“Draw near,” said he, to an old man, a relation of the possessed: “restore the three farms you illegally detain. You, young man, imitate Hercules no more with your strength and intrigue; Hercules is dead; you may find men who will kill you.—You old judge of the village, you have a very delicate and perilous charge: you were the valet of the lord of the domain; you have preserved in your new station, the spirit of servitude, which is not sympathetic with justice. The petition of your ancient master, you stupid wretch. The three peasants who have bound and strangled the helpless patient upon his bed, are those who enjoy the benefit. It is now six years since the farm-house of their master was consumed with fire: they ought to be punished for these crimes.—As to those young ladies, they would do well not to admit, for the future, the two strangers, whom they entertain every evening in their chambers, and whom they introduce by the garden. Profit, all of you, by what you have now heard: I shall speak to you no more, for to-morrow the priest comes to exorcise me, and I shall depart from the body of this subject, it being the will of God that I should go forth, to attest his power and the glory of his name.”
The demon having finished this discourse, took pleasure in tormenting the possessed, and making him utter moving cries. I feared the neighbourhood would be alarmed, and that some one would recognize me in a place where I could not be with honour. In returning to my house, I reflected upon the wisdom of God, who draweth good from evil, and causeth demons to speak as angels of light. The prophet hath also remarked, that divine Providence disposeth things in such a manner, that the hands of our enemies can conduce to our welfare. This is the first possessed I ever saw in the course of my life, and the first time I ever conversed with a demon. God grant that I may never behold another, neither in this world, nor in the world to come!
SECOND NIGHT
DEATH AND HER PALACE.
There are those who affirm that none but the wicked are subjected to unpleasant thoughts. I have been acquainted with many persons, but I could never find one who was not ready to confess, there were moments of sadness that invaded the soul, the cause of which they could not explain. These spring, sometimes from a vicious temperament: the humours mixing themselves with the blood, carry to the brain those spirits that trace upon the imagination frightful and whimsical figures, from whence come those disagreeable dreams and visions that surprise us in the night. Dreams proceed often from heaven, often from the devil, and frequently from natural causes; thus we have thoughts of death, after conversation on the subject, or having read a book that treated of it. To speak plainly, it seems that Providence sends us such dreams, for the purpose of forcing our attention to the consideration of those subjects we are generally reluctant to reflect upon. Such is, without doubt, the origin of this I have had concerning death.
I read one night before retiring, the verse of Lucretius, one of the most learned men, and best poets of antiquity. I found an eminently beautiful passage, where he says, that all nature, with one consent, elevating her voice, speaks thus to mankind:—“Why, O mortals, do you groan for such a length of time, and why are you so sharply afflicted? Why do you submit to the slavery of flying from death, and the fear thereof? Why do you continually reflect upon the pleasures of youth? The enjoyments of this season have passed with the days you regret, as grain escapes from a sack, from whence it finds an issue. You are fatigued with the world; why do you not quit it, as one who returns satisfied from a feast, where the viands were exquisite, and the pleasure of the highest flavour? You are convicted of a strange folly: it is in your power to enjoy tranquillity; why not, then, seize upon possession? Why fear death, that will render you invulnerable?”
Such are the sentiments of the poet, and they appear like those of a saint; but this is nature, or rather, natural reason, teaching us that death is not so frightful as we are apt to imagine; and I am not therefore surprised, that heathen philosophers have exhibited so constant an example of exalted morality.
Likewise I remember what Job has said upon the brevity of human life, and the swift arrival of death. “The life of man,” says this illustrious patriarch, “is of short duration: it is a flower, that before it is scarcely blown, is despoiled of its leaves: it is a shadow, which flies with the rapidity of the wind, without remaining stationary a single moment;” and yet, in spite of its brevity, life is subject to so much calamity, that it is doubtful whether it should not rather be called misery, than life.
Indulging in these grave meditations, I threw myself upon my bed, and slept. My spirit was free from external impressions. I thought there came into the places where my fancy had transported me, a great multitude of physicians, mounted upon mules, the housings of which, were clothes of the dead. In the suit of these physicians, who had an air of sourness and chagrin, followed a crowd of apothecaries, surgeons, and young barbers, who carried the drugs or instruments pertaining to their professions. When the physicians had descended from their mules, they began to dance a ballet, to the sound of the mortars and sieves the apothecaries and their adjuncts played upon. This ballet was interspersed with songs, in which the physicians took the upper part; the words of one of them were as follows:—
“Catholicum, rhubarbarae, opiata, theriaca,
Opoponach, O opium, O laudanum anodinum,
Polychrestum diureticum, senne anisatum.”
Two young physicians performed the air in these words:—