Part 21

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.