were longing to make a trial
of his skill; that the King's favorite Georgian slave was in fact
at this moment in great pain; that I had been deputed by the


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10312
JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
chief eunuch, owing to a special order from his Majesty, to pro-
cure medicine similar to that which the first minister had taken;
and I concluded my speech by requesting the doctor immediately
to furnish me with some.
He seemed to ponder over what I had told him; and after
reflecting a short time, said that it was not his custom to admin-
ister medicine to his patients without first seeing them, for by
so doing he would probably do more harm than good; but that
if he found that the slave was in want of his aid, he should be
very happy to attend her.
I answered to this, that as to seeing the face of the Georgian
slave, that was totally out of the question; for no man ever was
allowed that liberty in Persia, excepting her husband. In cases of
extreme necessity, perhaps a doctor might be permitted to feel a
woman's pulse; but then it must be done when a veil covers the
hand.
To which the Frank replied: "In order to judge of my pa-
tient's case I must not only feel the pulse, but see the tongue
also. "
"Looking at the tongue is totally new in Persia," said I; "and
I am sure you could never be indulged with such a sight in the
seraglio without a special order from the King himself: a eunuch
would rather cut out his own tongue first. ”
"Well, then," said the doctor, "recollect that if I deliver my
medicine to you, I do so without taking any responsibility upon
myself for its effects; for if it does not cure, it may perhaps kill. ”
When I had assured him that no harm or prejudice could
possibly accrue to him, he opened a large chest, which appeared
to be full of drugs, and taking therefrom the smallest quantity
of a certain white powder, he mixed it up with some bread into
the form of pill, and putting it into paper gave it me, with
proper directions how it should be administered. Seeing that
he made no mystery of his knowledge, I began to question him
upon the nature and properties of this particular medicine, and
upon his practice in general. He answered me without any re-
serve; not like our Persian doctors, who only make a parade of
fine words, and who adjust every ailment that comes before them
to what they read in their Galen, their Hippocrates, and their
Abou Avicenna.
When I had learned all I could, I left him with great demon-
stration of friendship and thankfulness, and immediately returned
to Mirza Ahmak, who doubtless was waiting for me with great


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JAMES JUSTINIAN MORIER
10313
impatience. Having divested myself of my borrowed cloak and
resumed my own dress, I appeared before him with a face made
up for the occasion; for I wished to make him believe that the
lettuce and cucumbers had done their duty. At every word I
pretended to receive a violent twitch; and acted my part so true
to life, that the stern and inflexible nature of Mirza Ahmak him-
self was moved into somewhat like pity for me.