# The Man Who Laughs (Estes and Lauriat 1869)/Chapter 59

CHAPTER II.
OPEN-AIR ELOQUENCE.
ONE very cold and windy evening, when there was every reason that folks should hasten on their way along the streets, a man who was walking in Tarrinzeau Field close under the walls of the tavern, stopped suddenly. It was during the last months of the winter of 1704 and 1705. This man, who wore the garb of a sailor, was of good mien and fine figure,—things imperative to courtiers, and not forbidden to common folk.
Why did he stop? To listen. To what? To a voice apparently speaking in the court on the other side of the wall,—a voice a little weakened by age, but so powerful, notwithstanding, that it reached the passer-by in the street. At the same time might be heard in the enclosure, from which the voice came, the hubbub of a crowd. This voice said:—
"Men and women of London, here I am! I sincerely congratulate you on being English. You are a great nation; I say more,—you are a great people. Your fisticuffs are even better than your sword-thrusts. You have an appetite. You are a nation that devours other nations,—a magnificent function! As politicians and philosophers, in the management of colonies, populations, and industry, and in the desire to do others any harm which may turn to your own good, you stand pre-eminent. The hour will come when two boards will be put up on earth; on one will be inscribed 'Men,' on ​the other, 'Englishmen.' I mention this to your glory,—I, who am neither English nor human, having the honour to be a bear. Still more—I am a doctor. That follows. Gentlemen, I teach. What? Two kinds of things,—things which I know, and things which I do not know. I sell my drugs, and I sell my ideas. Approach and listen. Science invites you. Open your ear: if it is small, it will hold but little truth; if large, a great deal of folly will find its way in. Now, then, attention! I teach the Pseudoxia Epidemica. I have a comrade who will make you laugh, but I can make you think. We live in the same box, laughter being of quite as old a family as thought. When people asked Democritus, 'How do you know?' he answered, 'I laugh.' And if I am asked, 'Why do you laugh?' I shall answer, 'I know.' However, I am not laughing. I am a corrector of popular errors. I take upon myself the task of cleaning your intellects. They require it. Heaven permits people to deceive themselves, and to be deceived. It is useless to be absurdly modest. I frankly avow that I believe in Providence, even where it is wrong. But when I see filth (errors are filth) I brush it away. How am I sure of what I know? That concerns only myself. Every one catches wisdom as he can. Lactantius asked questions of, and received answers from, a bronze head of Virgil. Sylvester II. conversed with birds. Did the birds speak? Did the Pope twitter? That is a question. The dead child of the Rabbi Eleazer talked to Saint Augustin. Between ourselves, I doubt all these facts except the last. The dead child might perhaps talk, because under its tongue it had a gold plate, on which were engraved divers constellations. Thus he deceived people. The fact explains itself. You see my moderation. I separate the true from the false. See! here are other errors which ​no doubt you share, poor ignorant folks that you are, and from which I wish to free you. Dioscorides believed that there was a god in henbane; Chrysippus in cynopaste; Josephus in the root bauras; Homer in the plant moly. They were all wrong. The spirits in herbs are not gods but devils. I have tested this fact. It is not true that the serpent which tempted Eve had a human face, as Cadmus relates. Garcias de Horto, Cadamosto, and John Hugo, Archbishop of Trèves, deny that it is sufficient to cut down a tree to catch an elephant. I incline to their opinion. Citizens, the efforts of Lucifer are the cause of all false impressions. Under the reign of such a prince it is natural that meteors of error and of perdition should appear. My friends, Claudius Pulcher did not die because the fowls refused to come out of the fowl house. The fact is, that Lucifer, having foreseen the death of Claudius Pulcher, took care to prevent the birds feeding. That Beelzebub gave the Emperor Vespasian the virtue of curing the lame and giving sight to the blind, by his touch, was an act praiseworthy in itself, but the motive was culpable. Gentlemen, distrust those false doctors who sell the root of the briony and the white snake, and who make washes with honey and the blood of a cock. When Saint George killed the dragon he had not the daughter of a saint standing by his side. Saint Jerome had not a clock on the chimney-piece of his study; first, because, living in a cave, he had no study; secondly, because he had no chimney-piece; thirdly, because clocks were not yet invented. Let us put these things straight. O gentlefolks who listen to me, if any one tells you that a lizard will be born in your head if you smell the herb valerian; that the rotting carcass of the ox changes into bees, and that of the horse into hornets; that a man weighs more when dead than when alive; that the blood ​of the he-goat dissolves emeralds; that a caterpillar, a fly, and a spider, seen on the same tree, presage famine, war, and pestilence; that the falling sickness is to be cured by a worm found in the head of a buck,—do not believe him. These things are errors. But now listen to truths. The skin of a sea-calf is a safeguard against thunder. The toad feeds upon earth, which causes a stone to come into his head. The rose of Jericho blooms on Christmas-eve. Serpents cannot endure the shadow of the ash-tree. The elephant has no joints, and sleeps resting against a tree. Make a toad sit upon a cock's egg and he will hatch a scorpion which will turn into a salamander. A blind person will regain sight by putting one hand on the left side of the altar and the other on his eyes. Virginity does not prevent maternity. Honest people, lay these truths to heart. Above all, you can believe in Providence in two ways,—either as thirst believes in the orange, or as the ass believes in the whip. Now I am going to introduce you to my family."
Here a violent gust of wind shook the window-frames and shutters of the inn. The orator paused a moment, and then resumed:—
"An interruption; very good. Speak, north wind. Gentlemen, I am not angry. The wind is loquacious, like all solitary creatures. There is no one to keep him company up there, so he jabbers. I resume the thread of my discourse. Here you see an association of artists. There are four of us,—a lupo principium. I begin with my friend, who is a wolf. He does not conceal it. Look at him! He is educated, grave, and sagacious. Providence, perhaps, entertained for a moment the idea of making him a doctor of the university; but for that one must be rather stupid, and that he is not. I may add that he has no prejudices, and is not aristocratic in ​his notions. Homo is a dog made perfect. Let us venerate the dog. The dog—curious animal!—sweats with its tongue and smiles with its tail. Gentlemen, Homo equals in wisdom, and surpasses in cordiality, the hairless wolf of Mexico, the wonderful xoloïtzeniski. I may add that he is humble. He has the modesty of a wolf who is useful to men. He is helpful and charitable, and says nothing about it. His left paw knows not the good which his right paw does. These are his merits. Of the other, my second friend, I have but a word to say. He is a monster. You will admire him. He was abandoned years ago by pirates on the shores of the wild ocean. This third one is blind. Is she an exception to the general rule? No, we are all blind. The miser is blind; he sees gold, but he does not see true riches. The prodigal is blind; he sees the beginning, but not the end. The coquette is blind; she does not see her own wrinkles. The learned man is blind; he does not see his own ignorance. The honest man is blind; he does not see the thief. The thief is blind; he does not see God. God is blind; the day he created the world he did not see the devil manage to creep into it. I myself am blind; I speak, and do not see that you are deaf. This blind girl who accompanies us is a mysterious priestess. Vesta has confided her torch to her. She has in her character depths as soft as a division in the wool of a sheep. I believe her to be a king's daughter, though I do not assert it as a fact. A laudable distrust is an attribute of wisdom. For my own part, I reason and I doctor, I think and I heal. Chirurgus sum. I cure fevers, miasmas, and plagues. Almost all our melancholy and sufferings are issues, which if carefully treated relieve us quietly of other evils which might be worse. All the same I do not recommend you to have an anthrax, otherwise called a carbuncle. It is a stupid malady, ​and serves no good end. One dies of it,—that is all. I am no ignorant boor; I honour eloquence and poetry, and live in an innocent union with these goddesses. I will conclude with a piece of advice. Ladies and gentlemen, on the sunny side of your dispositions cultivate virtue, modesty, honesty, probity, justice, and love. Each one here below may thus have his little pot of flowers on his window-sill. My lords and gentlemen, I have spoken. The play is about to begin."
The man dressed as a sailor, who had been listening outside, entered the tap-room of the inn, crossed it, paid the necessary entrance money, stepped into the courtyard, which was full of people, saw at the farther end of it a huge van on wheels, wide open, and on the platform an old man dressed in a bearskin, a young man with a face like a horrible mask, a blind girl, and a wolf.
"Gracious heaven, what amusing people!" he cried.