The Man Who Laughs 62Book 3 · The Mouse Examined by the Cats
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Literature · Historical Fiction
The Man Who Laughs 62
Book 3 · The Mouse Examined by the Cats
HugoEnglish
Ursus was soon afterwards startled by another alarming circumstance. This time it was he himself who was concerned. He was summoned to Bishopsgate before a commission composed of three disagreeable countenances. They belonged to three doctors, called overseers. One was a Doctor of Theology, delegated by the Dean of Westminster; another, a Doctor of Medicine, delegated by the College of Surgeons; the third, a Doctor in History and Civil Law, delegated by Gresham College. These three experts in omni re scibili had the censorship of everything said in public throughout the bounds of the hundred and thirty parishes of London, the seventy-three of Middlesex, and, by extension, the five of Southwark.
Such theological jurisdictions still subsist in England, and do good service. In December, 1868, by sentence of the Court of Arches, confirmed by the decision of the Privy Council, the Reverend Mackonochie was censured, besides being condemned in costs, for having placed lighted candles on a table. The liturgy allows no jokes.
Ursus, then, one fine day received from the delegated doctors an order to appear before them, which was, luckily, given into his own hands, and which he was therefore enabled to keep secret. Without saying a word, he obeyed the citation, shuddering at the thought that he might be considered culpable to the extent of having the appearance of being suspected of a certain amount of rashness. He who had so recommended silence to others had here a rough lesson. Garrule, sana te ipsum.
The three doctors, delegated and appointed overseers, sat at Bishopsgate, at the end of a room on the ground floor, in three armchairs covered with black leather, with three busts of Minos, Æacus, and Rhadamanthus, in the wall above their heads, a table before them, and at their feet a form for the accused.
Ursus, introduced by a tipstaff, of placid but severe expression, entered, perceived the doctors, and immediately in his own mind, gave to each of them the name of the judge of the infernal regions represented by the bust placed above his head. Minos, the president, the representative of theology, made him a sign to sit down on the form.
Ursus made a proper bow--that is to say, bowed to the ground; and knowing that bears are charmed by honey, and doctors by Latin, he said, keeping his body still bent respectfully,--
“Tres faciunt capitulum!”
Then, with head inclined (for modesty disarms) he sat down on the form.
Each of the three doctors had before him a bundle of papers, of which he was turning the leaves.
Minos began.
“You speak in public?”
“Yes,” replied Ursus.
“By what right?”
“I am a philosopher.”
“That gives no right.”
“I am also a mountebank,” said Ursus.
“That is a different thing.”
Ursus breathed again, but with humility.
Minos resumed,--
“As a mountebank, you may speak; as a philosopher, you must keep silence.”
“I will try,” said Ursus.
Then he thought to himself.
“I may speak, but I must be silent. How complicated.”
He was much alarmed.
The same overseer continued,--
“You say things which do not sound right. You insult religion. You deny the most evident truths. You propagate revolting errors. For instance, you have said that the fact of virginity excludes the possibility of maternity.”
Ursus lifted his eyes meekly, “I did not say that. I said that the fact of maternity excludes the possibility of virginity.”
Minos was thoughtful, and mumbled, “True, that is the contrary.”
It was really the same thing. But Ursus had parried the first blow.
Minos, meditating on the answer just given by Ursus, sank into the depths of his own imbecility, and kept silent.
The overseer of history, or, as Ursus called him, Rhadamanthus, covered the retreat of Minos by this interpolation, “Accused! your audacity and your errors are of two sorts. You have denied that the battle of Pharsalia would have been lost because Brutus and Cassius had met a negro.”
“I said,” murmured Ursus “that there was something in the fact that Cæsar was the better captain.”
The man of history passed, without transition, to mythology.
“You have excused the infamous acts of Actæon.”
“I think,” said Ursus, insinuatingly, “that a man is not dishonoured by having seen a naked woman.”
“Then you are wrong,” said the judge severely. Rhadamanthus returned to history.
“Apropos of the accidents which happened to the cavalry of Mithridates, you have contested the virtues of herbs and plants. You have denied that a herb like the securiduca, could make the shoes of horses fall off.”
“Pardon me,” replied Ursus. “I said that the power existed only in the herb sferra cavallo. I never denied the virtue of any herb,” and he added, in a low voice, “nor of any woman.”
By this extraneous addition to his answer Ursus proved to himself that, anxious as he was, he was not disheartened. Ursus was a compound of terror and presence of mind.
“To continue,” resumed Rhadamanthus; “you have declared that it was folly in Scipio, when he wished to open the gates of Carthage, to use as a key the herb æthiopis, because the herb æthiopis has not the property of breaking locks.”
“I merely said that he would have done better to have used the herb lunaria.”
“That is a matter of opinion,” murmured Rhadamanthus, touched in his turn. And the man of history was silent.
The theologian, Minos, having returned to consciousness, questioned Ursus anew. He had had time to consult his notes.
“You have classed orpiment amongst the products of arsenic, and you have said that it is a poison. The Bible denies this.”
“The Bible denies, but arsenic affirms it,” sighed Ursus.
The man whom Ursus called Æacus, and who was the envy of medicine, had not yet spoken, but now looking down on Ursus, with proudly half-closed eyes, he said,--
“The answer is not without some show of reason.”
Ursus thanked him with his most cringing smile. Minos frowned frightfully. “I resume,” said Minos. “You have said that it is false that the basilisk is the king of serpents, under the name of cockatrice.”
“Very reverend sir,” said Ursus, “so little did I desire to insult the basilisk that I have given out as certain that it has a man’s head.”
“Be it so,” replied Minos severely; “but you added that Poerius had seen one with the head of a falcon. Can you prove it?”
“Not easily,” said Ursus.
Here he had lost a little ground.
Minos, seizing the advantage, pushed it.
“You have said that a converted Jew has not a nice smell.”
“Yes. But I added that a Christian who becomes a Jew has a nasty one.”
Minos lost his eyes over the accusing documents.
“You have affirmed and propagated things which are impossible. You have said that Elien had seen an elephant write sentences.”
“Nay, very reverend gentleman! I simply said that Oppian had heard a hippopotamus discuss a philosophical problem.”
“You have declared that it is not true that a dish made of beech-wood will become covered of itself with all the viands that one can desire.”
“I said, that if it has this virtue, it must be that you received it from the devil.”
“That I received it!”
“No, most reverend sir. I, nobody, everybody!”
Aside, Ursus thought, “I don’t know what I am saying.”
But his outward confusion, though extreme, was not distinctly visible. Ursus struggled with it.
“All this,” Minos began again, “implies a certain belief in the devil.”
Ursus held his own.
“Very reverend sir, I am not an unbeliever with regard to the devil. Belief in the devil is the reverse side of faith in God. The one proves the other. He who does not believe a little in the devil, does not believe much in God. He who believes in the sun must believe in the shadow. The devil is the night of God. What is night? The proof of day.”
Ursus here extemporized a fathomless combination of philosophy and religion. Minos remained pensive, and relapsed into silence.
Ursus breathed afresh.
A sharp onslaught now took place. Æacus, the medical delegate, who had disdainfully protected Ursus against the theologian, now turned suddenly from auxiliary into assailant. He placed his closed fist on his bundle of papers, which was large and heavy. Ursus received this apostrophe full in the breast,--
“It is proved that crystal is sublimated ice, and that the diamond is sublimated crystal. It is averred that ice becomes crystal in a thousand years, and crystal diamond in a thousand ages. You have denied this.”
“Nay,” replied Ursus, with sadness, “I only said that in a thousand years ice had time to melt, and that a thousand ages were difficult to count.”
The examination went on; questions and answers clashed like swords.
“You have denied that plants can talk.”
“Not at all. But to do so they must grow under a gibbet.”
“Do you own that the mandragora cries?”
“No; but it sings.”
“You have denied that the fourth finger of the left hand has a cordial virtue.”
“I only said that to sneeze to the left was a bad sign.”
“You have spoken rashly and disrespectfully of the phoenix.”
“Learned judge, I merely said that when he wrote that the brain of the phoenix was a delicate morsel, but that it produced headache, Plutarch was a little out of his reckoning, inasmuch as the phoenix never existed.”
“A detestable speech! The cinnamalker which makes its nest with sticks of cinnamon, the rhintacus that Parysatis used in the manufacture of his poisons, the manucodiatas which is the bird of paradise, and the semenda, which has a threefold beak, have been mistaken for the phoenix; but the phoenix has existed.”
“I do not deny it.”
“You are a stupid ass.”
“I desire to be thought no better.”
“You have confessed that the elder tree cures the quinsy, but you added that it was not because it has in its root a fairy excrescence.”
“I said it was because Judas hung himself on an elder tree.”
“A plausible opinion,” growled the theologian, glad to strike his little blow at Æacus.
Arrogance repulsed soon turns to anger. Æacus was enraged.
“Wandering mountebank! you wander as much in mind as with your feet. Your tendencies are out of the way and suspicious. You approach the bounds of sorcery. You have dealings with unknown animals. You speak to the populace of things that exist but for you alone, and the nature of which is unknown, such as the hoemorrhoüs.”
“The hoemorrhoüs is a viper which was seen by Tremellius.”
This repartee produced a certain disorder in the irritated science of Doctor Æacus.
Ursus added, “The existence of the hoemorrhoüs is quite as true as that of the odoriferous hyena, and of the civet described by Castellus.”
Æacus got out of the difficulty by charging home.
“Here are your own words, and very diabolical words they are. Listen.”
With his eyes on his notes, Æacus read,--
“Two plants, the thalagssigle and the aglaphotis, are luminous in the evening, flowers by day, stars by night;” and looking steadily at Ursus, “What have you to say to that?”
Ursus answered,--
“Every plant is a lamp. Its perfume is its light.” Æacus turned over other pages.
“You have denied that the vesicles of the otter are equivalent to castoreum.”
“I merely said that perhaps it may be necessary to receive the teaching of Ætius on this point with some reserve.”
Æacus became furious.
“You practise medicine?”
“I practise medicine,” sighed Ursus timidly.
“On living things?”
“Rather than on dead ones,” said Ursus.
Ursus defended himself stoutly, but dully; an admirable mixture, in which meekness predominated. He spoke with such gentleness that Doctor Æacus felt that he must insult him.
“What are you murmuring there?” said he rudely.
Ursus was amazed, and restricted himself to saying,--
“Murmurings are for the young, and moans for the aged. Alas, I moan!”
Æacus replied,--
“Be assured of this--if you attend a sick person, and he dies, you will be punished by death.”
Ursus hazarded a question.
“And if he gets well?”
“In that case,” said the doctor, softening his voice, “you will be punished by death.”
“There is little difference,” said Ursus.
The doctor replied,--
“If death ensues, we punish gross ignorance; if recovery, we punish presumption. The gibbet in either case.”
“I was ignorant of the circumstance,” murmured Ursus. “I thank you for teaching me. One does not know all the beauties of the law.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“Religiously,” said Ursus.
“We know what you are about.”
“As for me,” thought Ursus, “that is more than I always know myself.”
“We could send you to prison.”
“I see that perfectly, gentlemen.”
“You cannot deny your infractions nor your encroachments.”
“My philosophy asks pardon.”
“Great audacity has been attributed to you.”
“That is quite a mistake.”
“It is said that you have cured the sick.”
“I am the victim of calumny.”
The three pairs of eyebrows which were so horribly fixed on Ursus contracted. The three wise faces drew near to each other, and whispered. Ursus had the vision of a vague fool’s cap sketched out above those three empowered heads. The low and requisite whispering of the trio was of some minutes’ duration, during which time Ursus felt all the ice and all the scorch of agony. At length Minos, who was president, turned to him and said angrily,--
“Go away!”
Ursus felt something like Jonas when he was leaving the belly of the whale.
Minos continued,--
“You are discharged.”
Ursus said to himself,--
“They won’t catch me at this again. Good-bye, medicine!”
And he added in his innermost heart,--
“From henceforth I will carefully allow them to die.”
Bent double, he bowed everywhere; to the doctors, to the busts, the tables, the walls, and retiring backwards through the door, disappeared almost as a shadow melting into air.
He left the hall slowly, like an innocent man, and rushed from the street rapidly, like a guilty one. The officers of justice are so singular and obscure in their ways that even when acquitted one flies from them.
As he fled he mumbled,--
“I am well out of it. I am the savant untamed; they the savants civilized. Doctors cavil at the learned. False science is the excrement of the true, and is employed to the destruction of philosophers. Philosophers, as they produce sophists, produce their own scourge. Of the dung of the thrush is born the mistletoe, with which is made birdlime, with which the thrush is captured. Turdus sibi malum cacat.”
We do not represent Ursus as a refined man. He was imprudent enough to use words which expressed his thoughts. He had no more taste than Voltaire.
When Ursus returned to the Green Box, he told Master Nicless that he had been delayed by following a pretty woman, and let not a word escape him concerning his adventure.
Except in the evening when he said in a low voice to Homo,--
“See here, I have vanquished the three heads of Cerberus.”
