OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Persian Letters/Letter 34
#### Letter 34

Usbek to Ibben, at Smyrna
The Persian women are finer than the French women; but those of France are prettier. It is as difficult not to love the former, as it is to be displeased with the latter: these attract by their tenderness and modesty, while those conquer us with their sprightly humor.
That which preserves the beauty of the women in Persia is the regular life they lead: they neither gamble, nor sit up late; they drink no wine, and are never exposed to the air. It must indeed be admitted that the life of the seraglio is more conducive to health than to happiness, it is so dull and uniform. Everything turns upon discipline and duty; the very pleasures are solemn, and mirth itself is sad; enjoyment is hardly ever tasted except as an indication of authority and dependence.
Even the men are not so cheerful in Persia as in France: one never sees that freedom of spirit, and that air of contentment, which I find here among all sorts and conditions of men.
It is still worse in Turkey. There, families may be found, in which, from father to son, no soul has laughed since the foundation of the monarchy.
This Asiatic gravity is the result of the unsocial life which people lead: they never see each other except on ceremonial occasions. Friendship, that dear solace of the heart, the sweetener of our life below, is almost unknown to them; they withdraw into their houses, where they always have the same companions; and in this way each family is, as it were, isolated.
One day, when I was discussing the subject with a young man of this country, he said, “That which offends me most among your customs is the necessity you are under of living with slaves, whose thoughts and inclinations are always subdued to the vileness of their condition. These wretched creatures, by whom you have been beset from infancy, weaken in you, and ultimately destroy, those virtuous feelings which nature implants.
“For, in short, when you have cleared your mind from prejudice, what is to be expected from an upbringing at the hands of a wretch, who makes his honour consistent with the guardianship of another’s wives, and prides himself upon the most loathsome employment which society affords; whose only virtue, his fidelity, is utterly despicable, because it is prompted by envy, jealousy, and despair; who, belonging to neither sex, burns to be avenged on both, and yet submits to the tyranny of the stronger, in order that he may afflict the weaker; who, deriving from his imperfection, his ugliness, and his deformity, all the éclat of his position, is esteemed only because he is unworthy; who, finally riveted for ever to the gate which he guards, harder than the bolts and bars which secure it, brags of fifty years in this ignoble station, where, as the minister of his master’s jealousy, he has given the rein to all his own vileness?”
Paris, the 14th of the moon of Zilhage, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 37
#### Letter 37

Usbek to Ibben at Smyrna
The King of France is old. We have no examples in our histories of such a long reign as his. It is said that he possesses in a very high degree the faculty of making himself obeyed: he governs with equal ability his family, his court, and his kingdom: he has often been heard to say, that, of all existing governments, that of the Turks, or that of our august Sultan, pleased him best: such is his high opinion of Oriental statecraft.
I have studied his character, and I have found certain contradictions which I cannot reconcile. For example, he has a minister who is only eighteen years old, and a mistress who is fourscore; he loves his religion, and yet he cannot abide those who assert that it ought to be strictly observed; although he flies from the noise of cities, and is inclined to be reticent, from morning till night he is engaged in getting himself talked about; he is fond of trophies and victories, but he has a great a dread of seeing a good general at the head of his own troops, as at the head of an army of his enemies. It has never I believe happened to any one by himself, to be burdened with more wealth than even a prince could hope for, and yet at the same time steeped in such poverty as a private person could ill brook.
He delights to reward those who serve him; but he pays as liberally the assiduous indolence of his courtiers, as the labours in the field of his captains; often the man who undresses him, or who hands him his serviette at table, is preferred before him who has taken cities and gained battles; he does not believe that the greatness of a monarch is compatible with restriction in the distribution of favours; and, without examining into the merit of a man, he will heap benefits upon him, believing that his selection makes the recipient worthy; accordingly he has been known to bestow a small pension upon a man who had run off two leagues from the enemy, and a good government on another who had gone four.
Above all, he is magnificent in his buildings; there are more statues in his palace gardens than there are citizens in a large town. His bodyguard is as strong as that of the prince before whom all the thrones of the earth tremble; his armies are as numerous, his resources as great, and his finances as inexhaustible.
Paris, the 7th of the moon of Maharram, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 31
#### Letter 31

Rhedi to Usbek, at Paris
I am at present, my dear Usbek, at Venice. Although one had seen all the cities of the world, there would still be a surprise in store for him here. The sight of a town whose towers and mosques rise out of the water, and of an innumerable throng of people where one would expect to find only fish, will always excite astonishment.
But this heathenish city lacks the most precious treasure the world holds, pure water, to wit; it is impossible to accomplish a single lawful ablution. The place is held in abomination by our holy Prophet; he never beholds it from on high but with indignation. With that exception, my dear Usbek, I would be delighted to live in a town where my mind is developed every day. I am gaining an understanding of the secrets of commerce, of the affairs of princes, and of their form of government. Nor do I neglect European superstitions; I apply myself to medicine, physics, and astronomy; I study the arts: in short, I am couching my eyes of the film which covered them in my native land.
Venice, the 16th of the moon of Chalval, 1712.
# Persian Letters/Letter 35
#### Letter 35

Usbek to Gemchid, his Cousin, Dervish of the glorious Monastary of Tauris
What is your opinion, sublime dervish, of the Christians? Do you think that at the day of judgment, like the unbelieving Turks, who are to serve the Jews for asses, they will be hurried off at the gallop into hell? I am well aware that their abode will not be with the prophets, and that the great Hali’s mission was not to them. But, do you think they will be condemned to everlasting punishment because they have not been fortunate enough to find mosques in their country? Will God chastise them for failing to practise a religion which He has withheld from their knowledge? I may tell you, I have often examined these Christians; I have questioned them to find out if they had any ideas about the great Hali, who was the most perfect of all men, and it is certain that they have never even heard of him.
They are not like those infidels whom our holy prophets put to the sword, because they refused to believe in the miracles of Heaven: they are like those unfortunates who lived in the darkness of idolatry, before the divine light illuminated the face of our great prophet.
Besides, an examination of their religion reveals the presence of some rudiments of our doctrines. I have often admired the secret workings of Providence, which seems in this way to have prepared them for a general conversion. One book of their learned men, entitled “Polygamy Triumphant,” of which I have heard, proves that polygamy is enjoined upon Christians. Their baptism is an emblem of our ablutions; and their only error consists in ascribing to that first ablution an efficacy which enables them to omit all others. Their priests and friars pray, like ours, seven times a day. They hope to inherit a paradise where, by means of the resurrection of the body, they will enjoy a thousand delights. Like us also, they have appointed fasts, and times of mortification, by which they hope to move the divine clemency. They worship good angels, and are in dread of evil ones. They believe in miracles which God works by means of His servants. They recognise, as we do, their own unworthiness, and the need they have for an intercessor with God. Throughout their religion I find traces of Mohammedanism, although there is no word of Mohammed. It has been well said, that truth will break through the darkest clouds. The day is hastening when the Eternal will behold upon the earth none but true believers. Time, which devours all, will make away even with error. Men will be astonished to find themselves all under the same standard: everything, the law itself, will be accomplished; and the godly will be taken from the earth, and carried to the mansions of the blest.
Paris, the 20th of the moon of Zilhage, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 39
#### Letter 39

Hagi Ibbi to the Jew Ben Joshua, Mohammedan Proselyte, at Smyrna
It always seems to me, Ben Joshua, that prodigies always accompany the birth of extraordinary men, as if nature suffered a convulsion, and the celestial power could not bring forth without travail.
There is no birth so marvelous as that of Mohammed.God, who, by the decrees of his providence, has determined from the beginning to send to men that great prophet for the overthrow of Satan, created a light two thousand years before Adam, which, passing from elect to elect through the ancestors of Mohammed, reached him at last, as an authentic sign of his descent from the patriarchs.
It was because of this very prophet that God willed that no child should be conceived, that women should cease to be unclean, and that man should be circumcised.
He came into the world circumcised already, and joy shone upon his face from birth. The earth shook three times, as if she herself had brought forth; all the idols fell forward, and the thrones of kings were overturned.Lucifer was cast into the depths of the sea, and it was only after forty days’ immersion that he swam up from the abyss, and took refuge on Mount Cabes, whence, with a terrible voice, he cried to the angels.
That night, God placed a barrier between the man and the woman, which neither of them could pass. The art of the magicians and of the necromancers cease to avail.A voice from heaven was heard crying, “I have sent into the world my faithful friend.”
According to the testimony of Isben Aben, all the birds, the clouds, the winds, and the hosts of angels, met together to bring up this child, and disputed who should have preference.The birds said in their warblings that it was proper for them to have his upbringing, because they could so easily gather a variety of fruits from many places.The winds murmured and said, “To us rather he should be committed, because we can bear him from all quarters the sweetest odours.”“No, no, “ cried the clouds; “no; it is we who should have charge of him, because we can refresh him at any moment with our showers.”From on high the angels indignantly exclaimed, “What will there be left for us to do?”But a voice from heaven silenced their disputes and said, “He will not be withdrawn from mortal hands, because blessed shall be the breasts that suckle him, the hands that touch him, the house wherein he lives, and the bed on which he lies.”
After so many striking testimonies, my dear Joshua, only a heart of iron could refuse to believe the holy law.What more could heaven itself have done to authorize his divine mission, unless it had overturned nature, and destroyed the very men whose salvation it desired.
Paris, the 20th moon of Rhegeb, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 33
#### Letter 33

Usbek to Rhedi, at Venice
Wine is so very dear in Paris, on account of the duties laid on it, that it seems as if there were an intention to fulfil the injunctions of the divine Koran, which prohibits the use of strong drink.
When I consider the disastrous effects of that liquor, I cannot help regarding it as the most baleful of nature’s gifts to men. If there is one good thing that has soiled the lives and the good fame of our monarchs, it has been intemperance; that is the chief and vilest source of their injustice and cruelty.
To the shame of these men it must be said, that, though the law prohibits them from using wine, they drink it to an excess which degrades them beneath the lowest of mankind. Here, however, the princes are allowed to use it, and no one has ever observed that it has caused them to do wrong. The human mind is inconsistency itself. In a drunken debauch, men break out madly against all precept; and the law, intended to make for our righteousness, often serves only to increase our guilt.
But, when I disapprove of the use of this liquor which deprives men of their reason, I do not also condemn those beverages which exhilarate the mind. The wisdom of the Orientals shows itself in their search for remedies against melancholy, which they prosecute with as much solicitude as in the case of the most dangerous maladies. When a misfortune happens to a European, his only resource is to read a philosopher called Seneca; but we Asiatics, more sensible, and better physicians in this matter, drink an infusion which cheers the heart and charms away the memory of its sufferings.
There is no greater affliction than those consolations which are drawn from the necessity of evil, the inefficacy of remedies, the inevitableness of destiny, the dispensations of Providence, and the wretched state of mankind generally. It is mockery to think of lightening misfortune, by remembering that we are born to misery; it is much wiser to raise the mind above these reflections, to treat man as a being capable of feeling, and not as a mere reasoner.
The soul, while united to the body, is a slave under a tyrant. If the blood moves sluggishly, if our spirits are not light enough, or high enough, we fall into dejection, and grow melancholy; but, if we drink what has the power to change the disposition of our body, our soul becomes capable of receiving delightful impressions, and experiences an inward joy as its machine recovers, so to speak, life and motion.
Paris the 25th of the moon of Zilcade, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 36
#### Letter 36

Usbek to Rhedi, at Venice
Coffee is very much used in Paris, there are a great many public houses where it may be had. In some of these they meet to gossip, in others to play at chess. There is one where the coffee is prepared in such a way that it makes those who drink it witty: at least, there is not a single soul who on quitting the house does not believe himself four times wittier than when he entered it.
But that which shocks me most in these geniuses, is, that they are quite useless to their country, and amuse their talents with puerilities. For example, when I arrived at Paris I found them warm to dispute over the most trifling matter imaginable. It was all about an old Greek poet, whose birthplace and time of dying no one has known for two thousand years. Both sides agreed that he was a most excellent poet: it was only a question of the degree of merit to be ascribed to him. Each wished to fix his rank; but among those apportioners of praise, some carried more weight than others. Here you have the whole dispute. It was a lively quarrel; for both sides abused each other most heartily with such gross aspersions, and such bitter raillery, that I admired the conduct of the quarrel, as much as the subject of it. “If any one,” said I to myself, “were fool enough to attack, in the presence of the defenders of the Greek poet, the reputation of some honest citizen, he would surely find a warm reception; and, indeed, I believe that this extreme zeal for the reputation of the dead, would blaze up to some purpose in defence of the living. But, however that may be,” added I, “God keep me from ever drawing on myself the enmity of these censors of this poet, who has not been saved from their implacable hate even after having lain two thousand years in his grave! At present they fight the air; but how would it be, if their rage were animated by the presence of an enemy?”
Those of whom I have told you dispute in the vulgar tongue; and must be distinguished from another set of disputants, who employ a barbarous language, which seems to increase the fury and the obstinacy of the combatants. There are places where these people are to be seen struggling as in a battle, dismal and confused; they are fed upon subtleties, they live upon obscure arguments and false inferences. This profession, although one would think its followers would die of hunger, must pay in some way. A whole nation, driven from their own country, has been seen to cross the sea and establish itself in France, carrying with it no other means of providing for the necessities of life, than a notable talent for debate. Farewell.
Paris, the last day of the moon of Zilhage, 1713.
# Pieces People Ask For/At Arlington

AT ARLINGTON.
The broken column, reared in air, To him who made our country great, Can almost cast its shadow where The victims of a grand despair In long, long ranks of death await The last loud trump, the judgment sun, Which comes for all, and soon or late Will come for those at Arlington.
In that vast sepulchre repose The thousands reaped from every fray; The men in blue who once uprose In battle front to smite their foes — The Spartan bands who wore the gray.
The combat o'er, the death-hug done,
In summer blaze or winter's snows,
They keep the truce at Arlington.
And, almost lost in myriad graves
Of those who gained the unequal fight,
Are mounds that hide Confederate braves,
Who reck not how the north wind raves,
In dazzling day or dimmest night.
O'er those who lost and those who won
Death holds no parley which was right—
Jehovah judges Arlington.
The dead had rest; the dove of peace,
Brooded o'er both with equal wings;
To both had come that great surcease,
The last omnipotent release
From all the world's delirious stings,
To bugle deaf and signal gun
They slept, like heroes of old Greece,
Beneath the glebe at Arlington.
And in the Spring's benignant reign,
The sweet May woke her harp of pines?
Teaching her choir a thrilling strain
Of jubilee to land and main.
She danced in emerald down the lines,
Denying largess bright to none.
She saw no difference in the signs
That told who slept at Arlington.
She gave her grasses and her showers
To all alike who dreamed in dust;
Her song-birds wove their dainty bowers
Amid the jasmine buds and flowers,
And piped with an impartial trust.
Waifs of the air and liberal sun!
Their guileless glees were kind and just
To friend and foe at Arlington.
And 'mid the generous spring there came
Some women of the land who strove
To make this funeral field of fame
Glad as the May God's altar flame With rosy wreaths of mutual love. Unmindful who had lost or won, They scorned the jargon of a name— No North, no South, at Arlington.
James R. Randall.
# Pieces People Ask For/Biddy's Philosophy

BIDDY'S PHILOSOPHY.
What would I do if you was dead?
And when do you think of dying?
I'd stand by your bed, and hold your head,
And cry, or pretind to be crying!
There's many a worser man nor you—
If one knew where to find him—
And mebbe many a better, too,
With money to leave behind him!
But you, if I was dying to-day,
(I saw you now when you kissed her!)
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at—
You'd marry your widdy's sister!
You'd make an illigant corpse, indade,
Sleeping so sound and stiddy;
If you could see yourself as you laid,
You'd want to come back to Biddy!
You would be dressed in your Sunday best,
As tidy as I could make you,
With a sprig of something on your breast,
And the boys would come to wake you.
But you, if I was dead in your stead,
(Do you think I never missed her?)
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at—
You'd marry your widdy's sister!
The undertaker would drive the hearse
That has the big black feather;
If there was no money left in your purse,
Your friends would club together.
They'd look at your cold remains before
They followed you down to the ferry,
And the coaches standing at the door
Would go to the cemetery.
But you, if I was once in the box,
(I wonder her lips don't blister!)
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at—
You'd marry your widdy's sister!
When you was under the sod I'd sigh,
And—if I could do without you—
Mebbe I've a strapping lad in my eye
Would come here and talk about you.
A little courtin' would be divertin',
A kind voice whispering "Biddy!"
And a kiss on the sly—for what's the hurt in
A man consoling a widdy?
But you, before I was dead at all,
(Now don't deny that you kissed her!)
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at—
You'd marry your widdy's sister!
R. H. Stoddard.
# Pieces People Ask For/At the Rising of the Moon

AT THE RISING OF THE MOON.
"Oh, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Tell me why you hurry so?" "Hush, ma bouchal, hush and listen;" And his cheeks were all aglow. "I bear ordhers from the captain: Get you ready, quick and soon; For the pikes must be together At the risin' of the moon."
"Oh, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall. Where the gatherin' is to be?" "In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me.
One word more—for signal token, Whistle up the marchin' tune, "With your pike upon your shoulder By the risin' of the moon."
Out from many a mud-wall cabin, Eyes were watching through that night: Many a manly chest was throbbing For the blessed warning light. Murmurs passed along the valley, Like the banshee's lonely croon, And a thousand blades were flashing, At the risin' of the moon.
There beside the singing river That dark mass of men was seen, Far above the shining weapons Hung their own beloved green. "Death to every foe and traitor! Forward, strike the marchin' tune, And hurrah, my boys, for freedom! 'Tis the risin' of the moon."
Well, they fought for poor old Ireland, And full bitter was their fate. (Oh! what glorious pride and sorrow Fill the name of Ninety-eight! ) Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating Hearts in manhood's burning moon, Who would follow in their footsteps At the risin' of the moon!
Leo Casey.
# Pieces People Ask For/Because

BECAUSE.
"Now, John," the district teacher says,
With frown that scarce can hide
The dimpling smiles around her mouth
Where Cupid's hosts abide;
"What have you done to Mary Ann,
That she is crying so?
Don't say 'twas nothing,—don't, I say,
For, John, that can't be so.
"For Mary Ann would never cry
At nothing, I am sure;
And if you've wounded justice, John,
You know the only cure
Is punishment. So come, stand up;
Transgressions must abide
The pain attendant on the scheme
That makes it justified."
So John steps forth, with sunburnt face
And hair all in a tumble,
His laughing eyes a contrast to
His drooping mouth so humble.
"Now, Mary, you must tell me all,—
I see that John will not,—
And if he's been unkind or rude
I'll whip him on the spot."
"We—we were playin' p-prisoners' base,
An' h-he is s-such a t-tease,
An' w-when I w-wasn't l-lookin', ma'am,
H-he kissed me—if you please!"
Upon the teacher's face the smiles
Have triumphed o'er the frown,
A pleasant thought runs through her mind,
The stick comes harmless down.
But outraged law must be avenged:
Begone, ye smiles, begone!
Away, ye little dreams of love!
Come on, ye frowns, come on!
"I think I'll have to whip you, John:
Such conduct breaks the rule;
No boy, except a naughty one,
Would kiss a girl—at school."
Again the teacher's rod is raised,
A Nemesis she stands:
A premium were put on sin,
If punished by such hands!
As when the bee explores the rose
We see the petals tremble,
So trembled Mary's rosebud lips;
Her heart would not dissemble.
"I wouldn't whip him very hard,"—
The stick stops in its fall,
"It wasn't right to do it, but
It didn't hurt at all."
"What made you cry, then, Mary Ann?"
The school noise makes a pause,
And out upon the listening air
From Mary comes, "Because."
Boston Transcript.