“I will request the favor of your name, sir,” said I, “that I may answer you in a suitable manner.” “I,” said he, “am Taliesin, [49] the prince of the Bards of the West, and that is a
piece of my composition.” “I know not,” said I, “what could be your meaning, unless it was, that the yellow plague [50] which destroyed Maelgwn of Gwynedd, put an end to you on the sea-shore, and that your body was divided amongst the crows and the fishes.” “Peace, fool!” said he, “I was alluding to my two callings, of man of the law and poet. Please to tell me, has a lawyer more similitude to a raven, than a poet to a whale? How many a one doth a single lawyer divest of his flesh, to swell out his own craw; and with what indifference does he extract the blood, and leave a man half alive! And as for the poet, where is the fish which is able to swallow like him? he is drinking oceans of liquor at all times, but the briny sea itself would not slack his thirst. And provided a man be a poet and a lawyer, how is it possible to know whether he be fish or flesh, especially if he be a courtier to boot, as I was, and obliged to vary his taste to every ones palate. But tell me,” said he, “whether there are at present, any of those fellows upon the earth?” “There’s plenty of them,” said I; “if one can patch together any nonsensical derry, he is styled a graduate bard. But as for the others; there is such a plague of lawyers, petty attornies, and scribes, that the locusts of Egypt bore light upon the country, in comparison with them. In your time, sir, there were but bargains of tofts and crofts, and a hand’s breadth of writing for a farm of a hundred pounds, and a raising of cairns and crosses, as memorials of the purchase and boundaries. There is no longer any such security, but there is far more craft and deceit, and a tombstone’s breadth of written parchment to secure the bargain;
and for all that, it is a wonder if a flaw be not in it, or said to be at least.” “Well then,” said Taliesin, “I should not be worth a straw in the world at present. I am better where I am. Truth will never be had where there are many poets, nor fair dealing where there are many lawyers; no, nor health where there are many physicians.” At this moment, a little grey-headed hobgoblin, who had heard that a living man was arrived, flung himself at my feet, weeping abundantly. “Dear me,” said I, “what are you?” “One who is grievously wronged every day in the world,” said he. “May God move your soul to procure justice for me.” “What is your name?” said I. “I am called Somebody,” he replied, “and there is scarcely a piece of pimping, or a calumny, or a lie, or tale, to set people at loggerheads, but must be laid upon me. ‘Verily,’ says one, ‘she is a prodigious fine girl, and she was praising you before somebody, notwithstanding that some very great person is paying his suit to her.’ ‘I heard somebody,’ says another, ‘reckoning that this estate was mortgaged nine hundred pounds deep.’ ‘I saw some one yesterday,’ says the beggar, ‘with a chequered slop, like a sailor, who had come with a large ship load of corn, to the neighbouring port.’ And thus every ragged dog mangles me for his own wicked purposes. Some call me Friend—‘I was informed by a friend,’ says one, ‘that so and so has no intention of leaving a farthing to his wife, and that there is no affection between them.’ Some others vilify me yet more, and call me Bird—‘A bird whistled in my ear, that there are bad practices going on there,’ say they. It is true, some call me by the more respectable name of Old Person; yet, not half the omens, prophecies, and counsels, which are attributed to the Old Person, belong to me. I have never bidden people to follow the old road,
provided the new one be better, nor a hundred similar things. But Somebody is my common name,” he continued, “him you will most frequently hear, to have been concerned in every atrocious matter. Because, ask a person wherever a vile, slanderous falsehood has been uttered, who it was who said it, and he will reply, ‘Truly I don’t know who, but somebody in the company said it;’ question then every one in the company concerning the fable, and every one will say he heard it from somebody, but no one knows from whom. Is not this a shameful injury?” he demanded. “Be so good as to inform every one whom you may hear naming me, that I have never said any one of these things, nor have ever invented nor uttered a lie to slander any one, nor a story to set relations by the ears; that I do not go near them; that I know nothing of their history, nor of their affairs, nor of their accursed secrets; and that they ought not to fling their wickedness upon me, but on their own corrupt brains.”
At this moment there came a little death, one of the secretaries of the king, desiring to know my name, and commanding master Sleep, to carry me instantly before the king. I was compelled to go, though utterly against my will, by the power, which, like a whirlwind carried me away, betwixt high and low, thousands of miles back to the left hand, until we came again in sight of the boundary wall, and reached a narrow corner. Here we perceived an immense, frowning, ruinous palace, open at the top, reaching to the wall where were the innumerable doors, all of which led to this huge, terrific court. The walls were constructed with the sculls of men, which grinned horribly with their teeth. The clay was black, and was prepared with tears and sweat; and the mortar on the outside was variegated with phlegm and pus, and on the inside
with black-red blood. On the top of each turret, you might see a little death, with a smoking heart stuck on the point of his dart.
Around the palace was a wood, consisting of a few poisonous yews and deadly cypresses, and in these, owls, blood crows, vultures and the like were nestling; and croaking continually for flesh, though the whole place was nothing but a stinking shamble. We entered the gate. All the pillars of the hall were made of human thigh bones; the pillars of the parlour were of shank bones; and the floors were one continued layer of every species of offal. It was not long before I came in sight of a vast and frightful altar, where I beheld the king of Terrors swallowing human flesh and blood, and a thousand petty deaths, from every hole, feeding him with fresh, warm flesh. “Behold,” said the death who brought me there, addressing himself to the king, “a spark, whom I found in the midst of the land of Oblivion; he came so light footed, that your majesty never tasted a morsel of him.” “How can that be?” said the king, and opened his jaws as wide as an earthquake to swallow me. Whereupon I turned all trembling to Sleep. “It was I,” said Sleep, “who brought him here.” “Well,” said the meagre, grizly king, turning to me, “for my brother Sleep’s sake, you shall be permitted to return this time, but beware of me the next.” After having employed himself for a considerable time in casting carcasses into his insatiable paunch, he caused his subjects to be called together, and moved from the altar to a terrific throne of exceeding height, to pronounce judgment on the prisoners newly arrived. In an instant came innumerable multitudes of the dead, making their obeisance to their king, and taking their stations in remarkable order. And lo! king Death was
in his regal vest of flaming scarlet, covered all over with figures of women and children weeping, and men uttering groans; about his head was a black-red three-cornered cap (which his friend Lucifer had sent as a present to him,) and upon its corners were written misery, wailing, and woe. Above his head were thousands of representations of battles on sea and land, towns burning, the earth opening, and the great water of the deluge; and beneath his feet nothing was to be seen but the crowns and sceptres of the kings whom he had overcome from the beginning. On his right hand Fate was sitting, seemingly engaged in reading, with a murky look, a huge volume which was before him; and on his left was an old man called Time, licking innumerable threads of gold, and silver, and copper, and very many of iron. Some few of the threads were growing better towards their end, and thousands growing worse. Along the threads were hours, days, and years; and Fate, according as his volume directed him, was continually breaking the threads of life, and opening the doors of the boundary wall, betwixt the two worlds.
We had not looked around us long, before we heard four fiddlers, newly dead, summoned to the bar. “How comes it,” said the king of Terrors, “that loving merriment as ye do, ye kept not on the other side of the gulf, for there has never been any merriment on this side.” “We have never done,” said one of the musicians, “harm to any body, but have rendered people joyous, and have taken quietly what they gave us for our pains.” Said Death, “did you never keep any one from his work, and cause him to lose his time; or did you never keep people from church? ha!” “O no!” said another, “perhaps now and then on a Sunday, after service, we may have kept some in the public house till the next morning, or
during summer tide, may have kept them dancing in the ring on the green all night; for sure enough, we were more liked, and more lucky in obtaining a congregation than the parson.” “Away, away with these fellows to the country of Despair!” said the terrific king, “bind the four back to back and cast them to their customers, to dance bare-footed on floors of glowing heat, and to amble to all eternity without either praise or music.”