“Very many,” answered he: “the constables have neither honour nor
conscience; they drive their trade whether they know any thing of the
matter or not: in that particular they resemble the poets. You shall
scarcely find in hell, a single poet, who will not tell you that he was
sent there on account of the versified lies he told in praise of some
beauty. The poetic spirit hath its origin in the disposition of the
heart, to receive tender impressions: it is the lover of heroism and
romance; and to sustain this character, must necessarily make use of much
artifice. The old poets serve as secretaries to young lovers; the young
ones are ambitious of blazing as the heroes of their own compositions.
There are so many poets in hell, that it can hardly fail of aggrandizing
their quarter. I wish to speak in such a manner, that you may comprehend
the nature of their occupations and torments there; but of which you
cannot have an adequate idea, unless I shall here adduce some examples:—
“When these authors enter the subterranean abodes, they look around for a
Charon, a dog Cerberus, a Rhadamanthus, a Pluto, and all the infernal
divinities of fable. In place of that, the demons make them realize,
that this is a place much more horrible than that: but this is not their
severest punishment; they are forced to hear the compositions of other
poets, who are their superiors in talent; then they are tormented by
jealousy; they hate the _epigrams_ of Martial, the _stanzas_ of Catullus,
the _odes_ of Horace, the _beauties_ of Virgil, the _satires_ of Juvenal,
the _comedies_ of Terence, and the _tragedies_ of Seneca. It is thus
also the historians suffer, when they listen to the histories of
Herodotus, of Titus, Livy, of Sallust, and of Cæsar.
“What a punishment for these rhymsters, when they recollect their own
works! You cannot imagine the pain they experience, in finding a
felicitous rhyme, a happy epithet, a just pause, or an harmonious
cadence: they are more tormented by an _a_ or an _e_, than Tantalus is by
thirst, or the Italians are with their jealousy, when they have Frenchmen
at their houses. And the comic poets, how are they punished, for having
filched away the reputation of so many princesses and queens of Castile,
of Leon, of Arragon, and other places! This is as fertile a field for
them, as all the wars of the Moors of Granada; but for these larcenies,
they suffer sharper agonies as Christians, than will ever be inflicted
upon the barbarians and Mohammedans, for all their battles and burnings,
or upon the alguazils, even for their violences and exactions.
“Behold, in review of the subject,” said the demon, who spake by the
mouth of the possessed, “there is a much nearer resemblance between poets
and alguazils, than one would, at a first glance, imagine.”
“A fine comparison,” said I, “for such a false spirit as you!”
“How!” answered he, “are not poets and alguazils both thieves? and if you
would but confess it, you well know, that in making these remarks of
poets, I speak to a poet, whom I wish to undeceive. Do you not recollect
the old Spanish proverb, _He who never composed two verses_, _had no
wit_; _and he who produced four_, _was a fool_?”
“I confess,” said I, “that to be a poet, one must have an original turn
of imagination; and the same qualification is necessary to a painter: one
would find it very difficult to assume, without merit, the rank of
Apelles and Michael Angelo: but as they cannot justly call these
celebrated artists so generally admired, fools, so neither do I believe
they can accuse of folly the great poets of Spain, of Italy, of France,
of Turkey, of Persia, and of China: for in all these places they have
made verses.”
“Yes,” said he, “and in all these places there are fools, alguazils,
painters, astrologers, jealous or complaisant husbands, mountebanks,
perfumers, plagiaries, triflers, and slaves of business or pleasure. All
these, under pretext of pleasure or justice, steal, without compunction,
the wealth of others.”
“Oh!” said I to him, “I now recognize in you a true demon; you delight to
lie, and in crying out that all who serve the public rob them, you
enhance their reputation. But tell me what robbery a magistrate commits,
when he obeys, and wishes to compel others to obey, the laws of his
prince? when, in fine, he distributes to every one justice? Without
justice, which punishes and avenges, no one could enjoy security in his
own house. A whole city might be given up to pillage, and become more
horrible than the hell you inhabit; a state of things which must excite a
very just indignation among reasonable people; that is, among those who
understand the principles of order, equity, and natural right. And what
a picture would every family offer! Children opposing themselves to
their fathers, and servants against their masters; brothers would make
laws for brothers, and mothers have no authority over their daughters!”
“Behold,” said the demon, “a superb description of the disorder which
would happen, if the gentlemen of justice did not make it their duty to
become the first robbers!”
“Do you call the pecuniary penalties they impose, robbery?” replied I.
“They are wisely established as a check upon avarice and usury, which are
the ruin of families. The fines they impose are regarded sometimes as
extortions; but they are not so; for if the community provided not for
the necessities of all, do you believe that individuals would furnish of
themselves, what is necessary for the republic? do you believe they would
contribute without a demand? There is not among the officers of
government, so much cupidity and bad faith, as you charge them with. But
answer me: without their assistance, their care, their vigilance, would
there be any security to emperors, kings, popes, and bishops in their
beds, or repose in their dignities?”
“I have not,” said the demon, “so bad a tongue as you believe. I know,
truly, all the affairs of the world, and the state of every condition in
republics. In accusing the most of mankind, I do them no injustice: and
those evils which you say would happen, without the assistance of those
who are appointed to execute the laws, happen in spite of their wisdom.
The worst of it is, they are brought about by those very persons who are
expected to prevent it, and who are paid for that object. Whence has it
arisen that so many emperors have been killed, so many kings dethroned,
so many popes declared anti-popes, so many bishops dismissed, so many
magistrates suppressed, so many families ruined, so many cities pillaged,
so many provinces reduced to famine? It is by the ministers of justice,
by the overseers of administrations, that all these things are done,
either directly or indirectly: directly, with a view to profit by the
disorder; or indirectly, from a culpable inertness. How do so many
officers of the long robe contrive to live? They lengthen out their
robes with the pieces they snatch from the officers of the short robes.
A man who goes to law, may be compared to him who orders a coat: he will
have a good coat, but yet not receive all the stuff he delivered to his
tailor. He will take enough for two pair of sleeves, and two fore parts;
he will take twice as many buttons, twice as much silk, binding, and
lining, as is necessary for one garment; and you shall have but one, when
you ought to have two out of the cloth you purchased. A Spanish grandee,
wishing to have a coat in the French style, purchased as much cloth as
the tailor demanded of him, whom he also left at liberty to take as much
lining, assorted to the colour of the cloth. After they had taken his
measure, he caused them to call the tailor, and told him that he desired
the lining of one coat to be red, and that of the other yellow.
“‘How, my lord,’ said the tailor, ‘do you wish me to make two coats, when
you have given me stuff but for one?’
“‘Yes; I do expect it,’ said the grandee; ‘and if you do not make them
both sufficiently large, I will put you in a safe place.’
“The tailor, who feared the prison, made two garments as long and large
as they ought to be, without purchasing another shred of cloth. When he
brought them home, the lord caused all the stuff to be measured by an
engineer, in his service; he found that it yet wanted half a quarter of
an ell, besides the little pieces he was forced to cut out for the
angles. This was not all; the Spanish grandee, whose name I can tell
you, which was _Don Pedro de Saccaso_, wished that the master tailor
should pay him for two garments, which he cabbaged out of stuff he had
delivered him the preceding spring; and as the tailor cried out at this
injustice, the grandee refused to pay him for the fashion, lining, and
trimming of gold of these two last. Thus you will comprehend,” observed
the demon, “in what particular the people charged with the administration
of justice resemble tailors, and in what manner they are unjust, even in
rendering justice. In their suits they generally make certain pieces of
meadow or vineyard the object of contention; and if the parties complain
of want of money to pay their fees, they take from them that which they
demand at their tribunal.”
“So,” said I to the demon, “there is no justice upon earth!”
“No, no, there is none,” added he; “and it is not to-day, that for the
first time the complaint has been uttered. The fable says, that Astrea
being come with truth among men, was obliged to return to heaven, because
no person would receive her. Truth met with the same fate, after having
wandered through the world, sometimes among the Egyptians, sometimes
among the Greeks, sometimes among the Romans, and sometimes even among
the Chinese; she was constrained, at length, to retire to the house of a
poor mute, who yet, by false and equivocal signs, gave her to understand
that he wished to get rid of her company. She then returned to the place
from whence she came. Justice perceiving they would not tolerate her in
courts, among the abodes of princes, in palaces, or great cities, fled
into the villages, where, however, she did not tarry a long-time; for the
stewards of the lords, that is, those ignorant stewards who seek but to
amass money with which to pay their charges, gave her chase, and forced
her to regain her own country. The beauty of Astrea, or Justice,
resembles that of the stars—shining, noble, and worthy of admiration; but
this is only when beheld at a distance; for were you to approach too near
to a star, although it appears to you so diminutive, it would consume you
in an instant. Justice is fair, but she is proud, austere, rigid,
inexorable, and no respecter of persons: she wishes to be sought and
beloved, but she loves not one friend more than another; and like love,
she travels a little in the rear. Is it possible to find any thing more
exact, more faithful, more laborious, more submissive, more complaisant,
than a violent love? It fails not in the minutest particular; it knows
no concealment; nothing appears difficult to it; it is always ready to
obey, accounting no toil disagreeable; in the desire, to please, it finds
every thing just as it wishes. Justice does the same in another sense,
for she meets with exactness in the slightest circumstance: she is
faithful in the least things; she is laborious, and fears no pain; she is
submissive to the laws which she imposes; she is complaisant for herself,
and even sometimes appears unjust, so impartial and rigorous is she.”
“I suppose then,” said I, “there are many judges in hell, if what you say
is correct, which seems to me very probable.”
“Yes,” replied the demon, “they are there in great numbers, and we have
put them in the same place with thieves and robbers. One circumstance
that will surprise you, is, that their multitude is as considerable as
that of the amorous; although they have among the former, only the men
who were judges: and among the latter, men and women who have loved once
at least in their lives.”
“You wish to give me to understand,” said I to him, “that there are many
lovers in hell; but can that be? If men were damned for this passion, no
person should be exempt from your infernal jurisdiction. But this
passion hath one great advantage; it is conformable to the charity that
men owe to one another, and is always accompanied with repentance, and
certain remorse of conscience, when it departs from those who have been
possessed. One sees young girls even, who repent of their faults. How
many religions houses are founded by penitence! how many old coquettes
give themselves up to devotion! how many men follow their example, after
love has fled with beauty, constitution, and wealth!”
“But,” said the demon, “how many men and women, young and old, die in
their amours, and count you for nothing the despair, the chagrin, the
secret pains under which so many lovers have succumbed? Know you not
that some temperaments are so affected by this passion, that they quit it
but with life? If I should relate to you the histories of both sexes
perverted by the perusal of gallant adventures, and having no other
desire in their souls but to experience the like; if I should cause you
to see the occupations of these people in hell, you would pity some,
while you could not help laughing at the folly of others. You would see
young men burning at the feet of their mistresses; and old ones, who, to
please theirs, are continually shaving themselves, or plucking out their
beard, and who put on bland perukes, to give themselves a youthful
appearance; young girls, who imagine themselves to be Cleopatras,
Artemisias, and Clelias; old coquettes, who paint themselves continually
before their glass, who torment their locks, tightening the
forehead-cloth to efface the wrinkles, and adjusting to the mouth
artificial teeth of ivory or wax: but all their cases are lost, since
there is nothing substantial in the other world. You would be
astonished, if I were to point out to you all the girls who have taken
certain means to hide the effects of their love sports. It would of
necessity be seen, how many surgeons and physicians follow in their
train; and if any one should inquire why these people are in hell, who
have rendered such universal service, I answer, because they ought not to
afford assistance to every one. Can they, for instance,” added he,
“conscientiously administer those remedies to cause hemorrhages, which
end in abortion?”
And as I was about to observe, that the physicians could not be cognizant
of a malady which they would not discover—
“I understand you,” interrupted the demon: “be sure they know well
enough, without that; at any rate, it is their duty to know, or to
suspect.”
“But,” said I to him, “is there not another secret you have omitted, of
similar effect to the assistance of the physicians?”
“Yes,” he answered: “there are the poisoners, sorcerers, and adroit
women, who teach these mysteries; and there are some in hell who yet
continue this infamous practice.”
“You would have it understood,” said I, “that you are a good devil; a
devil of honour and conscience: you would make a good preacher; the flock
would doubtless edify by your sermons.”
“Be persuaded,” said he, “that if I preach not agreeable things, I
announce wholesome truths: believe also, that I have many preachers
dependent upon me. ‘Who are they?’ you inquire. They are those who
preach for their own glory, to establish a reputation, to acquire
celebrity, to gain benefices, and levy contributions upon poor devotees.
They commit wickedness in doing good to others; in teaching and edifying
them. If we lose the hearers through the instrumentality of their
discourses, we gain the pastors, which is more honourable to us.
Finally, I declare to you, that it is by the order of God, that I speak
to you before all these persons: I warn you, in particular, that you are
lost, unless you abandon all the projects of ambition you have formed,
and unless you renounce poetry, which is at the same time so agreeable
and fatal.
“Draw near,” said he, to an old man, a relation of the possessed:
“restore the three farms you illegally detain. You, young man, imitate
Hercules no more with your strength and intrigue; Hercules is dead; you
may find men who will kill you.—You old judge of the village, you have a
very delicate and perilous charge: you were the valet of the lord of the
domain; you have preserved in your new station, the spirit of servitude,
which is not sympathetic with justice. The petition of your ancient
master, you stupid wretch. The three peasants who have bound and
strangled the helpless patient upon his bed, are those who enjoy the
benefit. It is now six years since the farm-house of their master was
consumed with fire: they ought to be punished for these crimes.—As to
those young ladies, they would do well not to admit, for the future, the
two strangers, whom they entertain every evening in their chambers, and
whom they introduce by the garden. Profit, all of you, by what you have
now heard: I shall speak to you no more, for to-morrow the priest comes
to exorcise me, and I shall depart from the body of this subject, it
being the will of God that I should go forth, to attest his power and the
glory of his name.”
The demon having finished this discourse, took pleasure in tormenting the
possessed, and making him utter moving cries. I feared the neighbourhood
would be alarmed, and that some one would recognize me in a place where I
could not be with honour. In returning to my house, I reflected upon the
wisdom of God, who draweth good from evil, and causeth demons to speak as
angels of light. The prophet hath also remarked, that divine Providence
disposeth things in such a manner, that the hands of our enemies can
conduce to our welfare. This is the first possessed I ever saw in the
course of my life, and the first time I ever conversed with a demon. God
grant that I may never behold another, neither in this world, nor in the
world to come!
SECOND NIGHT
DEATH AND HER PALACE.
THERE are those who affirm that none but the wicked are subjected to
unpleasant thoughts. I have been acquainted with many persons, but I
could never find one who was not ready to confess, there were moments of
sadness that invaded the soul, the cause of which they could not explain.
These spring, sometimes from a vicious temperament: the humours mixing
themselves with the blood, carry to the brain those spirits that trace
upon the imagination frightful and whimsical figures, from whence come
those disagreeable dreams and visions that surprise us in the night.
Dreams proceed often from heaven, often from the devil, and frequently
from natural causes; thus we have thoughts of death, after conversation
on the subject, or having read a book that treated of it. To speak
plainly, it seems that Providence sends us such dreams, for the purpose
of forcing our attention to the consideration of those subjects we are
generally reluctant to reflect upon. Such is, without doubt, the origin
of this I have had concerning death.
I read one night before retiring, the verse of Lucretius, one of the most
learned men, and best poets of antiquity. I found an eminently beautiful
passage, where he says, that all nature, with one consent, elevating her
voice, speaks thus to mankind:—“Why, O mortals, do you groan for such a
length of time, and why are you so sharply afflicted? Why do you submit
to the slavery of flying from death, and the fear thereof? Why do you
continually reflect upon the pleasures of youth? The enjoyments of this
season have passed with the days you regret, as grain escapes from a
sack, from whence it finds an issue. You are fatigued with the world;
why do you not quit it, as one who returns satisfied from a feast, where
the viands were exquisite, and the pleasure of the highest flavour? You
are convicted of a strange folly: it is in your power to enjoy
tranquillity; why not, then, seize upon possession? Why fear death, that
will render you invulnerable?”
Such are the sentiments of the poet, and they appear like those of a
saint; but this is nature, or rather, natural reason, teaching us that
death is not so frightful as we are apt to imagine; and I am not
therefore surprised, that heathen philosophers have exhibited so constant
an example of exalted morality.
Likewise I remember what Job has said upon the brevity of human life, and
the swift arrival of death. “The life of man,” says this illustrious
patriarch, “is of short duration: it is a flower, that before it is
scarcely blown, is despoiled of its leaves: it is a shadow, which flies
with the rapidity of the wind, without remaining stationary a single
moment;” and yet, in spite of its brevity, life is subject to so much
calamity, that it is doubtful whether it should not rather be called
misery, than life.
Indulging in these grave meditations, I threw myself upon my bed, and
slept. My spirit was free from external impressions. I thought there
came into the places where my fancy had transported me, a great multitude
of physicians, mounted upon mules, the housings of which, were clothes of
the dead. In the suit of these physicians, who had an air of sourness
and chagrin, followed a crowd of apothecaries, surgeons, and young
barbers, who carried the drugs or instruments pertaining to their
professions. When the physicians had descended from their mules, they
began to dance a ballet, to the sound of the mortars and sieves the
apothecaries and their adjuncts played upon. This ballet was
interspersed with songs, in which the physicians took the upper part; the
words of one of them were as follows:—
“Catholicum, rhubarbarae, opiata, theriaca,
Opoponach, O opium, O laudanum anodinum,
Polychrestum diureticum, senne anisatum.”