th certain zones, whereof those two that are most
remote from each other, and lie under the opposite poles of heaven, are
congealed with frost; but that one in the middle, which is far the
largest, is scorched with the intense heat of the sun. The other two
are habitable, one towards the south, the inhabitants of which are your
antipodes, with whom you have no connection; the other, towards the
north, is that which you inhabit, whereof a very small part, as you may
see, falls to your share. For the whole extent of what you see is, as
it were, but a little island, narrow at both ends and wide in the
middle, which is surrounded by the sea which on earth you call the
great Atlantic Ocean, and which, notwithstanding this magnificent name,
you see is very insignificant. And even in these cultivated and
well-known countries, has yours, or any of our names, ever passed the
heights of the Caucasus or the currents of the Ganges? In what other
parts to the north or the south, or where the sun rises and sets, will
your names ever be heard? And if we leave these out of the question,
how small a space is there left for your glory to spread itself abroad;
and how long will it remain in the memory of those whose minds are now
full of it?

XXI. Besides all this, if the progeny of any future generation should
wish to transmit to their posterity the praises of any one of us which
they have heard from their forefathers, yet the deluges and combustions
of the earth, which must necessarily happen at their destined periods,
will prevent our obtaining, not only an eternal, but even a durable
glory. And, after all, what does it signify whether those who shall
hereafter be born talk of you, when those who have lived before you,
whose number was perhaps not less, and whose merit certainly greater,
were not so much as acquainted with your name?

XXII. Especially since not one of those who shall hear of us is able to
retain in his memory the transactions of a single year. The bulk of
mankind, indeed, measure their year by the return of the sun, which is
only one star. But when all the stars shall have returned to the place
whence they set out, and after long periods shall again exhibit the
same aspect of the whole heavens, that is what ought properly to be
called the revolution of a year, though I scarcely dare attempt to
enumerate the vast multitude of ages contained in it. For as the sun in
old time was eclipsed, and seemed to be extinguished,