It would fill a volume, in an age of pamphlets, were I to recordall my observations in this great capital of human business andpleasure. There was an unlimited range of society- the powerful, thewise, the witty, and the famous in every walk of life- princes,presidents, poets, generals, artists, actors, and philanthropists, allmaking their own market at the Fair, and deeming no price tooexorbitant for such commodities as hit their fancy. It was wellworth one's while, even if he had no idea of buying or selling, toloiter through the bazaars, and observe the various sorts of trafficthat were going forward.
Some of the purchasers, I thought, made very foolish bargains.
For instance, a young man having inherited a splendid fortune, laidout a considerable portion of it in the purchase of diseases, andfinally spent all the rest for a heavy lot of repentance and a suit ofrags. A very pretty girl bartered a heart as clear as crystal, andwhich seemed her most valuable possession, for another jewel of thesame kind, but so worn and defaced as to be utterly worthless. Inone shop, there were a great many crowns of laurel and myrtle, whichsoldiers, authors, statesmen, and various other people, pressedeagerly to buy; some purchased these paltry wreaths with theirlives; others by a toilsome servitude of years; and many sacrificedwhatever was most valuable, yet finally slunk away without thecrown. There was a sort of stock or scrip, called Conscience, whichseemed to be in great demand, and would purchase almost anything.
Indeed, few rich commodities were to be obtained without paying aheavy sum in this particular stock, and a man's business was seldomvery lucrative, unless he knew precisely when and how to throw hishoard of Conscience into the market. Yet as this stock was the onlything of permanent value, whoever parted with it was sure to findhimself a loser, in the long run. Several of the speculations wereof a questionable character. Occasionally, a member of Congressrecruited his pocket by the sale of his constituents; and I wasassured that public officers have often sold their country at verymoderate prices. Thousands sold their happiness for a whim. Gildedchains were in great demand, and purchased with almost anysacrifice. In truth, those who desired, according to the old adage, tosell anything valuable for a song, might find customers all over theFair; and there were innumerable messes of pottage, piping hot, forsuch as chose to buy them with their birthrights. A few articles,however, could not be found genuine at Vanity Fair. If a customerwished to renew his stock of youth, the dealers offered him a set offalse teeth and an auburn wig; if he demanded peace of mind, theyrecommended opium or a brandy-bottle.
Tracts of land and golden mansions, situate in the CelestialCity, were often exchanged, at very disadvantageous rates, for a fewyears' lease of small, dismal, inconvenient tenements in VanityFair. Prince Beelzebub himself took great interest in this sort oftraffic, and sometimes condescended to meddle with smaller matters.
I once had the pleasure to see him bargaining with a miser for hissoul, which, after much ingenious skirmishing on both sides, hisHighness succeeded in obtaining at about the value of sixpence. ThePrince remarked, with a smile, that he was a loser by the transaction.
Day after day, as I walked the streets of Vanity, my manners anddeportment became more and more like those of the inhabitants. Theplace began to seem like home; the idea of pursuing my travels tothe Celestial City was almost obliterated from my mind. I was remindedof it, however, by the sight of the same pair of simple pilgrims atwhom we had laughed so heartily, when Apollyon puffed smoke andsteam into their faces, at the commencement of our journey. There theystood amid the densest bustle of Vanity- the dealers offering themtheir purple, and fine linen, and jewels; the men of wit and humorgibing at them; a pair of buxom ladies ogling them askance; whilethe benevolent Mr. Smooth-it-away whispered some of his wisdom attheir elbows, and pointed to a newly-erected temple- but there werethese worthy simpletons, making the scene look wild and monstrous,merely by their sturdy repudiation of all part in its business orpleasures.
One of them- his name was Stick-to-the-right- perceived in my face,I suppose, a species of sympathy and almost admiration, which, to myown great surprise, I could not help feeling for this pragmaticcouple. It prompted him to address me.
"Sir," inquired he, with a sad, yet mild and kindly voice, "doyou call yourself a pilgrim?""Yes," I replied, "my right to that appellation is indubitable. Iam merely a sojourner here in Vanity Fair, being bound to theCelestial City by the new railroad.""Alas, friend," rejoined Mr. Stick-to-the-right, "I do assureyou, and beseech you to receive the truth of my words, that that wholeconcern is a bubble. You may travel on it all your lifetime, wereyou to live thousands of years, and yet never get beyond the limits ofVanity Fair! Yea; though you should deem yourself entering the gatesof the Blessed City, it will be nothing but a miserable delusion.""The Lord of the Celestial City," began the other pilgrim, whosename was Mr. Foot-it-to-Heaven, "has refused, and will ever refuse, togrant an act of incorporation for this railroad; and unless that beobtained, no passenger can ever hope to enter his dominions.
