A Time of Novelty Logic Emotion and Intellectual Life in Early Modern India 1500 1700 C E Samuel Wright Full Chapter PDF

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A Time of Novelty
A Time of Novelty
Logic, Emotion, and Intellectual Life in Early
Modern India, 1500–1700 C.E.
S A M U E L W R IG H T
1
3
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

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© Oxford University Press 2021
Published with the support of the Ludo and Rosane Rocher Foundation
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

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address above.
You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Wright, Samuel (historian of South Asia), author.
Title: A time of novelty : logic, emotion, and intellectual life in early
modern India, 1500-1700 C.E. /Samuel Wright.
Description: 1. | New York : Oxford University Press, 2021. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020050208 (print) | LCCN 2020050209 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780197568163 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197568187 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Navya Nyāya—Early works to 1800. | India—Intellectual
life—16th century. | India—Intellectual life—17th century. |
Fallacies (Logic)—Early works to 1800. | Hindu logic. |
Emotional intelligence.
Classification: LCC BC39.5.I4 W75 2021 (print) | LCC BC39.5.I4 (ebook) |
DDC 181/.43—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020050208
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020050209
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197568163.001.0001
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America
To
Shweta, Mira,
and my mum, Frances
Contents
List of Maps  ix
List of Tables  xi
Preface and Acknowledgments  xiii
English Translations of Sanskrit Titles  xvii
Note on Transliteration  xxi
Introduction  1
PA RT I . N EW N E S S A N D E M O T IO N
1. Doubt  31
2. Objectivity  62
PA RT I I . F E E L I N G A N D R E A S O N I N G
3. Happiness  95
4. Dying  126
PA RT I I I . SPAC E A N D T I M E
5. Space  163
6. Time  195
Conclusion: A Time of Novelty  209
Appendix  219
Bibliography  249
Index  269
Maps
0.1. Early Modern South Asia: Select Towns and Cities xix
5.1. Manuscript Economy: Northern View 169
5.2. Manuscript Economy: Southern View 170
Tables
I.1. Sanskrit Logicians by Region and Date 20

A.1. Data for Map 5.1: Manuscript Economy: Northern View 220
A.2. Data for Map 5.2: Manuscript Economy: Southern View 228
Preface and Acknowledgments
This book attempts to expand the ways in which we study philosophical

thought by considering it to be deeply immersed in the felt experiences of
one’s life. Such an investigation that attempts to recover a space for emotion
within the activity of thinking is extremely productive in my view because it
allows us to ask about ways of being that are rarely, if ever, addressed in the
history of philosophy. These ways of being reveal an intellectual life, which,
as this book explores, is located at the confluence of thinking and feeling, and
which contains the imaginative processes that facilitate the appearance of in-
tellectual communities.
In reflecting on the writing of this book, then, I must acknowledge the
support and generosity of a number of individuals without whom, and
institutions without which, my own intellectual life would have been
impossible.
My initial thoughts were worked out in conversation with an exception-
ally supportive dissertation committee at the University of Chicago, Gary
Tubb, Dipesh Chakrabarty, and Matthew Kapstein. I am privileged to have
been able to explore ideas presented here that bear the imprint of their crit-
ical insights.
I thank Jonardon Ganeri, Parimal Patil, and Sheldon Pollock for their con-
tinuous support. Their ideas have deeply shaped my thinking.
Sarasvati Mohan and Sally Sutherland-Goldman introduced me to the
complex world of Sanskrit and Mandira Bhaduri and Clinton Seely inau-
gurated my study of Bangla, teachings that remain foundational. I cherish
the year spent reading Bangla literature with Jayanti Chattopadhyay. Raoul
Birnbaum, S. Paul Kashap, and Ellen Suckiel taught me the true meaning
of dialogue. Doug Powers introduced me to the complexities of the
human mind.
Much of my research was carried out in Kolkata and Delhi. I thank the
staff of the Bangiya Sahitya Parishat; Indira Gandhi National Centre for the
Arts; National Library, Kolkata; National Manuscript Mission; Nabadvip
Puratattva Parishad; and Sanskrit College, Kolkata. The Committee on
xiv Preface and Acknowledgments
Southern Asian Studies, University of Chicago, supported my research; and

the American Institute of Indian Studies supported my language study.
Much of my writing took place in Toronto and Ahmedabad. In Toronto,
I often worked in the picturesque Pratt Library. This would not have been
possible without the support of Frances Garrett. At Ahmedabad, I discussed
ideas with wonderful colleagues, particularly Sarthak Bagchi, Aparajita Basu,
Mary Ann Chacko, Aditi Deo, Manomohini Dutta, Maya Jasanoff, Murari
Kumar Jha, Apaar Kumar, A. P. Ashwin Kumar, Aparajith Ramnath, Karthik
Rao-Cavale, Shishir Saxena, and Joseph van Weelden.
For their kindness and support, I thank my former colleagues at Nalanda
University, Kashshaf Ghani, Arne Harms, Aditya Malik, Sraman Mukherjee,
Ranu Roychoudhuri, Gopa Sabharwal, and Aviram Sharma.
Bill Nelson created the exquisite maps that grace the pages of the book.
Thanks to Sunil Kumar, I presented an early version of Chapter 5 to the
Department of History, Delhi University.
The most critical intervention I received on the ideas in this book were
from two outstanding anonymous reviewers at Oxford University Press.
I express profound gratitude to each of them for their close readings. I am
extremely grateful to Cynthia Read, my editor, who was enthusiastic and
supportive of this project from the very beginning and brought the book into
the light of day. Brent Matheny graciously guided me through the production
of the book.
I am exceptionally grateful to the Ludo and Rosane Rocher Foundation
for a subvention toward the book’s publication. Patrick Olivelle, John Nemec,
and Rosane Rocher ensured a smooth process and were ever-supportive.
Jim Nye and Mary Rader opened my eyes to the world of South Asian
archives. Muzaffar Alam, Daniel Arnold, and Whitney Cox saw me through
various stages of my graduate program at Chicago. For their support over
the years, I thank Abhijit Banerjee, Thibaut d’Hubert, Ethan Kroll, Lawrence
McCrea, Rosalind O’Hanlon, Laura Ring, Alex Watson, and Dominik
Wujastyk.
Small extracts of Chapter 3 are closely adapted with permission from two
of my earlier articles, “From Praśasti to Political Culture: The Nadia Raj and
Malla Dynasty in Seventeenth-Century Bengal,” Journal of Asian Studies
73, no. 2 (May 2014): 397–418; and “The Practice and Theory of Property
in Seventeenth-Century Bengal,” Indian Economic and Social History Review
54, no. 2 (April 2017): 147–182.
Preface and Acknowledgments xv
But what of emotion? I have been thinking about his book in some form or
other for nearly the last fifteen years; and, as a result, it contains the diverse
moments of my life. James, Chris, and Carla, my dear friends from school,
kept me grounded in true friendship and music despite the long distances.
Chrish and Ron gave us a home and many warm gatherings in Washington,
DC, during our years there. Anil Uncle and Kumi Auntie always welcomed
us in Delhi for extended discussions over delicious food and great stories.
Prashanto, Soma, and Progya were comrades in the cold Toronto winters.
Naushad-da, Shindhu-di, and Binu-di made our many moves in India easier
and cared for my daughter while I wrote.
My late grandparents, Margaret and Walter, uplifted my spirits and
told me stories of my past that made me feel whole. My brothers and their
families—Joe, Karin, Walter, Victoriano; Thomas, Cassie, Benjamin, and
Jameson—have been wellsprings of laughter and provided solace during dif-
ficult times; as was my sister, Ella, who brought much joy. Uncle Derek and
Aunt Hillary made transits through London memorable; and Uncle Bill trav-
elled long distances to visit us. Mimi-didi, Arun-da, and Basho always kept
the doors open.
Anju and Sandipan (Ma and Bapi), Cuty, Aripana, and the late Mataji
showed the way to exotic sojourns, gave us a roof when we needed one,
and ensured the next celebration was not too far away. Ma and Bapi have
been our foundation for more than a decade while we moved across cities
and continents. Jethu and Jethima, ever-nurturing, saw me through my re-
search in Kolkata. Bibi-didi, Nikhil-bhaiya, Pishi, Sunil, and Deep have been
constant sources of support over the last fifteen years and created lasting
memories.
My father, Paul, inspired me to take up academic life. I thank him for his
endless confidence in me and for his excitement in reading my work, even
though much different from his own field.
Shweta’s love sustained my writing while her criticisms made me re-
think my arguments. She is the confluence of thought and emotion in my
life without whom this book could never have come into being and, once
emerged, would never have been completed. Mira was born and has grown
up with this book, giving me the wonderful distractions that are life’s most
precious moments. To both, I am indebted far beyond the horizon of my
lifetime. My late mother, Frances, filled my life with love and dedicated her-
self to my education. She was and is the best of me. Even though she left this
xvi Preface and Acknowledgments
world when I was young, her memory survives in each and every page of
this book.
I finished this book under quarantine in Panchkula in the warm embrace
of family as the coronavirus spread across India and the world. I was often
reminded of the words of Anne Frank, “when I look up at the sky, I somehow
feel that everything will change for the better, . . . that peace and tranquility
will return once more.”1 Her words evoke a hope-filled future in which,
after overcoming this crisis, we practice more compassionate ways of being
human together.
1 Frank 1991, 330.

English Translations of Sanskrit Titles
An Analysis of Liberation in Kashi ~ Kāśīmokṣavicāra

An Analysis of Objectivity ~ Viṣayatāvicāra
An Analysis of the Debate on Liberation ~ Muktivādavicāra
An Assemblage of Lotuses in the Form of
Pilgrimage Sites ~ Tīrthakamalākara
Bouquet of Canonical Positions in Nyāya ~ Nyāyasiddhāntamañjarī
Bouquet of the Language of the Gods ~ Gīrvāṇavāṅmañjarī
Bouquet of Logic ~ Nyāyamañjarī
The Bridge to the Three Sacred Places ~ Tristhalīsetu
Chapter on Gifts ~ Dānakāṇḍa
A Closely Guarded Teaching of Established
Conclusions ~ Siddhāntarahasya
Compendium on Devotion ~ Bhaktisandarbha
Compendium on Logic ~ Tarkasaṃgraha
Composition on Joy ~ Prītisandarbha
Consideration of the Discourse on Liberation ~ Muktivādavicāra
A Crest of Moons That Are Pilgrimage Sites ~ Tīrthenduśekhara
Dictionary of Amara ~ Amarakośa
Discernment of Definitions ~ Bhāṣāpariccheda
Discourse on Vedānta ~ Vedāntaparibhāṣā
An Elaboration ~ Prasāriṇī
The Elucidation ~ Prakāśa
Elucidation of the Teaching of the Kāvyaprakāśa ~ Kāvyaprakāśarahasyaprakāśa
An Essay on Auspiciousness ~ Maṅgalavāda
An Essay on Causality ~ Kāraṇatāvāda
An Essay on Doubt ~ Saṃśayavāda
An Essay on Dying in Kashi as a Cause
(of Liberation) ~ Kāśīmaraṇakāraṇatāvāda
An Essay on God ~ Īśvaravāda
An Essay on Heat and Its Effects ~ Pākajavāda
An Essay on Heaven ~ Svargavāda
An Essay on Joy in Viṣṇu ~ Viṣṇuprītivāda
An Essay on Laws ~ Vidhivāda
An Essay on Liberation ~ Mutkivāda
An Essay on the Negative Particle ~ Nañvāda
An Essay on Objectivity ~ Viṣayatāvāda
xviii English Translations of Sanskrit Titles
An Essay on Permanent Happiness ~ Nityasukhavāda

An Essay on Veridicality ~ Prāmāṇyavāda
The Essence of Logic ~ Tarkāmr̥ta
The Essence of Nyāya Principles ~ Nyāyasiddhāntasāra
An Essay on the Production of the
Property-Relation ~ Svatvajanakatāvāda
The Essence of the Puranas ~ Purāṇasāra
The Essence of the Thought-Jewel ~ Maṇisāra
The Essentials of the Bridge to the
Three Sacred Places ~ Tristhalīsetusārasaṃgraha
An Examination of “Consideration” in
Inferential Reasoning ~ Anumitiparāmarśavicāra
Examination of the New View ~ Navīnamatavicāra
An Exposition ~ Vyākhyā
Immortal Nectar of Krishna’s Feet ~ Kr̥ṣṇapadāmr̥ta
An Inquiry into the True Nature of the
Ontological Categories ~ Padārthatattvanirūpaṇa
Light-Ray ~ Dīdhiti
Mālatī and Mādhava ~ Mālatīmādhava
The Messenger of the Foot-Prints ~ Padāṅkadūta
New Essay on Liberation ~ Navamuktivāda
An Ocean of Codes of Traditional Law ~ Smārtavyavasthārṇava
An Offering of Ontological Categories ~ Padārthamālā
The Proof for Brahman’s Non-Duality ~ Advaitabrahmasiddhi
The Removal of Errors through Splendorous Light ~ Ālokakaṇṭakoddhara
Stream of Light ~ Kiraṇāvalī
The Thought-Jewel of Truth ~ Tattvacintāmaṇi
True Essence of Pilgrimage Sites ~ Tīrthatattva
A Vessel on the Waves of Bliss ~ Ānandalaharītari
Jammu N
Lahore
Delhi
Kathmandu
Agra Darbhanga
Banaras Krishnanagar Dhaka

Navadvip Bikrampur
Shantipur
Punyastambha
Wai
B AY O F
BENGAL
Hampi
ARABIAN
Bednur
SEA
Kancipuram
Tanjavur
0 300 mi
0 500 km
INDIAN O CEAN
Map 0.1 Early Modern South Asia: Select Towns and Cities.
Note on Transliteration
I do not use diacritics for names of places and rivers; nor for “Vaishnava/ism,”
“zamindar,” and “majumdar,” unless part of a name. For Sanskrit, standard
transliteration is used (ALA-LC 2012). My transliteration of Bengali/Bangla
materials, though infrequent, requires some comment. In this case, I follow
the Library of Congress (ALA-LC 2017) transliteration table, except in the
case of the final inherent vowel. This is not transliterated unless a word is the
first member of a compound (e.g., jalada-śarīr), when a word ends in a con-
junct (e.g., grantha), when a word is a past passive participle (e.g., girata), and
when a word ends in /h/(e.g., ḍaha). The Bengali materials also may contain
nonstandard spellings, and I have retained these variants in transliteration.
Introduction
“Tell me, why did your father leave Banaras and stay for so many
years in Bengal?”
“He stayed there to study.”
“But, couldn’t he have studied here in Banaras?”
“Of course—but, logic is studied in Bengal.”
—Dhuṇḍirāja, circa 1700
Written at the turn of the eighteenth century, this dialogue would have been
inconceivable two centuries earlier.1 In the early years of the sixteenth cen-
tury, the study of logic by Sanskrit scholars in Bengal was only just begin-
ning. The most famous Sanskrit logician of Bengal, Raghunātha Śiromaṇi,
was likely still writing his well-known work, An Inquiry into the True Nature
of the Ontological Categories, and commentaries on seminal works in logic
were just beginning to be composed.2
Still, the notion that one needed to travel in order to participate in the
life of Sanskrit logic was already commonplace. Stories circulating from the
sixteenth century told that Raghunātha’s teacher had secretly memorized
a number of older, canonical works on logic when he was a student in the
Mithila region of northern Bihar (Darbhanga), the earlier center for the
study of Sanskrit logic. Then, after migrating to Bengal, he taught them to
1 A dialogue between a householder and an ascetic in Dhuṇḍirāja’s A Bouquet of the Language of
the Gods, a story he composed for the teaching of Sanskrit (Shah 1960, 29): are tava pitā vārāṇasīṃ
tyaktvā gauḍadeśe bahuvarṣaparyantaṃ kim arthaṃ sthitaḥ. svāminaḥ vidyābhyāsārthaṃ sthitaḥ.
tarhi kāśyām adhyayanaṃ na bhavati kim. na bhavati kutaḥ. bhavati parantu tatra tarke [var-
iant: tarkam] adhītam. Though writing from Banaras, Dhuṇḍirāja is originally from Maharashtra
(ibid., 5, introduction).
2 Raghunātha’s works remained on the syllabus for the study of logic into the eighteenth cen-
tury (Shah 1960, 29). The chronology of Raghunātha’s works is only partially known. He wrote An
Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories after his Essay on the Negative Particle;
see Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra’s comments in Rajpal 2008, 4. Raghunātha’s teacher was Vāsudeva
Sārvabhauma (D. Bhattcharya 2007, 36–47). Except in very few cases, I do not provide the Sanskrit
title of the texts to which I refer; please see “English Translations of Sanskrit Titles.”
A Time of Novelty. Samuel Wright, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197568163.003.0001
2 Introduction
students in Navadvip, a small town in western Bengal and the epicenter of

Sanskrit logic in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (see Map 0.1 in the
preliminary pages).3 Another story recounts that Raghunātha traveled from
Navadvip to Mithila in order to complete his studies with a senior logician,
but he ended up defeating his teacher in a philosophical debate witnessed by
a large audience.4
Regardless of the veracity of these stories, each recasts significant intel-
lectual and historical changes into narrative form. The story of Raghunātha’s
teacher highlights the pedigree of Sanskrit logic in Bengal by drawing our
attention to the fact that it had been transmitted from west to east—not dis-
similar to narratives of knowledge transmission in other thought systems of
Bengal such as devotionalism or bhakti.5 The story about Raghunātha casts
Bengal and, specifically, Navadvip, as the emerging intellectual center for the
study of Sanskrit logic.
These stories, then, speak to the fact that in the two centuries before
Dhuṇḍirāja composed this dialogue, Sanskrit logic had undergone major
transformations. Immediately after Raghunātha, logicians in Mithila
began to assign geographic provenance to scholarly opinions from Bengal.6
A number of logicians, after training in Navadvip, migrated to Banaras, where
they played an influential role in scholarly debates of the city. Manuscripts of
works in Sanskrit logic circulated throughout countless towns and cities in
a variety of local scripts. Sanskrit logicians after Raghunātha developed and
pioneered the use of a highly technical language for philosophical writing.
New genres were devised. And Sanskrit logicians increasingly referred to
themselves and their arguments as “new” in distinction to other logicians
and arguments they labeled “old,” suggesting that periodization was a central
component of their philosophy.
Yet the importance of these two centuries in Sanskrit logic does not
simply reside in what it may tell us about intellectual-historical change in a
system of thought. To focus only on intellectual-historical change abstracts
developments of this sort out of and away from the lives of those who
3 The Mithila region or Tirhut had its capital in this period in Darbhanga, although the capital
often shifted and the historical information on this is meagre; see Choudhary 1970, 19–20, 148,
153n5, 169–171.
4 For these stories, see Ingalls 1951, 12n48, 13–15.
5 For Bengali devotionalism, see Stewart 2010, chap. 1; for Vedic knowledge in Bengal, see Eaton
1993, 6–8.
6 The terms are “belonging to Bengal” (gauḍīya) and “Bengal opinion” (gauḍa-mata), which refer
to the Gauda subregion of Bengal where Navadvip is located (D. Bhattacharya 2007, 35–36). On this
older geography, see Eaton 1993, 3–4.
Introduction 3
participate in a system of thought both individually and collectively. Stated

more strongly, such an approach dissociates intellection from intellectual
life: Intellection is a component of intellectual life, rather than a detached
domain of thought.7 Intellectual life contains the ways in which individuals
undertake their thinking in parallel with the sentiments and values that un-
derwrite their participation in intellectual activities, broadly considered,
both as individual thinkers and collectively as intellectual communities.
This book argues that a philosophical community emerged in sixteenth-
and seventeenth-century India that crafted an intellectual life on the basis of
intellectual and emotional responses to novelty in Sanskrit logic. As I demon-
strate in this book, novelty was a primary concept used by Sanskrit logicians
during this period to mark the boundaries of a philosophical community in
both intellectual and emotional terms. By including emotion in the study of
intellectual thought, I attempt to recover not only what it means to “think”
novelty but also what it means to “feel” novelty. I explore the contours of
what I call “intellectual novelty” and “affective novelty” in Sanskrit logic—
expressions of novelty in which is contained the cognitive and emotional
content that, taken together, constitute intellectual life. As these expressions
of novelty are recognized and cared for, what is revealed is an imaginative
process through which emerges a new philosophical community.
Sanskrit Logic and Its Contours
Before I am able to specify fully how this book attempts a new history for
Sanskrit logic, I need to specify what I mean by Sanskrit logic and outline its
contours as a system of thought. Only then will we be in a position to appre-
ciate the historiographic turn I am attempting in the pages that follow.
In my opening remarks, the term “logic” (and my resulting phrase
“Sanskrit logic”) is used as a gloss for the philosophical system of nyāya-
śāstra. Nyāya-śāstra is a system of knowledge expressed in Sanskrit—and
only Sanskrit—that deals primarily with epistemology and metaphysics set
within a framework of philosophical realism. The concerns of this system of
thought include, for example, how and why we are able to know and speak
7 I am influenced here by the words of Stuart Plattner, who writes, “the economy is an aspect of
social life rather than a segment of society” (1989, 14) and the reflections by Martha Nussbaum
(2001, 1–16).
4 Introduction
knowledgably and correctly about the world; how seemingly discrete phe-
nomena in the world stand in relation to each other; how our (internal)
mental processes and the (external) objects of the world stand in relation to
each other; the ultimate categories of reality; and, increasingly so from the
sixteenth century, the enunciation of a logic that abstracts not from propos-
itions but from cognitions or “knowledges” (jñāna) using a language protocol
(rather than symbols) that operates at the very limits of ordinary language.8
The modern study of nyāya-śāstra has often framed it as one of the “six
schools” or “six systems” of Indian philosophy (nyāya, vaiśeṣika, vedānta,
mīmāṃsā, yoga, and sāṃkhya). Viewing premodern Indian philosophy
through this organizational structure has influenced how it has been studied.
An early study, for example, has noted that these systems “constitute[d]‌a log-
ical whole” and were “closed . . . in essentials,” obviously leaving little room
for innovation and change.9 While this book focuses on nyāya-śāstra as a
specific knowledge system in premodern India, I do not adopt the view that
it is a closed or an inherently coherent system of thought. Indeed, much of
the debate that takes place among scholars is about how to define certain
concepts and how to address shortfalls in prior reasoning, indicating that
scholars themselves did not consider these systems of thought closed or
perfected. Nevertheless, nyāya-śāstra was considered a distinct system of
thought among scholars in premodern India, and some of its contours need
to be highlighted.
The system was first outlined in its foundational text, the Nyāyasūtra.
This text is ascribed to the sage Gautama Akṣapāda, and it was likely final-
ized by anonymous redactors between 200 and 450 ce.10 Throughout the
first millennium, Sanskrit logicians wrote extensive commentaries and
subcommentaries on this text.11 This body of philosophical literature
8 On jñāna, see Matilal 1968, 3–4. Piotr Balcerowicz discusses the lack of symbols in nyāya-śāstra
(2019, 940–941). My use of “Sanskrit logic” here is largely to aid entrance into the book, but I also
use it to register that nyāya-śāstra as a philosophy is an activity of philosophical logic, a “discursive
activity in which . . . truth is at stake” as noted by Irad Kimhi (2018, 1), or of a logic (tarka) “whose
aim is truth” (sadarthaka) as noted by Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (Rajpal 2008, 3); and is one whose
components such as anumiti (inferential process) can be included within the “multiplicity of logics”
registered by Dale Jacquette (2006, 7). Similarly, Dhuṇḍirāja uses the term logic (tarka) to refer to
nyāya-śāstra as a whole. His fictional householder immediately names scholars in nyāya-śāstra as
those he studied when studying logic with his father in Bengal (Shah 1960, 29).
9 Hiriyanna 1952, 184.
10 On the redaction of the Nyāyasūtra, Matilal suggests a date of 100–200 ce (1977, 78). Franco and
Preisendanz argue for 400–450 ce (1995, 86).

11 The commentaries on this text are classified under the overarching philosophical genre of śāstra
(scientific treatise)—a genre defined early in Sanskrit logic as “a specialized (textual) form; a curation
of technical terms such as the ‘valid means of cognition’ (pramāṇa), and so forth” (śāstraṃ punaḥ
Introduction 5
argued for certain epistemological and metaphysical positions in opposition

to philosophers from a range of other fields such as Buddhist philosophy,
hermeneutics, and skepticism.12 In this argumentative context, Sanskrit
logicians argued confidently that nyāya-śāstra was better because only this
system enables us to overcome our philosophical doubts. For example, the
well-known Sanskrit logician, Uddyotakara (c. 560 ce, Sugh, present-day
Haryana), writes that “Because nyāya-śāstra resolves things about which one
is uncertain, we can say that nyāya is the best system of thought.”13
The question of how to define nyāya-śāstra was also a question raised
by scholars themselves. Writing in 450–500 ce possibly from the Deccan,
Vātsyāyana provides a general definition in his commentary on the
Nyāyasūtra. Beginning with a rhetorical question, Vātsyāyana asks, “But,
what is this nyāya?” He responds:
Nyāya is the examination of things using the valid means of cognition; it is

the act of inferring based on sense perception and doctrinal tradition. It is
what is called ānvīkṣā; and ānvīkṣā is the re-examination of that which has
been apprehended by sense perception and known through doctrinal tra-
dition. That which proceeds on the basis of this re-examination is what we
call ānvīkṣikī; this is the doctrine of nyāya, in other words, ānvīkṣikī is the
science of logic.14
Vātsyāyana highlights two major aspects of nyāya-śāstra that enable us to

appreciate some of the contours of this system of thought. First, it recognizes
and utilizes specific means through which accurate knowledge about the
world is attained. Vātsyāyana explicitly notes three out of the four means ac-
cepted by nyāya-śāstra: sense perception, inference, and authoritative testi-
mony (doctrinal tradition).15 These means of attaining accurate knowledge
pramāṇādivācakapadasamūho vyūhaviśiṣṭaḥ). This definition is given by Vātsyāyana (450–500 ce);

see Nyaya-Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirth 1982, 4.
12 The literature on this is large, see Arnold 2005; Balcerowicz 2017; and Patil 2009.
13 Nyaya-Tarkatirtha and Tarkatirtha 1982, 38: vipratipannapuruṣapratipādakatvāt paramo nyāya
iti vakṣyāmaḥ.
14 Ibid.: kaḥ punar ayaṃ nyāyaḥ. pramāṇair arthaparīkṣaṇaṃ nyāyaḥ. pratyakṣāgamāśritam
anumānaṃ sānvīkṣā. pratyakṣāgamābhyām īkṣitasyānvīkṣaṇam anvīkṣā. tayā pravarttata ity

ānvīkṣikī nyāyavidyā nyāyaśāstram.
15 Or, pratyakṣa, anumiti, and śabda; the fourth valid means of cognition, upamāna (analogy),
is not explicitly mentioned here. Taken together, these are the four valid means of cognition or
pramāṇas accepted by nyāya-śāstra.
6 Introduction
are employed by human beings to correctly ascertain objects and states of

affairs in the world that are both directly and indirectly evident. Second,
nyāya-śāstra is specifically concerned with navigating argumentative
contexts: Debate is integral to the process of “re-examination” and making
sense of the world—a process based on querying what is apprehended in
our perceptual acts and learned by studying earlier, definitive conclusions
reached through those same processes. These techniques, theories, and
methods are debated and formulated in an enormous set of texts, commen-
taries, and subcommentaries composed across a vast stretch of historical
time from the early centuries of the Common Era extending into the nine-
teenth century.
Yet scholars in nyāya-śāstra in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
did not view this long, argumentative tradition as an ahistorical monolith,
but rather as an expression of intellectual-historical dynamism. A genuine
concern of this book, then, is how best to refer to nyāya-śāstra as a system
of knowledge that is neither reductive nor antihistorical.16 Although I have
refrained so far from using the term “discipline,” I use this term extensively
in the book as one gloss of the Sanskrit term śāstra—thus, nyāya-śāstra
becomes “discipline of nyāya.”
While some may look askance at this gloss, I base this on two overarching
reasons. First, both the terms “discipline” and śāstra have surprisingly close
semantic overlap. Etymologically, the term “discipline” (from the French,
dicepline, and the Latin, disciplīna) carries the meaning of punishment, in-
struction, and education. The term śāstra carries these meanings as well.
The word is derived from the verbal root śās, which conveys the meaning of
to teach, order, and tame; and, with its suffix -tra, it conveys an instrumen-
tality: the instrument of teaching, ordering, and taming.17 But etymological
considerations and semantic similarities are not convincing in and of them-
selves since concepts such as discipline or śāstra have no meaning except and
insofar as they are used. Many would perhaps prefer to retain the label of
“knowledge system” for śāstra rather than “discipline.”18 However, to refer
to nyāya-śāstra as a knowledge system deflects important questions about
disciplinary formations in premodern India and about connections between
forms of knowledge, power, and intellectual-historical change in an effort
to emphasis the alterity of Indian knowledge systems vis-à-vis disciplinary
16 McCrea 2008a, 576.

17 For discipline, see OED 2018; and for śāstra, see Apte 2006, 916; Pollock 2008, 541.
18 Pollock 2008, 541.
Introduction 7
formations in eighteenth-and nineteenth-century Europe. I select the label

“discipline” being fully aware about what disciplines do. As noted by a major
social-cultural theorist, disciplines “characterize, classify, specialize; they
distribute along a scale, around a norm, hierarchize individuals in relation to
one another and, if necessary, disqualify and invalidate” due to their “asym-
metries” of power.19
In using the phrase “discipline of nyāya,” I am not making a different
claim compared to this statement by Michel Foucault about what disciplines
do. In fact, reading with rather than against the grain has been an impor-
tant approach to the question of how to refer to nyāya-śāstra as a system of
thought because it illustrates the general forms of exclusion enunciated by
scholars in nyāya-śāstra that allow for it to be rightfully called a discipline.
Two forms of exclusion are of most interest to me. First, Sanskrit logicians
were self-consciously aware that their discipline had specific modes of in-
quiry that demarcated it from other knowledge systems in premodern
India. Vātsyāyana’s comments earlier, for example, take this demarcation for
granted. But this was an assumption also noted in the sixteenth and seven-
teenth centuries, made most explicit when Sanskrit logicians of the period
refer to the “method of logic” (nyāya-naya) in the course of their arguments.
Although this phrase is not used often, it is employed at important argumen-
tative moments in support of general philosophical commitments found in
the discipline.20
Second, Sanskrit logicians argued for forms of exclusion based on the hi-
erarchization of individuals. Writing in approximately 1320 from Mithila,
Gaṅgeśa Upādhyāya begins his magnum opus, the Thought-Jewel of Truth,
by stating that Gautama Akṣapāda (in his Nyāyasūtra) invented the sci-
ence of logic “with a desire to save the entire world sunk in the mud of suf-
fering.”21 Although Gaṅgeśa’s grand opening is meant to signal the universal
applicability of the discipline of nyāya, Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya, writing in
the middle of the seventeenth century from Bengal, notes an objection. He
says that “Some have objected that since ‘the world’ includes Shudras and
other low-status individuals, the Sage Gautama, would have committed an
offense if he had invented the science of logic while desiring knowledge of
19 Foucault 1995, 223.

20 For example, it is used to note certain commitments about universals in Mathurānātha
Tarkavāgīśa’s An Essay on Permanent Happiness (Misra and Shastri 1936, 147).
21 Gaud 1992, 7: atha jagad eva duḥkhapaṅkanimagnam uddidhīrṣur . . . ānvīkṣikīṃ . . . muniḥ
praṇināya.
8 Introduction
its purpose among those who are not entitled to spiritual or metaphysical
knowledge.”22
The objection noted here by Gadādhara—that Gautama did not intend to
include low-status individuals—was taken very seriously by some scholars,
who argued vigorously against a socially capacious definition of “the world”
in order to stress that nyāya-śāstra was not intended for everyone. For ex-
ample, writing from Tanjavur in about 1650, Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin argues in
his own commentary on Gaṅgeśa that the word “world” means only those of
the three higher-caste groupings (Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and Vaishyas) and
that to claim that Shudras and women (strī) are entitled to study nyāya is
not a plausible position.23 Similarly, the well-known logician Annaṃbhaṭṭa
(c. 1620, Banaras) argued that while Shudras and others, presumably
women, can study nyāya-śāstra, they should only do so after being reborn
as a Brahmin. Only then, he argues, will the knowledge they learn result in
liberation.24
Arguments such as these demonstrate that nyāya-śāstra can be thought
of as a discipline in the sense intended by Foucault—replete with vagaries of
power and hierarchy even in its most universal aim of freeing human beings
from suffering. My use of the phrase “discipline of nyāya,” then, is intended
to suggest that authors within this knowledge system can and do employ ex-
clusionary techniques to craft its boundaries both intellectually and socially
and, hence, is a knowledge system that can accurately be called a discipline—
a choice in terminology that in my view also succeeds in avoiding a reductive
and antihistorical description of the system.
If determining a way to refer to nyāya-śāstra as a knowledge system is im-
portant, equally so is how to refer to the scholars that compose works and
22 Ibid., 11: nanu śūdrādīnām api jagadantargatatayādhyātmavidyānadhikāriṇām teṣām
arthajñānecchayā śāstrapraṇayane maharṣiḥ pratyaveyāt. Gadādhara is speaking to a question raised

by Raghunātha Śiromaṇi, who argued that “the world,” as used by Gaṅgeśa, simply means “that group
of people caught in the cycle of re-birth.” In other words, the word “world” means everyone (ibid., 8,
11: jagat saṃsāryātmajātam).
23 Tatacharya 1973, 115–116: atra jagac chabdas traivarṇikaparaḥ. . . . strīśūdrāder apy adhikāraṃ
bodhayatas tasyānāptatvenāśraddheyavacanatvāpatteś ca. See also Ganeri 2011, 67.

24 M. Sastry 2006, 2: “Since liberation is possible also among Shudras and others through the study
of the discipline given that they have taken up the body of a Brahmin, it is logical to hold that those
who are caught in the cycle of re-birth are intended [by the Sage Gautama when he composed the
Nyāyasūtra]. But, while Shudras and others [like women] can be an intended audience for the dis-
cipline, it is an offense if they take up its study” (śūdrādīnīm api brāhmaṇādiśarīradhāraṇadaśāyāṃ
śāstrādhyayanena mokṣasambhavāt saṃsārimātrasyoddeśyatvaṃ yuktam. śūdrādyadhyāpane sati
pāpaṃ na tūddeśyatāmātreṇa). Other arguments from exclusion are also made in a short essay by
Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya entitled An Essay on Heaven. His remarks do not concern who can study
nyāya-śāstra, but rather who can attain liberation (Misra and Shastri 1936, 136).
Introduction 9
involve themselves in the discipline. In this book, I most often refer to these
scholars as “nyāya intellectuals” and, to a lesser extent, “nyāya authors,”
“nyāya scholars,” and “logicians.” Nyāya intellectuals referred to themselves
as teachers or preceptors (ācāryas and upādhyāyas), rather than intellectuals,
so what justification is there in using the term “intellectual” when referring to
them? The term “intellectual” allows me to place authors of the discipline of
nyāya into the generic process of intellection rather than immediately within
a set of traditional roles inherent in such terms as ācārya and upādhyāya.25
Thus, I understand “intellectual,” following the comments of the well-known
Sanskrit scholar Gāgā Bhaṭṭa of seventeenth-century Banaras, as a category
of authors who employ literalization rather than figuration in their written
work; whose writing relies on the well-known meanings and senses of words
rather than obscure ones often employed in literary writing.26 More spe-
cifically, my focus is “intellectuals” writing in Sanskrit who would describe
themselves as naiyāyikas—a term derived from the word nyāya, meaning
“those who are concerned with the science of logic.” Given these consid-
erations, my label “nyāya intellectual” is meant to describe those scholars
whose writing, as mentioned, employs literalization rather than figuration
and is framed by concerns and methods in the science of logic or nyaya-
śāstra such as the means by which we attain correct knowledge of the world
and the study of what exists.
A New History for Sanskrit Logic
Early scholars who wrote about philosophy in premodern India might be

surprised that nyāya philosophy from the sixteenth and seventeenth cen-
turies is studied at all. Writing in 1922 about nyāya philosophy during this
later period, Surendranath Dasgupta says with a sense of surrender that “it
25 For some important conceptions of “intellectual” I do not adopt, see Shils 1958, 8 and Masseau
1994, 38–39. I know of Masseau from Pollock 2001a, 5.

26 Gāgā Bhaṭṭa says (Śyenavījātidharmānām Nirṇaya 1914, 303): “When making sense of the
meaning of a scientific treatise (śāstra), one reads only a well-known meaning of a word—not one
that is obscure. . . . Therefore, reading only well-known meanings when deliberating the meaning
of a scientific treatise is correct, given the absence of things such as words that convey contradic-
tory meanings and elliptical sentences in those treatises” (śāstrārthaparijñāne tu prasiddhasyaiva
grahaṇam netarasya. . . . tasmāc chāstrārthanirṇayeṣu prasiddhasyārthasyaiva grahaṇaṃ yuktaṃ vip-
arītārthadyotakavākyaśeṣādyabhāve). See Minkowski and O’Hanlon 2008, 394n55 for detailed infor-
mation about this document. On the relation between figuration and obscurity of word meaning in
Sanskrit literary works, see Bronner 2010, 162.
10 Introduction
can hardly be hoped” that it will attract “enthusiastic students in larger num-
bers.”27 I trust that Dasgupta would be comforted by the fact that a steady
number of studies have continued to be produced on this period in the disci-
pline. Since the 1950s when the first major works on this period were written,
the manner in which the discipline has been studied has changed consid-
erably.28 Many of these early works were concerned with explaining philo-
sophical arguments and technical vocabulary used during the period as well
as gathering historical information such as where a scholar lived, what texts
a scholar composed, and student-teacher lineages. Subsequent studies were
anxious to demonstrate that premodern India was also home to a tradition of
critical and rigorous philosophical thought.29
Over the last twenty years, the most important influence on the study of
nyāya philosophy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries has been the
international project Sanskrit Knowledge-systems on the Eve of Colonialism
under the editorship of Sheldon Pollock.30 As framed by Pollock, this pro-
ject was and is explicitly concerned with exploring the question of “whether
there is an Indian intellectual history—that is, whether change has occurred
in intellectual traditions, whether historical forms of consciousness have
existed.”31 The historiographical turn engendered by this project was the
practice of turning to history when studying Sanskrit intellectual thought.
Primary among this perspective was the commitment to take seriously
how Sanskrit scholars themselves conceptualized the history of their own
knowledge systems. For example, scholars writing in Sanskrit during the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries very frequently used the terms “new”
(navya) and “old” (prāñc) to periodize arguments within the systems of
thought in which they participated. Thus, texts are replete with references
to “new” arguments in grammar, poetics, hermeneutics, and logic.32 This
nomenclature, which emerged in large part during this period, signaled for
many modern scholars a “different way of thinking” during this time in the
Sanskrit intellectual traditions that required a fresh analysis of intellectual
27 S. Dasgupta 1922, 309.

28 The two most important studies from this period are Dineshchandra Bhattacharya’s Bāṅgālīr
Sārasvata Abadān: Baṅge Nabyanyāẏacarcā (Learned Achievements of Bengalis: The Practice of
Navya-nyāya in Bengal), published in 1952 and reprinted in 2007; and Daniel Ingalls’s Materials for
the Study of Navya-Nyāya Logic, published in 1951.
29 See prefatory remarks in Matilal 1968 and Guha 1968.
30 Sanskrit Knowledge-Systems on the Eve of Colonialism, n.d. See under “Working Papers” on the
project’s website for a full list of research publications.

31 Pollock 2008, 535, emphasis in original.
32 McCrea 2008a, 576.
Introduction 11
change in Sanskrit thought as it took place in the sixteenth and seventeenth

centuries.33 Much of the literature produced under the aegis of the Sanskrit
Knowledge-systems project examines this language as a marker of larger shifts
in intellectual practice during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In
fact, a major outcome of the project is just this: Sanskrit scholars reoriented
themselves to long traditions of intellectual thought by breaking the time of
these traditions into periodized frameworks, which ultimately affected the
nature of Sanskrit intellection itself. This change in the manner of studying
Sanskrit intellectual history has resulted in engagements with new archives
and a more detailed historical excavation about how the social and political
contexts within which Sanskrit scholars wrote affected their philosophical
reasoning and interests. It has also encouraged a broader focus on the ways in
which regional language sources and Sanskrit texts can be brought together
into conversation.34
Though still represented in few studies, the most important work
on the discipline of nyāya that has emerged in conversation with the
Sanskrit Knowledge-systems project is Jonardon Ganeri’s The Lost Age of
Reason: Philosophy in Early Modern India 1450–1700.35 Ganeri argues that
during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries “a new philosophical self ”
emerged in which “new reason philosophers” within the discipline of nyāya
engaged in a collaborative “search for the truth” but without unnecessary def-
erence to prior opinions and authors in the discipline. For Ganeri, this was a
period of intellection based primarily on “evidence-based” inquiries, which
included “proof-strategies” and “reasoned decision-making” that were “open
to empirical confirmation or disconfirmation.”36 In his analysis, Ganeri
recovers a number of broad features of this period in the discipline of nyāya
such as the dense scholarly networks among “new” nyāya philosophers and
the development of a technical language for metaphysics (what others have
called an “ontologese”). He also draws attention to a number of putatively
minor works that demand more critical attention by modern scholars.37 In
a seminal article also associated with the Sanskrit Knowledge-systems pro-
ject, Karin Preisendanz argues that in this later period, specifically in the
region of Mithila, nyāya scholars were concerned with returning to the
33 Pollock 2001a, 5.
34 For example, see the many excellent publications associated with the Oxford Early Modern
South Asia Project, n.d.
35 Ganeri 2011.
36 Ibid., 244–247.
37 On ontologese, see Egerton 2016, 9–10.
12 Introduction
foundational text of the discipline, the Nyāyasūtra.38 For Preisendanz, this

concern contained “a new kind of focused and increasingly intense interest
in its text-critical analysis” paralleling a “historicist search for originality and
authenticity.”39 In a recent and equally foundational essay that examines the
discipline of nyāya over the long durée and is often critical of conclusions
reached by the Sanskrit Knowledge-systems project, Parimal Patil has argued
more cautiously that nyāya philosophy in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries may contain substantively new arguments—in line with claims
by nyāya intellectuals that their arguments are “new”—but this conclusion
requires further historical and philosophical research.40
While this book attempts to move beyond the theoretical framing of the
Sanskrit Knowledge-systems project, I am in general agreement with the
premise of the project and the resulting studies that emerged in response
to it. I take very seriously the periodizing techniques that Sanskrit scholars
themselves used in their works, for example, since I do think that this expres-
sion indicates important changes in intellection among authors during this
period. Nyāya intellectuals in the sixteenth, but especially the seventeenth,
century employed a range of periodizing terms in their work such as new
(navya), recent (atinavīna), and contemporary (ādhunika) as contrastive
terms to old (prāñc), ancient (prācīna), and earlier (jīrṇa).41 Yet, in acknowl-
edging these periodizing techniques, one question that runs through this
book is how these terms—and the theoretical perspectives upon which they
are based—ought to be understood. There has been a general tendency to
understand terms such as “new” in a historical or diachronic fashion: the
arising of the new premised upon the erasure of the old. When I refer to cer-
tain intellectual transformations that are new or novel in the course of the
book, this is likely the sense of the term which comes to the mind of most
readers. While I am interested in this sense of the term and engage in this
sort of analysis in the book, however, this is only one aspect of its use that
concerns me. I am also interested in notions of new or novel that do not take
place diachronically but rather at the same time as or synchronically with
the old—an area that the Sanskrit Knowledge-systems project has not suffi-
ciently emphasized. Emphatically, in my view, investigating the new means
38 Preisendanz 2005.
39 Ibid., 86.
40 Patil 2013, 104.
41 These terms have been frequently discussed; for example, see Pollock 2001a, 2001b; Ganeri
2011, 150.
Introduction 13
investigating how time is used by Sanskrit scholars to create, and so to be co-

eval with, the old. No meta-analysis on “the new” was ever written by nyāya
intellectuals. Nonetheless, the use of the term “new”—most often a gloss of
the Sanskrit word navya—is pervasive in texts within the discipline of nyāya
in the period from 1500 to 1700 and demonstrates a conscious use of a term
that, for whatever reason, was provided no formal or theoretical treatment.
This makes the use of these periodizing terms by nyāya intellectuals even
more complex and an answer about their purpose even more important.
I also agree with the the Sanskrit Knowledge-systems project that the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries—what I refer to as “early modernity”—is
a particularly rich site to examine change in Sanskrit intellectual thought
in premodern India, a period during which there was an “explosion of in-
tellectual production in Sanskrit.”42 However, I do not view this period as
a culmination of nyāya philosophy in historicist terms.43 Instead, this book
attempts to dislodge historicism as a technique of intellectual-historical
writing.44 It does not search for nor does it posit an origin point of the new
in the discipline of nyāya, but rather accepts that there are potentially mul-
tiple moments of its expression across historical time, which should be made
sense of as separate practices of the new rather than subsumed under a single,
predetermined definition of what nyāya is.45 For example, the famous nyāya
authors Gaṅgeśa Upādhyāya and Vācaspati Miśra from fourteenth-and
fifteenth-century Mithila, respectively, also extensively used the periodizing
terms “new” and “old” when describing views and authors in the discipline.46
However, this earlier usage requires a separate historical and philosophical
excavation. A major consequence of this perspective is that I do not refer to
the early modern period in the discipline of nyāya as the period of “navya
nyāya” (new nyāya)—a near ubiquitous way that existing studies refer to
the discipline after Gaṅgeśa, whose work is often identified as the begin-
ning of “new” or navya nyāya.47 The term “new” or navya, as demonstrated
throughout the book, is only applied by nyāya intellectuals to arguments and
authors, never to the discipline as a whole. Rather, “navya nyāya” is a phrase
42 Sanskrit Knowledge-Systems on the Eve of Colonialism, n.d., under “Proposal.”

43 Pollock 2001a, 7; Patil 2013, 104.
44 My argument here is informed by Foucault 1977, 152– 153; Nietzsche 2007, 53, II.13; and
Chakrabarty 2007, 3–23.
45 For two excellent studies that do ask about origins, see Wada 2001, 2007.
46 Patil 2013, 103–104; Potter and Bhattacharya 1992, 136, 144; and Preisendanz 2005, 71–72.
47 On Gaṅgeśa as the beginning of the new, see Wada 2007. For some excellent, recent studies and
historical overviews that use this phrase, see Chatterjee 2011; Chaturvedi 2020; and Phillips 2017.
14 Introduction
invented by modern scholarship that posits, by its very construction, a his-

torical transformation of the entire discipline that leads seductively and in-
correctly to notions of linearity, progress, and universalism.
Yet, despite the success of the Sanskrit Knowledge-systems project in recov-
ering a history of Sanskrit intellectual thought in early modern India, I must
agree with Lawrence McCrea, who argues that it is still not very clear “what
it means to write on Nyāya or Mīmāṃsā [Sanskrit logic or Sanskrit herme-
neutics] . . . or to ‘be’ a Naiyāyika or a Mīmāṃsaka [a Sanskrit logician or
Sanskrit hermeneut]—what it implies about one’s beliefs, one’s writing and
reading practices, and one’s social, religious, and intellectual affiliations.”48
McCrea’s observation is crucial because it raises fundamental questions not
simply about Sanskrit intellection but, more broadly, about intellectual life.
In this book, I understand intellectual life to mean the various ways in which
intellectuals undertook their thinking in parallel with or as a correlative to
the sentiments and values that underwrote their participation in intellec-
tual activities both as individual scholars and collectively as philosophical
communities.
I submit that the principal reason why it is not clear what it means to be a
nyāya intellectual in early modern India is because prior research has focused
exclusively on intellection and excluded emotion from consideration. In my
view, nyāya philosophy contains both intellectual and emotional expressions
around which nyāya scholars build an intellectual life. My conception of in-
tellectual life, then, is much different from A. G. Sertillanges’s early, though
influential, study on the topic in which he emphasizes silence and solitude.49
Much more recently, Zena Hitz has described intellectual life as “a form of
asceticism” that entails “uprooting and drying up parts of ourselves.”50 In my
view, however, such positions contribute to the notion that intellectual life
is defined by a disciplining or, more worryingly, a lack of emotion as one
undertakes thinking rather than admitting the much more productive and
holistic view that intellectual life is located at the intersection of intellection
and emotion or thinking and feeling.
48 McCrea 2008a, 576–577.

49 Sertillanges 1960, viii: “Do you want to do intellectual work? Begin by creating within you a zone
of silence, a habit of recollection, a will to renunciation and detachment which puts you entirely at the
disposal of the work.” Sertillanges’s work was first published in French in 1921 with an English trans-
lation in 1948.
50 Hitz 2020, 113.
Introduction 15
Logic and Emotion
The idea that nyāya intellectuals craft a philosophical community and so an

intellectual life on the basis of both intellection and emotion has not been
studied. While it may be taken for granted that intellection is an essential
feature of nyāya intellectual life, it should nevertheless not be surprising
that nyāya intellectual life also contains emotion. As Martha Nussbaum has
convincingly argued, “emotions shape the landscape of our mental and so-
cial lives”—a position that necessarily extends to our philosophical lives as
well, even if those philosophical lives are full of the seemingly cold climate
of logic.51
How might we study the discipline of nyāya in early modern India through
both intellection and emotion? This book argues that it depends on our in-
terpretation of the term “new” or navya as used by nyāya intellectuals. At a
most basic level, when nyāya intellectuals describe an argument or an au-
thor as “new,” they are immediately attributing a novelty to that argument
or author. Leaving aside the question of whether an argument or author re-
ally is new (an issue I address in Chapter 2), attributing novelty to authors
and arguments through the use of the term “new” is a doubled action be-
cause the term expresses not only an “intellectual novelty” but also an “af-
fective novelty.” In the former, arguments for novelty create a philosophical
domain containing newly reasoned positions and authors adhering to those
new positions, who may subsequently be described as new authors. This
associates novelty to particular argumentative contexts and reason-based
practices and procedures. Thus, as an expression of intellectual novelty, the
new allows nyāya intellectuals to craft a philosophical community around
argument, rationality, and logic, that is, around “nyāya” in a literal sense of
the term.52
In the latter, arguments for novelty contain a complex relationship with
emotion because the new demands, to borrow again from Nussbaum, an
“emotional development” on the part of nyāya intellectuals as a prereq-
uisite for participating in the emotional history of a specific philosophical
community.53 This emotional development requires nyāya intellectuals
to comport themselves in new ways that place them in a new relationship
51 Nussbaum 2001, 1.
52 The term literally means “method,” “rule,” or “system” from the verbal root nī, to lead, direct,
govern (Apte 1957–1959, 933, 944).
53 Nussbaum 2001, 3.
16 Introduction
with the “cherished objects” of the discipline such as standard philosoph-

ical conclusions, other nyāya authors, manuscripts, and even the discipline
itself.54 In short, the new evokes a “complicated temporal history” within
which nyāya intellectuals may choose to situate themselves but which asks
them to alter what they value as philosophers.55 Thus, as an expression of
affective novelty, the new allows nyāya intellectuals to craft a philosophical
community around certain feelings and evocations, which, considered more
generally, are aesthetic responses to nyāya philosophy.
The fact that the term “new” or navya expresses both intellectual and af-
fective novelty has two large implications as I explore in Chapter 6 and in
the conclusion after working through some of its specific textual expressions.
With respect to its intellectual novelty, I argue that the term contains an on-
tology that subsumes all nyāya intellectuals and places them into certain re-
lations with each other. I recover this ontology by borrowing from particular
theories that underwrite Raghunātha Śiromaṇi’s critical analysis of nyāya
ontology in his Inquiry into the True Nature of the Ontological Categories.
With respect to its affective novelty, I argue that the new, when employed
in philosophical arguments, generates an emotional response among nyāya
intellectuals in the same way that literary language does according to Sanskrit
literary theorists. Relying upon important reflections on imagination by
David Shulman, I explore what nyāya intellectuals “bring into being” when
they write, read, and debate the new. Investigating this interplay between in-
tellectual and emotional history allows us to better understand how nyāya
intellectuals craft their philosophical community and what it means to be a
nyāya intellectual because it provides a fuller picture of nyāya intellectual life
in early modern India.
By way of a postscript to this section, let me conclude with some larger
reflections on emotion since the relation between emotion and nyāya phi-
losophy is at risk of remaining unclear, given that they have not before been
brought into conversation.56 Like the terms “logic” and “intellectual,” “emo-
tion” is another term that requires some comment. In Sanskrit thought, the
54 Ibid., 2.
55 Ibid., 3.
56 For excellent overviews of the “history of emotions” with a concern for south Asia, see Chatterjee,
Krishnan, and Robb 2017; Khan 2015; and Pernau 2017; 2019, 1–19, 272–285. On Hindu law and
emotion, see the reflections by Heim 2018, 419–431; and for a detailed treatment of emotions in early
Sanskrit thought, see Ganeri 2012, 268–282. See also Bilimoria and Wenta 2015 for explorations on
the relation between emotion and knowledge systems in premodern India. However, I must disagree
with their notion of “Brāhmaṇical emotionlessness” as way to think through how different systems of
thought interacted in premodernity (Bilimoria and Wenta 2015, 23–24).
Introduction 17
discipline to deal most rigorously and creatively with emotion is literary

theory (alaṅkāra-śāstra), where emotion or bhāva has been theorized as the
central problem of literature—the premier location of creative emotional
expressivity.57 In Sanskrit literary theory, emotion has a number of sub-
categories such as stable emotions (sthāyī-bhāva) and transitory emotions
(vyabhicāri-bhāva) that when combined in certain ways lead to the emer-
gence of a “unified emotional core” or rasa of a literary expression that is felt
by the audience, character, and/or the reader.58
But this book is not a study of how emotional forms specific to Sanskrit
literary theory are found in nyāya philosophical writing. Instead, the book
recovers emotions in nyāya philosophical writing that may be outside such
classification schemes—if at times it engages with certain emotions discussed
in Sanskrit literary theory (Chapter 4) or discusses the use of rasa in other
Sanskrit systems of thought (Chapter 3). Nevertheless, this book does adopt
a general conception of emotion formulated by Jagannātha Paṇḍitarāja, the
premier Sanskrit literary theorist of early modern India (c. 1650, Banaras), as
“the activity of one’s inner life.”59 When I speak of certain emotions in nyāya
philosophical writing, then, I am referring to the activity or, more subtly, the
movement, that is this inner life of a nyāya intellectual as expressed in that
scholar’s writing; and I am also referring to an inner life that becomes shared
among and projected out to other nyāya intellectuals with whom a scholar
interacts both directly in person and indirectly through that scholar’s texts
in manuscript form—the latter enabling emotions to be shared or “coordi-
nated” across space (Chapter 5).60
In line with the important work of Margrit Pernau and Imke Rajamani,
then, I do not consider emotion to remain confined only to one’s inner
life but also to be a component in knowledge creation and constitutive
to its meaning.61 In early modern India, knowledge produced by nyāya
intellectuals expresses novelty. But, as knowledge is necessarily constituted
by both intellection and emotion, novelty must also contain intellectual and
emotional components in order for it to be successfully and fully enunciated.
57 Pollock 2016, 1–21. For Pollock’s philological reflections on the term bhāva, see ibid., xvi.
58 On “emotional core” for rasa (ibid., 8); on the various loci of rasa considered historically (ibid.,
5–26); and for a list of these types of emotions (ibid., 327–333).
59 See his Rasagaṅgādhara (P. Dvivedi 1998, 143): cittavr̥ttyātmakeṣu bhāveṣu. . . . For a recent
study of Jagannātha, see Truschke 2015.

60 For reflections on direct communication and the coordination of emotions over distances,
which emphasizes the role of “media,” see Pernau 2017, 17.

61 Pernau and Rajamani 2016, 47.
18 Introduction
I identify these two components as intellectual novelty (that which contains

“new” knowledge) and affective novelty (that which contains the emotional
content of “the new”). It is on the basis of these components, taken together,
that nyāya intellectuals build an intellectual life and which are ultimately
used by certain nyāya intellectuals to form a philosophical community in
early modern India.
I have chosen the phrase “affective novelty” instead of “emotional nov-
elty” because the term “affective” more directly conveys the “dynamic and
interactive dimensions” of this inner life compared to the term “emo-
tional”—a perspective I adopt from Andreas Reckwitz.62 My use of “affec-
tive novelty,” then, attempts to stress that the inner life of nyāya intellectuals
correlates to them generating and creating certain planned relations with
the philosophical world; and that this inner life has serious “implications for
action,” as noted by Jonardon Ganeri.63 At the same time, novelty can also
be considered an object toward which a nyāya intellectual entertains certain
feelings. As noted by Bennet W. Helm, emotion leads to correlated rational
actions on the part of an individual as he or she attributes a value and pri-
ority to objects on the basis of that emotion. In the context of nyāya intellec-
tual practice, this means that novelty, while containing specific emotional
content, is valued such that the feeling of value associated with novelty leads
to certain actions by scholars individually and collectively as they act on be-
half of it.64
More generally though, I use “affective novelty” to mark a collection of
emotional practices that reveal an emotional history (Chapter 6). This emo-
tional history exhibits nyāya intellectuals crafting an “emotional or feeling
community”—in the sense originally formulated by Barbara H. Rosenwein—
that is sustained by or based upon a “stable feeling of belonging together,” in
the words of Margrit Pernau.65 It is my contention that the affective compo-
nent of novelty is key to the arising of this broader “stable feeling” among
nyāya intellectuals in early modernity.66
62 Reckwitz 2012, 250.

63 Ganeri 2012, 282.
64 Helm 2009, 250.
65 Rosenwein (2006, 2) defines emotional communities as “groups in which people adhere to the
same norms of emotional expression and value—or devalue—the same or related emotions.” For
Pernau’s quote, see 2017, 16.
66 Though intriguing, I pass over the possible connection here between Pernau’s claim of a “stable
feeling” and the “stable emotion” of Sanskrit literary theory.

Introduction 19
Point of Entry
My discussion herein raises an important question about how to enter into

the corpus of nyāya texts such that the relationship between logic and emo-
tion can be brought to the forefront. Indeed, the existing corpus of nyāya
texts composed from the early centuries of the Common Era up to and in-
cluding the early modern period is exceptionally voluminous; and like other
disciplines is expressed in various genre forms. These genres range from dif-
ferent types of commentaries to independent treatises.67 When we turn to
the textual production specific to the early modern period in the discipline,
we are similarly confronted with an enormous number of texts in a variety
of genres: About 280 texts were composed in the period by about fifty-two
nyāya intellectuals with at least 4,800 manuscripts of these texts still extant
(see Table I.1 and Chapter 5).68 Given this large number of texts, there are
many possible points of entry into the discipline in the early modern period.
Thus, I must clarify to the reader the entry I take and why; and how that de-
cision facilitates an examination of intellectual and emotional expressions in
nyāya philosophy.
I have placed an emphasis on a philosophical genre—the vāda—that
emerged as an independent essay form in early modernity. These essays, often
only a few printed pages in length or about two folia in manuscript form, are
held in significant numbers throughout India for this period in the discipline
of nyāya and were collected in large numbers by scholars of the seventeenth
century, in particular.69 The use of this essay genre in early modern India
represents nothing less than the emergence of a new intellectual practice in
the discipline of nyāya, although it remains an intellectual practice essen-
tially untheorized. Part of the reason for this neglect is that these texts very
often address minor topics unrelated to broader trends and concerns found
in larger commentarial works and treatises of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. Another reason may be that texts in this genre occasionally have
67 On genre, see Ganeri 2011, 102–116 and Preisendanz 2008.

68 The estimate for the number of texts is calculated using Potter, n.d.; Chapter 5 discusses the
manuscripts.
69 For example, the personal library of Kavīndrācārya, a well- known Sanskrit scholar of mid-
seventeenth-century Banaras, contained a large number of nyāya texts in this genre: of the eighty-
five nyāya works in Kavīndrācārya’s library, twenty-two are vāda essays written exclusively by nyāya
intellectuals who lived in the seventeenth century (R. Sastry 1921, 4–5). The list is not entirely reliable
(Gode 1943): A few of the nyāya texts were written after Kavīndrācārya’s time.
Table I.1 Sanskrit Logicians by Region and Date
Banaras Bengal (Navadvip) Deccan and South Mithila (Darbhanga)

1500 Raghunātha Śiromaṇi Vyāsa Tīrtha (Hampi) Rucidatta Miśra
Kaṇāda Tarkavāgīśa Vāsudeva Miśra
Rāmakr̥ṣṇa Cakravartin Bhaṭṭācārya* Jānakīnātha Tarkacūḍāmaṇi
Yādavācarya Haridāsa Nyāyālaṅkāra Bhagīratha Ṭhakkura
Ratnākāra Vidyāvācaspati Madhusūdana Ṭhakkura
1550 Rāmabhadra Sārvabhauma Gopīnatha Ṭhakkura
Śrī Rāma Tarkālaṅkāra
Guṇānanda Vidyāvāgīśa
Kr̥ṣṇadāsa Sārvabhauma
Kāśīnātha Vidyānivāsa (Bhaṭṭācārya)* Puruṣottamācārya Bhaṭṭācārya
Raghupati Upādhyāya†
Umāpati Upādhyāya†
1600 Bhavānanda Siddhāntavāgīśa* Gaurīkānta Sārvabhauma
Dinakara‡ Jagadiśa Tarkālaṅkāra
Annaṃbhaṭṭa‡ Viśvanātha Nyāyapañcānana
Rudra Nyāyavācaspati* Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa Koṇḍa Bhaṭṭa (Bednur)
Govinda Bhaṭṭācārya*
Dharmarājādhvarīn (Tanjavur)
1650 Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra* Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa Rāmakr̥ṣṇādhvarin (Tanjavur)
Jayarāma Nyāyapañcānana* Gadādhara Bhaṭṭācārya
Śrīkaṇṭha Dīkṣita‡ Govinda (Nyāyavāgīśa) Bhaṭṭācārya
Laugākṣī Bhāskara (Rāma)rudra Tarkavāgīśa
Govardhana Miśra Rāmabhadra Siddhāntavāgīśa
Mādhavadeva‡ Nr̥siṃha Pañcānana
Nārāyaṇa Tīrtha‡
Nīlakaṇṭha Bhaṭṭa Rāmacandra Nyāyavāgīśa
Mahādeva Punataṃkara‡ Gokulanātha Upādhyāya

1700 Trilocanadeva Nyāyapañcānana‡ Śrīkr̥ṣṇa Sārvabhauma
*Bengal origin; †Mithila origin; ‡Deccan and southern origin.
Source: D. Bhattacharya 2007 and Potter, n.d. (design adopted from Ganeri 2011, xii).
Introduction 21
an uncertain provenance given that some were actually part of larger works
but became separated and circulated as stand-alone essays.70
For readers familiar with the discipline of nyāya, the term vāda will be
recognizable as a form of debate outlined in the Nyāyasūtra. Here, the term
vāda means a debate or discussion; it forms one of three ways in which a de-
bate can occur, the other forms being deconstruction (viṭaṇḍa) and sophistry
(jalpa). Early commentators on the Nyāyasūtra understood the term vāda
to specify a debate between a student and teacher or between those within
the same discipline through which both parties arrived at a definitive con-
clusion about a topic.71 It was also used as a way to organize larger works.
For example, in his Thought-Jewel of Truth, Gaṅgeśa (c. 1320, Mithila) labels
each section of his text a “vāda” or “discussion” such as the “Discussion on
Absence” (abhāva-vāda). These discussion sections were then the basis of
commentaries by subsequent authors. It appears that Raghunātha Śiromaṇi
was the first nyāya scholar to use the term vāda for a stand-alone short essay.
His Essay on the Negative Particle, for example, is not part of a larger work
nor is a commentary on an existing one.72 Though used sparingly after
Raghunātha in the sixteenth century, authors used the vāda essay genre ex-
tensively in the seventeenth century, especially authors from Bengal such as
Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa (c. 1640, Navadvip) and his two pupils, Gadādhara
Bhaṭṭācārya (fl. 1661, Navadvip) and Raghudeva Nyāyālaṅkāra (fl. 1657,
Navadvip/Banaras).73 Harirāma, for example, wrote only short essays, which
70 A few studies note the vāda genre use in passing: V. N. Jha 2004, 57; A. D. Shastri 1966, 66;
D. Bhattacharya 2007, 182, 279; and Gerschheimer 1996, 5. A good example of a vāda essay separ-
ating from a larger work is Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa’s An Essay on Permanent Happiness. Although
this text is presented by Balakrishna Misra and Dhundiraj Shastri in their 1936 edition (Misra and
Shastri 1936, 144–148) as an anonymous and independent work, it is actually part of a larger trea-
tise by Mathurānātha Tarkavāgīśa (c. 1600–1650, Navadvip) entitled A Closely-Guarded Teaching of
Established Conclusions, originally thought to be lost. An Essay on Permanent Happiness matches the
seventy-fifth section (folia 337b–338b) of this treatise (Windisch and Eggeling 1894, 664–665, MS
no. 660). Though identified as unknown by Windisch and Eggeling, D. Bhattacharya (2007, 159–160)
has found a verse identifying the author of this treatise as Mathurānātha (folio 188b).
71 Matilal 1998, 45; Matilal 1977, 76–77.
72 Bimal Krishna Matilal 1968, 145 posits that it was well received because it addressed issues not
discussed by Gaṅgeśa in his Thought-Jewel of Truth.

73 Evidence that Raghudeva was Harirāma’s pupil is found in a colophon to his Dravyasaṃgraha
(copied in 1757 saṃvat or 1700 ce) available in Weber (1853, 204, MS no. 685) where he calls himself
the pupil (śiṣya) of Śrīyuta Harirāma Tarkavāgīśa Bhaṭṭācārya. I know of this from D. Bhattacharya
2007, 279. Evidence that Gadādhara was Harirāma’s pupil is not definitive, but it follows the tra-
ditional account; see D. Bhattacharya 2007, 181 and Ganeri 2011, 86n71. Hardly any informa-
tion is available on Harirāma. D. Bhattacharya (2007, 182) mentions two manuscripts he has seen
by Harirāma: (1) the Sannikarṣarahasya copied in 1668 (Śaka 1590, 26 Baiśākh Br̥haspativāra)
by one Kr̥ṣṇadeva Śarma and (2) the Bādhabuddhipratibandhakatāvicara copied in 1655 (1711
Vikramāditya Era). The latter is also listed in Hall (1859, 54, MS no. CLIX), with an alternative title
of Bādhabuddhivādārtha. These manuscripts help to provide a highly approximated upper limit for
Harirāma’s date.
22 Introduction
he sometimes also called vicāras. His essays total approximately forty-four, of

which approximately fifteen have been published. Gadādhara wrote approxi-
mately twenty-eight short essays, of which about twelve have been published.
Raghudeva wrote approximately thirty-five short essays, of which about
eight have been published.74
The lack of critical engagement with the vāda essay genre means that
the most important question about it remains unanswered: Why did nyāya
intellectuals choose to write in the vāda essay genre during the early modern
period? One answer that could be given, but which is ultimately inadequate,
is that writing philosophical essays was a standard practice in premodern
India and nyāya intellectuals were simply conforming to this practice. Indian
Buddhist scholars, for example, used various forms of short-essay genres
like the prakaraṇa in order to focus upon “critical themes,” as noted by Dan
Lusthaus.75 A new essay style (though no new genre name) has been flagged by
Gary Tubb and Yigal Bronner in Sanskrit literary theory and by Christopher
Minkowski in vedānta for the early modern period.76 I should also note that
the vāda genre was not only used by nyāya intellectuals: Puruṣottama (1658–
1754, Surat), a well-known scholar of the Pushti Marg sect of Vaishnavism,
used this genre extensively; and scholars from the Mādhva vedānta tradition
also wrote a number of texts in this genre, as noted by Michael Williams.77
This is not the place to offer a comparative analysis of each of these genres
with the vāda essay genre; nor to examine how the vāda genre was em-
ployed differently by different authors and disciplines. However, I do want to
stress a broader argument made by Ralph Cohen that genres are “historical
assumptions constructed by authors, audiences, and critics in order to serve
communicative and aesthetic purposes.”78 Cohen’s arguments suggest that
new genres (or new uses of genres) are devised at certain historical moments
by authors to fulfill certain communicative needs that are inadequately met
by existing genres—something that has been registered by others in different
74 For Harirāma, see Misra and Shastri 1936; Tripathi 2001; and entry in Potter, n.d.; for Gadādhara,
see Misra and Shastri 1936 and entry in Potter, n.d.; and for Raghudeva, see Tripathi 2003, 6–8;
Prajapati 2008; and Potter, n.d. From the end of the seventeenth century to the beginning of the eight-
eenth century, the vāda genre was employed less. Instead, nyāya intellectuals turned their attention to
producing kroḍapatras: short, technical essays on a difficult, often obscure, portion of an earlier text
and begins in medias res (and thus from which the name of the genre originates). These supplements
were often collated into collections. For discussions on kroḍapatras, see Ganeri 1999, 8–10; Krishna
2002, 147; Patil 2013, 111; and Wright, 2020b. Guha (1968) quotes from many in his study.
75 Lusthaus 2002, v.
76 Tubb and Bronner 2008, 624–627; Minkowski 2011, 210–211.
77 A. D. Shastri 1966; Williams 2014, 129.
78 Cohen 1986, 210.
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n’étais rien, et je n’avais rien à vous offrir qu’une tête pleine de vent
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rentes.
Elle m’écoutait en silence avec recueillement, la tête basse, les
yeux attachés à la terre. Ses mains tremblaient légèrement, et je
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pierre tumulaire, ces quatre vers, composés par l’auteur de Jocelyn
pour un de ses amis qui dort sous ce marbre :
Tout près de son berceau, sa tombe fut placée.

Peu d’espace borna sa vie et sa pensée ;
Content de son bonheur, il sut le renfermer
Autour des seuls objets qu’il eût besoin d’aimer.
— La poésie est une belle chose, m’écriai-je, un peu de fortune

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pendrai pas selon les caprices de mon humeur. Si vous dites oui,
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j’ai l’espérance patiente.
Elle releva la tête et me dit : — Les Allemandes ont la fâcheuse
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difficile de savoir quand un Français plaisante et quand il est
sérieux !… Je ne dis ni oui ni non ; je me défie.
— Regardez-moi, lui dis-je. Me voilà sérieux comme un âne
qu’on étrille, et je vous affirme très-pertinemment que vous ne
sortirez pas de ce cimetière avant de m’avoir répondu.
A ces mots, je lui pris la main. Elle tâcha de la dégager ; mais je
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l’appeler. Lulu était dans les espaces. Elle venait de se coucher sur
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— Point de défaites, poursuivis-je. Vous me répondrez. J’entends
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Et j’ajoutai : — Douce main que je tiens dans la mienne, toi qui m’as
révélé Mozart et qui un jour m’as montré toutes les étoiles du ciel en
les appelant par leur nom, tu as la sagesse de ne rien mépriser, ni
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destinée est de m’appartenir, que tu as été créée pour mon bonheur,
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qui te tords dans la mienne comme une couleuvre, veux-tu être à
moi ? Parle, dis-moi ton secret.
Elle leva sur moi ses grands yeux candides et me dit : — Vous
êtes Français, vous êtes artiste, et vous m’avez oubliée pendant six
ans. Je demande à réfléchir. Si dans deux mois… Tenez, j’ai la
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folies. Le 1er septembre de cette année, nous reviendrons ensemble
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voilà, et je vous dirai oui ou non.
— Tôpe ! repartis-je en lui rendant sa liberté.
— Et vous me permettez cette fois de rappeler Lulu ?
— Un moment encore, m’écriai-je. Lulu n’a pas fini de causer
avec les nuages, et je n’ai pas même commencé de m’acquitter
d’une commission dont on m’a chargé. C’est une aventure que je
dois raconter et qui sans doute vous intéressera.
Elle écouta mon récit jusqu’au bout avec une extrême attention.
Dès les premiers mots, elle changea de visage et d’attitude. Par
intervalles, elle fronçait le sourcil ou mordillait ses lèvres, ou fouillait
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Quand j’eus fini : — Vous me paraissez très-affectée de mon
histoire, lui dis-je.
Elle me répondit que, si elle l’avait sue plus tôt, elle ne serait
sans doute jamais venue aux Charmilles, parce qu’elle n’aurait pu
triompher des scrupules de son pauvre père. Je fis à part moi la
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moi. Puis elle me cita le proverbe allemand qui dit : « Qui me donne
le pain je chanterai sa chanson, wess’ Brod ich esse, dess’ Lied ich
singe. » — Il est difficile de persuader au monde, ajouta-t-elle, qu’on
désapprouve les principes des gens qu’on aime et qu’on sert. — Je
lui répondis que le soin de sa réputation regardait avant tout Tony
Flamerin, qu’elle n’avait rien à craindre de ce côté, qu’au surplus M.
et Mme de Mauserre n’avaient point péché par principe, qu’une
cruelle fatalité les empêchait seule de s’épouser, et que le jour où la
mairie leur ouvrirait sa porte serait le plus beau de leur vie.
Elle était en humeur de sermonner, ce qu’elle faisait d’un petit ton
docte et convaincu qui n’était point désagréable. — C’est une tâche
bien délicate, me dit-elle, que d’élever un enfant qui doit sa
naissance à une faute. Comment lui apprendre à concilier le respect
de la loi divine et celui qu’il doit à ses parents ? — Je lui représentai
que Lulu était fort jeunette encore, que je ne voyais pas l’urgente
nécessité de lui expliquer le septième commandement.
Après être demeurée quelques instants silencieuse, elle s’écria :
— Je voudrais m’en aller, que je ne le pourrais plus. Un mois m’a
suffi pour m’attacher si fort à cette enfant qu’il m’en coûterait
beaucoup de la quitter. Il me semble que je suis responsable devant
Dieu de sa chère petite âme.
— Responsable, lui dis-je, jusqu’au 1er septembre. Au reste, il y a
manière de s’arranger, et si le cœur vous en dit, vous pourrez après
notre mariage vous occuper encore de cette demoiselle. Elle
passera les hivers à Paris, nous viendrons passer l’été aux
Charmilles. Voyez si je suis un mari complaisant.
Elle n’eut pas l’air de m’entendre ; elle continuait de fouiller la
terre avec son pied. Elle me questionna sur certains détails de mon
histoire que j’avais passés légèrement et qui l’intéressaient fort. —
C’est un vrai roman, fit-elle ; mais les seules aventures qui me
plaisent sont celles où le héros et l’héroïne sont pauvres ; M. et Mme
de Mauserre sont tous les deux riches, très-riches, n’est-ce pas ?
— Mme de Mauserre a laissé sa dot entre les griffes de son
premier mari, mais depuis elle a hérité de son père.
— A qui appartiennent les Charmilles ?
— A M. de Mauserre, qui possède en outre deux maisons à
Paris. Au risque de lui faire perdre à jamais votre estime, je dois
vous confesser que le pauvre homme a deux cent mille livres de
rente.
— Vous prononcez le mot de rente avec quelque emphase, dit-
elle en souriant ; il vous remplit la bouche. Je vous le répète, toute
petite je ne goûtais déjà que les romans où la faim épouse la soif.
Celui que vous m’avez conté m’agréerait davantage, si M. et Mme de
Mauserre s’étaient enfuis ensemble pour aller vivre dans un
méchant taudis où ils auraient travaillé en s’aimant. Sainte pauvreté !
s’écria-t-elle avec une certaine exaltation, vous purifiez tout ! vous
remplacez l’innocence ! vous êtes la poésie et le bonheur !
J’allais lui répliquer ; Lulu nous rejoignit sans qu’on l’eût appelée.
Meta fit quelques pas au-devant d’elle, et, l’enlevant dans ses bras,
la pressa contre son cœur avec une impétuosité de tendresse qui
eût charmé Mme de Mauserre. Nous regagnâmes la voiture, où on
me fit une place. L’enfant ne tarda pas à hocher la tête et à
s’endormir ; Meta la coucha sur ses genoux. A plusieurs reprises,
j’essayai de renouer l’entretien ; elle me répondit d’un air distrait. Elle
regardait vaguement dans la campagne ; décidément elle était
rêveuse.
Quand nous atteignîmes la grille du château : — Croyez-vous,
me demanda-t-elle tout à coup, que M. et Mme de Mauserre soient
heureux ?
— Ils le seraient davantage, s’ils pouvaient s’épouser ; mais on
s’accoutume à tout.
— L’homme est né pour l’ordre, repartit-elle, et, quand il l’oublie,
l’ordre se venge.
Il me parut qu’elle tournait trop au grave. Je lui chatouillai les
lèvres avec la pointe d’une bardane que j’avais rapportée du
cimetière. — Ce qui me rassure pour cette maison de désordre, lui
dis-je, c’est que vos armoires lui feront trouver grâce devant le
Seigneur. Elles sont si bien rangées que du plus haut des cieux
l’armée des chérubins prend un plaisir extrême à les contempler.
Elle m’arracha des mains ma bardane et me répliqua : — Si vous
voulez me plaire, tâchez d’être moins Français et moins artiste. —
Elle ajouta : — Promettez-moi que vous ne parlerez à personne de
ce qui s’est passé aujourd’hui entre nous, et que vous ne m’en
reparlerez pas à moi-même avant le 1er septembre.
Je lui répondis par un des quatre vers qu’elle avait admirés. —
N’ayez crainte, lui dis-je ;
Content de son bonheur, il sut le renfermer.
A table et pendant toute la soirée, elle redoubla d’attentions

respectueuses pour Mme de Mauserre ; elle semblait vouloir lui
prouver que, bien qu’elle sût tout, elle ne la considérait et ne l’aimait
pas moins. Elle en fit trop ; en lui souhaitant une bonne nuit, elle lui
prit la main et la porta humblement à ses lèvres. — Ah ! ma chère,
lui dit Mme de Mauserre, depuis que vous êtes ici, voilà la première
fois que vous faites quelque chose qui me déplaît ; je veux vous
apprendre comment on s’embrasse entre amies. — Et elle la baisa
tendrement sur les deux joues.
IV
Quoique Meta Holdenis fût si savante dans l’emploi du temps

qu’elle en avait de reste pour tout, elle ne trouva pas en six
semaines le moment de causer une seconde fois tête à tête avec
votre serviteur. Elle n’avait pas l’air de m’éviter ; mais elle ne me
cherchait pas. Une institutrice ne saurait trop s’observer.
D’ailleurs il lui était venu un surcroît d’occupation. M. d’Arci nous
quitta pour aller passer quelque temps dans une terre qu’il avait
héritée en Touraine, et Mme d’Arci fut l’y rejoindre quelques jours
après. Son père la vit partir avec regret. Il avait presque terminé les
deux premiers volumes de son histoire de Florence, et il songeait à
les faire imprimer dès qu’il aurait achevé la mise au net. Comme on
lui ordonnait de ménager ses yeux, qu’il avait fort délicats, sa fille
s’était chargée de recopier son manuscrit plein de ratures, de
surcharges et d’apostilles ; elle savait se reconnaître dans ce
grimoire. Après son départ, il voulut prendre un secrétaire. Meta lui
offrit ses services ; il les refusa d’abord, finit par les accepter. Il fut
bientôt dans l’enchantement de son nouveau copiste. Meta avait une
plus belle main et plus d’intelligence encore que Mme d’Arci, — et ce
qui le toucha davantage, elle prit tant de goût pour sa noble besogne
qu’elle avait peine à s’en arracher. Elle trouvait l’histoire de Florence
admirable et l’historien un très-grand homme. Ce sont des choses
qu’un auteur ne craint pas de s’entendre répéter : on en connaît qui
regrettent de ne pouvoir faire des rentes à tous ceux qui les
admirent ; mais tout le monde n’a pas au même degré le talent de
l’admiration. La voix, le geste, ne suffisent pas ; il faut que le regard
s’en mêle, qu’il accentue l’éloge, et que ses caresses infligent à la
modestie du patient un délicieux supplice. Le regard de Meta était
parlant. Saint-Simon a dit d’une grande dame de son temps, qui
s’est mêlée de très-grandes affaires, qu’elle était « brune avec des
yeux bleus qui disaient sans cesse tout ce qui lui plaisait. » Meta
Holdenis ressemblait beaucoup à cette grande dame.
Elle rendit à M. de Mauserre un autre service plus essentiel
encore : elle lui sauva la vie ou à peu près. Ses nerfs le
tourmentaient par intervalles. Le remède dont il usait pour se
soulager était de sortir le soir à cheval et de s’en aller courir la
campagne ; la fatigue amenait le sommeil. Dans une de ses
promenades nocturnes, il se refroidit, et ce refroidissement dégénéra
en une pleurésie qui devint alarmante. Mme de Mauserre voulut
d’abord le soigner et le veiller seule ; ses forces furent bientôt
épuisées, elle dut se faire aider par Meta. Le mal empirant, elle fut
dévorée d’inquiétudes qu’elle ne savait ni maîtriser ni dissimuler, et
le médecin lui enjoignit de ne plus approcher le malade. Il fut
question de rappeler Mme d’Arci ; Meta assura qu’elle suffirait à tout
et tint parole. Quand il eut connu le charme d’être soigné par elle, M.
de Mauserre, qui dans ses maladies était un véritable enfant gâté,
ne voulut plus prendre de remèdes que de sa main ni souffrir que
personne autre pénétrât dans sa chambre. Non-seulement elle
possédait quelques lumières en médecine et le génie des potions,
des lochs et des juleps, ayant traité ses frères et ses sœurs dans
plusieurs cas assez graves, — elle avait aussi la douceur, la
patience, le pied léger, la main souple et l’infatigable sourire d’une
garde-malade accomplie. Ses lassitudes étaient courtes. Après une
nuit blanche, elle s’endormait sur une chaise et se réveillait au bout
d’une heure, fraîche, alerte, aussi dispose, aussi allante que devant.
Voilà ce que c’est que d’aimer Dieu et le prochain : ces sentiments
opèrent des miracles.
Tant de peines furent récompensées. M. de Mauserre entra en
convalescence et se rétablit rapidement, comme il arrive aux natures
nerveuses, lesquelles tombent et se relèvent tout d’un coup. Un
matin, après déjeuner, appuyé sur le bras de Mlle Holdenis, qui
portait à son autre bras un pliant, et précédé de Lulu, qui avait
promis d’être sage comme un enfant de chœur, il réussit, moyennant
quelques haltes, à faire le grand tour du parc. Mme de Mauserre ne
pouvait assez remercier Meta de ses soins et de son dévoûment.
Voulant lui donner une faible marque de sa gratitude, elle pria Mme
d’Arci, qui à son retour devait passer par Lyon, d’y acheter la plus
jolie montre qu’elle pourrait trouver, enrichie de brillants, pour
remplacer l’humble petite montre d’argent qui marquait à cette
aimable fille les heures d’une vie si utilement occupée.
Le jour même où M. et Mme d’Arci arrivèrent aux Charmilles, je
dus partir à mon tour ; j’étais rappelé à Paris par un tableau que
l’acheteur réclamait et que je ne voulais pas livrer sans y avoir fait
les dernières retouches. Meta, que je vis un instant avant mon
départ, me souhaita un heureux voyage ; elle ne me demanda pas
quand je reviendrais, et je la trouvai un peu trop discrète. J’étais
depuis huit jours dans mon atelier de la rue de Douai quand Mme
d’Arci m’écrivit pour me charger d’une commission. La dernière ligne
de sa lettre était ainsi conçue : — « Nous avons des raisons
particulières, mon mari et moi, de souhaiter que vous reveniez le
plus tôt possible. » — Ce post-scriptum me surprit ; je ne me savais
pas si nécessaire au bonheur de Mme d’Arci. Je m’étais proposé de
ne retourner aux Charmilles qu’à la fin du mois. J’avançai mon
départ de quelques jours, et en arrivant au château je rencontrai sur
le perron Mme d’Arci, qui me dit à demi-voix : — Il se passe ici
certaines choses qui nous déplaisent.
— Que voulez-vous dire ? lui demandai-je.
— N’en croyez que vos yeux, me répondit-elle. Je souhaite que
nous nous trompions.
A la vérité, il ne se passait rien aux Charmilles qui fût digne de
remarque ; mais quoi qu’en dise l’arithmétique, des riens additionnés
finissent quelquefois par être quelque chose. M. de Mauserre, tout à
fait remis, s’occupait de son histoire de Florence, et malgré le retour
de sa fille il ne l’avait pas rétablie dans sa charge de copiste ; — je
vous ai dit que Meta avait une plus belle main que Mme d’Arci.
J’observai encore qu’il avait l’habitude de faire chaque jour après
son déjeuner une grande promenade dans le parc, qui durait
quelquefois deux heures. Meta seule et Lulu l’accompagnaient ;
quelque indiscret se mettait-il de la partie, il faisait sentir à l’intrus par
son air froid et préoccupé qu’il était de trop. Il faut convenir que son
caractère était plus inégal qu’avant sa maladie ; il était souvent
sombre, taciturne ; à ses mélancolies succédaient des gaîtés un peu
forcées. Quand un homme a eu la pleurésie, il est tout simple que
son humeur s’en ressente, et il faut pardonner beaucoup à un
historien qui s’évertue à éclaircir quelques points controversés de la
conjuration des Pazzi. Meta elle-même n’était pas dans son assiette
ordinaire. Elle avait des absences pendant lesquelles, laissant trotter
ses yeux, elle regardait voler les mouches. A d’autres moments, on
remarquait en elle quelque chose d’agité, d’un peu tendu, et des
longueurs de respiration à faire croire qu’il n’y avait pas assez d’air
dans la chambre pour ses poumons ou pour ses espérances ; —
mais il fallait être M. d’Arci pour se figurer qu’elle espérait quelque
chose. Il était plus naturel de penser que ses fatigues de garde-
malade et ses nuits blanches avaient pris sur sa santé.
Le soir de mon arrivée, comme elle chantait d’une manière
ravissante je ne sais plus quel air de Don Juan, elle eut une attaque
de nerfs. Elle devint très-pâle, se renversa brusquement en arrière.
Par bonheur, M. de Mauserre se trouva juste à point derrière son
escabeau pour la recevoir et l’emporter dans un fauteuil. Le moyen
de transporter une femme sans la prendre par la taille ? Peut-être,
après avoir déposé son fardeau, fut-il un peu long à dégager ses
bras ; à cinquante ans, on n’a pas l’agilité d’un jeune homme. Le
lendemain, l’impitoyable M. d’Arci se permit de plaisanter Meta sur
son évanouissement ; son beau-père releva vertement ses brocards.
Ce qui me parut certain, c’est que Mme de Mauserre n’entendait
malice à rien de tout cela ; elle avait son visage, sa beauté, son
sourire de tous les jours. Elle croyait en son mari comme vous
pouvez croire en Dieu, madame ; elle le tenait pour un être
surnaturel, supérieur à toutes les communes faiblesses, dont la
loyauté était aussi inviolable que la parole de Jupiter quand il avait
juré par le Styx. Et puis cette âme de cristal s’imaginait que tout le
monde était transparent comme elle, et que ce qu’on lui cachait
n’existait pas ; — mais lui cachait-on quelque chose ? J’étais disposé
à croire que Mme d’Arci épousait trop aveuglément les préventions
de son mari. M. de Mauserre lui avait dit un jour devant moi : — Oh !
vous, ma chère, si M. d’Arci vous affirmait de son ton décisif qu’il
aperçoit les astres en plein midi, après une courte hésitation vous
verriez distinctement toute la voie lactée sans qu’il y manquât une
étoile.
Le 29 août, dans l’après-midi, je me rendis à mon atelier, qui,
comme vous le savez, était au premier étage d’une tour isolée et à
quelques centaines de pas du château. Je m’étais remis avec ardeur
à mon tableau de Boabdil. Pour être sûr que personne ne viendrait
me déranger dans mon travail, je fermai au verrou la porte du
donjon, et je retirai la clé de la serrure. Je peignais depuis une demi-
heure lorsque le vent m’apporta par ma fenêtre entr’ouverte un
murmure de voix et de pas. C’étaient M. de Mauserre et Meta, qui,
accompagnés de l’enfant et de sa bonne, revenaient de leur
promenade accoutumée. La tour occupait le milieu d’un terre-plein
qui avait vue sur le château ; à l’un des bouts, il y avait un hamac et
une escarpolette. Lulu pria sa bonne de la balancer ; je n’entendis
d’abord que ses bruyants éclats de rire. Bientôt il me parut que deux
personnes s’approchaient. Elles frappèrent à la porte, tâchèrent
d’ouvrir ; je demeurai coi. On se retira, jugeant que l’atelier était
vide : il renfermait pourtant une paire d’oreilles très-attentives et qui
pensaient avoir le droit de l’être.
Pendant que Lulu se balançait, les deux personnes qui n’avaient
pu s’introduire dans la tour commencèrent d’arpenter l’esplanade.
Comme elles revenaient sur leurs pas, j’attrapai à la volée quelques
bribes de leur conversation. Ce ne furent d’abord que des mots
décousus, puis une phrase tout entière prononcée par une voix très-
douce : « Jamais personne n’a si bien connu les hommes. »
On se rapprocha encore, et on fit une halte juste sous ma
fenêtre. La même voix douce se prit à dire : — Ah ! monsieur, vous
êtes né non-seulement pour écrire l’histoire, mais pour en faire. Que
ne suis-je reine ou impératrice ? C’est aux Charmilles que je
viendrais chercher mon premier ministre. Je l’arracherais à sa
retraite en lui disant que les hommes supérieurs se doivent à la
société, que Dieu ne leur permet pas d’enfouir les talents qu’il leur a
donnés.
M. de Mauserre répliqua vivement : — Vous êtes cruelle. Ne
voyez-vous pas que vous rouvrez une plaie mal fermée ?
— Pardonnez-moi, répondit-elle avec un accent de contrition. J’ai
parlé trop vite, j’avais oublié…
— Vous avez le droit de me faire souffrir, interrompit-il. Ne vous
dois-je pas la vie ?
Il y eut un silence, après lequel M. de Mauserre parla longtemps
à voix basse. Son discours fut perdu pour moi, hors la conclusion,
qu’il prononça d’un ton appuyé : — Quand j’ai fait ce sacrifice, je
n’en avais pas mesuré l’étendue.
Là-dessus, ils se remirent on marche. — Voilà donc de quoi l’on
s’entretient quand on se promène dans le parc ! pensai-je en
ramassant mon pinceau, que j’avais laissé tomber.
Quelques minutes après, ils étaient de nouveau sous ma fenêtre,
et de nouveau je prêtai l’oreille. — Vous parlez de compensations,
disait M. de Mauserre. Je n’en connais qu’une, c’est qu’on finit par
vieillir, et qu’il arrive un temps où on ne se juge plus digne de ses
propres regrets.
— N’y comptez pas, monsieur ; ce temps ne viendra pas de sitôt.
— Oh ! bien, quel âge me donnez-vous donc ?
— Je ne sais… Vous devez avoir, Mme de Mauserre et vous, elle
un peu moins, vous un peu plus de quarante ans.
Il se mit à rire d’un petit rire qui partait d’un cœur épanoui. —
Vous ne vous y connaissez pas ; ôtez-lui-en dix et ajoutez-m’en
douze, et vous aurez notre compte à tous les deux.
— Que votre visage est menteur ! fit-elle ; mais je l’accuse à tort,
il dit vrai. Vous avez l’éternelle jeunesse du cœur et de l’esprit, et
jamais vous n’aurez d’âge. — Elle s’interrompit pour crier à la bonne,
qui balançait Lulu : — Prenez garde ! pas si haut ! — Puis elle reprit :
— La voici, la vraie compensation. Vous revivez dans cette chère
enfant, qui vous ressemble, qui ne tient que de vous. Hélas ! je
touche à une autre plaie. Puisse-t-elle bientôt se fermer, celle-là, et
le jour venir où Lulu sera tout à fait votre fille !
Il assena un grand coup de sa canne contre le seuil de la tour et
répondit d’un ton bref : — Si vous connaissiez le code, vous sauriez
que c’est impossible.
Ils restèrent si longtemps hors de portée de mes oreilles, que je
crus que je n’entendrais plus rien. C’eût été dommage ; leur
conversation m’intéressait. Heureusement Lulu ne s’intéressait pas
moins à son escarpolette ; il en résulta qu’ils eurent le temps de faire
encore un tour, et que cinq minutes plus tard j’ouïs une voix grave
qui disait : — Vous croyez qu’elle souffre, elle aussi ?
— Elle est si bonne, monsieur, repartit une voix filée, qu’elle vous
cache ses regrets, son ennui, son chagrin. Elle était faite pour le
monde, pour y briller, pour y être admirée. A en juger par son
portrait, elle a dû être merveilleusement belle.
Je fus sur le point de courir à la fenêtre et de leur crier : — Ne
vous en déplaise, c’est encore la plus jolie femme de France. — Je
n’en fis rien, et M. de Mauserre eut le loisir d’adresser à Meta je ne
sais quelle question. Elle répondit : — Vous m’embarrassez,
monsieur. L’amour est si exigeant, si égoïste, qu’il fait rarement le
compte des sacrifices qu’il impose. Il me semble pourtant que, si
j’avais l’affreux malheur d’être un empêchement à la carrière de
l’homme que j’aimerais, Dieu me donnerait la force de me séparer
de lui, de me sacrifier, heureuse si sa reconnaissance et son
affection venaient quelquefois me chercher dans ma solitude.
Cette fois il m’échappa de dire à demi-voix : — Voyez la langue
de serpent !
— Je crois qu’on a parlé, fit M. de Mauserre, — et il cria : — Tony,
êtes-vous ici ? — Je ne soufflai mot. — Vous vous êtes trompé, je
n’ai rien entendu, lui répondit Meta.
Peu après, elle appela Lulu et lui représenta qu’il était temps de
retourner au château. Comme l’enfant ne faisait pas mine de quitter
son jeu, elle courut la chercher et donna l’ordre à la bonne de
l’emmener ; puis elle vint retrouver M. de Mauserre, qui l’avait
attendue, assis, je crois, sur un banc de pierre à quelques pas de la
tour.
— Monsieur, lui dit-elle, j’ai une confidence à vous faire, un
conseil à vous demander. Je ne sais si j’en aurai le courage.
Il repartit du ton le plus gracieux : — Je n’ai rien de caché pour
vous, et je serais heureux de penser que je possède toute votre
confiance comme vous avez la mienne.
Elle s’embarrassa dans un long préambule qu’il la supplia
d’abréger. — Que signifie ce tortillage ? Arrivons au fait, je vous prie,
lui disait-il. — Enfin elle se résolut à entamer son récit, parlant si bas
qu’à grand’peine quelques syllabes parvenaient à mon oreille. Il me
parut qu’à plusieurs reprises elle prononçait mon nom. M. de
Mauserre était fort ému de son histoire ; il s’écriait de temps en
temps : — Est-ce bien possible ? j’étais à mille lieues de me douter
d’une chose pareille.
Quand elle eut fini, comme il gardait le silence, elle lui demanda
si à son insu elle avait laissé échapper quelque mot qui pût le
chagriner ou l’offenser. Il lui répliqua brusquement : — Que vous
conseille votre cœur ?
— Que sais-je ? répondit-elle ; je crains de le mal comprendre.
Après une nouvelle pause : — Aimez-vous Tony ou ne l’aimez-
vous pas ? reprit-il avec la même vivacité où perçait la colère.
La réponse fut si indistincte qu’à mon vif regret je ne pus la saisir.
— Vous voulez donc que je vous conseille ? fit-il d’un ton radouci.
A mon tour, je suis embarrassé. Vous parliez tout à l’heure de
l’égoïsme de l’amour ; l’amitié a le sien. Il n’y a que trois mois que
nous nous connaissons, et votre société m’est devenue une si douce
habitude que je frémis à l’idée d’y renoncer, si vif est pour moi le
charme de nos chères causeries. Pourtant je veux m’oublier pour ne
consulter que votre intérêt. Je suis très-attaché à l’homme dont vous
parlez ; il m’a rendu des services que je n’oublierai pas. Quel que
soit son mérite, je doute que vous fussiez heureuse avec lui. Il est
artiste, il l’est dans l’âme ; la peinture et la gloire sont ses deux
maîtresses, sa femme ne passera qu’après. Souffrez que je vous
dise toute ma pensée : vous seriez quelque temps son joujou, pour
ne plus être ensuite que sa ménagère. Mon amitié vous souhaite un
mari qui ait avec vous une parfaite conformité de goûts et de
sentiments, qui sache tout ce que vous valez, un homme capable
d’apprécier votre rare intelligence, votre caractère à la fois si solide
et si souple, cette charmante complaisance de votre esprit qui sait
entrer dans les pensées qui vous sont le plus étrangères et vivre,
pour ainsi dire, dans l’esprit d’autrui. Ce mari, vous le rencontrerez
un jour, et il fera de vous sa compagnie favorite, la confidente de
toutes ses pensées, sa conseillère et son amie dans le sens le plus
intime et le plus doux de ce mot.
Ces dernières paroles furent prononcées avec tant de chaleur
que Meta parut s’attendrir.
— Ainsi vous m’engagez à refuser ? s’écria-t-elle. Je n’ai plus
que trois jours pour me décider.
— Voulez-vous m’en croire ? le 1er septembre n’allez pas à Ville-
Moirieu. Ce sera le mieux. Il vous est facile d’éviter ici tout tête-à-tête
avec M. Flamerin ; s’il devenait trop pressant, vous me chargeriez de
m’expliquer avec lui.
— Qu’il soit fait comme vous l’entendrez ! répondit-elle du ton
soumis d’une carmélite qui prononce ses vœux.
La curiosité étant la plus forte, je m’étais coulé jusqu’à ma
fenêtre, j’avais soulevé un coin du rideau. Ou j’eus la berlue, ou M.
de Mauserre prit la main de Meta et lui baisa légèrement le bout des
doigts. Elle avait le visage à demi tourné de mon côté ; son front était
radieux, ses lèvres entr’ouvertes respiraient l’émotion de la joie.
Ainsi sourit l’homme des champs lorsque, après de pénibles
semailles et les rigueurs d’un hiver opiniâtre, il voit lever le grain, et
contemple en espérance la moisson qu’il se promet d’engranger.
L’instant d’après, je ne vis plus rien ; ils étaient partis.
Je me plongeai dans un fauteuil où je demeurai quelque temps
immobile, les bras engourdis, la tête lourde et, je pense, l’œil morne.
Tout à coup, par un effort de ma volonté, je me retrouvai sur mes
pieds, me tâtant le corps comme un homme qui est tombé d’un
balcon sans se tuer et qui s’assure qu’il a tous ses membres. Après
ce rapide examen, je fis deux fois le tour de l’atelier en sifflant, et je
fus heureux de découvrir que je savais encore siffler. Je me souvins
que c’était à Dresde que j’avais cultivé ce talent ; je pensai au
portrait de Rembrandt, et Rembrandt me fit rêver à Velazquez. Je
crus entendre une voix qui disait : — C’est le seul dieu qui ne trompe
pas. — J’ouvris le tiroir d’une table, j’en tirai une vieille pipe d’écume
que j’avais héritée de mon père, je la bourrai, je l’allumai, et je me
surpris à m’écrier : — Tonnelier de Beaune, votre fils se porte bien !
— Puis je me rassis devant mon chevalet, je retouchai la draperie de
mon Boabdil. Je dois confesser toutefois que ma brosse tremblait un
peu, que jamais mon appui-main ne me fut si nécessaire.
Au bout d’une heure, on frappa de nouveau à la porte de la tour.
Ce n’était cette fois ni M. de Mauserre, ni Meta ; — je me trouvai
face à face avec la plus effrontée, avec la plus basanée des
gitanilles. Elle avait des yeux pareils à des taches d’encre et l’air
sournois d’un oiseau de nuit que la lumière effare. Ayant rencontré le
matin cette beauté parmi les traînards de la bande de bohémiens qui
avaient tant fait aboyer nos dogues, je m’étais féru de sa diablerie,
de ses grâces scélérates, et je l’avais invitée à venir poser dans mon
atelier. Je m’empressai de l’introduire, enchanté qu’elle fût de parole.
Le ciel m’envoyait en sa personne un modèle et une compagnie dont
j’avais grand besoin. Tout en troussant mon croquis, je pris plaisir à
causer avec elle. Je vous ai déjà dit, madame, que, quand j’ai
rencontré dans le monde certaines vertus, il me vient au cœur de
saintes tendresses pour la canaille. A la vérité, ce sont des
transports assez dangereux.
Le soleil déclinait lorsque je levai la séance et sortis avec mon
modèle. Comme nous traversions le terre-plein, j’aperçus au pied de
l’escarpolette un objet brillant : c’était le médaillon de Lulu, qui l’avait
perdu en se balançant. Je le ramassai, et au même instant j’avisai
Meta au bout de la grande charmille. Elle s’avançait de notre côté, la
tête penchée, promenant ses yeux autour d’elle et s’arrêtant par
intervalles pour fureter dans les buissons. Je dis quelques mots à
l’oreille de la bohémienne et je lui glissai une pièce d’or dans la
main. Je n’eus pas besoin de m’expliquer tout au long ; outre qu’elle
avait de l’école, la pièce qu’elle tenait dans ses doigts crochus et
qu’elle contemplait en souriant lui allumait le regard et l’intelligence.
En la payant grassement, madame, on lui aurait fait apprendre le
chinois en huit jours.
Nous étions, elle et moi, à demi masqués par un massif, Meta,
que sa recherche absorbait, arriva jusqu’à dix pas de nous sans
nous apercevoir. — Je me suis oublié dans ma promenade, dis-je
tout haut à la gitanille. Il se fait tard ; il faut remettre notre séance à
demain.
La gouvernante de Lulu s’arrêta court, l’air interdit, évidemment
ce n’était pas moi qu’elle cherchait dans les buissons. Elle parut peu
charmée de la rencontre et se disposait à battre en retraite. — Lulu a
perdu son médaillon, lui criai-je, le voici. — Elle me remercia et vint
le prendre. Avant de le lui remettre : — Souffrez, lui dis-je, que je
vous présente une fille de l’Égypte ; n’est-elle pas charmante ?
Cette figure moricaude ne lui revint pas. Elle la regarda d’un œil
sévère et un peu inquiet ; on eût dit une colombe à qui on demande
son avis sur un corbeau.
— C’est une fille, repris-je, qui a tous les vices, mais qui ne
manque pas d’honneur à sa façon. Si elle est menteuse comme un
laquais de grande maison, elle n’est pas fausse, elle se donne à peu
près pour ce qu’elle est. Elle ne croit ni Dieu ni diable ; aussi ne les
prend-elle jamais l’un pour l’autre. Quand elle les rencontrera dans
l’autre monde, elle aura le plaisir de la surprise, et le bon Dieu lui
dira : Gitanille, viens à ma droite ; je m’accommode mieux des gens
qui m’ignorent que de ceux qui me compromettent. Je vous accorde
qu’elle est gourmande comme un brochet, amoureuse comme une
chatte ; remarquez pourtant qu’elle aime les hommes l’un après
l’autre, que son cœur ne chante pas deux airs à la fois. Pour
l’achever de peindre, elle a volé ce matin trois poules et deux
canards ; mais je vous donne ma parole qu’elle n’est jamais allée en
maraude dans le bonheur des autres, qu’elle ne leur a jamais
escroqué ce qu’ils aimaient.
Puis, me tournant vers la bohémienne : — Devineresse de mon
cœur, lui dis-je, tu n’as pas lu Jean-Paul, ni son traité de l’éducation
des femmes. Tu seras toujours incomplète et d’un terre-à-terre
déplorable ; mais je crois à ta sagacité dans les choses d’ici-bas.
Tout à l’heure tu m’as annoncé ce qui doit se passer après-demain
dans un cimetière où il y a des roses, maintenant fais-moi le plaisir
de révéler sa destinée à la personne que voici.
Meta me lança un regard courroucé et essaya de s’enfuir. Je lui
barrai le passage, je m’emparai de sa main gauche. — Gitanille,
m’écriai-je, dis-moi le secret de cette main que je n’ai pas su deviner.
La fille de l’Égypte avança la tête, fit un geste de stupeur. Elle
paraissait plongée dans une si vive admiration que Meta en fut
frappée et que la curiosité la gagna ; elle consentit à poser sa main
dans celle de la bohémienne, tout en détournant son visage et en
souriant de pitié, comme si elle se fût prêtée par complaisance à un
enfantillage qu’elle réprouvait.
Je vous assure, madame, que c’était une scène à peindre. De
son regard sinistre et profond, le corbeau avait magnétisé la
colombe. Il chantait en espagnol d’une voix rauque, triomphante : —
Petite belle, petite belle, toi dont les mains sont d’argent, tu es une
colombe sans fiel ; mais parfois tu deviens terrible comme une lionne
d’Oran, comme une tigresse d’Ocagna. Tu as un signe au visage,
qu’il est charmant ! Doux Jésus, je crois voir briller la lune. Petite
belle, Dieu vous préserve des chutes ; il en est de dangereuses pour
les dames qui veulent devenir princesses.
En ce moment, le soleil à son coucher éclairait vivement le
château dont toutes les vitres étincellent. Les quatre tours à
mâchicoulis et à échauguettes qui le flanquaient aux quatre coins, la
terrasse bordée de balustres en marbre blanc et décorée de deux
lions monumentaux qui vomissaient de l’eau par leurs mufles, le
perron en fer à cheval, les baies cintrées de la façade traversées de
larges meneaux en pierre, le grand attique à pilastres dont les arêtes
se profilaient sur un ciel opale mêlé de vert, tout nageait dans une
lumière éclatante et veloutée. La bohémienne chantait toujours :
Hermosita, hermosita,
La de las manos de plata,
Eres paloma sin hiel,
Pero a veces eres brava.
Un lunar tienes : qué lindo !
Ay Jesus, qué luna clara !
Tout à coup, changeant de voix, elle s’écria sur une note claire :
— Señorita, vous vivrez cent ans ; il est des cœurs qui ne s’usent
jamais.
Puis, faisant un geste grand comme le monde et embrassent
dans le cercle que décrivait son index et le parc et le château, elle
murmura doucement : — Ces chênes, ces charmilles, ces tours, ces
girouettes, ces lions, tout cela, petite belle, sera un jour à vous.
Je contemplais fixement Meta. Je vis comme une longue flamme
jaillir de ses yeux, sur lesquels elle se hâte d’abaisser ses
paupières ; elle sentit que mon regard était sur elle, et, perdant
contenance, elle me tourna brusquement le dos pour me dérober
son trouble et sa rougeur.
La gitanille ne lâcha pas sa main, qu’elle continuait d’examiner.
Soudain elle fronça le sourcil, promena lentement son doigt sur deux
lignes qui se croisaient, et dit avec un ricanement sauvage : —
Señorita, un petit conseil : ne courez jamais deux lièvres à la fois.
A ces mots, elle prit ses jambes à son cou et détala le long de
l’avenue, emportant sa pièce d’or qu’elle avait bien gagnée.
Meta fut, je crois, sur le point de la rappeler ; mais, revenant à
elle-même, elle surmonta son émotion en personne accoutumée à
se commander, et, sans accepter le bras que je lui offrais, elle reprit
le chemin du château. Je marchais à côté d’elle ; il y avait dans son
regard un pétillement singulier, et elle allait si vite qu’on eût dit
qu’elle partait pour le bout du monde.
— Eh bien ! lui dis-je, ma bohémienne n’est-elle pas gentille ?
— Je ne comprends pas, me répondit-elle avec sa douceur
ordinaire, qu’un homme tel que vous s’intéresse à une diseuse de
bonne aventure et à son sot métier.
— Il n’est pas prouvé, repartis-je, que ce métier soit sot. Les uns
croient à la chiromancie, les autres aux grands et aux petits
prophètes, car il faut bien croire à quelque chose. Vous savez mieux
que moi ce qu’on entend par les sorts bibliques, et je suis sûr que
vous les pratiquez. Si peu biblique que je sois, je me suis permis ce
matin d’ouvrir le saint livre au hasard, et comme votre avenir, qui est
un peu le mien, m’occupe beaucoup, j’ai décidé que le passage sur
lequel je tomberais se rapporterait à vous. Or voici le verset qu’a
rencontré mon premier regard : « Dieu dit à Abraham : J’ai fait
alliance avec toi, et je te donnerai la terre de Chanaan, où tu
demeures comme étranger. » N’êtes-vous pas frappée de cette
coïncidence ? La Bible et les bohémiens semblent s’être donné le
mot.
Elle me répondit sèchement : — Vous ne cherchez pas à me
plaire, vous savez qu’il est un genre de plaisanterie que je ne puis
souffrir.
Et, parlant ainsi, elle doubla le pas et arriva au château tout
essoufflée. En gravissant le perron derrière elle, je fredonnais entre
mes dents des vers de Henri Heine que vous connaissez : Sur les
jolis yeux de ma bien-aimée, j’ai composé les plus belles romances,
et sur sa petite bouche les meilleurs tercets, et sur ses petites joues
les stances les plus magnifiques ; si ma bien aimée avait un petit
cœur, je composerais là-dessus un joli sonnet. »

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A Time of Novelty: Logic, Emotion, and

Intellectual Life in Early Modern India,

John Plousiadenos (1423-1500). A Time-Space Geography

Absolute Time: Rifts in Early Modern British

A Sourcebook of Early Modern European History: Life,

Life and Death in Early Modern Philosophy 1st Edition

Women's Sexuality and Modern India: In a Rapture of

Spa Culture and Literature in England, 1500-1800 (Early

A Sourcebook of Early Modern European History: Life,

The Modal Logic of John Fabri of Valenciennes (c.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

© Oxford University Press 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

You must not circulate this work in any other form

Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data

I.1. Sanskrit Logicians by Region and Date 20

This book attempts to expand the ways in which we study philosophical

Southern Asian Studies, University of Chicago, supported my research; and

1 Frank 1991, 330.

An Analysis of Liberation in Kashi ~ Kāśīmokṣavicāra

An Essay on Permanent Happiness ~ Nityasukhavāda

Banaras Krishnanagar Dhaka

1 A dialogue between a householder and an ascetic in Dhuṇḍirāja’s A Bouquet of the Language of

students in Navadvip, a small town in western Bengal and the epicenter of

participate in a system of thought both individually and collectively. Stated

Sanskrit Logic and Its Contours

Preisendanz argue for 400–​450 ce (1995, 86).

argued for certain epistemological and metaphysical positions in opposition

Nyāya is the examination of things using the valid means of cognition; it is

Vātsyāyana highlights two major aspects of nyāya-​śāstra that enable us to

pramāṇādivācakapadasamūho vyūhaviśiṣṭaḥ). This definition is given by Vātsyāyana (450–​500 ce);

anumānaṃ sānvīkṣā. pratyakṣāgamābhyām īkṣitasyānvīkṣaṇam anvīkṣā. tayā pravarttata ity

are employed by human beings to correctly ascertain objects and states of

16 McCrea 2008a, 576.

formations in eighteenth-​and nineteenth-​century Europe. I select the label

19 Foucault 1995, 223.

22 Ibid., 11: nanu śūdrādīnām api jagadantargatatayādhyātmavidyānadhikāriṇām teṣām

arthajñānecchayā śāstrapraṇayane maharṣiḥ pratyaveyāt. Gadādhara is speaking to a question raised

bodhayatas tasyānāptatvenāśraddheyavacanatvāpatteś ca. See also Ganeri 2011, 67.

A New History for Sanskrit Logic

Early scholars who wrote about philosophy in premodern India might be

1994, 38–​39. I know of Masseau from Pollock 2001a, 5.

27 S. Dasgupta 1922, 309.

project’s website for a full list of research publications.

change in Sanskrit thought as it took place in the sixteenth and seventeenth

foundational text of the discipline, the Nyāyasūtra.38 For Preisendanz, this

investigating how time is used by Sanskrit scholars to create, and so to be co-

42 Sanskrit Knowledge-​Systems on the Eve of Colonialism, n.d., under “Proposal.”

invented by modern scholarship that posits, by its very construction, a his-

48 McCrea 2008a, 576–​577.

Logic and Emotion

The idea that nyāya intellectuals craft a philosophical community and so an

with the “cherished objects” of the discipline such as standard philosoph-

discipline to deal most rigorously and creatively with emotion is literary

study of Jagannātha, see Truschke 2015.

which emphasizes the role of “media,” see Pernau 2017, 17.

I identify these two components as intellectual novelty (that which contains

62 Reckwitz 2012, 250.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Preisendanz argue for 400–450 ce (1995, 86).

Vātsyāyana highlights two major aspects of nyāya-śāstra that enable us to

pramāṇādivācakapadasamūho vyūhaviśiṣṭaḥ). This definition is given by Vātsyāyana (450–500 ce);

formations in eighteenth-and nineteenth-century Europe. I select the label

1994, 38–39. I know of Masseau from Pollock 2001a, 5.

42 Sanskrit Knowledge-Systems on the Eve of Colonialism, n.d., under “Proposal.”

48 McCrea 2008a, 576–577.

67 On genre, see Ganeri 2011, 102–116 and Preisendanz 2008.

discussed by Gaṅgeśa in his Thought-Jewel of Truth.

he sometimes also called vicāras. His essays total approximately forty-four, of