That Pyrot had stolen the eighty thousand trusses of hay nobody hesitated for a moment to believe.  No one doubted because the general ignorance in which everybody was concerning the affair did not allow of doubt, for doubt is a thing that demands motives.  People do not doubt without reasons in the same way that people believe without reasons.  The thing was not doubted because it was repeated everywhere and, with the public, to repeat is to prove.  It was not doubted because people wished to believe Pyrot guilty and one believes what one wishes to believe.  Finally, it was not doubted because the faculty of doubt is rare amongst men; very few minds carry in them its germs and these are not developed without cultivation.  Doubt is singular, exquisite, philosophic, immoral, transcendent, monstrous, full of malignity, injurious to persons and to property, contrary to the good order of governments, and to the prosperity of empires, fatal to humanity, destructive of the gods, held in horror by heaven and earth.  The mass of the Penguins were ignorant of doubt:  it believed in Pyrot’s guilt and this conviction immediately became one of its chief national beliefs and an essential truth in its patriotic creed.

Pyrot was tried secretly and condemned.

General Panther immediately went to the Minister of War to tell him the result.

“Luckily,” said he, “the judges were certain, for they had no proofs.”

“Proofs,” muttered Greatauk, “Proofs, what do they prove?  There is only one certain, irrefragable proof—­the confession of the guilty person.  Has Pyrot confessed?”

“No, General.”

“He will confess, he ought to.  Panther, we must induce him; tell him it is to his interest.  Promise him that, if he confesses, he will obtain favours, a reduction of his sentence, full pardon; promise him that if he confesses his innocence will be admitted, that he will be decorated.  Appeal to his good feelings.  Let him confess from patriotism, for the flag, for the sake of order, from respect for the hierarchy, at the special command of the Minister of War militarily. . . .  But tell me, Panther, has he not confessed already?  There are tacit confessions; silence is a confession.”

“But, General, he is not silent; he keeps on squealing like a pig that he is innocent.”

“Panther, the confessions of a guilty man sometimes result from the vehemence of his denials.  To deny desperately is to confess.  Pyrot has confessed; we must have witnesses of his confessions, justice requires them.”

There was in Western Penguinia a seaport called La Cirque, formed of three small bays and formerly greatly frequented by ships, but now solitary and deserted.  Gloomy lagoons stretched along its low coasts exhaling a pestilent odour, while fever hovered over its sleepy waters.  Here, on the borders of the sea, there was built a high square tower, like the old Campanile at Venice, from the side of which, close to the summit