four old friends, omar khayyam, confucius, margaret fuller, and hannah arendt, got together for some wine and conversation.
having established the bounds of acceptable discourse, the four friends talked long into the night, and consumed no small quantity of omar’s wine.
it was all very civilized.
at about three o’clock in the morning, margaret fuller passed out. she was made comfortable on a couch, and confucius and hannah arendt took their leave.
omar khayyam went to bed.
margaret fuller had a dream.
in her dream she was alone in a cabin in a heavily wooded mountain region. suddenly there was a knock on the door.
margaret froze in her seat in the cabin in the dream, and madame de stael entered, followed closely by erasmus darwin.
what are you doing in my cabin? madame de stael asked margaret fuller.
i, i am taking shelter from the storm, margaret replied.
there is no storm, you pathetic fool, madame de stael replied. what sort of ignorant fools are our educational establishments turning out these days?
i must have been misinformed, margaret answered timidly.
misinformed! how pathetic an excuse is that? get out of my cabin, you wretch, and perish in the nonexistent storm, if you please.
margaret hastened to exit the cabin. erasmus darwin stuck his foot out and tripped her as she left, causing her to sprawl on the ground, and she heard the mocking laughter of the pair as the cabin door was closed behind her.
as soon as she was a few feet down the mountainside, a fierce storm crashed upon her.
snow fell, lightning flashed.
she stumbled along blindly in the swirling snow.
what uncivilized people, margaret thought. surely there must be some kinder persons who will offer me shelter.
she saw a light further down the path , and hastened towards it.
it was another, even humbler cabin that the one she had just left.
she knocked on its sagging door, and the door opened immediately.
jean-jacques rousseau answered the door, and the philosophers boethius and hypatia were seated at a small playing piquet by the light of a small green candle. a barely visible fire smouldered in a grate behind them.
shelter, if you please! margaret pleaded in a piteous voice.
first, you must answer a few questions, boethius informed her sternly.
yes, whose side are you on? hypatia asked margaret.
i, i am , on the side of truth and justice, margaret replied confidently.
she did not mean that, you ninny, jean-jacques rousseau, holding the door open, said . she wants to know if you are for or against the emperor otto augustus iv, known as otto the orange?
i have never heard of that worthy personage, margaret said, so naturally i can form no opinion of him.
rest assured, boethius told her, that he is the most vile excuse for a human being that ever polluted the earth, and that there is nothing more to be said about him than that he belongs in the pit below the lowest circle in hell - alone.
that is all very well, said margaret, but i am afraid i can not just take your unsupported word for it. meanwhile, may i come in? i do not suppose the wind and snow behind me can be all that pleasant for yourselves.
can not take our word for it! hypatia shrieked, and fell upon poor margaret with a poker she snatched up from beside the grate.
begone, devil woman! the philosopher cried, there is no shelter here for the ignorant and depraved - the willfully ignorant and depraved, the laughing children of intellectual mischief, who can not even denounce the emperor otto the orange!
but before the poker could descend on margaret’s skull, she awoke, to find herself safe on omar khayyam’s couch.
had she cried out? had she awakened omar? apparently not.
afraid to sleep again, margaret awaited the dawn.
omar was sympathetic when she recounted her dream over toast and orange juice in the morning, but laughed gently and assured that such fanaticism and intolerance as she had encountered in it were happily things of the past, and need not trouble either the sleeping or waking dreams of the human race, ever again.
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