Emerich de Vattel: Voyages in the Microcosm, by a modern disciple of Pythagoras

(1757)

 

 

The last time that my soul left the body with which it was united, it did not pass immediately into another. Detached from its gross envelope, it was not devoid of organs; a subtle body remained to it, almost exactly as Leibniz had imagined, and I realized that it was inseparable therefrom. I then experienced the truth of the Philosophical maxim that the idea of size is purely relative: the human body appeared to me as an entire world, the marvels of which I resolved to visit. As you can imagine, Reader, the head of a Philosopher was the first of these ambulant Worlds to excite my curiosity.

Having introduced myself without difficulty into that head, I made my way to the brain by diligence. I soon found myself in the middle of a grand plaza, at which five exceedingly wide streets converged, each of which bore the name of one of the five senses. Merchandise of every sort was arriving continually by way of each of these streets: images, sensations, confused ideas, etc. A robust street-porter named Memory took responsibility for everything he could grip, and carried it into the shops. There, he carried out a triage; I saw him select one fraction of the things he had brought and distribute them in an orderly manner in clearly-labeled boxes, in much the same fashion that pharmaceuticals are arranged in an Apothecary’s shop. The rest remained, pell-mell, in a confused heap, in which the majority were reduced to death and vanished over time.

Above these shops lived Reflection, a sort of Official who came to inspect the pharmaceuticals. He took some of them away into a laboratory, where a Chemist named Abstraction put them in an alembic and made Extracts of them, which were carried into the Study of Understanding. I witnessed an admirable spectacle in that Study: the principles of all the things contained in the shops of Memory, arranged in the most beautiful order, by genus and species; and these principles, like all Spirits, last much longer than the matter from which they had been extracted. They were even unalterable, when the operation was properly carried out.

A wise Minister, named Reason, considered them attentively, compared them, mixed them in different proportions in a thousand various combinations, and carefully observed what resulted therefrom. Then he wrote in his Ledgers, thus forming Metaphysics, or the primary Philosophy. It was on the discoveries that the Minister made in his operations that he based his orders, in order to send them to Will, who is charged with their execution.

He had a dangerous rival, though, in the person of a fairy named Imagination. The soul had taken this fairy into its service, to preside at its pleasures, and even for various useful tasks. She could make herself commendable with her pleasing talents, if she consented to submit to the orders of Reason, but, being excessively capricious, she accepted no regulation and often occupied herself by merely disturbing the Minister’s work. She excels in Painting; with a couple of brush-strokes she can capture the image of anything that the senses bring into the public Plaza, the objects that Memory collects; she can unite them, separate them, mutilate them, combine them according to her whim and convey them to Will like Reason’s orders. Often, by means of a Magic Lantern, she represents all these vain phantoms on the exterior wall of Understanding and sets free the Passions, an impetuous and turbulent soldiery, who take the enchantress’s illusions for the signals and commands of the Sovereign. Sometimes she presumes to paint the essences of things and to substitute her figurations for the Extracts that the Chemist Reflection furnishes to Understanding. The soul of my Philosopher was very determined to render this enchantress more tractable; it had high hopes of her, if she could be persuaded to get along well with the Minister.

After having seen the entire Court of that little world in which I found myself, I was ambitious to discover the Queen—but she hid herself away from me; I thought that I was in the abode of one of those Oriental Monarchs who are careful to display their splendor while hiding their persons from the gaze of their people. To begin with, trusting in Descartes, I went to the pineal gland, but I did not find what I was looking for there. Then, suspecting that a few Moderns might have reasoned more accurately, I raced to the corpus callosum, but with no greater success. Finally, I became convinced that, being in possession of material organs, it was impossible for me to perceive a simple and spiritual being, and I made a firm resolution to inform the philosophers that, their eyes being infinitely more gross than mine presently were, it would be futile to seek the head of a Giant in order to dissect it; they would not perceive any vestige of the soul.

I began to get bored in so serious a World. My curiosity was satisfied; I promised myself more amusement in some other planet of the same species, and I planned to go there as soon as possible. An opportunity to get out of the place where I was soon presented itself. An Adversary attacked my Philosopher’s doctrine; immediately, a terrible storm broke out in his head; everything there was in ferment; animal spirits rushed impetuously toward his mouth; he shouted at the top of his voice. I emerged, swimming in the torrent of his words.

 

Avid for knowledge, I soon recommenced my journey—but it was a question of choosing a World in which I would not see exactly the same things again. I decided on a young Coquette, in the expectation that I would never find a head less similar to that of a Philosopher.

I wanted to begin, however, by visiting the heart, which I thought much more cultivated and alive than the head. To do that, on seeing a dandy about to give her some flowers, I got ready, and entered the lady’s ear along with the breath of his words.

My astonishment was great when I saw that I had reached her brain; I had assumed that such sweet words would have conducted me straight to the heart. I learned, though, that the heart is ordinarily difficult to access. A monster known as Pride guards the entrance. Besides, it is almost always surrounded by snow and ice, which render the avenues impracticable—except that, in certain seasons, vapors rising from the lowest-lying regions melt the snow and ice; even the monster is inconvenienced by the thaw, and anyone who can take advantage of the moment can enter the Plaza. The climate, however, is hardly tolerable, and no one ever stays there or very long. The Reader must content himself, if he will, with the account I have given him of good Memories, for I have lost the desire to travel in such places.

Meanwhile, I found myself in the head and resolved to visit it. The public Plaza was infinitely more tumultuous than the one in the Philosopher’s head. I thought I was in the middle of the Saint-Germain Fair. Torrents of sensations of every species were filling the five streets of the senses and emptying out into the Plaza. The sensations that were the keenest and most lively were going through the windows into the store of Memory, who did not bother to arrange them—except that I noticed that she set aside those indicated to her by certain Royal Messengers.

I asked one of these people if I might be able to see the Mistress of such a remarkable Country. “Without difficulty,” he replied. “One encounters her everywhere.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I shall finally see a soul! I suspected that it would not be as invisible as the Philosopher’s.”

“What soul are you talking about?” he asked. “We don’t know anything about that here. A lovely and lively face is our Sovereign, the sole object of our attention and homage. Go throw herself at your feet straight away; she has a natural liking for newcomers.”

I went up to the apartments and I saw a pretty little face on a throne, exactly similar to the body into which I had entered. That was the Sovereign, the principle of all that happened in this little World. Self-Esteem was her favorite, Imagination fulfilled the functions of Prime Minister and Caprice was in general command thereunder. Vanity, Folly and Frivolity, with two or three Passions, made up the Council.

Surprised by this arrangement, I asked a Courtier whether the Queen did not have a Minister named Reason.

“Ha!” he said. “He only appeared in the Court for one day; he went unheeded; his advice was obsolete; it would have spoiled the Queen’s affairs. Pleasures are the occupation of our lovely Sovereign, and the conquest of hearts the great objective of her labors. That old dotard disturbed our pleasures, and with him in charge we wouldn’t have conquered two hearts a year. We all ganged up on him; the Queen banished him in perpetuity. Beware of talking about him or admitting that you know him; you won’t be well-received. Go into the Council Chamber; you can listen to the deliberations.”

“What!” I said. “Dare a foreigner penetrate therein?”

“Oh,” the Courtier replied, “no one will notice you; the Council changes so frequently that the Queen never knows all the Members; the Favorite, and those you see sitting in the first five or six places, are the only permanent ones.”

I went in; Vanity was opening her mouth at that moment to warn that a proud and brilliant dandy had just been spotted, whose heart would be a significant conquest, very suitable to add to the reputation of the Princess’s armies. It was resolved unanimously, by acclamation, to make the attempt. They began to deliberate as to the means, but Caprice took the floor, saying in a curt tone: “He’s handsome, let’s get on with it.”

The Queen got up and a part of the Court followed her into the Gardens. She noticed me as she passed by, and having greeted me with a gracious smile, ordered that I be taken to see the rarities of the Palace, while awaiting her return.

The person charged with guiding me took me through a multitude of Halls, Galleries and Closets, where everything exhaled luxury and softness, but I was struck by the uniformity of the furniture; everywhere the walls were covered with mirrors instead of tapestries.

“It’s necessary,” my guide told me, “that our Sovereign is able to see herself everywhere; whichever way she directs her gaze, she encounters her reflection; nothing more agreeable can be offered to her. At the very most, she tolerates the Portraits that you see at intervals; those furthest away represent her past conquests, these much closer to hand advertise those she intends to make. There are people of all estates—Courtiers, Soldiers, Clergymen, Magistrates—but all fops. Intelligent people are too much alike and too modest; they don’t merit our attention.”

I remembered the Philosopher World, and wanted to know whether there was anything similar in this one.

“Take me to Reflection’s apartment,” I said to my guide. “I’m curious to see how Extracts of things are made here.”

“What are you talking about?” he said. “I don’t know this Reflection.”

“He’s the Official who puts ideas into the alembic with skillful artifice,” I said, “in order to extract their quintessence.”

“Ha ha!” the guide replied. “I seem to remember hearing mention of him; he performs the operations of the old world, which are only good for Pedants. We know nothing of them here. Reflection was thrown out along with Reason. Imagination suffices for everything. The Queen only requires a superficial knowledge of things; her Prime Minister makes miniature paintings of them, on which basis she makes decisions and formulates resolutions. Admit that all your Chemist’s Extracts have been advantageously replaced. Let’s go into the Minister’s Office—you can see him at work.”

I did, indeed, see scrolls of parchment, on which a delicate brush had traced figures of every kind; I thought I was looking at the hieroglyphic books of the ancient Priests of Egypt.

“There,” he said. What’s the point of knowing about causes and making accurate measurements? Consider the face of that Cavalier. Can one not see at a glance that he has a noble air about him, a well-proportioned figure and a well-turned leg? Besides, one can easily judge him by his physiognomy. Look at that crowd of Captives attached to a Triumphal Chariot—can all your alembic-processed ideas express with the same force the glory that stems from the conquests of two handsome eyes?

I could hardly restrain myself from laughing in that august sanctuary of the State. Fortunately, my guide saved me the trouble.

“Come in,” he said. “I still have more important things to show you—let’s go to the Arsenal.”

“What!” I exclaimed. “There’s an Arsenal here?”

“And why not?” he retorted. “Doesn’t every Conqueror need one?”

He led me into a vast courtyard surrounded by buildings of the Composite order, which appeared to me to be constructed out of glazed Chinese porcelain. Military equipment was assembled n the courtyard. There were Caleches, Cabriolets and cul-de-singe Obligéantes with Martin’s varnish,14 extremely brisk and gallant; not many coaches, almost entirely made of glass. Further away, trophies could be seen: Presidential Bonnets, Miters, Clerical Collars, Plumes and Financier’s Strong-Boxes, heaped up pell-mell, surmounted by bleeding hearts and addled brains. On one side were the workshops, where thousands of Artisans of every sort were continually occupied. Lipsticks and make-up were fabricated there, whose secret was only known to one trusted man; perfumes and marvelous waters were distilled there. The first Lady of the Bedchamber was in command of the entire Arsenal.

We went into the principal outbuilding. There I saw an immense Hall, completely surrounded by crystal cupboards containing attire of every sort: dresses, hats, lace, ribbons, etc. A Dressing-Room adjoined the Hall, contained everything specifically concerned with matters of personal hygiene. I observed locked cupboards, which were not transparent, like those in the Hall. My guide whispered in my ear that they contained admirable remedies against natural defects and the ravages of time.

A kind of altar, known as a Dressing-Table, attracted my gaze specifically. It was consecrated to Beauty. The Lady of the Bedchamber fulfilled the functions of High Priestess here; rouge, make-up, beauty-spots, pomades, essences and perfumes, neatly arranged in boxes, jars and bottles, seemed like so many offerings devoted to the Divinity in question. Stray hairs and asymmetrical eyebrows were so many victims to be sacrificed there. All of that was carried out with extreme attention; the High Priestess seemed to meditate profoundly—and in order that all that seriousness should not spoil the Queen’s charms, a young clergyman was charged with entertaining her with the day’s news, or reading something to her.

The Library was next door to the Study. All the books were sorted into two categories, History and the Fine Arts. In the former, I saw all the modern Novels and all the fashionable gossip; in the second, various singular Works, of which the Reader will doubtless be interested to see a Catalogue here. These were the principal titles:

Garments of the Fair Sex, in Alphabetical Order, 50 vols., folio.

Treatise on Battlefields: 1. Going for a Walk; 2. Spectacles; 3. Balls; 4. Intimate dinners. 4 vol., quarto.

The Art of Placing a Beauty-Spot. 2 vols., octavo, with diagrams.

The Art of Putting Nature’s Gifts to Work; in which is treated the conduct of the eyes, the management of the voice, especially huskiness, etc. 4 vols., duodecimo.

Correctives of Nature. 12 vols., duodecimo.

Satires of Modesty, Sentiment, Constancy, Fidelity, etc., octavo.

Recreations of the Toilette, or Initial Preparations for the Day. (This was a collection of Tales, Epigrams, Songs etc., in more than 30 vols.)

Essential Knowledge for Ladies of High Society, in Philosophy, History, Geography etc. Pamphlet of 6 pages, demiduodecimo, by a Fashionable Savant.

After making a rapid survey of this curious Library I returned to the Dressing-Room. Flirtatious glances, amorous glances and simpers, were being exercised there before a mirror. I spent some time admiring them. The Prussian infantry could not have presented its arms and executed its drill more efficiently. Two violins and a flageolet gave the signal; all the troops arranged themselves in battle order. Coquetry was the commander-in-chief and Intrigue her major-general. It was a matter of conquering the heart of the dandy I mentioned previously. They marched off. Laughter and Games formed the advance guard.

In a trice, they surrounded the enemy; the battle-corps advanced, and, the Amorous Glances having pierced the dandy’s lines, the Queen came running to enjoy her triumph. Immediately, though, the man she thought vanquished got up, hummed a little tune, turned a somersault and vanished into thin air like a wisp of vapor; either the thrusts he had received had been insufficiently penetrative, or, as the army’s Surgeon-Major claimed, that species had no heart and could not be mortally wounded.

Mortified by the adventure, the Queen made plans to devote herself to more solid and more glorious conquests. Imagination had sometimes made mention of a very well-to-do Lord, nurtured with a knowledge of the finer things in life, perfectly formed for the purposes of society. “There,” said the Princess, “is a conquest suitable to restore my glory.”

Orders were given for the great enterprise. The Lord in question was enclosed within a Plaza, which Reason and Experience had fortified; he was besieged therein. The Queen deployed all her might and skill—but the terrain was difficult, the besieged forces vigilant and full of valor; the campaign made no progress. Discontented with her Generals, the Queen entrusted the command and direction of the siege to Love.

That malign Deity resolved to take advantage of the opportunity to avenge himself on the Princess, who had never rendered him anything but deceptive homage. He seduced Caprice, and, that traitor having opened a secret door to her Mistress’s Heart, Love took possession of it.

The distressed Queen offered the Lord of the besieged Plaza a Treaty of Alliance, proposing that the two Empires be united under their common authority—but that proud enemy replied that their subjects were not fitted to live together; he advised her to decamp secretly during the night and generously promised not to harass her during her retreat.

Here, Reader, you will exempt me from describing what happened in the head in which I was lodged; my pen would not be up to the task. Everything was plunged momentarily into great confusion. Imagination was in distress; the Favorite, Self-Esteem, fell dangerously ill; Vanity was gripped by an ardent fever. The Queen broke some of her mirrors in a fit of chagrin, and got so carried away at first that she ordered the Arsenal to be set on fire.

“I no longer want these unworthy weapons,” she declared, “that have served me so badly.”

In spite of her fever, however, Vanity had enough presence of mind to remonstrate that the reverse was not so much due to the Arsenal itself as to its commander, who had doubtless performed her duties very badly.

The Queen kissed her tenderly for this salutary advice. The Lady of the Bedchamber was expelled in disgrace, and the greatest success as anticipated in consequence. Tranquility was gradually restored.

I took advantage of the calm, and escaped through a crack that had opened up in the Palace Dome during the tumult.