Chapter 15

Of the Books in the Moon, and their Fashion; of Death, Burial, and Burning; of the Manner of telling the Time; and of Noses.

Next Morning about Nine a Clock, my Spirit came in, and told me that he was come from Court, where [Illustration: bar 1] one of the Queens Maids of Honour, had sent for him, and that she had enquired after me, protesting that she still persisted in her Design to be as good as her Word; that is, that with all her Heart she would follow me, if I would take her along with me to the other World; “which exceedingly pleased me,” said he, “when I understood that the chief Motive which inclined her to the Voyage, was to become Christian: And therefore, I have promised to forward her Design, what lies in me; and for that end to invent a Machine that may hold three or four, wherein you may mount to day, both together, if you think fit. I’ll go seriously set about the performance of my Undertaking; and in the mean time, to entertain you, during my Absence, I leave you here a Book, which heretofore I brought with me from my Native Countrey; the Title of it is, The States and Empires of the Sun, with an Addition of the History of the Spark.[1] I also give you this, which I esteem much more; it is the great Work of the Philosophers, composed by one of the greatest Wits of the Sun.[2] He proves in it that all things are true, and shews the way of uniting Physically the Truths of every Contradiction; as, for Example, That White is Black, and Black White; that one may be, and not be at the same time; that there may be a Mountain without a Valley; that nothing is something, and that all things that are, are not; but observe, that he proves all these unheard-of Paradoxes without any Captious or Sophistical Argument.”

[Illustration: THE AUTHOR’S FLYING MACHINE.--From a 17th Century Engraving]

“When you are weary of Reading, you may Walk, or Converse with our Landlord’s Son, he has a very Charming Wit; but that which I dislike in him is, that he is a little Atheistical. If he chance to Scandalize you, or by any Argument shake your Faith, fail not immediately to come and propose it to me, and I’ll clear the Difficulties of it; any other, but I, would enjoin you to break Company with him; but since he is extreamly proud and conceited, I am certain he would take your flight for a Defeat, and would believe your Faith to be grounded on no Reason, if you refused to hear his.”

Having said so, he left me; and no sooner was his back turned, but I fell to consider attentively my Books and their Boxes, that’s to say, their Covers, which seemed to me to be wonderfully Rich; the one was cut of a single Diamond, incomparably more resplendent than ours; the second looked like a prodigious great Pearl, cloven in two. My Spirit had translated those Books into the Language of that World; but because I have none of their Print, I’ll now explain to you the Fashion of these two Volumes.

[Sidenote: Books in the Moon]

As I opened the Box, I found within somewhat of Metal, almost like to our Clocks, full of I know not what little Springs and imperceptible Engines: It was a Book, indeed; but a Strange and Wonderful Book, that had neither Leaves nor Letters: In fine, it was a Book made wholly for the Ears, and not the Eyes. So that when any Body has a mind to read in it, he winds up that Machine with a great many Strings; then he turns the Hand to the Chapter which he desires to hear, and straight, as from the Mouth of a Man, or a Musical Instrument, proceed all the distinct and different Sounds, [3] which the Lunar Grandees make use of for expressing their Thoughts, instead of Language.

When I since reflected on this Miraculous Invention, I no longer wondred that the Young--Men of that Country were more knowing at Sixteen or Eighteen years Old, than the Gray-Beards of our Climate; for knowing how to Read as soon as Speak, they are never without Lectures, [4] in their Chambers, their Walks, the Town, or Travelling; they may have in their Pockets, or at their Girdles, Thirty of these Books, where they need but wind up a Spring to hear a whole Chapter, and so more, if they have a mind to hear the Book quite through; so that you never want the Company of all the great Men, living and Dead, who entertain you with Living Voices. This Present employed me about an hour; and then hanging them to my Ears, like a pair of Pendants, I went a Walking; but I was hardly at End of the Street when I met a Multitude of People very Melancholy.

Four of them carried upon their Shoulders a kind of a Herse, covered with Black: I asked a Spectator, what that Procession, like to a Funeral in my Country, meant? He made me answer, that that naughty [Illustration bar 2] called so by the People because of a knock he had received upon the Right Knee, being convicted of Envy and Ingratitude, died the day before; and that Twenty Years ago, the Parliament had Condemned him to die in his Bed, and then to be interred after his Death. I fell a Laughing at that Answer. And he asking me, why? “You amaze me,” said I, “that that which is counted a Blessing in our World, as a long Life, a peaceable Death, and an Honourable Burial, should pass here for an exemplary Punishment.” “What, do you take a Burial for a precious thing then,” replyed that Man? “And, in good earnest, can you conceive any thing more Horrid than a Corps crawling with Worms, at the discretion of Toads which feed on his Cheeks; the Plague it self Clothed with the Body of a Man? Good God! The very thought of having, even when I am Dead, my Face wrapt up in a Shroud, and a Pike-depth of Earth upon my Mouth, makes me I can hardly fetch breath. The Wretch whom you see carried here, besides the disgrace of being thrown into a Pit, hath been Condemned to be attended by an Hundred and Fifty of his Friends; who are strictly charged, as a Punishment for their having loved an envious and ungrateful Person, to appear with a sad Countenance at his Funeral; and had it not been that the Judges took some compassion of him, imputing his Crimes partly to his want of Wit, they would have been commanded to Weep there also.

“All are Burnt here, except Malefactors: And, indeed, it is a most rational and decent Custom: For we believe, that the Fire having separated the pure from the impure, the Heat by Sympathy reassembles the natural Heat which made the Soul, and gives it force to mount up till it arrive at some Star, the Country of certain people more immaterial and intellectual than us; because their Temper ought to suit with, and participate of the Globe which they inhabit.

“However, this is not our neatest way of Burying neither; for when any one of our Philosophers comes to an Age, wherein he finds his Wit begin to decay, and the Ice of his years to numm the Motions of his Soul, he invites all his Friends to a sumptuous Banquet; then having declared to them the Reasons that move him to bid farewel to Nature, and the little hopes he has of adding any thing more to his worthy Actions, they shew him Favour; that’s to say, they suffer him to Dye; or otherwise are severe to him and command him to Live. When then, by plurality of Voices, they have put his Life into his own Hands, he acquaints his dearest Friends with the day and place. These purge, and for Four and Twenty hours abstain from Eating; then being come to the House of the Sage, and having Sacrificed to the Sun, they enter the Chamber where the generous Philosopher waits for them on a Bed of State; every one embraces him, and when it comes to his turn whom he loves best, having kissed him affectionately, leaning upon his Bosom, and joyning Mouth to Mouth, with his right hand he sheaths a Dagger in his Heart.”