Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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Be Very Sad If It Did Not Treat Of Ways And Customs Peculiar To The Celestial Empire.
CHAPTER X. In Which Craig And Fry Are Officially Presented To The New Patron Of The Centenary.
CHAPTER XI. In Which Kin-Fo Becomes The Most Celebrated Man In The Central Empire.
CHAPTER XII. In Which Kin-Fo, His Two Acolytes, And His Valet Start On An Adventure.
CHAPTER XV. Which Certainly Contains A Surprise For Kin-Fo, And Perhaps For The Reader.
CHAPTER XVI. In Which Kin-fo, Who Is Still A Bachelor, Begins To Travel Again In Earnest.
CHAPTER XVII. In Which Kin-Fo’s Market Value Is Once More Uncertain.
CHAPTER XVIII. In Which Craig And Fry, Urged By Curiosity, Visit The Hold Of The “Sam-Yep.”
CHAPTER XXI. In Which Craig And Fry See The Moon Rise With Extreme Satisfaction.
CHAPTER XXII. Which The Reader Might Have Written Himself, It Ends In So Surprising A Way.
CHAPTER I.
In Which The Peculiarities And Nationality Of The Personages Are Gradually Revealed.
“It must be acknowledged, however, that there is some good in life,” observed one of the guests, who, leaning his elbow on the arm of his chair with a marble back, sat nibbling a root of a sugar water-lily.
“And evil also,” added another, between two spells of coughing, having been nearly strangled by the prickles of the delicate fin of a shark.
“Let us be philosophers,” then said an older person, whose nose supported an enormous pair of spectacles with broad glasses affixed to wooden bows. “To-day one comes near strangling, and to-morrow every thing flows smoothly as the fragrant draughts of this nectar. This is life, after all.”
After these words, this easily pleased epicure swallowed a glass of excellent warm wine, whose light vapor was slowly escaping from a metal teapot.
“For my part,” continued a fourth guest, “existence seems very acceptable whenever one does nothing, and has the means which enable him to do nothing.”
“You mistake,” quickly replied the fifth: “happiness is in study and work. To acquire the greatest possible amount of knowledge is the way to render one’s self happy.”
“And to learn, when you sum it all up, that you know nothing.”
“Is not that the beginning of wisdom?”
“But What is the end?”
“Wisdom has no end,” philosophically answered the man with spectacles. “To have common sense would be supreme satisfaction.”
Upon this the first guest directly addressed the host, who occupied the upper end of the table,—that is, the poorest place,—as the rules of politeness require. With indifference and inattention the latter listened silently to this discussion inter pocula.
“Come, let us hear what our host thinks of this rambling talk over the wine-cup? Does he find existence a blessing, or an evil? Is it yes, or no?
The host carelessly munched several watermelon-seeds, and for answer merely pouted his lips scornfully, like a man who seems to take interest in nothing.
“Pooh!” said he.
This is a favorite word with indifferent people, for it means every thing and nothing. It belongs to all languages, and must have a place in every dictionary on the globe, and is an articulated pout.
The five guests whom this ennuyé was entertaining then pressed him with arguments, each in favor of his own proposition; for they wished to have his opinion. He at first tried to avoid answering, but finally asserted that life was neither a blessing nor an evil: in his opinion, it was an “invention,” rather insignificant, and, in short, not very encouraging.
“Ah! now our friend reveals himself.”
“How can he speak thus, when his life has been as smooth as an unruffled rose-leaf?”
“And he so young!”
“Young and in good health!”
“In good health, and rich.”
“Very rich.”
“More than very rich.”
“Too rich perhaps.”
These remarks followed each other like rockets from a piece of fireworks, without even bringing a smile to the host’s impassive face. He only shrugged his shoulders slightly, like a man who has never wished, even for an hour, to turn over the leaves in the book of his own life, and has not so much as cut the first pages.
And yet this indifferent man was thirty-one years at most; was in wonderfully good health; possessed a great fortune, a mind that did not lack culture, an intelligence above the average; and had, in short, every thing, which so many others have not, to make him one of the happy of this world. And why was he not happy?
“Why?”
The philosopher’s grave voice was now heard, speaking like a leader of a chorus of the early drama.
“Friend,” he said, “if you are not happy here below, it is because, till now, your happiness has been only negative. With happiness as with health: to enjoy it, one should be deprived of it occasionally. Now, you have never been ill. I mean you have never been unfortunate: it is that which your life needs. Who can appreciate happiness if misfortune has never even for a moment assailed him?”
And at this remark, which was stamped with wisdom, the philosopher, raising his glass, full of champagne of the best brand, said,—
“I