“I wonder you should ever have troubled yourselves with Christ at all,” said I.

“What was to be done?” said the man in black; “the power of that name suddenly came over Europe, like the power of a mighty wind; it was said to have come from Judaea, and from Judaea it probably came when it first began to agitate minds in these parts; but it seems to have been known in the remote East, more or less, for thousands of years previously.  It filled people’s minds with madness; it was followed by books which were never much regarded, as they contained little of insanity; but the name! what fury that breathed into people! the books were about peace and gentleness, but the name was the most horrible of war-cries—­those who wished to uphold old names at first strove to oppose it, but their efforts were feeble, and they had no good war-cry; what was Mars as a war-cry compared with the name of. . . .?  It was said that they persecuted terribly, but who said so?  The Christians.  The Christians could have given them a lesson in the art of persecution, and eventually did so.  None but Christians have ever been good persecutors; well, the old religion succumbed, Christianity prevailed, for the ferocious is sure to prevail over the gentle.”

“I thought,” said I, “you stated a little time ago that the Popish religion and the ancient Roman are the same?”

“In every point but that name, that Krishna and the fury and love of persecution which it inspired,” said the man in black.  “A hot blast came from the East, sounding Krishna; it absolutely maddened people’s minds, and the people would call themselves his children; we will not belong to Jupiter any longer, we will belong to Krishna; and they did belong to Krishna, that is in name, but in nothing else; for who ever cared for Krishna in the Christian world, or who ever regarded the words attributed to Him, or put them in practice?”

“Why, we Protestants regard His words, and endeavour to practise what they enjoin as much as possible.”

“But you reject his image,” said the man in black; “better reject his words than his image:  no religion can exist long which rejects a good bodily image.  Why, the very negro barbarians of High Barbary could give you a lesson on that point; they have their fetish images, to which they look for help in their afflictions; they have likewise a high priest, whom they call—­”

“Mumbo Jumbo,” said I; “I know all about him already.”

“How came you to know anything about him?” said the man in black, with a look of some surprise.

“Some of us poor Protestant tinkers,” said I, “though we live in dingles, as also acquainted with a thing or two.”

“I really believe you are,” said the man in black, staring at me; “but, in connection with this Mumbo Jumbo, I could relate to you a comical story about a fellow, an English servant, I once met at Rome.” {218}

“It would be quite unnecessary,” said I; “I would much sooner hear you talk about Krishna, his words and image.”