“——That men should be deny’d
The gift of springing to a second youth,
A double age!”
And what might not be the salutary effects upon the world’s morality, for could
“——We turn our steps, and tread again
The path of life, what slips we once had made
We would correct, and every cheating maze
Avoid, where folly lost our way before.”
Through these discoveries, so potent in their influence and wide in their range, the world might possibly become stocked with a superior order of men, and its wickedness cease to be a constant and an endless subject of complaint. It would then be a delight to live in it amid its general harmony and concord; and none would be made to appreciate the feelings frequently expressed by a friend of mine, who always resolved, whenever disgusted at the depravity now too common, to emigrate to some uninhabited island, and commence the world anew, in imitation of old Adam, firmly believing that he could raise a better brood.
Felix Deford, however, during his residence in the village, had been more particularly engaged in other inquiries. The things which we ordinarily encounter during life, were far too dull and stupid for his ardent nature. He longed for something more extraordinary and marvelous, and accordingly betook himself to search for it. He had wit enough to know, that nature, so far as it is understood, has fixed a certain, definite rule of government which had first to be surmounted before the supernatural could be attained. This had been done long before his time, and so very signally, that even the most wonderful metamorphosis were wrought with perfect ease. Does not Pliny himself affirm, and he certainly should have known, that the change of females into males is not fabulous, and Montaigne assure us that he actually saw a man who had once been a woman? Thanks, we should rather say to Felix, that such magic powers are known no more; for in our day, when women so madly aspire to man’s condition, the stock would soon be entirely lost. Felix, however, apprehended no evil consequences from such a discovery, for women would then be no longer needed, and who, argued he, could suffer to be incommoded with them but for their absolute necessity? Whatever dangers suggested themselves to his mind upon this score, he rapidly dismissed, with the reflection that the world was at no loss for inhabitants, and after a sip from the mystic spring, or a slice from Iduna’s apple, the race would no longer require replenishing, and could therefore readily afford to dispense with the fairer portion of creation. If we contemplate with awe the ruins of nations, ideas of whose imposing grandeur have been transmitted to us for our admiration and wonder, and ponder with melancholy anguish upon the fact that millions of human creatures were crushed in their fall, what strange emotions, what terrible feelings, would not be inspired by the total extinction of the most lovely of the sexes—the first honored companion of solitary man in the sacred bowers of Eden! No, Felix; no discovery, though it should be a secret passage to the gates of Paradise, could atone for so sad a loss. Woman was the only instrument of Godly mercy fit to shed a ray of sunshine upon the path of man when first his race began. Though she caused him to go astray, she has done much to repair her error. In the bright glory yet in reserve for her, to calm and cheer the agony and despair of his last hour with the sweet and exhaustless affection of her lovely nature, well will she redeem the stain her impulsive confidence brought upon her angelic character.
The realization of these unnatural powers constituted the dream of Felix, and for this he had devoted his hours to magic in his solitary study, which, to the view of a stranger, would have much resembled the operating room of an industrious philosopher. Old, musty, and neglected volumes, bearing ample evidence that they had undergone the vicissitudes of many years, and suffered treatment too barbarous to be entirely ascribed to the hands of studious and inquisitive man, were piled promiscuously upon the shelves. Scarcely one of them could boast an entire cover, and their black letter and roughly ornamented pages presented a bold contrast to the volumes of the present day. Around the room were seen numerous instruments, with now and then some strange apparatus—things for which science had but few names, and common parlance was a total blank. In one corner your eye met nothing but crucibles, mortars, urns, pots, kettles, and cans; in another, you beheld a variety of jugs, decanters, bottles, and vials; whilst others contained a mass as indescribable as it was nameless. All, too, bore testimony of having been frequently used, and emitted a repulsive scent, sufficiently exhibiting that it required no very refined sense of smell to detest the pursuit of an alchemist. The rules of neatness and arrangement, however, were not neglected in all this confusion. In the centre of the room a large circle was drawn, whilst the walls were totally covered with odd signs, strange figures, and mystic devices. Here it was that the magician employed his charms, and conjured up his spells, and here the alchemist pursued his intricate investigations. Here Felix had applied himself, with a devotion worthy of the greatest commendation, to realize, by magic and alchemistic means, the dreams of those deluded Germans whose fantastic theories, for so long a time, had run away with the reason and good sense of their native contemporaries, and eventually worked similar results in different sections of the world. He longed to verify the fancies of Rosencreutz, which had set many a man’s “wits a wool-gathering,” and made strange fools of some of the cleverest, but too credulous, fellows of all Europe and elsewhere. How happy he would have been in having been brought into closer communion with his Maker, or made the companion of noble spirits to whose wisdom he could have given the impress of utility, and thus eventually succeeded in driving pain, disease, and sorrow from the world! Had not the noted Dr. Torralba a magic Zequiel, apparently unlimited in power, to accompany him as his pledged and faithful friend, and had not Naude’s “zenith and rising sun of all the Alchymists,” the skilful Paracelsus, a spirit confined in the hilt of his sword, and another imprisoned in a jewel? The famous magician, Cornelius Agrippa, whose talents are attested by the great Erasmus and the smooth and gentle Melancthon, did not only command the demons of the earth and the spirits of the air, but could even break in upon the repose of the dead, in the presence of whose greatness he would have cowered during their lives, and summon them before him, clothed in their accustomed habiliments! Though the tunic and mantle of the ancient Grecian had been decayed for centuries, and his body consumed by the devouring limestone which had composed his singular sarcophagus, the dismembered particles came together again, and were compelled to reappear at the powerful bidding of Cornelius. This wonderful knowledge of the historiographer of the Emperor Charles V., and the author of the “Superiority of the Female Sex,” to the great loss of the world, had been permitted to perish with him, and perhaps forever. Though Felix was industriously laboring to restore it again, and revive the marvels of magic and alchemy, it must be acknowledged he was not exceedingly well adapted for the task. Although he had energy and perseverance to surmount every conquerable obstacle, he yet lacked two essential elements—he possessed too much honesty, and not enough imagination. Every pursuit requires certain qualities of mind and heart, and in none have imagery and dishonesty more to do than in that in which he was engaged. They are indispensable to success in such an enterprise, and in both Felix was deficient. To speak the simple truth, there was a limit to his madness. He was weak enough not to doubt the truth of the superhuman exploits and performances ascribed to the masters in the art, whose works he had diligently studied; yet not sufficiently crazy to see unearthly visions appearing in answer to his charms and incantations, when, in truth, there was nothing but vacancy before his eyes.
Combining the fanatical theories of Bohmen, with the more rational and philosophic demonstrations of common chemistry, he would undoubtedly have triumphed in his inquiries but for his deficiency in the qualities alluded to as essential to the alchemist. Though he had dreaded a search for the philosopher’s stone, that great marvel for ages, after so many had failed before him; yet if Agrippa had so far succeeded as to change iron into gold, though it was destined to be converted into simple and worthless stone after one revolution of the earth, might not an improvement be made which should render the metamorphosis more permanent? Whether Agrippa had worked this wonder, which, indeed, would have furnished the clue to all others, by the discovery of the pebble for which so many had searched in vain, or through the direct intervention of the devil, had always been a mystery to Felix; but he had pondered upon it again and again, until it eventually brought him to the determination of summoning his satanic majesty before him. Although satan had unquestionably proved himself a bad magician, if he had been the instrument made use of by Agrippa, Felix believed this was owing rather to his wily and treacherous nature than to a want of power. This determination once fixed, he resorted to the best approved arts usually employed in invoking demons and spirits, and such had been one of his principal occupations during the latter period of his residence in the village. He by no means desired their visits upon mere terms of intimacy and friendship, but demanded absolute dominion over them before compelling them into his presence. Justin Martyr, and all the most ancient Fathers,—and certainly their statements ought to be of great weight,—had too strongly depicted the horrors wrought by bad demons who had visited the earth, for Felix to desire their reappearance without possessing full power to control them. These learned and devout men, venerated even to this day with a kind of religious fervor, had furnished enough, and more, to show that such supernatural agents had not lost the worst vices of humanity, but in addition possessed greater means of indulging them, which they were not timid in exercising. Felix Deford knew the world’s many afflictions too well to wish to add any more to their number; but he believed that a charm so potent as to force the powers of darkness to obey its summons, had only to be dispelled to drive them back to their homes again.
It would be wrong to neglect stating here, that if the masters whose astonishing knowledge and power Felix admired, mingled the mysteries of religion with their theories and principles, he by no means disregarded them. If it be true, (and who doubts it?) that in the antediluvian age, men had lived so many years as to make life resemble a sweet and pleasant immortality upon earth, a very remarkable change must have been effected since then. In the opinions of his masters, that this long life had been the result of a closer communion with the divine element, of social intercourse with the many good spirits supposed to inhabit and abound in space, and of possessing a controlling power over the evil ones, he saw no poetry, but the serious truths of philosophy. Here, then, there had been sufficient to attract his attention to the mysterious portions of his Bible, just as the disbeliever is drawn to those which human intellect is incapable of solving or reconciling. His researches, however, had a less ruinous effect, for they perplexed only himself, and did no harm to others.
He pursued his studies, boiled his mystic herbs, applied his minerals, made his magic mixtures, and resolved his wild problems, constantly expecting some answer from regions which he was incapable of penetrating. His failures never daunted him, for the doctrines of his masters had been too well settled in his mind, and he was too thoroughly convinced of their accuracy, to permit a supposition of their untruth. He was neither so vain nor impatient as to reproach his predecessors because he had failed to meet with equal success, but ascribed his repeated disappointments to his own deficiencies and imperfections. He had been too intent upon his studies to have much concerned himself about the villagers, who, ever since the meeting of the evening party before described, suspected his motives and feared his designs. Not knowing what evils he might bring upon them, and impelled by a very troublesome curiosity, they imagined the worst, so naturally are we given to exaggeration; and now began to refuse supplying him with the requisite comforts of life, thus expecting to bring matters to a decisive point. This, at last, compelled him to greater sociability, but he refused to become communicative. Though asked a thousand times, directly and indirectly, concerning his solitary pursuits, he had as many civil and respectful answers, leaving his questioners as ignorant as they were before. At length, however, the curiosity of the village triumphed. A young rogue, more cautious and cunning than the rest, ascertained what were his employments, and smiled at the great consternation caused by the discovery. He adorned his tale with all the poetry of his rough fancy, and so interwove it with marvels and falsehoods that it gave ample proof that he would have made a much better alchemist than Felix. His story fully realized the imaginings of the wildest magician, and soon succeeded in persuading the villagers that Deford was the absolute controller of spirits, and the unlimited master of demons. As a dealer in forbidden things, he was now still more carefully avoided. Had Felix here thrown away his honesty, for he began to feel the undeserved reputation he was acquiring, and issued from his cloister publicly to practice his incantations, he could have performed wonders before the eyes of the villagers not surpassed in splendor by any accredited to his masters: but he preferred to continue his studies and his conjurations as if unconscious of the opinions entertained concerning him. This only had the effect of increasing the consternation of the villagers still more. His name at once became an object of dread to the credulous, and a subject of terror to the old women, who soon made it the fright of the nursery. Recollections of old and marvelous stories were rapidly revived, and for some time nothing seemed to be known or talked of in the village but terrible tales. There was scarcely a man or woman to be found who had not recently seen a ghost or been troubled by some fearful spectre, for all which Felix had to bear the blame. Amongst these, the most conspicuous was the sharp-visaged old maid, who now saw more ghosts and phantoms than there had been Gods in the heathen Pantheons, and pointed to this fact as a full and triumphant verification of the opinions she had first expressed concerning him. To billet an army upon a town is always attended with great confusion, and necessarily with no little terror; but she accused him of something more awful still. She unhesitatingly affirmed that he had filled the village with spirits and devils, to trouble the repose of its people; but an incredulous fellow, perhaps moved by a malicious disposition, insisted that such could not possibly have been the case, otherwise she could not have been secure for a single moment. No nook or corner could be found where ghost or goblin had not been. The street had become the dancing ground of the tenants of darkness, and the limits of the village the general theatre for their sports and evil practices, and all through the incantations of the conjuror. Every bare spot which had refused to yield as abundantly as its neighbor, brought a curse upon poor Felix; every strange mark discovered was regarded as a sure indication of superhuman agency, and every odd foot-print afforded a monstrous theme for conjecture. Singular noises began to be heard in the air: some exulting and merry—others plaintive and melancholy. Confusion seized the cattle, the horses became as stubborn as the women, the dogs kept up a continual howl and fight, and night was rendered hideous by caterwauls. The pigs and chickens were no less rebellious, the noisy fowls became more noisy and restless, and the barn yards resembled perfect Babels. The crow of the cock was no longer the morning signal of the approach of day, for it was heard at all hours of the night. Everything seemed to have been turned upside down, or tossed about by some miraculous and fearful power. It is supposed that the land inhabited by spirits is pleasant and enchanting, that fairies and genii seek none but the abodes of beauty, but here all was dismay. It was not strange that the majority of the villagers should have been made afraid to venture out of doors after the decline of the sun; yet notwithstanding all this, Felix had a few defenders. Though none could deny the evidences of tumult existing, these assigned quite a different cause for the fact. Make a village mad, said they, drive all the good sense out of the heads of its women and substitute fear, spread consternation amongst the children and discord amongst the men, and it would be truly miraculous if matters followed their usually peaceful routine. The brute will partake of the turbulent humors of its master, and when constantly disturbed by surrounding dismay, cannot avoid becoming infected with the general confusion.
Felix, at last, began to fear the mischief he had unintentionally been creating, and sallied forth once a day with the view of allaying it. As secresy was no longer possible, he endeavored to become as sociable and communicative as circumstances would permit, but the villagers generally shunned him as though he had been a pestilence. A few only could tolerate his presence and submit to his conversations, and these had to encounter the censure of being leagued with him. An evil motive and wicked intention was now ascribed to every trifling thing he did, and all his attempts to commingle sociably with the villagers were quickly attributed to some base design. It is strange how error leads us to phrensy, but such appears to be its very nature. When once it has taken root, it spreads and increases with unaccountable rapidity. With not one half the beauty and attraction of truth and reason; it yet seems to possess a hundred times their power and influence over our conduct. Truth moves with slow and certain tread—error with fearful impetuosity. A town once set in motion the wrong way, presents a terrific spectacle, and to arrest its career of madness is a task not easily performed. It had been so in the case of Felix Deford, and he soon ascertained that it was much less difficult to create a turbulent storm than to allay it. The villagers became lavish in threats and curses against him; yet, mistrusting and doubting, their fears compelled them to act with caution. Repeated deputations were sent to him, politely requesting him to retire from the village, lest his personal safety might be endangered. His efforts to remove their delusion proved unavailing, and they continued to insist until he dismissed them, no less impatient at their importunities than they had been apprehensive of his residence amongst them.