_IMAGINARY HEAVENS._
[Illustration: Initial]
After these things we were taken up another high mountain, whence we had a
view of all the kingdoms in the world of spirits at once. Hither it was
that Jesus was carried by the evil spirit who offered him all this power
and glory, if he would fall down and worship him. There is no mountain in
the natural world from which such an outlook were possible.
“This great height,” said my father, “represents the infernal sphere of
self-aggrandizement, which aspires to universal dominion. It is that
ambition which corrodes the heart with envious passion so long as anything
remains unconquered. This spirit is common to nations and individuals, to
the greatest and the least. This mountain rears its awful summit in every
human breast. This is the spiritual mountain which is to be cast into the
sea by faith.”
Looking down, I now beheld a city of Rome as before I had seen a city of
Jerusalem. Beautiful, shadowy pictures of cities, homes of spirits, vastly
magnified and made glorious with ethereal colors! Man cannot imagine the
splendid creations which spirits can instantaneously produce from the
plastic substance of the spiritual world. These cities and countries,
however, are peculiar to the intermediate state. They do not exist in
heaven.
The Romans risen from the dead had reconstructed their imperial city of
precious stones, so that it always shone from afar as if some grand
illumination were going on, whose splendors were again reflected from the
clouds which floated above it.
We looked into this marvelous city, its capital and palaces, its temples
and amphitheatres. The great avenues were crowded with a vast and gorgeous
procession. Many kings and queens and nobles were walking in chains,
brought as prisoners from so many conquered countries. The treasures of
these plundered captives were borne by thousands of slaves of all colors
and nationalities, in massive and curiously-carved vessels of gold and
silver. Specimens of wild animals from all regions of the Roman world,
drawn in gilded cages, and of the more wonderful plants and flowers
carried upon the shoulders of men, and screened from the sun by flaming
canopies of silk, added to the picturesqueness and grandeur of the scene.
The Roman senators, generals and magnates were seen heading the different
divisions of this vast multitude, riding in blazing chariots drawn by
superb horses richly caparisoned. On both sides of the captives marched
the victorious armies of Rome; so that the very air above them was golden
with the flash of helmets, spears and shields, and the gleam of Roman
eagles.
These were the spirits of that vain-glorious and indomitable race who had
changed the geography of the natural world, and were now celebrating their
victories with transcendent magnificence in the intermediate state. The
sphere of their interior character was wafted to my spiritual perceptions,
and I felt as I did in the Hall of Apollo when Hortensius and his guests
fixed their haughty and contemptuous gaze upon Anthony and myself.
“How unutterably base, cruel and sensual,” exclaimed my father, “is the
spirit of man when he loves himself supremely, and overreaches and
overrides his fellow-creatures. Behold the spiritual side to this
magnificent exterior!”
Thereupon the light from a higher sphere streamed down, and the pomp, the
glory, the beauty of the whole scene disappeared. We beheld a vast crowd
of beggars in filthy rags, and a confused heap of low buildings made of
mud and straw. The proud and fierce Romans were all slaves themselves,
wearing long chains and driven by infernal spirits in the shape of
grinning apes. Where the Capitol had stood, appeared a pool of
blood-colored water, in which a dragon of hideous dimensions lay, spouting
from his mouth a stream of fire. A lurid twilight hung over all,
prognosticating a wild and tempestuous night.
“Such,” said my father, “will be the fate of ambition when the Lord comes
in judgment. Let us now descend to a lower region, and see a people
greater than these, but who have sunk into darker depths; a people now
destitute of spiritual pride or civil ambition; a degenerate, effeminate,
corrupt race, dead to all genuine and ennobling aspirations, and immersed
like beasts in the life of the senses.”
We seemed to go down to the sea-coast—for the blue ocean girdles also the
world of spirits. Soon we came into the sphere of the Grecian souls who
had risen from the dead, and who had reconstructed about them, according
to spiritual laws, their own charming and ethereal country. The scene was
not far from Athens, whose marble-crowned Acropolis gleamed in the
distance, with clouds more beautiful than itself floating above it.
The poetic faculty, full of the inspiration of Grecian art, can alone
appreciate what I next witnessed. The Hall of Apollo in the palace of
Hortensius was a beggarly chamber in comparison with this great hall of
nature in which Pan presided, and in which earth, sky and ocean had each
its part. The guests also of the luxurious Roman were mere schoolboys in
comparison with the august assembly before us, which was gathered to a
feast in the imaginary heaven of the Greeks.
We seemed to be standing on a hill that sloped and fell by beautiful green
terraces down to the silver beach of a placid sea. The summit of that hill
was long, broad and level, and crowned with a grove of extraordinary
beauty. The trees were far apart, and rose like emerald columns to a great
height before they branched. Their foliage was pruned and led by threads
of invisible wire to intertwine overhead, forming a delicate arch for a
roof. The ground was carpeted with an inwrought tissue of living flowers,
which yielded elastically to the tread, sending up continually a delicious
perfume.
In this immense grove were spread a thousand tables seemingly of solid
precious stones, and crowned with great vases of wine and cups of crystal,
and adorned with ethereal fruits and flowers. At these tables were seated
or reclining thousands and thousands of the ancient heroes and heroines of
Greece, served by thousands of beautiful nymphs, Dryads and Naiads, who
had left the woods and the waters to bestow their charms on these happy
souls.
The gods and goddesses were also in attendance; for heaven and earth were
thrown together in such admirable confusion that each partook the
qualities of the other. The sky and the air were literally full of
divinities. On a rose-and-purple cloud condensed into a throne, and
lowered half-way between the ceiling and the floor, sat Venus, crowned
with myrtles and presiding at the feast. The Graces were kneeling at her
feet, while her swans and doves were grouped about her. Near by stood
Cupid twanging his bow, and laughing at the sight of his empty quiver; for
every heart in the crowd had been pierced by one of his golden arrows.
Looking out to the sea, we saw Neptune, of colossal proportions, riding in
his chariot constructed of shells, and drawn by horses with brazen hoofs
and gilded manes. Myriads of sea-nymphs and sea-monsters sported and
gamboled about him, sometimes in the air, sometimes on the shining surface
of the deep.
In mid-sky Apollo in person drove the chariot of the sun, attended by the
Muses and the flying Hours. In the west, Iris the messenger of Juno,
planted her rainbow on a passing cloud, and smiled in colors to the world.
Afar off, in the east, the Seasons had opened the massive Gates of Cloud,
and we had a glimpse of the old Olympian gods in conclave august, feasting
upon ambrosial food.
Thousands of these beautiful figures were nude; and I saw the spiritual
models which had inspired and immortalized Grecian art. Thousands also
were draped, and with such infinite variety and beauty, that it seemed no
work of human ingenuity, but as if Nature herself had invested them with
her forms and colors.
“Oh, my father!” said I excitedly, “surely this is real; this is heaven.
These things will not vanish also, or change into something hideous and
terrible.”
A shade of sadness came over my father’s face; for he saw that the subtile
and powerful sphere of this Grecian nature-worship had awakened the
activities of my own sensuous life.
“Yes, my son; these are phantasms. These are wicked Grecian spirits who
are personating their gods and goddesses, their heroes and heroines. You
see before you what wonders spirits can achieve by magic and fantasy. This
is the sphere which flows into and governs the present population of
Greece. These spirits would, if they could, obsess and control the human
race. The interior state of these souls is terrible.”
“O, do not show it to me yet,” I exclaimed. “Let me contemplate a little
longer this marvelous scene.”
“When all these spirits are judged,” continued my father, “and cast out of
the world of spirits, the Greece and Rome of the natural world will become
feeble and death-stricken. Their oracles will become silent; their arts
will fail; their glory perish; their civilization decay. Their very
languages will die. Their exact modes of thought will no more be possible
to men. Ages of bondage and darkness will ensue, after the light they have
perverted and the liberty they have profaned.”
I scarcely heard these last words; for the vast assembly of gods and men,
which had been in comparative repose, became suddenly animated by a wild
excitement. There issued from the cool and leafy forests on all sides a
crowd of beautiful nymphs headed by Diana, resplendent as a statue of
pearl, clad in an apron of green leaves and flowers, and with a
constellation of fire-flies in her hair.
Her merry troop of nymphs, arrayed like herself, were flying in affected
fear from the jolly god Bacchus, who appeared in pursuit, crowned with
vine leaves and berries and drawn by his Indian tigers striped with ebony
and gold. He was followed by a rabble rout of Fauns and Satyrs and
bacchanalian revelers, male and female. This beautiful chaos threw itself
pell-mell, reeling and whirling and dancing, shouting and singing, into
the midst of the brilliant assembly.
A scene of the wildest carnival followed. The heroes and heroines caught
the contagious frenzy, and soon all were entangled in the embraces of the
maddest dance that ever was witnessed. Neptune and his water-nymphs sprang
high into the air to view the scene; and all the deities in Olympus
crowded down to the Gates of Cloud, which they illumined afar off by the
sun-like radiance of their presence.
I was gazing on this scene with the utmost astonishment, when my eyes fell
suddenly upon Helena, the beautiful daughter of Calisthenes.
“My father,” said I, with profound emotion, “do you not see that superb
figure of a woman more beautiful than all these goddesses, leaning against
yonder tree and clapping her hands with delight at the drunken Bacchus
making love to Venus? That is Helena of Athens! the dream of my life, the
idol of my soul.”
“Not so,” said my father, “it is a phantasm—a spirit resembling your
earthly Helena; perhaps some cunning Syren who has assumed her form to
allure you to herself.”
“Oh no!” said I, “impossible!” feasting my eyes and heart on the lovely
apparition.
“Every one,” continued my monitor, “fresh from the natural world, who
enters this magical and fantastic sphere, sees, or thinks he sees, some
wondrous woman, whom he declares to be the idol and dream of his soul.
Beware, my son, of these seductive emotions. The light of heaven will
dispel for us all these illusions.”
“Oh no!” said I, wildly, “it cannot; it must not. This, this, is heaven,
and all else is illusion.”
My heart beat with passionate fervor, and I sprang forward to meet my
beloved. My father suddenly disappeared from my sight! In the spiritual
world, when two persons enter into totally different states of thought and
feeling, they mutually vanish from each other’s sight. Heaven and hell are
thus separated, and the existence of each is even unknown to the other. I
noticed the fact that my father had vanished; but I cared nothing about
it, for my infatuated soul thought only of Helena.
I advanced toward her. She turned upon me a look of beautiful recognition;
and stretching out her ivory arms, exclaimed with a sun-burst of her old
bewitching smiles:
“My boy-lover of Bethany! welcome! I thought I had killed you with love!”
“Then love me back into life!” I exclaimed.
When an appalling change came suddenly over all things. The light of
heaven streamed down upon me, and those other lights were turned into
shadows, the beauty into ugliness, the joy into horror, life into death.
The deities became phantom skeletons grinning as they fled away into the
darkness. The men assumed the forms of filthy swine or goats, and the
women those of writhing vipers. The charming creature into whose delicate
arms I was about throwing myself, became a scaly serpent of frightful
size. I fell swooning to the ground, with the terrible sensations of one
who is falling headlong from a precipice into the sea.
I returned slowly and painfully to consciousness, like one who has had a
long sleep and harassing dreams, and finds it difficult to pick up the
fallen thread of his yesterday’s life. I found myself pillowed on a soft
green bank in a delicious atmosphere of repose. Without opening my eyes I
reverted to all that had happened, and a feeling of desolation came over
me, and a sense of deep shame and contrition. What a revelation of the
sensual affinities of my own interior nature! What blindness! What
madness! Alas! how low had I fallen! I was afraid to meet my father and
the good John. I was wretched.
My meditations were interrupted by the voice of some one near me, singing
in low sweet tones, pervaded by a certain divine sadness, the beautiful
words of Scripture:
“Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy:
When I fall I shall arise:
When I sit in darkness
The Lord shall be a light unto me.”
Then another voice overhead, clearer, more thoughtful, more musical than
the first, sang sweetly:
“Jehovah upholdeth all that fall,
And raiseth up all who are bowed down.”
Thereupon the first voice near me proceeded in the same low sweet tones
full of sadness:
“But as for me, my feet were almost gone,
My steps had well nigh slipped.”
The higher, nobler voice continued the heavenly consolations of Scripture:
“Nevertheless I am ever with thee!”
The voices, the music, the refrain, the holy words of the Psalmist,
stirred in the tenderest manner the very depths of my soul. I wept. A new
faith, a new hope, a new divine resolution were born within me.
Like a singer who has been overcome with emotion, but dries her tears and
resumes her singing,—the sadness overshadowed by a modest courage,—the
first voice was heard again:
“Thou hast held me by my right hand,
Thou shalt guide me by thy counsel,
And afterward shalt receive me into glory.”
Then there was a burst of divine music as from a hidden choir of angels,
in which the two voices joined; and this was the hymn:
“The Lord is my Shepherd;
I shall not want:
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
He leadeth me beside the still waters;
He restoreth my soul!”
The strains died softly away, lingering long on my charmed ear and leaving
my heart in a sacred calm.