men are willing to know themselves when they can do so with no farther
toil than the looking into a mirror, though they will not undertake the
study requisite for acquiring that knowledge in the ordinary way. The
sight struck them all with misery and aversion, and not one who had
visited the mirror for this inquiry was to be seen in public for a long
time after.
I now made it known that all authors who chose to bring their works to
the torch might have them cleared from error. I was soon visited for
this purpose by the philosopher Eucritus, who had lately finished a
treatise on which he had been employed for several years. This he now
brought to be corrected by the torch. I had nothing more to do than to
open his book, and let the light of the torch fall upon it, after which
I restored it to him, saying, that all its fallacies had been expunged.
He opened it with great eagerness to see how many of his opinions were
disallowed, and found the whole book a blank, every word of his treatise
having disappeared. I advised him to bring me his other works, which
perhaps might be capable of the same improvement. He was unable to speak
a word on seeing the fate of his doctrines, but retired in dismay. To
my surprise he brought no more of his writings for amendment; and this
judgment being made known, all the authors of Miletus used the same
precaution against being in error, and declined the trial, so that the
torch had no farther employment in correcting books.
I now published that I could free men from vain wandering hopes, leaving
them only such as were to be fulfilled, which must give them wonderful
prudence and success in their undertakings. The first who came for this
relief was a young man, who told me he was not conscious of any
extravagant dreams, but as he knew how much the management of a man's
hopes contributes to his prosperity, he had come to be quite sure that
his expectations were all perfectly moderate. I produced the torch, and
desired him to look steadily upon it, which when he had done for a short
time, I told him that if he had any visionary hopes he would see them
leaving him. Accordingly many projects, which he had secretly enjoyed at
his leisure, appeared one after another, seeming to come out of his
brain. The first was the figure of a crown that he was to have won by a
series of great exploits, for which opportunities were to have occurred
at favourable times. This crown had the appearance of a shadow; it
issued from his head, and floating away into the air, was soon turned
into a smoke and vanished. He was much startled by the loss of his
crown, and surprised that this design was not to be accomplished. After
the crown went shadows of the great actions by which he had intended to
obtain it. Several battles came out of his brain, and soared through the
air; the fighting in them was very vehement, and the figure of this
young man appeared conspicuous in the danger. The battles, like the
crown, soon vanished. Next came forth some pictures of him declaiming to
the people, for his crown was to have been won by oratory as well as
war. When all his achievements had left him he stood in despair; he was
no more to be an orator, a general, or a king, though before this time
the transition from one exploit to another had been so easy that a crown
seemed inevitable. He left me abruptly, and lived a few days in the
utmost dejection, for a hope thus banished can never return; and finding
it impossible to recover his crown, he very soon put himself to death as
the only cure. Great numbers of people came to this trial, though it may
appear strange that they should desire to be made melancholy; but as
this proceeding was to clear them from all fallacious hopes, it seemed
to give a foresight of the future, which is always sought very eagerly;
many, therefore, came to procure despair.
Amongst these were five young men of obscure rank, each of whom had
privately aspired to the empire of the world, and hoped to sit on the
throne of Constantinople. When they had looked at the torch their heads
were disburdened of a great crowd of guards and attendants. I
remonstrated with one of these men on the extravagance of his designs,
when he declared that he could not understand the folly of his hopes,
for Diocletian was not from a higher origin than himself. These five
competitors for the empire had concealed their ambition, and passed a
quiet, harmless life, not at all distinguished from their fellow
citizens, having yet to begin the great exploits which were to gain the
empire.
Many other young men of boundless hopes came to this trial. When the
torch was applied, each of them saw his own figure issuing from the
brain, engaged in whatever mighty action he had secretly designed, and
very soon vanishing in smoke. Several were reciting to a crowd of
people, who seemed full of admiration; these were to have been
celebrated poets, and certainly an ample supply of them was prepared for
Miletus.
There were also orators, soldiers, and statesmen. In short, from these
heads came every great intention which is apt to be entertained by young
men who have nothing to do. Every one of them gazed after his hope with
a countenance full of misery. It was impossible to regain a hope once
dismissed by the torch, and those who had undergone this clearing of the
mind were overcome by despair; some put themselves to death, and others
lived disconsolate and incapable of any effort.
During these achievements of Truth many complaints had been made to the
prætor by perverse men, who doubted the utility of what was done; and at
last he resolved to make a strict examination of the city, and satisfy
himself whether its improvement was as great as he had expected. When he
had completed his observations, he sent for me and described to me the
consequences of what I had been doing. The peace of numberless families,
he said, had been quite destroyed by the discoveries of the torch
concerning married women; almost all who had been firm friends were
quite alienated by the information of the funnel; and besides these
disturbances, the city was full of miserable wretches who had lost their
principal hopes, and had no longer energy for any enterprise, or even
for their common business. He had resolved, therefore, to stop the
progress of Truth, lest the city should be quite ruined, and for this he
thought the most effectual device was to throw back the goddess into the
same well which had so long kept her harmless and quiet.
This design was immediately executed; the goddess was seized, and I
being commanded to lead the way to the residence where I had found her,
in spite of her remonstrances she was thrown in, together with her
torch and mirror. The mouth of the well was then covered and carefully
hid, and every person engaged in the transaction was bound by oath not
to disclose the spot.
I have written you an account of these adventures, my friend Rhodius,
that you may consider whether your late discoveries, if let loose, are
likely to confer as much benefit on the world, and as much honour on
yourself, as you have imagined. The obvious conclusion from my narrative
is, that when we have drawn Truth out of her well, the only use we can
safely make of her is to throw her back again.
* * * * *
THE TWO EVIL SPIRITS.
DIALOGUE I.
BELPHEGOR.
Ah! my old friend Recab! where have you been during all these ages? I
have not seen you since the Fall.
RECAB.
I have been working in the mines since the Fall. When our chief resolved
to build Pandemonium, he sent me amongst others to search for silver,
and from that time to this I have been digging in the lowest pit of this
dismal place, for metal has always been wanted. At last I am released,
and now I have much to see and to learn, for I know but little of recent
events, the mines not abounding with intelligence. From some new workmen
I have had an imperfect account of the creation of men; but I wish to
see these new creatures, for I understand that the dissolute amongst
them are sent here.
BELPHEGOR.
You call them new, forgetting how long you have been buried in the
mines. You may find them here in sufficient numbers; and if you wish
rather to see them living, you may, perhaps, obtain leave to accompany
me to their world, where I am going very soon.
RECAB.
I shall be glad of the opportunity. And what are you doing now? I have
observed you walking about, and examining the ground with great
attention.
BELPHEGOR.
My business lately has been to keep the pavement of hell in repair.
RECAB.
Then you can tell me what this pavement is. I have never seen any thing
like it before. There is nothing of the sort in the mines.
BELPHEGOR.
I find you are come very ignorant out of the mines. I thought all the
world had known that hell is paved with good intentions.
RECAB.
Are good intentions so abundant here?
BELPHEGOR.
Oh! yes; they are the intentions of those, who come here after death.
RECAB.
I thought that the profligate only had been sent down to us.
BELPHEGOR.
True, but they are usually the best provided with good intentions.
RECAB.
That seems strange.
BELPHEGOR.
You will understand it better when you have seen living men.
RECAB.
But pray, how do you obtain these good intentions? For since you preside
over the pavement, I suppose it is your duty to collect them.
BELPHEGOR.
Every man, who is sent here after death, brings down with him all the
thoughts and actions of his life in a bag. At the gates of hell the bag
is opened, and if any good deeds are found in it they are let go, and
immediately fly up to heaven, where they are kept for the use of future
men. His bad actions he carries on with him to the place where he
receives his sentence; and his good intentions, that have never been
accomplished, as being neither vice nor virtue, are thrown into a heap,
and afterwards used in mending the pavement.
RECAB.
Are these intentions then very durable? Or what is the particular
excellence of such a pavement? It seems to me a singular choice of
materials.
BELPHEGOR.
The advantage of this pavement is, that it torments the condemned
spectres; they are always wandering about; and when one of them finds
his own good intentions, he remembers his opportunities of virtue, and
is reproached with the folly of not having executed such resolutions.
RECAB.
It is ingeniously contrived: but how does a man discover his own
intentions in this great space?
BELPHEGOR.
Do not you see inscriptions upon them? Each intention bears the name of
the person by whom it was entertained. Look round, and you will observe
here and there a man studying the ground with great attention. The
miserable wretches will stand for hours and days poring over their own
virtuous resolutions, and lamenting the weakness with which they broke
them. For notwithstanding the misery of such reflections, there is an
enchantment in this remorse, which fixes them to the spot.
RECAB.
I see some creatures intent upon the pavement; are they men?
BELPHEGOR.
They are the spectres of men.
RECAB.
I see that the pavement has other inscriptions besides the names of
those to whom the intentions belonged.
BELPHEGOR.
Upon each is written the particular virtue, in favour of which the
intention was formed. As you walk about you will see that the ground is
covered with intentions of temperance, chastity, and every other virtue
in the world. You may also observe that every separate piece of pavement
is marked with lines, which serve to record the time during which the
resolution lasted. Each is divided into seconds, minutes, and hours.
RECAB.
Then if time is represented by these lines, some of the good intentions
appear to have lived but a very short time. Here is one that has lasted
a minute.
BELPHEGOR.
A minute is a moderate continuance for so perishable a thing as a good
intention. You may find great numbers of them cut off at a much earlier
period.
RECAB.
Here I find an intention repeated a greater number of times than I shall
take the trouble of counting. It is an intention of being moderate in
wine and diet. This person seems to have become a temperate man at least
a thousand times.
BELPHEGOR.
I remember the man: he died of an apoplexy from luxury. You see that
each of his intentions has lasted just four hours, so that he has been
temperate from the end of one meal to the beginning of the next. Each of
his meals was concluded with a determination never to commit another
debauch; and his last resolution was the only one that he kept, for he
died before the opportunity of breaking it arrived.
RECAB.
Do men usually design to do a thing so often without doing it?
BELPHEGOR.
Many are very resolute between their infirmities, and perfectly virtuous
all their lives, except at the moment of being frail.
RECAB.
But I should think this habitual austerity must impair the enjoyments of
a voluptuous man. Even the attempt to be virtuous must disturb him,
though not so much as the really being so.
BELPHEGOR.
Why no; a man living in a course of pleasures, which he knows to be
ruinous, is frequently molested by remorse, to quiet which he determines
upon abstinence ever after; and this he does, not that he may be
abstemious in future, but that he may be easy at the present moment.
Thus men form intentions of virtue that they may enjoy their vices in
peace.
RECAB.
That artifice accounts for what you told me, that the dissolute are
usually best provided with good intentions. Here is another design,
which has paved a large district by its frequency. I see it is a
determination against idleness.
BELPHEGOR.
Idleness has caused more pavement to be made than any other fault.
RECAB.
What does this inscription mean, "Never to see my friend's wife again?"
BELPHEGOR.
It is the resolution of a man, who found himself becoming too benevolent
towards the wife of his friend. As soon as he made the discovery he
determined to see her no more, but this noble intention proved a mere
paving-stone. You see that he was three times resolved upon this
self-denial, for here are three similar resolutions. I remember the case
perfectly, for I was then on the earth, and was employed as tempter upon
this very man. Here is the first of his determinations against seeing
this beautiful woman again. You see that he resolved with great vigour,
for the vow has been in force till the fifth day. During that time my
business was to clear his mind from prejudicial thoughts, such as the
danger of discovery, the ruin and unhappiness of the lady, the injury
and indignation of his friend. These reflections were at first very
troublesome, and returned as fast as I drove them out. I therefore
changed my plan, and suffered them to take full possession of him
without resistance, so that he was soon in perfect security, and thought
himself so well fortified that absence was unnecessary. He therefore
released himself from the irksome determination, and saw the lady again.
After a week passed in her society, being seized with a sudden terror
he made this second resolution, which, as you see, continued for two
days. He then began to fear that this violent forbearance would prove
intolerable, and concluded that his best policy would be to see the lady
sometimes, though seldom, and thus reclaim himself from her by degrees.
Still he had vigour left for a third banishment, and this time you may
see that he remained firm for six hours, after which he judiciously
acquiesced in what he could not prevent.
RECAB.
But I do not quite understand all this. You speak of a man endeavouring
to leave his friend's house, and not succeeding. If he wished to go,
what prevented him? Had he not the use of his limbs?
BELPHEGOR.
Yes, but he could not persuade them to carry him away.
RECAB.
That I cannot comprehend; if I wish to fly, my wings never refuse to
flap, and if I would walk I am not obliged to use any oratory with my
feet. You tell me that a man sometimes sits still against his own
consent, and cannot prevail upon his own limbs to convey him where he
would go.
BELPHEGOR.
Yes, there is this singularity in human nature, that a man holds a very
precarious power over himself, and is often inexorable to his own
reasoning. There are a few peremptory men, who keep themselves in
absolute subjection; but the generality maintain an uncertain dominion,
and many have very little authority with themselves; so that most men
are all their lives doing one thing and trying to do another. Some have
recourse to every sort of artifice and enticement in procuring from
themselves what they wish to be done, and it is remarkable that a man is
very easily deceived by a plot of his own devising. There is nothing
that mortifies him more than to be deceived by another man, but he
submits to be cheated by himself without a murmur. He is sharp-sighted
and suspicious against all others, but towards himself is wonderfully
credulous, notwithstanding the experience that he has had of his own
arts. But you will understand this better when you have seen living men.
RECAB.
I hope so, for I now find it very abstruse. Here, I see, is a most
resolute paving stone, for the intention it declares is, "To abandon all
my vices next year."
BELPHEGOR.
There are just thirty of these stones. The man began to resolve at forty
years of age, and entered into an annual agreement with himself till
seventy, when he died.
RECAB.
What are those heaps that I see near the gates?
BELPHEGOR.
They are heaps of virtuous intentions, ready to be used upon any part of
the pavement that wants repair. I have found several places, where the
inscriptions are worn out, and must order those spots to be mended. As
soon as the stones become illegible they are always removed, being then
incapable of causing remorse.
RECAB.
Why are they opening the gates?
BELPHEGOR.
To receive some men, who have lately died, and been sent here from the
earth. You may observe that each of them carries a bag. We will go and
see what addition they have brought to our materials for paving. I
remember these men, having known them in my last visit to the earth. The
first was a miser; his bag is quite full, but I think there are more
vices than good intentions in it. Empty his bag. Why, it has not yielded
one paving stone; the unprofitable wretch has never even intended to do
good. Let us see what his faults are. He has seen his relations
distressed without relief, has cheated his friends, been cruel to his
children, with a great deal more; and all this without so much virtue as
amounts to a paving stone. Shut up his bag again. The next was a
convivial spendthrift; what a shower of virtuous projects is coming out
of his bag! He has as many good intentions as vicious actions, and will
pave a considerable district. He would have been an excellent man if he
could. The third was a selfish tyrannical wretch; his bag will afford us
nothing; yes, there is one piece of pavement, which is more than I
expected from him. What can it be? "An intention of forgiving a
distressed cottager his rent." This, I suppose, was his only approach to
virtue, and he would not break the uniformity of his life by
accomplishing the design. I must leave you now, for I have other
business; but I shall soon be ready for my journey to the world where
these creatures are alive, and I will ask for permission to take you as
my companion. If you become a skilful tempter, you will have frequent
employment amongst men, and will find their world far more agreeable
than this. I therefore advise you to study the art with diligence, and I
will teach you all I know in it. Before I am ready to set out you
cannot employ your time better than in conversing with the spectres
here, from whom you may learn something of the world they came from.
RECAB.
I will follow your advice, and pray do not fail to obtain me permission
to attend you.
* * * * *
THE TWO EVIL SPIRITS.
DIALOGUE II.
BELPHEGOR.
Well, Recab, are you ready to set out?
RECAB.
Have you obtained permission for me?
BELPHEGOR.
Yes; I represented you as an ingenious spirit, and likely by practice to
become an accomplished tempter. You must endeavour to justify my
praises, or I shall be disgraced.
RECAB.
I will certainly apply myself industriously to the employment, for fear
I should be sent back into the mines. I have been conversing with the
dead, as you advised me, but have not obtained from them any clear
insight into the nature of man. I have learned that human life is
miserable, and that no man can leave without bitter regret the world in
which he has been so wretched. I have also discovered that men are the
authors of their own unhappiness; that they are miserable, not by
necessity but choice. The first desire of man is to be happy; the power
of being happy is given to him, and he prefers the being miserable. The
mines may, perhaps, have impaired my faculties, but these things appear
to me to be very difficult studies.
BELPHEGOR.
Men are full of contradictions, certainly, but still they may be
understood. Come, let us set out; I have an order for the gate to be
opened to us.
RECAB.
What have you in that bag?
BELPHEGOR.
A new disease, as a present for mankind. You will see me distribute it.
I seldom go to the earth without some largess. But come, the gate is
opened; we must stand upon the very brink, and then spring out into the
abyss.
RECAB.
How dark it is! How shall we find our way?
BELPHEGOR.
I know the road very well; you have only to keep close behind me. Now
spring;--well done! flap your wings boldly, and shoot straight upwards.
RECAB.
But which is upwards? I can find neither upwards nor downwards in this
black abyss; it is all alike.
BELPHEGOR.
Keep close to me.
RECAB.
But how am I to see you?
BELPHEGOR.
You must follow me by the sound of my wings.
RECAB.
Belphegor! Belphegor!
BELPHEGOR.
What is the matter with you?
RECAB.
I had lost you; pray do not go so fast. I never before flew with so much
labour and difficulty.
BELPHEGOR.
We are still within the attraction of hell, which drags us back. We
shall soon be beyond its influence, and then you will fly without
fatigue. Well, do not you fly with more ease now?
RECAB.
Yes; but I am tired of being in the dark.
BELPHEGOR.
You must learn perseverance if you would be a tempter. But do not you
see a glimmering of light before us?
RECAB.
I believe I do now.
BELPHEGOR.
And now look, there is a star.
RECAB.
What is a star? There are no stars in our mines, and therefore I know
not what they are.
BELPHEGOR.
You will see what they are when we arrive amongst them. We are directing
our course to the star that you see.
RECAB.
I see hundreds of stars now.
BELPHEGOR.
Yes; and that which you saw first is something more than a star.
RECAB.
What a beautiful globe of light it is become.
BELPHEGOR.
Several worlds revolve round it at different distances, and to one of
them we are going.
RECAB.
Take care, Belphegor; do you see what is coming? A great world is
rushing towards us.
BELPHEGOR.
Do not fear; it will do us no harm. That is the planet the most distant
from this sun. It is accompanied by six smaller globes, which glide very
prettily round the large one.
RECAB.
Very prettily, perhaps, but I should like to be out of their way.
BELPHEGOR.
Fly straight on, and trust to my guidance.
RECAB.
Here comes another strange world, with a hoop round it, and seven little
globes.
BELPHEGOR.
That is the second planet from the extremity; and now at a distance you
see a third, with four attendants. But there is our globe; we shall soon
reach it.
RECAB.
There are two together.
BELPHEGOR.
Yes; it is the larger that we are to visit.
RECAB.
It grows to a great size as we come near; but surely we shall be dashed
against it.
BELPHEGOR.
Fly on without fear. There, you find we have reached the ground without
any injury. You may sit down to rest yourself for a few minutes.
RECAB.
What a cool delightful world!
BELPHEGOR.
We must fly on a little farther yet. This is India; and England is the
country we are to visit.
RECAB.
Are your proceedings limited to a particular spot?
BELPHEGOR.
It is best that every tempter should confine himself to one country,
that he may know the particular character of the people, and so tempt
them to advantage. I have chosen to light in India first, having a
little business to transact here.
RECAB.
Are you opening your bag to let out the blessing that you told me of?
BELPHEGOR.