In a cabinet near this chamber, were a number of persons endeavouring to make gold, or to speak more plainly, sought to discover the philosopher’s stone: among them I recognised Tarnesier, he who made the nail half gold and half iron, which is in the museum of the duke of Tuscany; also a duke of Saxony, and a duke of the Medici, who knew how to make gold during their lives, but forgot the secret when they came to hell.
“Is, then, the making of gold so heinous a sin?” inquired I of the devil.
“No,” answered he, “but it is a grievous offence not to know how to make it, and that is the reason these gentlemen are here.”
“And the others,” said I, “who never pretended to have made the discovery!”
“Oh, they have not passed off copper for gold, as these have done.”
“Let me see the devotees now,” said I to my conductor; “they are a species of humanity that will divert me.”
“You are right; these are the fools of hell; it will be more instinctive to look at them than those of this apartment.”
As we repassed the chambers we had visited, I heard some one exclaim, “Look at this poor devil, who knows not where to bestow himself; Curiosity is seeking a lodging for him.”
“Signor,” said one of them to me, “remain here, with the devil’s permission, if you cannot be accommodated elsewhere.”
I passed by without answer, not wishing to hold any intercourse with the damned. I found in this place monks and devotees who had hated one another so rancorously, that they had abused the most holy things of religion, and wasted the time of the church in giving vent to their malice, and afterwards would excuse their conduct in terms not used in the world but to express the most moral, sacred, and holy actions.