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THE SILENT ACADEMY; OR, THE EMBLEMS.
AN EASTERN APOLOGUE.
From the French of l’Abbé Blanchet.
There was at Amadan a celebrated Academy, the first of whose statutes was couched in these terms. “The academicians shall think much, write little, and talk as seldom as possible.”—It was called, the Silent Academy, and there was not, in all Persia, a truly learned man but was ambitious of admission into it. Doctor Zeb, author of a most excellent little work, called “The Gag,” was apprised, in one of the most distant provinces of the kingdom, of there being a vacancy in the silent academy. He sets out immediately, arrives at Amadan, and, presenting himself at the door of the chamber in which the academicians were assembled, begs of the usher to convey this billet to the president: “Doctor Zeb humbly solicits the vacant place.” The door-keeper acquitted himself of his commission without delay—but the Doctor, and his note, had arrived too late,—the vacancy was filled.
The academy were greatly chagrined at this disaster. They had just received, somewhat unwillingly, a court wit, whose lively, shallow, repartees had rendered him the darling of every boudoir, and they saw themselves compelled to refuse Doctor Zeb, the sworn enemy to gossips—a head so well made, so richly furnished. The president, deputed to acquaint the Doctor with the disagreeable tidings, could hardly summon sufficient resolution for the task, and was for some time at a loss what method to adopt. After a little reflection, he ordered a large goblet to be filled with water, to the very brim, so that a single drop more would have caused it to run over, then gave a signal for the Doctor to be introduced. He appeared with that simple and modest air which almost invariably bespeaks true merit. The president rose, and, without proffering a single word, pointed, with an expression of sorrow, to the emblematical goblet,—the goblet so exactly filled. The Doctor understood but too easily, that there was no more room for him in the academy, but his presence of mind did not forsake him; he, for a few instants, revolved in his mind the means of giving them to understand, that a supernumerary academician would cause no sort of inconvenience. He perceives a rose leaf at his feet, picks it up, and lays it so delicately on the surface of the water, that there escapes not a single drop.
At this ingenious reply, the whole assembly testified their admiration by clapping their hands. The rules were, for once, suffered to lie dormant, and Doctor Zeb was elected by acclamation. He was immediately presented with the register of the academy, in which it was the custom for the members-elect to subscribe themselves; he did so, and nothing now remained, but for him to pronounce, according to established rule, a phrase of acknowledgment. But, as became a truly silent academician, Doctor Zeb returned thanks, without uttering a single word. He wrote in the margin, the number one hundred,—it was that of his new brethren: then, placing a cypher before the figure one, he wrote underneath, “They will be worth neither more nor less (0100.) The president replied to the modest Doctor, with equal politeness and presence of mind. He placed the figure one before the number one hundred, and wrote above: “Their worth will be increased ten-fold” (1100.)
T. F.
