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.
Yes; you see this little blue ball: it is a new disease of my own invention, which will become very famous, and acquire the name of Cholera Morbus. This little ball will surprise men in the midst of their sins, and send them down to us in thousands. I have chosen this country to let my disease loose in, because the climate here is most favourable to its first prosperity. I have placed it on the ground, and you see that, having felt the open air, it is beginning to turn into a blue vapour. The whole ball has now disappeared, and the vapour crawls slowly along before the wind. Let us follow our assassin, and see its first success: it is going straight towards that village. There is a strong healthy man;—see! he is the first victim; the vapour has coiled itself round him like a serpent.
RECAB.
He has fallen down.
BELPHEGOR.
And you may perceive what pain he suffers.
RECAB.
Two more have fallen.
BELPHEGOR.
And the blue cloud continues to spread. My medicine was well mixed; that vapour needs no farther orders; we may therefore continue our flight. This disease will give rise to innumerable conjectures among men, and many ingenious opinions will be formed concerning its origin. I think human science cannot discover that it was let out of my bag.
RECAB.
Have you bestowed many such presents upon the world?
BELPHEGOR.
Yes; long ago, I brought here a vigorous disease, which obtained the name of "the plague." After having put millions to death, it is still as lively as at first. But diseases are not the only blessings distributed from this bag; sometimes it lets loose a delusion. Not long after the creation of this world I mixed a delusion with uncommon skill, and brought it from below in my bag. It is called "religious zeal," and has been more fatal than the plague. As soon as I perceived its success, I combined its most important ingredients with a few more drugs, and so formed another excellent delusion, called "party spirit." There is hardly a country on the earth which has not been visited with both. But come, if your wings have had rest enough we will mount again.
RECAB.
I am ready.
BELPHEGOR.
We will rise only to a moderate height, that you may see the earth and its inhabitants. You will be pleased with the sight, now that you are no longer afraid of the world's rolling against you.
RECAB.
How beautiful it is! I perceive that men have the same figure here as when they come down to us, only they now look more healthy and cheerful. But pray what quarter of the globe are we now flying over? for I have learned from the dead that the earth is divided into four parts.
BELPHEGOR.
This is Asia below us.
RECAB.
Then there are two great cities here, which I have a curiosity to see, Nineveh and Babylon; for I heard Sardanapalus and Nebuchadnezzar conversing about them, and each contending for the superior splendour of his own city.
BELPHEGOR.
You are not much conversant with Eastern history. You are come up some thousands of years too late to see the places you mention; not a trace of them remains. But do you see that man sitting in the desert and drawing, with his servants asleep, and his camels resting by him. That is an English traveller; and he is now taking a sketch of Babylon.
RECAB.
But how can he draw a town that is not there? He must be a great artist. I can see nothing but desert where he is looking.
BELPHEGOR.
He sits at least 200 miles from the place where that city really stood; but having found a few stones, he is drawing them as Babylon, and is determined that no man shall dissuade him from having really seen that famous city. When he returns home, he will make a great book containing this picture, and many others equally authentic; and his countrymen will delight themselves with looking at the true Babylon. He might as well confirm the validity of his work by a portrait of Belshazzar. However, those stones will represent Babylon as well as if they were true fragments of the great wall. Look there! far away where I point; there is a famous city.
RECAB.
But can I see it? or is it in the same condition as Babylon?
BELPHEGOR.
It is really to be seen; that is Constantinople.
RECAB.
What! the city of the murderer, Constantine, whom we have below?
BELPHEGOR.
Yes; the emperor attended by so many bishops, who are always wondering why they are not in heaven.
RECAB.
Is this the sea that quivers in the sun below us? I have heard that this world is divided into sea and land.
BELPHEGOR.
Yes; to the left you may see a river flowing into it with several mouths: there is Egypt, the country of the Pharaohs and Ptolemies, with some of whom, perhaps, you may be acquainted. On the sea you may perceive several ships full of men. Most of those now under us are from England. The people of that country are perpetually wandering round the globe. You may see two Englishmen in the middle of Africa—those two white men surrounded by blacks. They are English travellers, who, having every comfort at home, choose to roam through the deserts of Africa, in the greatest misery.
RECAB.
I have heard much below of the wretchedness of human life; but, as if there were a want of suffering, men seem to follow pain with the greatest industry, and then think themselves cruelly treated because they are allowed to find it; they choose to wander through the deserts and then complain that they are not comfortable and at home.
BELPHEGOR.
A great part of mankind take the same pains to be miserable that these travellers do.
RECAB.
But are they also looking for Babylon in the sand?
BELPHEGOR.
No; though a desert of Africa would be as good a Babylon as a desert of Asia. These travellers have a different purpose. There is an African river of which the English know the source, but they have not discovered where it runs into the sea; and I should tell you, that the whole people of England are in great trouble when they know the beginning of a river, and not the end. These two resolute men, therefore, are exposing themselves to the greatest dangers and hardships, that both ends of the stream may be known; and if they can pursue it to the place where it runs into the sea, and actually detect it in the fact, they will return to tell their countrymen, who will be overjoyed by the intelligence. But now we must turn our course to the right, for I have deviated from the true direction to give you a survey of the earth. Europe is now beneath us.
RECAB.
I see a great crowd of men running about, and a thick smoke rising from them.
BELPHEGOR.
That is a battle, in which crowds of men meet together to kill others and be killed themselves. Probably many thousands will go down to us from this encounter.
RECAB.
And how can they be compelled to destroy each other so plentifully?
BELPHEGOR.
There is no compulsion: all these men might have remained at home, and preserved their lives.
RECAB.
Why have we taken this long flight to destroy the happiness of mankind? they seem so determined to be miserable, that I think our arts are not wanted.
BELPHEGOR.
When you know men better, you will find occasions to exercise your ingenuity upon them. There are many, indeed, who eagerly ruin themselves without our assistance; others wait for a hint from us; but there are some so obdurate, that all our skill is required to circumvent them. But we have reached England, and the great city now beneath us is London. We will soar round a little that you may have a view of it. The streets are full of our victims.
RECAB.
For what purpose do those crowds of people continually hasten backwards and forwards?
BELPHEGOR.
Each of them has a separate design in view; many are transacting their own business and ours at the same time. Money is the chief pursuit of all those in the part of the town now under us.
RECAB.
I have heard of money in my conversations with the dead; pray show it to me, for I know not what it is.
BELPHEGOR.
In many places you may see one man giving to another a small shining thing; that is money.
RECAB.
Can that be the famous thing that I have heard of? I have been told that money is one of the most powerful beings in the universe, and as artful as Satan himself; that its eloquence is irresistible; that it is always in confederacy with us, and the most powerful ally we have; that it commits innumerable crimes, and subverts both the integrity of men and the modesty of women.
BELPHEGOR.
You have heard no more praises than it deserves. That shining metal can do all that you say, and a great deal more; you will soon be acquainted with its artifices. But we will now fly to another part of the town, and descend to find some person upon whom you may practise your first lesson in temptation.
RECAB.
Surely those who see us will know that we are evil spirits, and will guard themselves against our designs. How shall we persuade them that we are not what we appear?
BELPHEGOR.
What! do you suppose that we are to show ourselves, black and sooty as we are, to the mortal whom we would tempt, and assure him, that although appearances are against us, we are not real devils, but men like himself; and that, although we may seemingly have horns and wings, we are, in truth, shaped like other mortals? This, I think, would not be very plausible; but you do not know that no human being can either see us or hear us speak.
RECAB.
How, then, can we have any communication with men?
BELPHEGOR.
That I will soon show you. Let us alight in this street; and now, in this house, there is a lady who will serve to teach you the rudiments of temptation.
RECAB.
How do you know her present circumstances? They may be changed since your last visit to the earth.
BELPHEGOR.
It is not from my last visit that I know her. By experience we acquire the means of discerning the present circumstances and undertakings of any mortal whom we approach. I will teach you the art when you are qualified for it. By constant exercise and hardship since the fall, we have discovered in ourselves many faculties that we were ignorant of before.
RECAB.
I do not find that by my labours in the mines I have discovered any new faculties in myself.
BELPHEGOR.
I suppose not. This is the house, and we may pass through the wall into it; for the walls here are not so intractable as that which surrounds our dominions below. See! there sits the lady, quite idle, and with a pensive countenance. Many mortals when they are alone are always in bad society; solitude has probably prepared this lady to receive us. But a spirit has no influence over the outside of a human being; all our artifices are practised within; therefore walk into this woman, and try what you can do.
RECAB.
How is it possible that a human being should contain a devil? We are considerably larger than men, even without our horns and wings.
BELPHEGOR.
I have not yet told you, that the spirits sent to tempt mankind are endued with the power of varying their size; you have received this faculty without knowing it. Do as you see me do.
RECAB.
I see you beginning to contract yourself, and shrink all over. You are a mere dwarf already, and still continuing to decrease; you have now dwindled to the size of an insect, yet I can distinguish the same shape and face as before. I must tell you that your diminutive person looks very ridiculous.
BELPHEGOR.
Now follow my example, and contract yourself as I have done.
RECAB.
It is useless to bid me be little, unless you teach me how to effect this abridgement.
BELPHEGOR.
It is done by a particular effort of contraction. Only endeavour to be small, and you will find yourself becoming less.
RECAB.
I will try, then.
BELPHEGOR.
Where are you going? You have shot up to the height of a hundred feet through the roof of the house. You gave yourself a twist just contrary to what was required. I do not think, indeed, that this woman will contain you, now that you are let out to that size. But how long do you mean to stand projecting through the roof?
RECAB.
I wish you would bring me down again, for I do not like my situation at all.
BELPHEGOR.
Make another effort. Well done; you have descended to your ordinary stature at once. Try again: that is right—you are a foot shorter. You have acquired the true art of contraction. Now you are dwindling very prosperously, and at last are as diminutive and ridiculous as myself. After a little practice, you will draw yourself in and shoot yourself out at pleasure. But we have not yet completed our reduction; contract yourself till I desire you to stop. There; you are now small enough.
RECAB.
I am glad of it, for I was in some fear lest I should vanish altogether.
BELPHEGOR.
I have now reduced myself to an equality with you, and we will walk into the lady together.
RECAB.
How strangely her appearance is altered! She is as large as I was when I started up through the roof, and is covered with great holes.
BELPHEGOR.
The alteration is only in your sight; by the diminution of your organs objects appear to you greatly magnified. The holes that you talk of are only the pores in the lady's skin, and the change of our bulk has qualified us to creep through them; so that you are no longer startled by being desired to walk into the lady. Though she appeared quite solid before we changed our size, we shall find her porous all through. We must fly up, enter at the forehead, and penetrate to the brain: follow me. Creep in at that pore, and now fold your wings, and walk close behind me: the road is very intricate.
RECAB.
Intricate, indeed! without you I should certainly have lost myself, and wandered about this woman's head for ever. You seem to know every turn.
BELPHEGOR.
When you have travelled through as many human brains as I have, you will walk with equal certainty.
RECAB.
Stop, Belphegor!
BELPHEGOR.
What is the matter?
RECAB.
Something holds me by the horns, and I cannot move.
BELPHEGOR.
You have entangled your horns in a nerve; do not struggle, and I will release you. There, now, take care to conduct your horns better.
RECAB.
What noise is it that I hear?
BELPHEGOR.
The beating of the heart, by which human life is supported. Day after day, and year after year that organ acts with the same fidelity. We have now reached the place where our temptations are performed. You see this mirror; it reflects every thought that passes through the woman's mind, whatever she imagines or considers is instantly represented in it. In the brain of every human being there is a similar mirror. This picture of the mind can never be discovered by men of science, though they are very ingenious in their researches, since it is far too small to be found by their best glasses. It is composed of an infinite multitude of nerves, interwoven together so as to make a polished surface. If you look behind this mirror, you will see branches of nerves proceeding from the back, the great number of delicate filaments over the mirror being united behind in a few branches.
Now, I must acquaint you with the history of this lady. She had contracted a violent passion for a young man, who had an equal love for her, but on account of his poverty they could not be married. In despair, therefore, she has been induced to accept of another man, and they are soon to be united.
She is now, therefore, endeavouring not to love her former favourite, and instead of him to dote on the person who is to be her husband. This morning she has positively forbidden herself to think once of the dangerous man during the day. We shall see how she will succeed in keeping him out of the mirror. Now, let us watch it.
RECAB.
I see the figure of a man in it now; has her resolution failed already?
BELPHEGOR.
No; that is the future husband: she is considering his figure, manner, and conversation; endeavouring to reconcile herself to him, and interpreting him as favourably as she can. She does not succeed very well in her praises; that is a most ill-shaped figure, and in reality he is not ugly. She is very unjust in laying such a nose to his charge. Then she equally misrepresents his manner: see how awkwardly that shadow conducts his limbs. These are all mere aspersions.
RECAB.
These thoughts proceed without any suggestion from us: if the duty of a tempter is only to look into this mirror, I can perform it as skilfully as you.
BELPHEGOR.
Something more is required, which I will now explain to you. This feather which I pull from my wing is the instrument of temptation. The surface of the mirror is endued with a most acute sensibility, so that a dexterous touch of this feather will cause such an emotion over it, that all the delightful and forbidden recollections of the mind are not to be resisted. There are some feathers in the wing of a devil which have a remarkable softness and allurement, exactly suited to the perceptions of the mirror: I can teach you to select the tempting quills. By this feather I can revive guilty thoughts, which had for years been suppressed, and when persons have established an absolute command over themselves, I subvert their authority at a single touch. Now see how I will alter the scene in this mirror; observe how the surface trembles as I draw the feather gently across it.
RECAB.
The figure of the intended husband has vanished at the first touch.
BELPHEGOR.
I try a second touch;—what a sigh there was! Now what do you see?
RECAB.
The mirror is occupied by another man much handsomer than the first.
BELPHEGOR.
That is the real lover, who has been so positively interdicted; but he owes a great part of his beauty to the lady, and is far handsomer in this mirror than elsewhere. Let us see what he will do, and what treatment he will receive. He stands with his eyes fixed in despair, and makes no progress; I must assist him. For you are to understand by his melancholy looks, that the lady is thinking of his sorrow at her marriage, and supposing it impossible that his wishes should be gratified. There is a very delicate touch of the feather, and in consequence you see that a shady walk has sprung up in the mirror. A shady walk has been instrumental in many an intrigue. If you watch you will see that these trees have a secret to keep.
RECAB.
The figure of the lady herself has appeared in the walk.
BELPHEGOR.
And her admirer advances from the farther end to meet her. They are walking together very peaceably. Let us see how long this indiscretion will continue. Not long, with a violent effort the whole scene has vanished.
RECAB.
What is to come next?
BELPHEGOR.
The lady herself appears with a child in her arms; she is now endeavouring to banish all unlawful thoughts by thinking of the children that she is to have. I will take that child from her by one touch of my feather.
RECAB.
No; the child remains in defiance of your feather.
BELPHEGOR.
I know what has weakened my feather; I will soon reinforce it. You may remark that one of the nerves proceeding from the back of the mirror trembles violently; we call that the nerve of conscience; and whilst its vibration continues no vicious picture can appear in the mirror, for the filaments from that nerve are spread over all the surface and agitate the whole together. Sometimes that nerve is troublesome, but I think in this case I can easily pacify it. I have only to pull another feather from my wing, and press it lightly against the trembling nerve, which you see instantly quiets it, and now that the conscience no longer interferes, I again touch the child with my tempting feather; immediately it fades away, and in its place comes a letter, which the lady is reading with great eagerness. I think we have made some advances towards the completing of this affair.
RECAB.
Perhaps so: but our plot has proceeded so abruptly, that I know not what we are doing. I do not understand why this letter is so preferable to the child.
BELPHEGOR.
Then I must interpret. This lady now imagines herself the wife of the man whom she has been condemned to marry, and consenting to receive letters from her first favourite. That is the dream which my feather has suggested. Having therefore given her these excellent thoughts to be married with, we will leave her. Now that the sensibility of her mirror is provoked, she will never be able to keep these pictures out of it. After she has been married we will return into her, and try to accomplish in reality what we have succeeded in making her imagine. The best plan of conducting such a scheme is that two spirits should act in concert, and one of them instigate the man, while the other prompts the female. You therefore shall be my colleague: before this lady is ready for us you will have acquired some dexterity. We will now find our way out again: follow me, and guide your horns carefully through the nerves.
Being now in the open air we must resume our natural size, for we should fly very slowly with these diminutive wings. Let me see you enlarge yourself: well done; you have succeeded at the first trial. We will now go in search of some person upon whom you may try your feather. For your first attempt I must find you one, who will be tractable, and easily dissuaded from virtue. In this house is a man who will afford just the easy practice that you want. He is a rich old miser, whose want of generosity has brought his son into great distress, and in a moment of compassion he has been induced to promise him relief. The persuading him to retract this frailty will be an exploit just suited to a beginner. Come into the house. There sits the old man: we must make ourselves little again; that will do; you are become very expert in changing your bulk. Keep close behind me, as we go through his head. Now what do you see in the mirror?
RECAB.
I see a woman weeping bitterly, and three children with her.
BELPHEGOR.
That is the son's wife, who has made the old man intend to be bountiful. Draw this feather from your wing: one gentle touch of it will recall the mirror to its natural passion, a love of money. Admirably done! A heap of money has instantly taken the place of the daughter-in-law and her children. You have revoked the intended munificence.
RECAB.
I have converted the old man's charity into a paving stone.
BELPHEGOR.
Yes; and I think there is no danger of his relapsing into kindness; we will therefore leave him, and find one who will require a little more art. Now recover your true size.
RECAB.
This temptation seems to be performed without any great skill.
BELPHEGOR.
You must not expect to find every mortal as easy to reason with as this old man. Many mirrors must be solicited by a delicate and artful touch, which cannot be acquired without study. The effect of the feather is to bring into the mind whatever thoughts are the most alluring, and therefore the touch must be regulated by the disposition. Some mirrors are best provoked by a quick abrupt touch, others by a slow protracted one; some must be urged by a hard blow, and others persuaded by a hint that is only just felt. This knowledge is acquired by a study of human nature.
RECAB.
It appears that we can do no more than recall the corrupt thoughts which have been in the mind before; it is not in our power to suggest any thing new.
BELPHEGOR.
Yes it is; but I thought it best to explain our art by degrees. The feather merely drawn over the surface of the mirror does nothing more than revive the vicious thoughts which have been there before. This is the most simple and the easiest way of tempting. To inspire a new wish you must draw upon the mirror with the point of your quill a picture of the object that you would cause to be desired. Thus if you wish to involve a man in an unlawful passion for a particular woman, you delineate her upon his mirror, the nerves of which continue to vibrate through all the lines that have been traced by your quill, thus making him meditate on the woman's figure; and no man can avoid a vehement desire for any object which is thus depicted on his mirror by the quill of a devil. Before you can practise this way of tempting you must learn to draw, and make yourself capable of executing a perfect resemblance. But follow me, and I will soon find some person upon whom I can show you a specimen of this art.
[ THE
JUDGMENT OF MAHOMET.]
To the bottom of my grave I heard the disturbing trumpet, and then the voice of the Prophet commanding that the bodies of the dead should rise, the souls be restored to them, and that all mankind should appear in the Valley of Judgment. I started out of death, and stood on the surface of the earth. Very great was the misery of being disquieted, and I should have been willing to forfeit my hopes of paradise for permission to lie still. I found myself standing in the burying ground where I had been laid at my death, and saw the graves opening all round me, and flinging out their dead, old and young.
Every one at rising found by the side of his grave two sacks belonging to him, in one of which were contained the good actions of his life, and in the other the faults. These two sacks were to be carried by the owner to the Valley of Judgment: they were closely sealed up, and he had not the power of opening them till he should come to his trial, when the virtues were to be weighed against the crimes in the scales of the Prophet, and as either prevailed over the other he was to be consigned to happiness or misery. At the first sight of my own two sacks I was struck with consternation to behold a very large one inscribed "Vices," and evidently quite full, while that entitled "Virtues" was dangerously small. In my own eyes I had always been a good man, and now on hastily endeavouring to remember my faults I could scarcely believe that I had committed so large a bag of them. On the other hand, when I surveyed my little sack of merits, it was equally inconceivable to me that all the good I had done could be packed up in so small a compass, and I called to mind several laudable actions, each of which appeared to me of itself large enough to fill it. So bulky were my faults that it seemed impossible for me to reach the Valley of Judgment under such a burden, and I doubted whether I had strength enough to lift them from the ground. However, I grasped the sack, and made a great effort, which I found was not required; for notwithstanding the size of my load it proved to be extremely light, and I threw it over my shoulder with perfect ease. I rejoiced to discover that my errors were great in appearance only, and snatching up my virtues in my left hand I set out on my journey.
Having gone some distance I saw a crowd of people who had stopped to rest themselves, and placed their sacks on the ground; and although I was not weary, I joined them for the sake of their society. I first addressed myself to a man who stood by a very large bag of crimes, from which he had just relieved his shoulder, and I could not forbear expressing to him my surprise that he should have been able to carry it. He assured me that large as his burden was, it contained only such frailties as sat very lightly upon him. I took hold of his bag to try its real guilt, but with my utmost efforts was unable to stir it from the ground. He laughed at my feebleness, and taking it in one hand whirled it round his head without the least difficulty, astonishing me by such an exhibition of strength. He then requested permission to try the weight of my faults, which I told him he would hardly feel, but to my surprise he was as unable to raise them as I had been to lift his. I could not imagine why we should differ so much concerning the weight of each other's sack, till I observed the same mutual experiment made by several among the crowd with the same result; every person finding the sack of vices owned by another intolerably heavy, while his own, however large, had an alacrity in being carried that prevented his being the least incommoded by it. All round me I saw men toiling in vain to lift their neighbours' burdens, which, when raised by the owner, sprang upon his shoulders without an effort; and it was remarkable that however small a bag of sins might be, any person who made trial of it, except the proprietor, was sure to find it grievously heavy, and to rejoice that he was free from such a burden.
No one in all the company being exempt from this propensity to connive at the weight of his own sack and magnify that of his neighbours, it seemed impossible to form a true judgment of any before we should see them in the scales of the Prophet, which were not likely to be biassed in the same manner. In the mean time, when I saw the most bulky loads passing themselves on the owners for mere trifles, I began to fear that my own might have equally misrepresented itself to me, since every other person in palliating his bag seemed as confident of its real innocence as myself. I took it up again and again, threw it upon my back, and whirled it round, unable quite to satisfy myself whether it were intrinsically a light bag or not; but it was lifted with such ease, and lay on my shoulder so plausibly, that I at length came to the conclusion that every other man present had certainly suffered his bag to deceive him, and that I alone had rightly interpreted mine.
An old woman, loaded with a very large sack of faults, complained to me that her merits had been forgotten. She told me that she had found by the side of her grave this great bag, in which every failing of her life must have been accumulated, but her sack of good actions had not been sent to her. I asked her whether she was quite sure that she had performed any such actions, to which she answered with some indignation that they were innumerable, and that her prayers alone would have made a considerable burden. I afterwards heard her repeating to all who approached the injustice that had been done her by the suppression of her bag.
Though all those who were at first assembled in this place bore their own sacks without trouble, yet this was not universally the case; and we were afterwards joined by many who seemed miserably fatigued, and eagerly threw down their loads for the sake of a short respite. They seemed to be variously affected towards what they carried, according to the cowardice or valour of their consciences, more than the real weight of the burden. Some shrunk with horror, and appeared to be under dreadful persecution from bags of no great bulk.
After I had left this crowd, and was pursuing my journey, I saw a man who had placed his bag of sins on the ground, and stood gazing at it, and holding a knife in his hand. I asked him with what design he stood looking at his vices so steadily, and what assistance the knife was likely to afford him in carrying them. He told me that he was loaded with the most serious charges against himself, and should certainly be condemned on the testimony of his bag, unless he could find some expedient for suppressing a part of its evidence. The seal, he said, could not be broken without detection, and he had therefore intended to open a few stitches, that he might release some of his worst sins, and afterwards heal the wound as dexterously as he could; but, on examination, he had found the sack to be made without a seam, for fear, as he supposed, lest any little fault should have trickled through some flaw in the stitches; and he could not forbear murmuring against the severity with which his vices had been enclosed in so inexorable a bag. In this difficulty, the only plan that remained for setting his errors free was to cut a hole with the knife which he held in his hand. I advised him to abstain from all such violence, asking with what confidence he could present a bag with a hole in it at the judgment, and whether he thought it probable that the Prophet would connive at the aperture. To this he answered, that he should repair his bag, and not be so incautious as to present it with a declared hole. He intended to break in at the bottom, and when he came to judgment, should place it close to the Prophet, quite upright, and standing on its conscious end; the Prophet, it might be expected, would break the seal and take out the sins, without being so censorious as to turn it up, and call the lower end in question. I endeavoured to dissuade the unfortunate man from this desperate attempt; but he persisted, that having the choice of two dangers, he resorted to this deception as the least of them; for he should certainly be condemned on the information of his bag, unless he could find some means of imposing silence upon it.
He therefore turned up the bottom of his sack, being resolved upon violence, and, after a little hesitation, made a great effort to plunge his knife in; but to his astonishment the knife, though a sharp one, failed to inflict any wound. He repeated the stroke, and still the bag remained unhurt, being quite impenetrable, and not capable of letting go a single vice that had been entrusted to it. He attempted an inroad in several different parts, but being every where repulsed, threw away the knife, and resuming his inviolable bag proceeded under it in a miserable state of mind.
I found that my approach to the Valley of Judgment had an extraordinary effect upon my bag of vices, making it become gradually heavier; and when I came within sight of the place, my burden seemed to grow more oppressive at every step. In this misfortune I was not singular; a man, whom I overtook, complained of the same aggravation in his sack, which at setting out he had carried with ease, and could now hardly support, though he protested he had done nothing on the road that could entitle it to weigh more. The same thing occurred to others; and I remarked that those sacks, which at first were most cheerfully carried, on a nearer approach to the valley began to harass their bearers the most grievously.
At length I arrived at the fearful spot. The place of Judgment was in a large valley surrounded by hills, the sides of which were covered with mankind, divine power having contrived that the human race should on this occasion be enclosed within a space which would otherwise have contained but a very small part of it. This pale multitude was a dreadful sight. Every one in the crowd was endued with the power of seeing and hearing all that passed at the place of Judgment, as distinctly as if he had stood close to it, so that the crimes and virtues of each who came to trial were made known to the whole world.
In the middle of the valley stood the Prophet, with some attendants, and before him was a pair of scales, in which he was weighing the crimes and merits of men, and pronouncing sentence according to the weight. It was the law of this judgment, that any man who had wronged another should, in retribution, resign to him so much of his own merit as was equivalent to the wrong, the quantity being adjusted by weight; and if he who had committed the injury happened to have no merit, or not enough for atonement, he had to receive from the injured person a portion of his sins, and be judged for them as if he had committed them himself. When a sinner was condemned, the earth opened under his feet, and showed a dreadful passage, into which he fell; the earth closed again, and he was seen no more. Whenever this place opened a sound of distant torment came from it, which was seen to strike terror into the whole multitude. The person consigned to paradise ascended a glorious road, which rose up a hill that concealed its top in clouds. The faces of the whole crowd were turned up to every one who climbed this road, which in the middle of a hill turned round a rock and disappeared. From behind the rock a wonderful light fell upon the road, which, as the new saint entered it, brightened his countenance, and made him another being. As each approached the spot, all mankind gazed from below to see the light receiving him, and then turned back their eyes with horror to the place of Judgment. I observed that as any one who was thus rising arrived at the rock, and looked onward, his eyes were filled with wonder and happiness at what he saw.
The Prophet had a list of mankind, from which he called them before him in turn; and every one, as he heard his name pronounced, issued from the crowd and appeared at the scales. The weighing was conducted by Mahomet and the person tried; the prophet placing the vices in one scale, and the criminal consigning his own virtues to the other. To entitle a person to paradise, it was required that the virtues should exceed the vices in weight by a certain number of pounds.
I saw a man who had passed his life in vice and pleasure approach the scales, and with a trembling hand break the seal of a large bag of sins, at looking into which he shuddered with horror, and seemed hardly able to put in his hand. Being, however, compelled to an exposure, he drew forth his debaucheries, one after another, to a melancholy number, and placed them in rows before the Prophet. This bag having made its confession, he turned to that containing his merits, which was in appearance tolerably stored; and as he produced them he seemed to be encouraged by the sight, and to hope that they might prevail over his pleasures. These merits, being also laid out in order, made at first sight a very advantageous show; but I soon observed that they consisted entirely of resolutions to be virtuous, without one positive act of virtue amongst them. On comparing the two heaps, I saw that the resolutions of the one were formed against the very vices of the other, drunkenness being opposed by a determination of sobriety, and every other vice encountered by an intention of its adverse excellence. These resolutions had a very specious appearance, and to the eye seemed of more than sufficient weight to prevail against the errors with which they were to contend; besides which, they were far more numerous, there being set against every act of intemperance at least twenty or thirty designs in favour of moderation.
The Prophet, taking up an act of drunkenness, placed it in the accusing scale, which was immediately weighed down by it. The culprit seemed not to be dismayed, but selecting from his heap a very firm intention of sobriety, with some confidence placed it in the scale which had to defend him; but against this excuse the opposite scale remained immovable. He added another similar determination, which proved equally fruitless; and continuing to repeat the same kind of vindication, had at length piled up all his laudable designs without making the slightest impression on the peremptory scale, which was kept down by a single error.
"Didst thou imagine," said Mahomet with a frown, "that these resolutions would have a power in my scales, which they had not in thy own heart?" The earth opened, and another was called into the place of the criminal.
The person who now came to be tried appeared in a hopeless condition, being provided with a large sack of vices, and no bag of merits. I remembered to have travelled in his company a part of my journey to the Valley of Judgment, when he had informed me that notwithstanding his want of a virtuous bag he had considerable hopes of entering paradise. I asked him on what grounds his claim could be founded; and he answered, that though he must confess he had passed his whole life in vice, still his errors had not proceeded from a dissolute mind, but from the strength of temptation: his heart, he said, had never been corrupted, he had hated vice in the midst of his debaucheries; and from his earliest youth to the day of his death had admired and loved virtue though he had never been quite able to practise it: but being inspired with this passion for what is laudable, he had always considered himself a good man, and could not believe that he should now be condemned for sins which he had committed contrary to his own wish. I thought it useless to flatter his hopes, and told him that I feared an admiration of virtue would hardly atone for an actual vice; for if this kind of inclination were really of the value that he believed, he would certainly have been furnished with a bag full of an admiration of what is laudable. This had not seemed to discourage him, and he now advanced boldly to trial with his single bag, which he emptied of its contents. The Prophet heaped up his vices on the dreadful scale, which sunk without hesitation, and pointing to the other which was mournfully elevated, he asked the criminal whether he had any thing by which to lower it.
"Oh, divine Prophet!" he answered, "I stand before the Almighty justice without the aid of a bag, yet let not my merits be the less effectual because they come not out of a sack. Though I lived in vice I never loved it, but in the midst of my sins I ardently desired to be virtuous." To this the Prophet replied, "Thou shalt have a just retribution; thy wish for virtue shall be rewarded by a wish for heaven; though thou wilt now live in hell thou wilt never love it, but in the midst of thy torments shalt ardently desire to be in paradise."
I saw a man advance to trial with great courage: he first placed his sack of vices on the ground, and then proceeded with some ostentation to break the seal of that which contained his good actions. He drew forth a few insignificant merits, and then, to his dismay, finding the bag empty, complained to the Prophet that his best actions had not been packed up. During his whole life he said he had practised charity with the utmost zeal, and hoped to have found his sack full of the distresses which he had relieved. The Prophet assured him that whatever acts of charity he had performed were certainly there. He turned the mouth of his bag downwards and shook it, but without shaking forth any charity, and he then declared there must certainly be a hole in the bag, by which his charity had escaped; but on examining it, he was not able to find the least blemish. With a look of misery he turned to his sack of faults, and when it was opened, at the top appeared a heap of the very actions that he had been looking for. He recognised his virtues with great joy, declared they had been placed by mistake in the wrong sack, and complained that the preparation of his burdens had been intrusted to some angel who could not distinguish vice from virtue. He was proceeding to grasp the good deeds in order to restore them to the other heap, when the Prophet stopped him, saying that perhaps these actions, which he had construed into charities, were not really such, but he had weights which would instantly prove their real nature. He then tried one of them in the scales, and declared that by the weight it was proved to be, not "charity," but "ostentation," and had therefore, as a vice, been allotted to the right sack. The remainder of these ostentatious acts being placed in the scale, without the addition of any more of the faults which were there, out-weighed the whole stock of merits, and thus was this charitable man condemned by the very actions to which he had trusted for his justification.
I next saw at the scales the female who on the journey had complained to me that she was not provided with a load of merits, although her prayers alone would have filled a very large bag. It now appeared that she had misconstrued her prayers, as the man last tried had misconceived his charity; for her sack of faults, on being opened, was found to be choked with these very prayers which were to have carried her into paradise. Mahomet placed them in the infallible scale, and by the weight pronounced them to be "hypocrisy."
I was thrown into great alarm by observing how human beings are liable to be imposed upon by their own actions, and began to fear that many of my deeds, which had always passed with me as virtues, might receive a very different name from these uncharitable scales. I looked back upon several acts of charity, the validity of which I had never before called in question, but I was now in doubt which of my bags might contain them.
I saw many such instances: men came to judgment with great complacency, relying on some action which had been very amiable in their own eyes, when this very piece of goodness was detected in the guilty sack. The father of a family was astonished to see among his faults the chastisement of his children, which he had always regarded as paternal affection, but when it was placed in the scales its weight was declared to be that of "anger."
By far the greater number of actions which had been thus misunderstood by their owners were proved to be composed of "vanity." Those which in appearance were acts of patriotism, friendship, religion, or generosity, were found to be made of these same materials, though by the proprietor of them himself they had never been suspected to be counterfeit.
There was one man whose virtuous actions greatly preponderated in the scale, and it seemed as if his happiness was secure, when there issued from the crowd of mankind a number of his contemporaries, who claimed reparation for the injuries they had suffered from him. It seemed that this man, though possessed of very good intentions, had been remarkably choleric, and in his fits of anger had done some violence to each of these persons, who were now clamorous for compensation. It was chiefly his intimate friends, and his servants, who had demands against him: the wrong suffered by each was referred to the scales, and an equivalent given from the merits of the angry man. One by one his virtues were paid away; and so ungovernable had his temper been, that of the stock of virtues which had been about to carry him triumphantly to heaven not one remained.
The merits of one person whom I saw tried were considerable; but as he had had an unfortunate love of pleasure, his debaucheries proved a little too heavy, and he wanted two pounds of virtue to entitle him to paradise. In this difficulty, he remembered that a neighbour of his had, in a bargain, defrauded him of some acres of land, an injury which had given him so much vexation, that in atonement for it he had no doubt of receiving more than the two pounds of merit which were wanting to make up his qualification for heaven. He asserted his claim, therefore, and his dishonest neighbour being called, the injury was placed in the scales, and found to weigh three pounds. Accordingly, the injured man was authorised to select from the sack of the other any good action, not exceeding three pounds, that he might prefer. The man who had committed the fraud had during his whole life been occupied in the improvement of his fortune, and as he had rigorously abstained from all luxury, his sack was now filled with resistance to pleasure, that being the only virtue it contained; but since it was the very merit in which the plaintiff was most defective, he was delighted to see it in such abundance, and with great joy asserted his claim to three pounds' weight of resistance. First, he chose from the heap an act of self-denial, which looked extremely austere, notwithstanding which it proved almost destitute of weight, and when placed in the scale caused not the least depression of it. He added another effort of abstinence, which failed in the same manner; and he continued to heap up one after another, till the whole cargo of resistance collected together was found to weigh only two ounces. This caused a general surprise, and many suspicions were whispered concerning the veracity of the sacred balance. It began to be believed that Mahomet secretly prompted his own scale, making it magnify the faults of men, and connive at their virtues; and I heard one person complaining, that after he had practised temperance with great difficulty during his whole life, he was now to lose all the merit of it by the detraction of these scales. He said he had restrained every unruly desire, and now it appeared that all his mortifications were to weigh two ounces. The Prophet perceiving these murmurs, and graciously deigning to vindicate the probity of his scales, weighed one of the pieces of resistance with those weights which discovered the real quality of every thing, and declared it almost entirely composed of "want of inclination."
The two ounces of resistance being made over to the injured person, there still remained two pounds fourteen ounces of injury not paid for; and the wealth of the other being exhausted, he had nothing to give, and was therefore compelled, in order to a composition of the fraud, to accept of its weight in vice. The plaintiff therefore having liberty to choose from his errors any one that he might most wish to discard, selected an act of drunkenness, which he assigned to the old man, with whose grave and prudent demeanour it seemed very inconsistent. He was greatly embarrassed to find himself thus surprised into a debauch, and represented to the Prophet how unjust it was that he should be intoxicated by the wine which another man had drank; but his remonstrances were not listened to, and he was deputed to suffer for the intemperance, while the person guilty of it was allowed to pass into heaven, having made up the weight for eternal happiness.
A young man, whose virtues were found to preponderate in the scale, and who appeared just ready to rise, was stopped by the shrill voice of a woman in the crowd, which sounded as if some fearful demand was going to be made upon his virtues. A woman appeared, and advancing to the scales, alleged that this young man had treacherously deprived her of her virtue,—a loss which she had never ceased to deplore. The accused could not deny the charge, and looked mournfully at the scale containing his merits, expecting it to be grievously lightened by this claim. The woman's virtue was then placed in the scale, where, to the astonishment of all, it was found to weigh only one grain, such having been its real value in the mind of the possessor. The young man being desired to pay to her one grain of virtue could find no merit in his store, which was light enough; and the Prophet, therefore, breaking from his filial piety a fragment weighing a grain, presented it to the injured woman, who, having trusted entirely for future happiness to the price she expected in exchange for her virtue, was struck with despair at receiving so small a chip.
After observing a number of judgments I concluded that the guilt of every action was decided according to the injury which mankind had sustained by it. Thus the pleasures of a man, by which he had not impaired the happiness of others, were not to be found in his sack of faults: but those enjoyments, which, by example or participation, had involved others in misfortune, were declared by the scale to be crimes; and if even without being imparted to others they had corrupted the mind of the criminal, or occupied his time so as to prevent the good actions he would otherwise have performed, they were weighed against him.
At the bottom of each sack containing vices were found the opportunities of virtue, which the criminal had neglected, and which were weighed against him as actual crimes. Thus there were some, who, by the advantage of their situation in life, had done but little harm, and yet their merits were greatly outweighed by these omissions of goodness. Some produced sacks very well stored with merit, who nevertheless were overwhelmed by the multitude of neglected opportunities. Others who found but few good actions in their sack, yet were favourably judged by the scale, because there were no opportunities against them.
The Prophet perceiving it was generally suspected that the angels who had prepared the sacks of vice and virtue had performed their tasks ignorantly, and omitted many acts of goodness, declared, that every person who was dissatisfied with the stock of merits assigned him, might require any absent action of his life to be produced and weighed.
A Saracen approached the scales with great confidence, relying upon the number of men whom he had put to death for not believing in Mahomet; but, to his dismay, these exploits were all found in the criminal bag, and the earth swallowed him while he remonstrated against the ingratitude of the Prophet, who condemned him after such services. A Christian also, who had converted men to his own faith by torture, imprisonment, and other arts of persuasion, found all these religious efforts in the wrong bag. By some other judgments it was soon declared upon what grounds religious merit was to be decided: those who had caused the morality of their religion to be received had merit by it; but there was no credit to those who had only propagated their faith from party zeal; and if they had done it violently the oppressions were as heavy in the scale as other injuries.
I observed the trial of a zealot who had been burned for heresy. He had maintained every article of his creed against the flames, and been turned into ashes without recanting a single tenet. Having now observed that good men of all religions were rewarded, he opened his bag of virtue with confidence, and was astonished that his burning could not be found in it. However, supposing it to have been omitted by mistake, he summoned it into the sack through the permission given by the Prophet, and taking it forth, held it ready to atone for any failing that could depress the adverse scale. A man stepped forth, and claimed compensation of him for an injury. The zealot once endeavoured to convert this man, who was of a different faith from himself, and incensed by his not believing with the despatch which he thought reasonable, he had seized him by the hair, and dashed his head against a wall with so much energy, as to make him fall senseless to the ground, upon which the teacher had left him thus effectually silenced. This outrage was placed in the scale, and weighed it down with some force. The zealot, with a triumphant look, placed his martyrdom in the other scale, but without stirring it. He lost all patience when he discovered the invalidity of his burning, and asked what inducement men would now have to become martyrs. The Prophet condescended to answer, that he forgot the world was now at an end; and if it were not, perhaps it would be quite as prosperous without martyrs. He then tried this martyrdom by his infallible weights, and found it interpreted into "party rage."
I remarked the trial of an author celebrated for some works on moral philosophy. A man whom he had defrauded of a legacy came forward to demand a portion of the philosopher's virtue. The fraud was committed to the scale, and hastily drew it down, when the author took from his bag a treatise on justice, which had been much applauded. I believe this book was not in his bag at first, but summoned there by the permission which the Prophet had given, that all who believed any of their virtues omitted might require them to appear. The author, therefore, tearing out a leaf from his treatise, placed it in the scale as an ample equivalent for the legacy. He was surprised that this just and eloquent leaf had no weight against the fraud, upon which he added another torn from a part of the treatise which evinced the most integrity; but this reinforcement was equally useless. He then resigned the whole dissertation to the scale, but it did not move its adversary from the ground, though loaded only with an oversight about a will, while the treatise contained a strict equity in every transaction of life, and amongst other acts of probity a faithful execution of wills. The author again had recourse to his bag, and produced another work, in which he had equally observed the severest rules of duty; but this in conjunction with the essay on justice had no force against the violated will. He continued with the same result to heap one book upon another, for he had been a man of very voluminous morals, and neglected no kind of virtue in his writings. At length he had come to the end of his productions without any atonement, and the great heap of books hung in the air, outweighed by one little error. He proceeded to expostulate against the indignity to his works; and presenting one of the volumes to Mahomet, entreated him to read only a single page, that he might be convinced what injustice was done, when one trifling error was not allowed to be expiated by his continued probity in writing. The Prophet only pointed to the scale resting on the ground, upon which the author said that unless the scale had read his works he could not accept of it as a competent judge of their integrity. The Prophet, without any answer, opened his bag of vices, of which there was an ample collection, and added them to the scale. The author very mournfully searched his bag of merits, which were few and trivial, for he had been so lavish of virtue in his writings as to have none left for practice. However, he made another appeal on behalf of his works; asked how he could be a malefactor with so many chapters of virtue, and represented the injustice of condemning one who had been a good man in every sentence he had written. He then took up one of his books, and was beginning to read aloud at a passage of very vigorous probity, when the earth opened and he descended reading.
A man approached the scales with a criminal bag of a hopeless size, and a diminutive sack of merits; yet by his confident look he seemed to imagine the little bag qualified to contend with the large one. When the great bag came to its confession it was found exempt from hardly any kind of depravity, and the scale sunk irrevocably under its contents. The criminal, however, opened his small bag without dismay; and having stocked the scale with two or three trifling merits, he drew from the bottom of the bag a death-bed repentance, and placed it in the scale with a look of success, but to his amazement the accumulated vices on the other side were unmoved. He appealed to the Prophet against the decision of the scales, declaring that his repentance had been authentic, and without premeditation, not like the formal remorse of so many, who while they commit a crime design to evade punishment by a fiction at last. He protested that for two days before he died his vices had harassed him with sufficient terror; and his clergyman had exhorted him not to afflict himself any longer, for he had repented quite enough to be forgiven. He said he had done all that a dying man could do, and he did not believe that a more deserving death would be presented at judgment. The Prophet deigned to answer that amendment was the only repentance.
"But," said the man, "I had no time for that."
"You lived fifty-six years," replied Mahomet.
"Yes," said the culprit: "but my repentance did not begin till my last illness."
"And why not?" inquired the Prophet; but before the condemned wretch could answer he was swallowed up.
This last sentence appeared to strike a miserable terror into the crowd; for there were great numbers who had thought that by repenting at last they had amply provided for the judgment, and they now saw their whole stock of merit taken from them. I heard a man near me reproaching his priest for having deceived him about the efficacy of a death-bed sorrow. He said he had never committed a sin of any importance without resolving to cancel it by remorse at last: at his death he had not had time to bestow a separate repentance upon each fault, but he had included his whole life in one comprehensive remorse, and lamented all his errors at once. Accordingly his priest had assured him that with allowance for the hurry of his case he had made a very handsome repentance, and might die securely. He now bitterly upbraided his teacher for not having obtained better information; since he had always understood from him that it was the privilege of a dying man to retract any part of his life that he disapproved of, and that he had only to be sorry for a bad action in order not to have committed it. It seemed that this minister of religion had obtained preferment from the man who now complained, and therefore at that man's death had forgiven all his sins out of gratitude. He now gave little attention to the reproaches of one whom he seemed to think disabled as a patron.
A man who had been a celebrated hermit was next tried. His bag of merits contained little besides the relief of two or three distressed travellers. This scarcity seemed to astonish him; however, it might be imagined that his hermitage would be found equally exempt from faults. But his solitude had secured no such immunity; for the Prophet took from his other sack a number of faults, which instantly dragged the scale to the earth, outweighing the sheltered travellers. The hermit declared that his bag must have acknowledged the faults of some other man by mistake, for he had done nothing in his cell that could possibly weigh so much. By examination, however, he found that these weights were neglected opportunities, good actions which he might have performed, and had omitted. Still he protested against the validity of these accusations, and declared his hermitage had furnished no such occasions of doing good as were here imputed to him.
"Here," said he, "I am accused of not having aided my brother, who was a bankrupt: I never heard of his ruin, besides which I possessed nothing except a walking staff, which would not have retrieved his affairs had I bestowed it upon him. If I had known of his approaching misfortune, I would have prayed against it. I wish you would call as witnesses some of the angels, who, I suppose, watched over me: they will tell you that I never went farther from my cell than to the neighbouring wood, and that I cannot with any appearance of justice be accused of my brother's being a bankrupt; yet his bankruptcy seems to weigh very heavily against me, as if in my meditations I had undermined his fortune. The bag also imputes to me the neglect of many other good actions, for which I was equally disqualified. It seems as if I ought to have relieved every want and affliction in the world, and all from my hermitage."
"And why were you in a hermitage?" said the Prophet.
"I was there to pray, to fast, to meditate," answered he, "and now I find a bad reward of my exertions."
"Therefore," said the Prophet, "your bag of faults contains the good actions, for which you would have had opportunity had you lived with other men, and practised their duties. However, if you think that your prayers, fasts, and meditations have so much merit, you may put them in the scale, and try their efficacy against these deserted opportunities."
The hermit availed himself of this privilege, and first loaded his scale with a meditation of six hours, which effecting no descent, he seconded it with a prayer of equal patience, and then proceeded to heap up one handful of severities after another, till he had used his whole supply of rigour without the least tendency downwards. He was beginning another remonstrance, when he disappeared.
I stood a long and wearisome time watching these judgments; at last my own name was called, and I approached the Prophet with a miserable reluctance. My faults being placed in the scale descended with such violence that I quite despaired of changing the verdict. I drew forth my little supply of merits, and tried their force in vain: the earth opened under me, I fell, and lay on my back in the midst of flames. With a great effort I started up, and found myself in bed with my curtains on fire, and Sale's Koran by my side, the Preliminary Discourse of which I had been reading by candlelight, and falling asleep had derived from it the dream which I have related.
THE END.
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Transcriber's note
Obvious typographical errors corrected, unusual but consistent or unique spelling left, including unusual hyphenation of words.