Trips to the Moon | Page 9

when they imagined that he perished by the sword, for that
the man starved himself to death, as he thought that the easiest way of
dying; not knowing (which was the case) that he could only have fasted
three days, whereas many have lived without food for seven; unless we
are to suppose that Osroes stood waiting till Severian had starved
himself completely, and for that reason he would not live out the whole
week.
But in what class, my dear Philo, shall we rank those historians who are
perpetually making use of poetical expressions, such as "the engine
crushed, the wall thundered," and in another place, "Edessa resounded
with the shock of arms, and all was noise and tumult around;" and
again, "often the leader in his mind revolved how best he might
approach the wall." At the same time amongst these were interspersed
some of the meanest and most beggarly phrases, such as "the leader of
the army epistolised his master," "the soldiers bought utensils," "they
washed and waited on them," with many other things of the same kind,
like a tragedian with a high cothurnus on one foot and a slipper on the
other. You will meet with many of these writers, who will give you a
fine heroic long preface, that makes you hope for something
extraordinary to follow, when after all, the body of the history shall be
idle, weak, and trifling, such as puts you in mind of a sporting Cupid,
who covers his head with the mask of a Hercules or Titan. The reader
immediately cries out, "The mountain {39} has brought forth!"
Certainly it ought not to be so; everything should be alike and of the
same colour; the body fitted to the head, not a golden helmet, with a
ridiculous breast- plate made of stinking skins, shreds, and patches, a
basket shield, and hog-skin boots; and yet numbers of them put the
head of a Rhodian Colossus on the body of a dwarf, whilst others show

you a body without a head, and step directly into the midst of things,
bringing in Xenophon for their authority, who begins with "Darius and
Parysatis had two sons;" so likewise have other ancient writers; not
considering that the narration itself may sometimes supply the place of
preface, or exordium, though it does not appear to the vulgar eye, as we
shall show hereafter.
All this, however, with regard to style and composition, may be borne
with, but when they misinform us about places, and make mistakes, not
of a few leagues, but whole day's journeys, what shall we say to such
historians? One of them, who never, we may suppose, so much as
conversed with a Syrian, or picked up anything concerning them in the
barbers' {40} shop, when he speaks of Europus, tells us, "it is situated
in Mesopotamia, two days' journey from Euphrates, and was built by
the Edessenes." Not content with this, the same noble writer has taken
away my poor country, Samosata, and carried it off, tower, bulwarks,
and all, to Mesopotamia, where he says it is shut up between two rivers,
which at least run close to, if they do not wash the walls of it. After this,
it would be to no purpose, my dear Philo, for me to assure you that I am
not from Parthia, nor do I belong to Mesopotamia, of which this
admirable historian has thought fit to make me an inhabitant.
What he tells us of Severian, and which he swears he heard from those
who were eye-witnesses of it, is no doubt extremely probable; that he
did not choose to drink poison, or to hang himself, but was resolved to
find out some new and tragical way of dying; that accordingly, having
some large cups of very fine glass, as soon as he had taken the
resolution to finish himself, he broke one of them in pieces, and with a
fragment of it cut his throat; he would not make use of sword or spear,
that his death might be more noble and heroic.
To complete all, because Thucydides {41} made a funeral oration on
the heroes who fell at the beginning of the Peloponnesian war, he also
thought something should be said of Severian. These historians, you
must know, will always have a little struggle with Thucydides, though
he had nothing to do with the war in Armenia; our writer, therefore,
after burying Severian most magnificently, places at his sepulchre one

Afranius Silo, a centurion, the rival of Pericles, who spoke so fine a
declamation upon him as, by heaven, made me laugh till I cried again,
particularly when the orator seemed deeply afflicted, and with tears in
his eyes, lamented the sumptuous entertainments and drinking bouts
which he should no more partake