A further account of Glubbdubdrib. Ancient and modern history corrected.
Desiring to meet the ancients most renowned for their wit and learning, I dedicated an entire day to this purpose. I requested that Homer and Aristotle appear at the head of all their commentators. However, these scholars were so numerous—amounting to several hundred—that they were forced to wait in the outer rooms and courtyards of the palace.
I recognized the two great men at once. Homer was the taller and more handsome of the pair; he walked remarkably upright for his age, and his eyes were the most piercing I have ever seen. Aristotle, by contrast, stooped considerably and relied on a staff. His face was thin, his hair sparse, and his voice sounded hollow. I quickly discovered that both men were complete strangers to the crowd of scholars who had written about them. In fact, a ghost whispered to me that these commentators stayed as far away from their subjects as possible in the lower world. They felt a deep sense of shame for having so horribly misrepresented the authors' original meanings to posterity.
I then invited more modern philosophers, such as Descartes and Gassendi, to explain their scientific systems to Aristotle. The ancient philosopher freely acknowledged his own mistakes, noting that much of his work was based on conjecture. However, he predicted that modern systems of nature would suffer the same fate. He remarked that scientific theories are often nothing more than fashions which change with every age. Even those who use mathematical principles to prove their points would, he claimed, eventually find their theories out of vogue.
I spent the next five days conversing with other famous figures from the past. I even saw several Roman emperors. At one point, I persuaded the Governor to summon the cooks of the emperor Heliogabalus to prepare us a dinner; however, they struggled to show their true skill due to a lack of ancient ingredients. Later, a servant of the Spartan king Agesilaus prepared a traditional broth, but it was so bitter that I could not manage a second spoonful.
When my companions had to return home, I spent my remaining time summoning the "modern" dead—those who had been prominent in Europe over the last few hundred years. Having always admired the idea of "noble blood," I asked the Governor to call up several kings along with their ancestors. My disappointment was profound. Instead of a long line of majestic rulers, I found that many royal lineages were interrupted by commoners. In one family tree, I discovered two fiddlers and an Italian priest; in another, a barber and an abbot.
As I examined the history of great noble houses, I was struck by how certain traits—such as cruelty, cowardice, and dishonesty—became family characteristics. I saw how noble blood had been diluted by pages, lackeys, and gamblers. It became clear that the "purity" of these families was a myth, and many of the physical illnesses they suffered were the direct result of their ancestors' vices.
I was most disgusted, however, by modern history. After examining the famous figures of the last century, I realized how much the world has been misled by dishonest writers. They have ascribed great military exploits to cowards and wise counsel to fools. I saw how many innocent people had been executed or banished because of the corruption of judges or the greed of politicians. I learned that many of the world's most significant events were actually driven by the influence of parasites and buffoons rather than great statesmen.
I also discovered the ignorance of those who write "secret histories" or memoirs. These authors often claim to know the private thoughts of kings or the exact words spoken behind closed doors, yet they are almost always mistaken. A general even confessed to me that he won a famous victory purely through his own cowardice and poor leadership, while an admiral admitted he defeated an enemy fleet only because he lacked the information needed to betray his own side.
I had the curiosity to inquire how so many people had acquired their high titles and vast estates. Upon examination, many discovered a scene of such infamy that I cannot reflect on it without sadness. Many owed their wealth to perjury, fraud, or the betrayal of their country. Others had poisoned their way to the top or destroyed the innocent to protect their own interests. These discoveries forced me to reconsider the profound respect I usually feel for people of high rank.
Finally, I sought out those who had performed genuine services for their countries. I found that their names were absent from almost every record, or if they were mentioned, history had painted them as villains. They appeared with dejected expressions and in rags. Most had died in poverty or on the scaffold.
One case was particularly moving: a sea captain who had served at the Battle of Actium. He had bravely broken through the enemy line and sunk three ships, which was the primary cause of the victory. Yet, when he sought a promotion, the position was given to a boy who had never seen the sea—the son of a court mistress’s servant. The captain eventually retired to a small, poor farm, where he died forgotten. His story was later confirmed by Admiral Agrippa himself, who spoke even more highly of the captain than the man had spoken of himself.
As each person appeared exactly as they had in life, I couldn't help but reflect on how much the human race has declined. Comparing the dead with the living, I saw how the "ancient" virtues of the English yeoman—simplicity, honesty, and courage—had been exchanged by their descendants for the corruption of the court. It was a melancholy thought to realize that these pure native qualities were now being sold for a piece of money at every election.