Thrown into Nature

11. On the Debate by the Honorable, Learned Scholars Dr. Cheynell, an Englishman, and Dr. Monardes, a Spaniard, with the Foolish and Ignorant English King and His Sycophantic Servants Who Present Themselves before the Civilized World As Physicians — to Their and Their Chieftain’s Great Shame

I have always thought that the English king is a fool. The present one, as well as all those before him.

Our Spanish king, on the contrary, is an intelligent man. But he is crazy. That, I presume, is the main reason why we have not yet conquered their small, forested island. The other reason is most likely that Señor de Leca has no financial interest in that. Because — let’s not deceive ourselves — conquering their useless island would take a big army and a huge amount of money — and for what? A few fields, meadows, sheep, forests, some rocky peaks up in the north, and a slate mine here and there. Duke de Alba would get the best of them in the end, as he does with everyone, but it would be quite difficult, would take a long time, and would cost an enormous sum. It is much better to invest those funds in conquering the Indies, which will repay you richly — with ten thousand or so thugs you can conquer boundless lands; rivers of gold and silver, tobacco, and all sorts of exotic goods will flow your way. Who needs that small rain-soaked island up north? Yes, Señor de Leca is right, as usual.

But I have strayed from the topic, or rather I would have strayed if I had begun it in the first place. And the topic is as follows: the debate, which the English King James I organized at Oxford on the topic “Whether the frequent use of tobacco is good for healthy men?” The question mark here is pure hypocrisy and is intended solely to satisfy the formal requirements of debate. Because the truth is — and everyone knows it — that James is a great opponent of tobacco and — in the words of Mr. Frampton, who received this information from inside sources — the king intended to use this forum to introduce his latest essay, entitled “A Counterblast to Tobacco,” and to stigmatize that good plant with the help of several stooges. The ultimate goal of this operation, according to Mr. Frampton, was to raise the duty on tobacco two- or three-fold. And when you take into account how in demand that commodity is, Mr. Frampton said, that would significantly increase the royal treasury’s income.

In any case, we decided to attend the debate, especially because there were many lovers of that transatlantic panacea at Oxford, so the king’s argument could hardly slip by without meeting some kind of resistance. Thus, from Goody Jane’s we headed south to Oxford and arrived there shortly before the debate.

We went into the packed ceremonial hall at Christ College, where the event in question would take place, and at that foolish Frampton’s insistence, and alas, Dr. Monardes’ as well, I was saddled with the task of recording the statements made at the debate. For this purpose and with the aid of Mr. Frampton, who had acquaintances here, I was seated at a long table at the end of the platform designated for all those taking notes. Thanks to Mr. Frampton, I was seated next to Isaac Wake himself, the public orator of the university, who was recording the event for Oxford. There were several bearded ninnies to my other side, whose names I didn’t bother to remember or even to learn. Mr. Wake, however, was a very pleasant man with wonderful manners and a murmuring voice, whose speech flowed like silver — as the saying goes, who knows why — and with whom I conducted a pleasant conversation, at least until the moment at which I told him — as a joke, of course — that with a name like his, he was very lucky he didn’t live in Spain, and even though he laughed kindly, after that he refused to utter a single word, and responded to my questions by nodding and shaking his head — for the affirmative or the negative, respectively, as it were — and when that was impossible, he put his finger to his lips, which were pursed as if to say “sh-h-h,” even thought he didn’t say it. A sly Jew, no doubt about it. I wondered whether his family wasn’t one of those whom the Spanish king had chased out many years ago, and perhaps I had inadvertently touched on a sore topic. But how could I have known?

In the meantime, the debate had begun with a speech by the English king, who was met by applause and standing ovations from the public — we were also forced to stand up, and I clapped along with everyone else, unlike, as I noticed, Dr. Monardes, who was blowing his nose at that moment. But I was even more stunned by Mr. Frampton, who was indeed clapping, but not like the others, but with the backs of his hands. I’ll be damned! I would’ve done it, too, if we scribes hadn’t been on the platform itself, so close to the king. An empty formality wasn’t worth creating Lord knows what kinds of trouble for oneself.

The king was dressed in a black jacket, cinched at the waist and covered in gold embroidery; from beneath it flowed the sleeves of a loose shirt in the same green and white stripes, with a high pleated collar. Below the jacket the king wore green and white striped pumpkin pants reaching to mid-thigh, with grey silk stockings beneath them reaching down to his long pointed shoes, which were white. He had a waist-length red mantle draped over his shoulders, from beneath which the gilded handle of his sword peeked out. He also wore a cap with a pheasant feather, gloves, and a chain with a large gold cross on his chest.

After the applause died down and the audience once again sat down, he took the podium and paused for a long moment, probably to intensify the dramatic effect, before saying: “Learned gentlemen, our fortunate and oft proved valor in wars abroad, our hearty and reverent obedience to our Princes at home, hath bred us a long, and a thrice happy peace: Our Peace hath bred wealth: And Peace and wealth hath brought forth a general sluggishness, which makes us wallow in all sorts of idle delights, and soft delicacies, the first seeds of the subversion of all great monarchies.”

Aha, I thought to myself, so that’s the bone sticking in your throat, is it? The subversion of the monarchy. You’re afraid they’ll pull the rug out from under you. Then no more pumpkin pants, no more pointy shoes, no more gilded sword — back to Nature, an animal among animals. Or, as is far more likely in this case, straight to the chopping block.

“And surely in my opinion,” he continued, “there cannot be a more base, and yet hurtful, corruption in a Country, then is the vile use — or rather abuse — of taking Tobacco, which hath moved me shortly to unmask this vile custom. And now, good countrymen,” he gestured to the public with a broad sweep of his arm, “let us, I pray you, consider, what honor or policy can move us to imitate the barbarous and beastly manners of the wild, godless, and slavish Indians, especially in so vile and stinking a custom? Shall we that disdain to imitate the manners of our neighbor France (having the title of the first Christian Kingdom) and that cannot endure the spirit of the Spaniards (their King being now comparable in largeness of dominions to the great Emperor of Turkey) — Shall we, I say, without blushing, abase ourselves so far, as to imitate these beastly Indians, slaves to the Spaniards, refuse to the world, and as yet aliens from the holy Covenant of God? Why do we not as well imitate them in walking naked as they do? In preferring glass, feathers, and such toys to gold and precious stones, as they do? Yea,” he raised his voice, “why do we not deny God and adore the Devil, as they do?”

These last words were met with wild applause from the audience. But not from Dr. Monardes and Mr. Frampton, whom I glanced at — Dr. Monardes was once again blowing his nose, while Mr. Frampton was clapping in his extremely unusual manner. I scribbled down various things on my paper, pretending to take notes, at least until the moment I noticed that Isaac Wake was looking askance at me. I then drew a Star of David on my sheet. Wake quickly averted his gaze. The ninny on my other side, however, stared bug-eyed at the star on my sheet. I quickly crossed it out and grabbed my quill such that I — ostensibly accidentally — showed him my middle finger. After that, they both left me alone.

“What is the smoking of tobacco,” the king continued, “or as some say lately, combining the two words into one in an absurd fashion, tobacco-smoking? As if we could say nose-blowing”—had he noticed Dr. Monardes? My gaze quickly met Dr. Monardes’ for a moment—“privy-going or book-reading, just like those unintelligible Germanic peoples, who combine so many words into one that I’ve heard an entire pilgrimage to Jerusalem can be described by a single word in their language.”

“Yes,” I thought to myself. “Will-o’-the-wisp-chasing.”

“What, ipso facto, shall we say, then, about this custom?” James continued. “Learned gentlemen, I would say this is a custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.”

Applause burst out once again. Dr. Monardes was also applauding. Mr. Frampton, however, kept on as before. “You can always tell an experienced man”—I thought to myself. That’s what experience is — you do one and the same thing, since it works. When and if it stops working, all of a sudden it turns out that you know nothing.

“And what effect does this vile custom of tobacco-smoking have on our subjects? It has a categorically and unambiguously bad effect on our subjects. Because tobacco-smoke is very pernicious unto their bodies, too profluvious for many of their purses, and most pestiferous to the public State. It gives our proud nation a bad name. But are these statements of mine simply being made ipse dixit, unproven by facts? Gentlemen, I was aghast to read in a book by the French traveler Sorbière, who recently visited our beautiful capital city of London — primarily to spy, which we pretended not to know and good-humoredly turned a blind eye to, so as not to sour our relations with our French “cousins”—I was aghast to read that in his opinion the English were naturally lazy and spent half their time in taking tobacco. And if you object that we could expect nothing more from a French spy and from a Frenchman in general — that is, a representative of a nation famed for its superficiality and frivolity — then I will respond that our fellow countryman and friend Sir Grey Palmes makes the same and even more frightening claims when he states absolutely categorically that if tobacco be not banished, it will overthrow one hundred thousand men in England, for now it is so common that he, Sir Grey, has seen ploughmen take it as they are at plough.”

A muted “oooh” swept through the hall like grumbling, but I couldn’t discern whether it was because of the ploughmen who smoked at plough, or because of the implicit threat of tobacco being banished. Probably both, since it seemed to me that everyone looked shocked.

“Yes, yes, gentlemen,” the king went on. “Tobacco is far from being the innocent peccadillo of our learned class. On the contrary, it has penetrated deeply, and perhaps even more deeply, within our common people and has turned into a mass contagion. I now have the honor,” he turned to the side, “to introduce to you the learned man Joshua Sylvester, who can recount for you even more shocking examples and whose name is perhaps familiar to our learned audience because of his work”—here, the king looked down at the notes in front of him and made a long pause—“his work ‘Tobacco Battered and the Pipes Shattered’ and so on. I am certain that he himself will state the full title of his work, which I enthusiastically recommend. Please, gentlemen, a round of applause for the scholar Joshua Sylvester.”

The following moment, a little twerp dressed all in black took the podium, a man simply impossible to describe, since he was so nondescript — it was as if he were disappearing or melting away like a spot before your eyes, with the exception, however, of his exceptionally malevolent, angry, glittering eyes. He bowed to the king, who had retired to his place behind a long table on the platform, and then turned to the audience — Joshua, that is — with the words: “Most honorable gentlemen, the work, which his Majesty condescended to mention, is called ‘Tobacco Battered and the Pipes Shattered about their Eares, that idely Idolize so base and barbarous a Weed, or at least overlove so loathsome a Vanity, by a Volley of Holy Shot Thundered from Mount Helicon.’”

Did I really write that down correctly?

“In what sense?” A voice from the audience called.

“In the sense that tobacco is battered and pipes shattered by a volley of holy shot thundered from Mount Helicon,” Joshua replied. “Meant for the ears of those that idly idolize so base and barbarous a weed, and so forth. This latter is a parenthetical remark.”

“Aha,” I heard the voice of my neighbor Isaac Wake, who was nodding his head as he wrote something on the sheets in front of him.

“Learned gentlemen, I have personally witnessed,” Joshua continued, “an even more shocking example than a ploughman with a pipe in his mouth. Once I was clerk to a curate in Lincolnshire, who was accustomed to retiring to the vestry before the sermon and there smoke a pipe while the congregation sang a psalm — usually the twenty-first. One Sunday, he could not resist the diabolical temptation of his vile habit and smoked a second pipe. Since the congregation in the meantime was confused and grumbling, I went in to him and warned him that the people were getting impatient, but he replied: ‘Let them sing another psalm.’ ‘They have, sir,’ I replied. Only then, with a sigh and great dissatisfaction did he extinguish his pipe and go out before the congregation, to whom, incidentally, he preached a sermon on the subject ‘How important it is to do things quickly and not to put them off until tomorrow,’ and to provide a personal example of this, his sermon was quite short, after which he dismissed the congregation and went back into his vestry to finish smoking his pipe.”

The mixed sound of murmurs of discontent and suppressed laughter swept through the audience following Joshua’s words. Even my neighbor Isaac gave a faint smile.

“A striking example,” the king called at that moment, “of the sluggishness that has recently seized some representatives of our clergy and how they are in a position to neglect their holy duties because of a barbarous plant.”

“Precisely,” Joshua nodded. “And all for a stinking, fuming and not only useless, but clearly harmful weed. Yes, harmful. Because our learned physicians, who praise its healing properties to the skies, are frankly and undoubtedly mistaken. Actually, how frank this really is, I couldn’t say,” Joshua noted almost as an aside. “But I have no doubts whatsoever that it is undoubted. Gentlemen,” he began again, “contrary to their claims, tobacco has harmful and poisonous qualities! Because when it is taken into the body, tobacco vexes and unsettles it, inducing the powerful purging of distillations in both directions, above and below, it induces spiritual confusion, as well as torpor and dullness of the senses and limbs. Its torpid and dulling qualities are most noticeable when the fumes are taken through the mouth, since then it induces drunken dizziness in the head, and if a great quantity is consumed, it leads to a dull clumsiness of the senses and limbs.”

What kind of nonsense was this? I looked at Isaac’s paper to see if I had understood correctly — but yes, he, too, had written down the same thing. How absurd! I personally never experience any dulling of the limbs and senses at all after a cigarella. On the contrary, even!

“I must pause to address an objection by our vulgar tobacconists,” Joshua continued, as if reading my mind, “which I frequently hear them make against the harmful qualities I claim are inherent in tobacco. They say that after using it, they do not experience any ills or strong purging of distillations, nor any dulling of the limbs and senses. To those, I would reply that abuse of tobacco has made them insensitive, people without senses. How else could we explain the fact that our licentious smokers squander and expend not only their time, but also their health, money, and mind, in taking these loathsome and harmful fumes? Despite the fact that for now they might look fine, be it thanks to their youth or their strong constitutions, this senseless smoking will suddenly ruin their bodies, poison their stomachs, spoil their digestion, and fill their organisms with harsh and harmful crudities. Besides erroneously redirecting Nature’s activities, they also irritate the lungs, perturb and harm the energies of the soul, spoil the breathing, and destroy the circulatory function of the liver. I am truly astounded at the madness of these people. What is so special about these fumes that could provide such great satisfaction? It’s obviously not the smell, as it is unpleasant, and certainly not the taste, which is acrid and revolting.”

Oh, how Dr. Monardes was looking at him at that moment! His head tilted slightly to the side, he was gazing at him with scathing contempt, half-smiling. His entire expression, his stance unambiguously sent the message: “You are ignorant! You need to educate yourself!” I needed to master that expression, it would certainly come in handy in the future. So I began at that very moment — I tilted my head to the side, smiled slightly, and kept writing down this monstrous nonsense.

“Being overly hot,” Joshua was saying, “tobacco smoke overheats and dries out the liver, interferes with the digestion of meat in the stomach, and casts it out of the stomach undigested when smoked before said meats are absorbed by the body. For similar reasons, some people use tobacco to purge phlegm. But this is a very dangerous and unjustified practice, which causes violent vomiting, chronic illnesses, and feeblemindedness. My experience shows, gentlemen, that a mere drop or two of pure tobacco juice applied to the tongue of a cat induces strong convulsions and even death in less than a minute. It is true that this very same juice, sprinkled on gauze and applied to the teeth, is useful in curing a toothache. However, it should be used only on those who are accustomed to smoking, otherwise strong nausea, vomiting, swooning and so forth will ensue. When droplets of this same juice are sprinkled on a crust of bread and swallowed immediately into the body and the stomach, a quick and agonizing death also ensues, as my experiments with the poor in London have demonstrated.”

“The poor have distressed organisms,” a voice from the audience called. “They suffer from malnutrition, poor digestion, suppressed vital humors, and dullness. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“On the contrary, sir,” Joshua objected. Laughter from the audience followed. “What I mean to say”—he lifted his hand—“is that yes, they suffer from all those things you mentioned, but the cause of their deaths is tobacco and nothing else. If you don’t believe me, I would not object to you subjecting your own self to this experiment, sir.” Silence in the hall. What nerve! — “Among our vulgar tobacconists,” Joshua continued, “there is also another extremely dangerous practice which is founded upon a completely erroneous belief. They believe that the warm tobacco vapors will protect them from the damp and rainy weather. For this reason they frequently, before going out into the damp and windy streets, use tobacco. This is a mistake! You should not go outside immediately after smoking, but should refrain from that for at least half an hour, especially if the season is cold and damp, because as a result of the strong effect of tobacco, the pores of the body are opened, even in its most external and superficial parts, which can lead to unspeakable ills from the sudden entrance of air into them.”

Well, he was right about that. If damp, dirty, and cold air gets into the body, it can cause swelling, mix with the cardinal humors and corrupt them. But after all, isn’t that why people wear clothes, instead of walking the streets naked like Adam and Eve? Yes, for Adam and Eve, tobacco surely would have been harmful for the above-mentioned reason. But not for modern man. Here Joshua’s statement was a typical example of the speculations that contemporary opponents of tobacco make use of to defame it.

In the meantime, Joshua said a few words in closing and retired from the podium. The king got up, probably to give the floor to someone else, but at that moment a striking man with a pipe in his hand stood up in the audience — yes, he held it in front of himself in his left hand, so that all could see it; of course, the pipe was not lit, that would have been an extreme act of impudence, but even this gesture was sufficiently ambiguous and acted as a brave provocation to those slanderers of tobacco.

“Who is that man?” I whispered to Isaac Wake. He, however, clearly due to rancor, did not answer me, but put a finger to his lips in a sign to keep quiet.

“That’s Dr. Cheynell,” the ninny to my other side said, to my surprise. “Second to no doctor on earth in his qualities and knowledge.”

You see, one never knows who’s going to turn out to be useful to him. I nodded in a sign of thanks to the ninny and, quill in hand, once again discretely raised my middle finger, this time aimed at Isaac the Jew. I am sure he noticed it, although he didn’t let on.

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Cheynell began in a loud voice from where he was standing in the audience, “I intend to speak in defense of tobacco’s healing properties by respectfully objecting”—here he bowed—“to our enlightened king, whose duty, after all, is political, rather than medical: he must protect our bodies not from illnesses and contagions, but from our external enemies, to fight not against bacillusae and bacteriae, but rather against hostile armies, who, sword in hand, attack our good nation, and in the fulfillment of this duty our present king is better than any other in the world, he is irreproachable and his deeds serve as a model, may God grant him health and long life, so that he may wisely rule our proud monarchy for many years to come.”

Dr. Cheynell once again bowed, while the public got to its feet and gave a long round of applause. Dr. Monardes was also applauding. We scribes were on our feet and clapping, too. The king stood up and began giving small bows to the audience in various directions, his hand to his breast. When that finally ended, Dr. Cheynell went on: “I also intend to dispute the irresponsible and at times foolish claims of the previous speaker Joshua, whose surname I have forgotten. .”

“Sylvester,” someone called out.

“Perhaps,” replied Dr. Cheynell. “Whose claims, I say, completely contradict the truth and the scientific facts of medicine. It is a mistake and a very dangerous, depraved practice when clergymen take up medicine and make pronouncements about the healing properties of some substance or other. Just as a physician, through his ignorance of complicated theological matters, could in certain circumstances harm and even ruin a believer’s soul if he thoughtlessly undertakes to fulfill the functions of a curate, so, too, could a curate, if he tries to act as a doctor, cause harm and even ruin that body of that same believer or of someone else. For this reason, I would like to begin from a bit farther away,” the learned physician continued. “It seems to me, gentlemen, that we have strayed from that original sacred source of truth, just as Adam and Eve strayed from the Garden of Eden. When tobacco was first introduced to Europe, its discoverer, Dr. Nicolas Monardes, as well as other highly learned physicians, considered it a medicine with almost magical powers and not coincidentally have called it the ‘herba panacea’ and ‘herba santa’ in their works. Because this medicine does indeed possess many of the qualities considered by some as characteristic of the mythical panacea. For this reason, one of our countrymen has called it ‘Divine Tobacco,’ while another of our countrymen has christened it ‘our holy herb nicotine,’ named after the Frenchman Nicot, one of its first discoverers. But how, one might ask, did this ‘herba panacea,’ this magical herb appear in our England? As far as I am aware, this came about thanks to three proud captains from our glorious navy, namely Captain William Middleton, Captain Price, and Captain Koet. They are precisely the ones who, nearly thirty years ago, first smoked tobacco publically in London, and people from all over the city flocked to see them in the small Cheapside Square, where they were standing. We can only guess what their conversation was. Perhaps they spoke of their seafaring exploits? Or of the exotic, faraway lands that unfolded before their eyes? Or perhaps they discussed the quality of the tobacco they were smoking? This we will never know, gentlemen. Which is a great pity, I would add.”

“They talked about the price of eggs, sir, I was there,” a puny, grizzled man called from the audience.

Dr. Cheynell did not pay him any attention.

“Unfortunately, I was unable to join the London citizenry, learned gentlemen, for at that time I was here, here in this same Oxford, where, being only a youth, I was studying the medical sciences.” These words were met with polite applause. After waiting for it to end, the doctor continued: “At that time, gentlemen, pipes had not yet been invented, so the captains smoked rolled-up tobacco leaves, or cigars, in the matter in which the Spaniards smoke them to this very day, calling them ‘cigaras’ or ‘cigarellas.’”

Well, now this was a slightly inaccurate statement on Dr. Cheynell’s part, and for that reason Dr. Monardes, as I noticed, shook his head at that moment. Indeed, cigars and cigarellas are far from one and the same thing, and if in Sevilla someone asks you for a cigar and you sell him a cigarella, he’ll give you a sound thrashing, or at least will try to. Let me clarify: the cigar is a luxury item, while the cigarella is an everyday healing remedy. But we couldn’t expect Dr. Cheynell to know such details, just as we do not know the difference between their various kinds of pipes, do we?

“However, the true credit for introducing tobacco into England,” Dr. Cheynell continued, “must go not to the aforementioned captains, who, heeding the inexorable laws of the seafaring life, likely soon set sail again after this short stay in their homeland, but rather to Sir Walter Raleigh. Everyone knows the story of how Sir Walter’s servant Ridley doused his lordship with the tankard of ale he had been called to bring when he saw Sir Walter smoking for the first time and thought his master was on fire. Sir Walter, let us recall, patiently wiped his face with the tablecloth and turned to his devoted servant with the words: ‘Master Ridley, we are today lighting a candle in England which by God’s blessing will never be put out.’ Whereupon he again lit his pipe. By the way, gentlemen, those were Sir Walter’s exact words, which I know from the man himself. Let me also add that today Master Ridley himself is an avid smoker and spends most of his meager spare time in Sir Walter’s garden with a pipe in his hand.”

Some of the audience — albeit a minority — responded to these words with spontaneous applause. Of course, Dr. Monardes and Mr. Frampton were among them. It became clear that Mr. Frampton could also clap in the more usual manner. For a moment — only for a moment — the thought had crossed my mind that he actually did not know how to do it. But of course, this was not the case.

“For that reason our bard and my friend, the Dean Hole,” Dr. Cheynell continued, “exclaims in a wonderful poem:

Before the wine of sunny Rhine, or even Madam Clicquot’s,

Let all men praise, with loud hurras, this panacea of Nicot’s.

The debt confess, though none the less they love the grape and barley,

Which Frenchmen owe to good Nicot, and Englishmen to Raleigh.”

The hall burst into laughter. Without a doubt, the learned doctor had managed to lift the oppressive atmosphere that had reigned until that moment. I would say that with the abilities that he had demonstrated so far, he could easily don a barrister’s toga. A most remarkable señor!

“To be absolutely faithful to the historical truth,” he went on, “which in time will be commemorated, since it marks the beginning of a new era for our country, or at least for English medicine — something which most people today may not realize — let us clarify, gentlemen, that Sir Walter himself was initiated into the art of smoking by his assistant Thomas Hariot, whom he, paraphrasing our Holy Book in jest, called his ‘Faithful Thomas.’ Thomas Hariot was sent by Sir Walter to study which plants grow in the newly discovered pristine lands of Virginia and after he returned from there, he published his findings in a slim quarto from 1588, which some of you have likely seen, under that title ‘A briefe and true report of the new found land of Virginia’ and so on — I cannot cite the entire title for you, gentlemen, since it consists of precisely 150 words. It was namely from this work that we understood for the first time — at least we here in England, I mean — that when tobacco leaves are dried and ground into powder, the Indians take in the smoke or fumes, by sucking them in through a pipe made of clay into their stomach and head: from whence it purges superfluous phlegm and other gross humors, opens all the pores and passages of the body: by which means the use thereof, not only preserves the body from obstructions: but if also any be, so that they have not been of too long continuance, in short time breaks them: whereby their bodies are notably preserved in health, and know not many grievous diseases wherewithal we in England are oftentimes afflicted. Here with us, gentlemen,” the learned doctor continued, “is a prominent Scottish physician, whose name is perhaps unknown to most of you, namely Dr. William Barclay.” Dr. Cheynell gestured towards one place in the hall where an intelligent-looking, middle-aged man with a very white face, reddish beard, and straw-colored hair stood up, with his hand on his heart. Some of the audience applauded as he stood up, and even the king waved to him in greeting. “Mr. Barclay, who, by the way, is a fellow countryman of our enlightened king, recently published a book in Edinburgh, which I heartily recommend to you, under the title, ‘Nepenthes or the Vertues of Tobacco.’ What a wonderful title, gentlemen! Because yes, just like the magical nepenthes of the ancient Greeks, tobacco drives sorrow and the painful spirit of taedium vitae far from us. But more interesting for us physicians are its physical properties. And although they are praiseworthy, just as with every strong medicine, we must not abuse them, as Dr. Barclay clearly shows. Our Scottish colleague, who, like most of his fellow countrymen, is highly observant of our weaknesses, which we Englishmen often do not notice, writes in his work”—the doctor bent down, picked up a book and read from it: “‘Tobacco smoke may be taken for the said medicinal effects, but always fasting, and with empty stomach, not as the English abusers do, which make a smoke-box of their skull, more fit to be carried under his arm that selleth at Paris dunoir a noircir to black men’s shoes than to carry the braine of him that can not walke, can not ride except the Tabacco Pype be in his mouth.’ Mr. Barclay goes on to say that he was once in company with an English merchant in Normandy — between Rouen and Calais — who was a merry fellow, but was constantly wanting a coal to kindle his tobacco.”

Everyone in the hall laughed. It is really tiresome. I know that feeling all too well. It happens with cigarellas, too, if you don’t have a light at hand. Even though cigarellas are much easier to light, much easier. The Spaniards thought these things through a long time ago. We’re already returning from where the English are going, as they say. Normandy? Was Pelletier from Normandy, perhaps? Where are you from, Pelletier? From Mans. But where is Mans?

“I would say, gentlemen,” Dr. Cheynell continued — who, incidentally, was making me feel proud of the profession I had chosen—“that if tobacco is used wisely and in accordance with Nature, there is no medicament in the world that can compare with it. In tobacco there is nothing which is not medicine, the root, the stalk, the leaves, the seeds, the smoke, even the ashes. But especially the juice, which is terribly fatal according to one of my opponents, and who stooped so low as to use the common folk of London as an example. May I ask then why did he not use ants, crocodiles, sheep, or dung-beetles as examples? What an idea, most honorable gentlemen!”

“Then why do you use the Indians as examples?” a voice called from the audience. “They aren’t even Christian, unlike the common folk.”

“Oh, that’s completely different,” Dr. Cheynell replied. “We use the Indians as an example because they are still the innocent children of Nature, among whom we do not find the distinctions that exist within our old nations. They are still in a state of nature, very close to man’s primordial state, like the first generation after Adam and Eve. That is completely different,” Dr. Cheynell repeated. “But getting back to tobacco juice. The juice of that plant possesses wondrous digestive, cleansing, and coagulating abilities, thanks to which it has an incomparable power to heal all wounds or cuts to the body, ulcers, scabs, and so forth, for which tobacco deserves very high marks. But now I arrive at the properties of the smoke, which is taken through a pipe first into the mouth, from whence some thrust it towards the nostrils, while others suck it directly into the stomach and chest as a remedy against all diseases, especially those brought about by cold, that is, which come from cold and wet causes. I approve of and recommend tobacco smoke as necessary and useful to people with an elevated content of cold and wet elements in their bodily composition, as well as throughout the cold and wet season, as long as the tobacco is used appropriately, i.e. in a temperate and timely fashion, because then, thanks to its warming and drying properties, it helps the brain, which is overly cold and wet, reduce that state to the normal temperature. It casts out rheums and coldness of the head and is useful for all illnesses of the body and brain being of a cold and wet cause, by drying and absorbing the superfluous air and crudities in the head. Indeed it does, at least at first, chase away melancholy and awaken dozing vital energies, helps against toothaches, swelling of the gums and aching joints. It guards against the decay of the four cardinal bodily humors, by drying up the crude materials within the body and is very useful not only against colds, but also against all ills of the stomach, chest, and lungs due to cold and wet causes. It is, finally, a very good remedy against overeating, since, as our opponent pointed out, it induces quick expulsion — evacuation in our medical language — expulsion, as I said, both above and below, of things contained in the stomach, and for the same reason quickly relieves those suffering from windiness by instantly driving the latter from stomach and bowels. Let me conclude, gentlemen, by saying that tobacco can be used as a general means for strengthening the organism, as well as perhaps for some of its more exotic effects. Because the Indians, from whom we learned this method of taking tobacco, first smoked it to fall asleep when their bodies were weary from labor and such efforts, or else when they wished to foretell future events, since the smoke produced, at least in them, a lightness in the head, followed by a dream with various visions and revelations. For this reason, when they awoke, they felt, as a result of said dream, very rested and refreshed and able, thanks to the visions, which the smoke, to a great extent, induced, to foretell, as they think, all important things they wish to know.”

“And you, sir, as a smoker, could you not foretell a few important future events concerning England?” the king said, provoking laughter all around. “Because if that is the case, I could dissolve my council and appoint you in its place. But if you cannot, I think in that case I would be satisfied with some Indian.”

Indeed, Dr. Cheynell could have spared those final words. He, however, took the king’s rebuke with a smile and replied confidently once the laughter had died down: “That, Your Majesty, I cannot foretell. But my soothsaying does lead me to believe that Dr. Monardes himself, the discoverer of tobacco, is here in our midst. And if you think that it stands close to reason, then I would object that it’s not closer than Spain. And yet he is here among us, in this hall.”

“Really, sir?” the king raised his eyebrows.

“I believe so, Your Majesty, even though I have never seen that illustrious man, whom I have always fervently wished to meet since the beginning of my career, when I studied his works with such delight.”

At that moment, my teacher stood up and said: “It is so, Your Majesty. I really am here. My name is Nicolas Monardes, doctor from Sevilla.”

His words had an indescribable, staggering effect. All those present were so shocked that they didn’t even think to applaud as politeness required. Isaac Wake had stopped writing and was staring open-mouthed at the doctor. It seemed to me that even Dr. Cheynell was surprised, although he shouldn’t have been. How had he known? Surely thanks to Mr. Frampton, since Dr. Monardes also looked very surprised.

The king was the first to recover from the shock, saying: “We all know your name, sir. Both those who agree and disagree with you.”

A burst of applause followed. Part of the public got to its feet, clapping enthusiastically. The doctor nodded his head and turned in various directions, raising his hand in greeting. A few of those seated near him shook his hand.

“Please take the podium, sir,” the king invited him.

“That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty. I will speak from the floor like my most learned colleague Dr. Cheynell, whom it is an honor for me to meet”—our señor nodded at Dr. Cheynell. “Besides, my speech will be very short. Because everyone who would like to know more can learn it from my works, which Mr. Frampton, who is seated next to me now, was so kind as to translate into the wonderful English language. For certain imperfections in the use of which I do hope you will forgive me. I could, of course, speak Latin, but that might pose a difficulty to some members of the audience.”

“Yes, yes,” agreed the king, “as learned men we all know Latin, but there’s no need.”

“Precisely,” Dr. Monardes nodded.

Now is the moment to offer some clarification (this is me, Guimarães). The reader might be wondering how I learned English so quickly as to be able to act as stenographer. I learned it on the ship, the Hyguiene, on our way here. The truth is that I have an exceptional gift for languages. One might even say that I am a born grammarian. Of course, I have a gift for many other things as well — I myself am surprised by that, dear reader, believe me — but in this case we are talking about this particular gift. Of course, we can’t discount the lessons which Mr. Frampton gave me over a year while he was a prisoner of the Inquisition, before he escaped. Incidentally, Mr. Frampton did not wish to give me those lessons and agreed to do so only after I promised him a reward of seven cigarellas a week, which I was later forced to raise to ten. But, of course, at the end of the day, it cannot be attributed to the cigarellas. Cigarellas can do many things, but they cannot teach you a language and give you the ability to make use of it. For that, you need a gift, señores.

But getting back to Dr. Monardes.

“Sometimes it is permissible,” he said, “for everyone to smoke tobacco fumes as a preventative measure. For example, if someone, even if he does not suffer from mucousy phlegm, or rheum, as we call it, has to travel in foggy, windy, or rainy weather, especially during the winter, it could be expedient for him, even if he does not suffer from rheumatism or cold temperature, to inhale four to five puffs of tobacco smoke immediately upon arriving at home or at the inn, so as to prevent the discharge of mucousy phlegm or other harmful agents, which could befall him due to the bad and unclean air. Ergo, the smoking of tobacco must be practiced primarily after travelling in foggy and rainy weather, since it hinders the inflammation of the mucus membranes and hence rheum, and generally removes all harmful agents, which the moist and foul air normally induce within the head and other parts of the body. The smoking of tobacco at such a moment is beneficial for every bodily state, except for when the brain has a very dry composition. This was the fully indisputable example for the advantages of its use, which I can give and which will be difficult even for skeptics to dispute. We must also remember that there are two ways of using tobacco: the first is to hold the smoke in the mouth and from there to pass it through the nostrils to warm and dry the brain and to dissolve and disperse the cold humors and unnecessary air found therein.”

“Wherein?” A voice from the audience called.

“In the brain,” Dr. Monardes replied. “The other way to take it is into the lungs and stomach to disperse and destroy impurities and flatulent winds, which irritate these organs. Consequently, if you wish to know whether tobacco smoke is useful or harmful for your body, first you need to consider whether it will be proper for your head: because if your brain is too cold and wet or filled with unnecessary matter, then the holding of smoke in the mouth and passing it through the nostrils will be of use to you. My experience has shown, señores, that the brains of almost all people are filled with unnecessary matter. This is very strange, since their brains are clearly short of certain extremely important things, while at the same time they are filled with a load of unnecessary matter. How this happens is at first glance a great mystery, but in fact, like most great mysteries, it is no mystery at all, but simply and purely an inexplicable fact of Nature. You might ask yourselves why that fact is as it is, what the explanation for it is, but the answer very frequently is that there is no explanation and that the fact is as it is simply because it is so. We frequently reason assuming that Nature is obliged to give us some explanation. But in fact, she owes us nothing, let alone an explanation. And one of the most striking characteristics of tobacco, señores, is that also without giving any explanations — neither to Nature, nor to ourselves — it simply regulates the activity of Nature in a particular way. You can easily recognize truly powerful things by the fact that they neither give explanations, nor allow them, rather they simply act in a particular way, whose characteristics we can merely register and nothing more. It is in this registering, namely, that our life-saving science expresses itself.”

The more insightful segment of the audience applauded this profound claim. Indeed, Dr. Monardes’ ability to see the grand scheme of things is downright amazing and immediately sets him apart from other representatives of the medical profession, who are often highly learned, but spend their whole lives sunk in details due to their narrow view of things. Thus, they are capable of spending years debating some or other niggling property of tobacco, reaching absurdly complicated extremes in their pettiness, without being able to see the place that wondrous plant occupies in the grand scheme of things. But not Dr. Monardes.

“Ergo our medical science, like every other science,” Dr. Monardes continued, “must express itself primarily in that: in the registration of facts, without too much speculation over their causes. Too much speculation is usually the source of errors. And it most probably is due to unnecessary matter in the brain. Here, for example, even though I cannot explain it convincingly, I can register the fact that tobacco is an effective diuretic in cases of dropsy and difficulty in urination. I can also establish that a strong infusion made from the stem, with dock and alum added to it, gives good results when applied externally for skin diseases and especially scabies — to this end, some boil tobacco stems in urine. It is also, by the way, a flawless treatment for scabies in dogs.”

“And for that end, what urine should it be boiled in? Dog’s urine?” A voice from the hall called, followed by laughter by one half of the audience.

“No,” replied Dr. Monardes with an icy calm, after waiting for the laughter to die down. “You find the wittiest fellow nearby and boil it in his urine. Sometimes”—the doctor’s voice rose above the laughter bursting from the other half of the audience—“along with him, too. But I’ve heard that this only ruins the mixture. However, I do not know this first hand, so I cannot claim this with certainty. I do know, however, several absolutely indisputable facts relating to the use of tobacco amongst the Indians, and I can simply keep these facts in mind, without speculating overly much and trying to explain them at any cost. Through these facts I have come to know several indisputable effects that this plant has, and if I would like to achieve the same effects, I simply need to apply the same or a similar procedure. Too much speculation in this case can only hurt us. Following the path of logic, it is entirely possible for us to reach the convincing conclusion that it is impossible for a given substance to have certain effects, yet contrary to our convincing conclusion, it de facto has them. It is also possible for us to give an incorrect explanation for its actually existing properties, and when afterwards someone refutes our explanation, he could reach the conclusion that the very properties described by us de facto do not exist, which, however, would not be true. For example, I can claim that it is an absolute fact that the Indians smoke tobacco to banish exhaustion, as mentioned by my most learned colleague, Dr. Chey-. . Chou. .”

“Cheynell,” Mr. Frampton prompted.

“Yes, Dr. Cheynell. Señores, it is an indisputable fact that the Indians of our Occidental Indies, do use the tobacco to take away weariness, and to take lightsomeness of their labor. As a result of their evening dances they become so much wearied, they remain so weary, that they can scarcely stir; and so that they may labor the next day, and return to do that foolish exercise, they do take the smoke of the tobacco at the mouth and nose, and they remain as dead people, and being so, they are eased in such sort that when they are awakened of their sleep, they remain without weariness, and may return to their labor again. And so they do always, when they have need of it: for with that sleep they do receive their strength and are much the lustier. Despite that they sleep only three or four hours, at least since the Spaniards are there.”

Not a word about so-called “visions” and foretelling the future. The doctor is no fool, no sir!

“And they also use it against hunger and thirst. This is a fact. When they shall travel a long way through any dis-peopled Country, where they shall find neither water, nor meat, the Indians put a little ball of tobacco between the lower lip and the teeth, and they chew it, or rather, ruminate, swallowing the spittle. In this way they do journey, three or four days, without water or weariness. How is this done? Very simply: The balls of tobacco bring phlegm into the mouth, which they then swallow into the stomach, which does retain the natural heat, which does go consuming, and maintaining them — which we do see happen in many beasts, for that much time of the winter, they are shut up into their caves, and hollow places of the earth, and do pass there without any meat. Here I could risk offering an explanation and say that for that, they have to consume the natural heat of the fatness which they had gotten in the summer. The Bear, for example, being a great and fierce beast, much time of the winter is in his cave, and does live without meat, or drink, with only chewing his paws, which perhaps he does for the same reason as the Indians. This is a fact. This is why, most learned señores, I summon all scholars, and especially physicians, to simply take into account the facts, which unambiguously show that tobacco has exceptional healing properties and qualities strengthening to the organism, which strongly resemble the panacea of the ancients, for precisely which reason I took the liberty of calling it the ‘herba panacea’ in my works. It is not necessary for a panacea to have a nice smell, nor a pleasant taste. The important thing is for it to be a panacea. For those other things, you need Indian aromatic sticks, which come from the East Indies, by the way, not from the West, or figs from the Barbary Coast or Lebanon. But for good health, you need tobacco.”

After that, the doctor thanked the audience for their attention and concluded his speech by sitting down in his seat. His statement had a strongly encouraging effect upon the supporters of tobacco. I had the feeling that things were gradually slipping out of the king’s hands and going in an entirely different direction than that which he had intended. Despite his smile, it seemed that I could read certain signs of irritation and even alarm on his face. And these only grew when a man by the name of Tobias Venner stood up in the audience and said the following: “Gentlemen, we shall earn the scorn of future generations, if we do not recognize one very important and life-saving property of tobacco, which neither Dr. Cheynell nor Dr. Monardes preferred to emphasize. But I would like to stress it. Because among tobacco’s numerous medical properties we can also count its effect as a prophylactic measure against the plague. I have personally witnessed how in the city of Birmingham, where, due to the exceptionally unhygienic customs of its inhabitants, the plague recurs more often than anywhere on this earthly ‘sphere,’ as is said lately, I personally have witnessed how during the last plague the market-people there brought their provisions, having their mouths primed with tobacco as a preservative. One could see them chewing tobacco anytime one passed through the market place. Some of them stuffed their mouths so full of tobacco that, when you add to that their abominable dialect, a man from central London such as myself could not understand what they were saying at all. I would like to note, however, that contrary to uninformed expectation, nearly all of them survived. Furthermore, it has also been noted that that cruel affliction never dared pass the doorstep of a tobacconist. For example, Mr. Howell in one of his ‘Familiar Letters’ dated January 1—I can’t remember the year — says that the smoke of tobacco is one of the wholesomest scents that is against all contagious airs, for it overmasters all other smells. And I’ve heard that even our most learned King James found it true, when being once a hunting, a shower of rain drave him into a pigsty for shelter, where he smoked a pipe full to overmaster the repulsive scent.”

A surprised “aaaah” ran through the crowd.

“Your information is to some extent true, sir,” the king admitted. “Indeed, some such thing did occur once and we sought shelter in the pigsty of the Venerable Preston, the bishop there. However, I did not smoke the pipe, rather Lord Lonsdale did, on my orders.”

“Now that you mention the Venerable Preston’s pigsty, Your Majesty, this reminds me to add that in many places tobacco is used in churches as a disinfectant, as anyone who finds sufficient courage and patience to undertake a journey through the English countryside will discover.”

“That’s true,” the king nodded. “I can only confirm this unfortunate fact.”

“And allow me to note in closing, Your Majesty,” Venner continued, “that many of the unfortunate characteristics of tobacco emphasized here are not actually due to the plant itself, but to the substances it is mixed with. It is widely known that so-called ‘Birmingham tobacco’ is heavily mixed with coltsfoot. Hardly anyone will be surprised when I say that in Birmingham, a city known for its counterfeiters, some of whom recently swung from a rope thanks to their counterfeit coins, in Birmingham, I maintain, it is absolutely impossible for a man to supply himself with pure tobacco. For such simply does not exist there, gentlemen, anywhere in the city. My friend from London, Ridgecole, had the misfortune to spend a whole week in that city without taking tobacco with him from London, and he told me how one evening he nearly died from smoking only a half-pipe of tobacco, which he unwisely bought in the city of Birmingham. When we later examined this tobacco in my laboratory on Fenchurch Street — I am an apothecary, gentlemen — we were astounded to find that this tobacco contained huge quantities of salt. This caused me to think that in Birmingham they wet the tobacco and salt it, which is not visible to the naked eye, but which undoubtedly makes the tobacco considerably heavier, and allows the unscrupulous shopkeepers there to fill their pockets at your expense. Of course, if you smoke salt, a whole host of unpleasant things might happen to you and your health might suffer seriously. But not because of the tobacco, gentlemen, but because of the salt. Thus, I will take the liberty of giving our smokers a piece of advice. Most of you have heard tobacconists, especially those who have long been in the business, saying that ‘the Man in the Moon could enjoy his pipe.’ Hence, the Man in the Moon is represented on some of the tobacconists’ papers with a huge cloud of smoke billowing from his pipe and covering the entire sky, and underneath the words, ‘Who’ll smoake with ye Man in ye Moone?’ My advice, gentlemen, is to look for this sign. That tobacco is pure and real. Not that the Birmingham counterfeiters could not counterfeit these papers — of course, they could — but at least they have not begun to do so as of yet.”

A useful speech, indeed. How nice, I thought, that the debate about tobacco has shifted from a theoretical to a more practical vein. And even nicer still is the fact that in Spain such a problem does not exist. Where tobacco is sold in rolled-up leaves as cigars and cigarellas, such things are harder to do. Here they sell tobacco ground for pipes, and really anything could be mixed in there. It’s no coincidence that the Dutch thought up this business. Those hucksters are constantly lying. That’s why they came up with tobacco for pipes. They claim that they supposedly do it because that’s the way the Indians themselves smoke it, but in fact they do it to cut the tobacco. Ask anyone in Spain about the Dutch and you’ll get an earful. If they weren’t such terrible liars, Duke de Alba would’ve gotten the best of them long ago. But no. They show up somewhere, our people go to engage them in battle, and they strike you somewhere else entirely. They are always up to tricks, constantly lying about something. Revolting people.

“Yes,” the king called. “A Tobacco-seller is the only man that finds good in it which others brag of, but do not; for it is meat, drink, and clothes to him. I would call his shop the Rendezvous of spitting, where men dialogue with their noses, and their communication is smoke. It is the only place, by the way, where Spain is commended in this country, and preferred before England itself. Well, gentlemen, does anyone wish to take the floor before I make my concluding remarks?”

Dr. Cheynell raised his hand and once again took the floor. He stood up, still holding the pipe in his left hand, and said: “My intention, Your Majesty, honorable gentlemen, is to conclude this debate on a brighter note with the help of art. As they say, what else is art for, if not for that? Because our men of letters have discovered several charming properties of tobacco, which the heavy medical works do not mention. For example, one writer comes to mind, who in the part of his book dedicated to the Drunkard, wittily remarks that ‘Tobacco serves to air him after a washing’ [i.e. a drinking-bout]. Our poet Marston also described — in what seems to me chronological order — a whole series of actions, which make our lives pleasant and happy, when he says:

Musicke, tobacco, sacke and sleepe,

The tide of sorrow backward keep.

“I think, most honorable gentlemen, that he has every chance of being right. And please note that here also tobacco and wine go hand in hand. Thank you, thank you”—Dr. Cheynell bowed amidst the good-natured applause that had broken out. “Gentlemen,” he continued afterwards, “sitting here next me is a little-known bard, whose name, I am certain, will live on in the future, even though you may be hearing it today for the first time. This is Mr. Barten Holiday. He wrote a poem of eight stanzas with a chorus to each in praise of tobacco, up to the exemplary requirements of the spirit of burlesque, and filled with inimitable wit — so inimitable, that one would say it had been boiled in dog’s urine. . thank you, thank you. . in which poem, as I was saying, he shows the herb, which he calls ‘Mr. Tobacco,’ as a musician, a lawyer, a physician, a traveler, a tramp, and a braggart. Did I leave anything out, Mr. Holiday?”

“Yes,” the latter replied. “Tobacco is also a critic.”

“Ah, yes,” Dr. Cheynell nodded. “I propose, gentlemen, that we hear this wonderful poem from Mr. Holiday himself.”

With these words, Dr. Cheynell sat down, while Mr. Holiday, standing up next to him, cleared his throat, bowed, and said: “This poem, gentlemen, was written for accompaniment by harp and choir. Unfortunately, I do not have either one or the other of these at my disposal at the moment, for which reason I beg you to be satisfied by the words alone.

“Mr. Tobacco. .

“Oh yes, let me just say as well that I will skip the choral section, which otherwise follows each stanza.

Mr. Tobacco

Tobacco’s a musician,

And in a pipe delighteth,

It descends in a close

Through the organ of the nose

With a relish that inviteth.

Tobacco is a Lawyer,

His pipes do love long cases;

When our braines it enters

Our feet do make indentures,

While we seal with stamping paces.”

I did not record any more of it, since it seemed to me unimportant. The poem, however, really was witty and was met with laughter and heartfelt applause. This poet indeed can look forward to a great future. Hardly as great as Pelletier du Mans, but still, he is nothing to sneeze at.

After that, the king took the floor and gave a short concluding speech, namely the following (after at least two minutes of addresses): “If there are men whose bodies are benefited by tobacco-smoke, this does not so much redound to the credit of tobacco, as it does reflect upon the depraved condition of such men, that their bodies should have sunk to the level of those of Barbarians so as to be affected by remedies such as are effective on the bodies of Barbarians and Indians! This is why I kindly suggest that both these people and the doctors who believe in the healing power of tobacco should take their medicine of pollution and join the Indians.”

With that, the debate ended, in good spirits, and, it seems to me, satisfaction on both sides. In any case, our party had every reason to be satisfied. I along with Mr. Frampton, Dr. Monardes, Dr. Cheynell, Dr. Barclay, the bard Holiday, and the apothecary Venner stayed until late in the pub of the Toga and Rabbit Inn, where we spent an exceptionally pleasant evening. I was put up for the evening in the most luxurious room I’ve ever been in at an inn. It even had a terrace made of pure stone. Since I was still feeling highly excited from the debate and didn’t feel like sleeping, I went out on the terrace and gazed at the stars in the sky. There’s Venus, the brightest star on the horizon. Up there, above the moon, is Mars, twinkling slightly. In the other direction, down and to the right — Jupiter. I wonder what it is like to be a planet? Pelletier talks a lot about that. To drift through endless space, amidst the black horizons of the cosmos, alongside the stars and other planets, yet always following your own path, in your own unwavering orbit. Having the sun circle around you. To be Mars, Venus. Big and round, hanging in the sky like a giant fruit, swept through it like an enormous bird. If you’re the Earth, you’ll stand in the very center of the universe, and various people will jump all over you like lice. In what sense are they alive, and the planets are dead? This is some kind of misunderstanding. The planets, now that’s real life. Just imagine living, or more precisely, existing, without experiencing hunger or thirst, without being hot or cold, without getting old? Not needing anything. To have countless things all over you. Take the Earth, for example, how many things it has. . They all have countless things, yet at the same time are so different. Worlds. Each one of them — a different world. That’s the Big Thing — being a planet. But yes, that’s Nature for you. They are her big, majestic children. They are Nature herself. Or perhaps it is actually the other way around and they are the parents of Nature. While man is most likely just some jabbering, jumping nothing. But how to reach for that, how to reach that golden fruit hanging high in the sky? It’s impossible. You were not meant to, by nature. Adam would be leaping endlessly towards that golden apple, and he’d still be in Paradise. No, it is not for his mouth.

And that idiot with his kingdom, with his social customs, with his pompous self-satisfaction. What bullshit! So the Indians are barbarians? Fine, so they’re barbarians. But he himself is exactly the same, a most ordinary animal.

I took out a cigarella, took a drag off it, and felt a powerful rush of energy wash over me. Like Old Testament might, if I may express myself that way. Tobacco, Pelletier. What to do now?

Musicke, tobacco, sacke and sleepe,

The tide of sorrow backward keep.

I’ll go to sleep. At least I’ll try to.