Chapter III: The Vision of Hell (2)

Upon that we turned our faces from the great City of Destruction and ascended towards the other city, which was considerably less; and on our way we met several at the upper end of the streets who had made a move as of turning away from the temptations of the gates of Destruction, and making for the gate of life. But they either failed to find it or grew weary on the way; very few went through—one man of rueful countenance, ran in earnest while crowds on all sides derided him, some mocking, {28b} some threatening him, and his kindred clinging to him, begging him not to condemn himself to lose the whole world at one stroke. “I lose but a small portion of it, and were I to lose all, what loss, I pray you, would it be? For what is there in the world to be desired, unless it be deceit, oppression and squalor, wickedness, folly and madness? Contentment and rest is man’s supreme happiness—this is not to be found in your city. For who of you is content? {29} ‘Higher, higher,’ is the aim of all in the Street of Pride, ‘More, more’ cry all that dwell in the Street of Lucre, ‘Sweet, sweet, yet more’ is the voice of everybody in the Street of Pleasure. And as for rest, where is it, and who hath obtained it? If a man is of high degree, adulation and envy almost kill him; if poor, everybody is ready to trample and despise him. If one would prosper, he must set his mind upon being an intriguer; if one would gain respect, let him be a boaster or braggart; if one would be godly, and attend church and approach the altar, he is dubbed a hypocrite, if he abstain from doing so, he becomes at once an antichrist or a heretic; if he is light-hearted, he is called a scoffer, if silent, a morose cur; if he practises honesty, he is but a good-for-nothing fool; if well dressed, he is proud, if not, he is a pig; if gentle of speech, he is double-faced and a rogue, whom none can fathom; if rough, he is an arrogant and froward devil. This is the world you make so much of, and pray you take my share of it and welcome,” and at the word he shook himself free of them all, and away he sped boldly to the narrow gate, and spite of all, pushing onwards he entered, and we too at his heels. Upon the battlements on either side of the gate were many men dressed in black, encouraging the man and applauding him. “Who are those in black up yonder?” I asked. “They are the watchmen of King Emmanuel,” answered he, “who in their sovereign’s name invite men hither and help them through the gate.”

By this we were at the gate: it was very low and narrow, and mean, compared with the lower gates; around the door the Ten Commandments were graven—the first table on the right hand and above it, “Thou shalt love God with all thy heart,” and above the other table on the left, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” and above the whole “Love not the world neither the things that are in the world.” I had not been looking on long before the watchmen began calling in a loud voice upon the condemned men: “Flee, flee for your lives!” But it was few that gave any heed at all to them, though some enquired, “What are we to flee from?” “From the prince of this world, who ruleth in the children of disobedience; from the corruption that is in the world through the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life; from the wrath that is coming upon you.” “What is your beloved city?” cried a watchman, “but a huge charred roof over the mouth of hell, and were ye here ye should see the conflagration beyond your walls ready to burst in and consume you even unto the bottomless pit.” Some mocked, others, menacing, bade them have done with their wicked nonsense; yet one here and there would ask, “Whither shall we flee?” “Hither,” answered the watchmen, “flee hither to your rightful king, who through us still offers you reconciliation, if ye return to your allegiance, and leave that rebel Belial and his bewitching daughters. However fair they appear, it is all sham; Belial is but a very poor prince at home; he has nought but you as faggots for the fire and for food, both roast and boiled, and never will ye suffice him; never will his hunger be appeased or your pain cease. Who would ever in a moment of madness enter the service of such a malignant slaughterer, and suffer eternal torments, when he might live well under a king who is merciful and kind to his subjects, and who hath never done them aught but good on all sides, and kept them from Belial, so that in the end he might give to each one a kingdom in the realm of light. Oh, ye fools, will ye have that terrible foe, whose lips are parched with thirst for your blood, and reject the compassionate prince who hath given his own blood to save you?” Yet these reasons which would melt the rock seemed to have no good effect upon them, and chiefly because few had the time to listen to them, the others were too intently gazing at the gates; and of those listening, very few reflected thereon, and of these again, many soon forgot them; some would not believe they served Belial, others would not have it that this untrodden little hole was the gate of Life, and that the other bright portals, and this castle, were a delusion to prevent them seeing their doom before coming face to face with it.

Just then, behold a troop of people from the Street of Pride, knocking boldly enough at the gate; but they were all so stiff-necked that they could never enter a place so low without soiling their periwigs and horns, so they sulkily retraced their steps. In their wake there came up a group from the Street of Lucre: “And is this the Gate of Life?” asked one; “Yea,” said the watchman overhead. “What must be done to enter?” he enquired. “Read what is inscribed above the doorway and ye shall know.” The miser read the Ten Commandments through: “Who will say that I have broken one of these?” he exclaimed. But when he looked up, and saw the words, “Love not the world, nor the things that are in the world,” he was amazed, and could not swallow that hard saying. There was one, green-eyed and envious, who turned back when he read: “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” There was a gossip and a slanderer who became dazed on reading: “Thou shalt not bear false witness.” When he read, “Thou shalt not kill,” “This is not the place for me” quoth the physician. In short, everybody saw something which troubled him, and so they all returned together to consider the matter. I saw no one yet come back who had conned his lesson; they had so many bags and scripts tightly bound to them, that they could never have got through such a narrow needle’s eye, even if they had tried to. After that a drove from the Street of Pleasure walked up to the gate. “Where, pray, does this road lead to?” asked one of the watchmen. “This,” answered he, “is the way that leads to eternal joy and happiness.” Whereupon all strove to enter, but failed, for some were too stout to pass through such a strait opening; others too weak to struggle, being enfeebled through debauchery. “Oh, ye must not attempt to take your baubles with you,” said the watchman, observing them; “ye must leave behind your pots and dishes, your minions, and all other things, and then hasten on.” “How shall we live?” asked the fiddler, who would have been through long since but that he feared to smash his fiddle. “Ye must trust the king’s promise to send after you as many of these things as will do you good,” said the watchman. This made them all prick their ears, “Oh, oh!” said one, “a bird in hand is worth two in the bush,” and at that they with one accord turned back.

“Let us enter then,” said the Angel, and drew me in; and there in the porch I first of all perceived a large baptismal font, and hard by, a well of salt water. “What is this doing in the middle of the road?” I asked. “Because everybody must wash therein before obtaining citizenship in the Court of Emmanuel; it is called the well of repentance.” Overhead I could see inscribed “This is the gate of the Lord.” The gateway, and street also, widened and became less steep as we went on, and after proceeding a short distance I heard a voice behind me slowly saying, “That is the way, walk ye in it.” The street trended upwards, but was very clean and straight, and though the houses there were not so lofty as those in the City of Destruction, they were fairer to behold; if there was less wealth, there was also less dissension and care; if the choice dishes were fewer, pain was more rare; if there was less turmoil, there was less grief and more undoubtedly of true joy. I wondered at the silence and sweet tranquility there, when thinking of what was going on below. Instead of the cursing and swearing, the scoffing, debauchery and drunkenness, instead of the pride and vanity, the torpitude of one quarter and the violence of another, yea, for all the bustle and the pomp, the hurly-burly and the brawl which there unceasingly bewildered men, and for the innumerable and unvarying sins, there was nothing to be seen here but sobriety, kindness and cheerfulness, peace and thankfulness, compassion, innocence and contentment stamped upon the face of every man, except where one or two silently wept, grieving that they had tarried so long in the enemy’s city. There was no hatred or anger, except towards sin, and this was certain to be overcome; no fear, but of displeasing their king, who was more ready to be reconciled than to be angry with his subjects; no sound, but that of psalms of praise to their Saviour. By this we had come in sight of an exceedingly fine building, oh, so magnificent! No one in the City of Destruction, neither the Turk nor the Mogul nor any one else, has anything equal to it. “This is the Catholic Church,” said the Angel. “Is it here Emmanuel holds his court?” asked I. “Yes, this is the only royal court he has on earth.” “Are there many crowned heads beneath his sway?” “A few—thy queen, some of the princes of Scandinavia and Germany, and a few other petty princes.” “What is that compared with those over whom great Belial rules—emperors and kings without number?” “For all that,” said the Angel, “not one of them can move a finger without Emmanuel’s permission—no, not even Belial himself. For Emmanuel is his rightful liege too, only that he rebelled, and was in consequence bound in chains to all eternity; although he is still allowed for a short period to visit the City of Destruction where he entices all he can into like rebellion, and to bear a share of his punishment; and though he well knows that by so doing he increases his own penalty, {34} yet malice and envy urge him on whenever he has a pretext, and so much does he love evil that he seeks to destroy this city and this edifice, although he knows of yore that its Saviour is invincible.”

“Prithee, my lord,” said I, “may we approach so as to obtain a better view of this magnificent royal court” (for my heart waxed warm towards the place since first I had beheld it). “Oh yes, easily,” answered the Angel, “for therein is my place, my duty and my work.” The nearer I came thereto the more I wondered at the height, strength, splendour, grandeur, and beauty of its every part, how skilful the work was, and how apt the materials. Its base was an enormous rock wondrously fashioned, and of strength impregnable; upon it were living stones, laid and joined in such perfect order that no stone could possibly appear finer elsewhere than in its own place. One part of the church projected in the form of a wonderfully handsome cross, and the Angel saw me looking at it, and said, “Dost thou recognise that part?” I knew not what to answer. “That is the Church of England,” he said. I was somewhat startled, and looking up beheld Queen Anne on the church-top enthroned, with a sword in each hand—the one in the left called “Justice,” to defend her subjects against the inhabitants of the City of Destruction, the one in the right, to preserve them from Belial and his spiritual evils, and this was called “the sword of the Spirit,” or the Word of God. Beneath the left sword lay the statute book of England, and beneath the other, a big Bible. The sword of the Spirit was fiery, and of immense length, and would kill further away than the other would touch. I could see the other princes with like arms defending their part of the church, but I deemed mine own queen fairest of all, and her arms the brightest. At her right hand I observed throngs clad in black—archbishops, bishops, and learned men upholding with her the sword of the Spirit, while soldiers and officials, with a few lawyers, supported the other sword. I was allowed to rest awhile, by one of the magnificent doors where people came in to obtain membership in the Universal Church, and whereat a tall angel was doorkeeper. The interior of the church was lit up so brilliantly that Hypocrisy dared not show her face therein, and though sometimes she appeared at the threshold she never entered. Just as I saw, in the space of a quarter of an hour, a Papist, who thought that the Catholic Church belonged to the Pope, came and claimed its freedom. “What have you to prove your right?” demanded the porter. “I have plenty of the traditions of the fathers, and of councils of the church,” he answered, “but what need I more certain than the word of the Pope, who sits in the infallible chair?” Then the doorkeeper opened a huge Bible—a load in itself; “This,” said he, “is our only statute book—prove your right from this or go.” And he straightway departed.

Then came a flock of Quakers, who wished to enter with their hats on, but were turned away for being so ill-mannered. After them some of the barn-folk, who had been there only a short while, began to speak: “We have the same statute book as ye have,” they averred, “and therefore show us our privileged place.” “Stay,” said the bright porter, steadfastly gazing on their foreheads, “I will show you something: see yon mark of the rent ye made in the church when leaving it without cause or reason? And would ye now have a place therein? Get ye back to the narrow gate, and wash thoroughly in the well of repentance, to see if ye will reach some of the royal blood ye erstwhile drank {36} and bring some of the water of that well to moisten the clay, so as to make up yonder rent and then ye are welcome.”

Before we had gone a rood westward I heard a noise coming from above, from among the princes, and everybody, great and small, was taking up arms and donning his armour as if for war, and ere I had time to cast about me for a refuge, the whole sky became black, and the city darker than when an eclipse befalls; the thunder roared, the lightning flashed to and fro, and ceaseless showers of deadly shafts were directed from the lower gates against the Catholic Church, and had there not been in each man’s hand a shield to receive the fiery darts, and had the foundation rock not been so strong that nothing could ever harm it, we all would have become one burning mass. But alack, this was but a prologue or foretaste of what was to follow; for suddenly the darkness became sevenfold more intense, and Belial himself advanced in the densest cloud, and around him his chief officers both earthly and infernal, ready to receive and accomplish his behest at their several posts. He had entrusted the Pope and his other son of France {37} with the destruction of the Church of England and its queen; the Turks and Muscovites were to strike at the other sections of the Church, and slay the people, and especially the queen and the other princes, and above all to burn the Bible. The first thing the queen and the other saints did was to bend the knee and tell of their wrongs to the King of Kings in these words: “The stretching out of his wings shall fill the breadth of thy land, oh Emmanuel.” And immediately a voice replied: “Resist the devil and he will flee from you.” And then commenced the greatest and most terrible conflict that ever took place on earth. When the sword of the Spirit began to be whirled round, Belial and his infernal hosts began to retreat; then the Pope began to waver, while the King of France still held out, though he too was almost giving up heart, seeing the queen and her subjects so united, while he himself was losing ships and men on the one hand, and on the other many of his subjects were in open revolt; and the onslaught of the Turk also was becoming less fierce. Just then, woe’s me, I saw my beloved companion shooting away from me into the welkin to join a myriad other bright princes. Thereupon the Pope and the other earthly commanders began to slink off and become prostrate through fear, and the infernal princes to fall by the thousands. The noise of each one falling seemed to me as if a great mountain fell into the depths of the sea, and between this noise and the agitation on losing my friend, I awoke from sleep, and returned to this oppressive sod, most unwillingly, so pleasant and enjoyable it was to be a free spirit, and above all to be in such company, notwithstanding the great danger I was in. Now I had no one to comfort me save the Muse, and she was rather moody—scarcely could I get her to bray out these lines that follow:—

Behold this wondrous edifice,
Both heaven and earth comprising,
The universe and all that is
At God’s command arising—
This world, with ramparts wide from pole to pole,
Down from its starry, brilliant dome,
E’en to the depths where angry billows roll,
And beasts that through the forest roam—
All things that sea and sky afford,
Thy faithful subjects eke to be;
A lesser heaven, a home for thee
Oh! man, creation’s lord.

But once that thou desired to know
The ways of sin, seductive,
The hellish tempter, to our woe,
Became a power destructive;
He cursed our earth and ruin brought on all,
Yea, very nature felt the bane—
Its blighted walls now totter to their fall,
And soon disorder rules again.
This earthly palace then at last,
Unroofed, dismantled and decayed,
A hideous, barren waste is laid
By desolation’s blast.

Behold oh, man! this glorious place
In the empyrean hovering
While all is but a treach’rous face
Foul swamps and quagmires covering.
Thy sin, that whelmed this earth in days of yore,
Shall draw upon it quenchless fire
With flaming torrents wildly rushing o’er—
A prey to conflagration dire;
If thou wouldst ’scape this dreadful fate,
I pray thee counsel take from me,
To Mercy’s city straightway flee
For life within its gate.

Behold that city’s peerless might
Withstanding all oppression—
Then flee thereto in thy sad plight,
Be free from sin’s possession.
Behold thy refuge in this dreary land
Where all may find true, peaceful rest,
A rock, impregnable on every hand,
Where perfect love reigns ever blest;
We sinful men, the way must search,
And there in faith for pardon pray,
And live a blissful, tranquil day
Within the Holy Church.

II.—THE VISION OF DEATH IN HIS NETHERMOST COURT.

One long, cold, and dark winter’s night, when one-eye’d Phœbus well nigh had reached his utmost limit in the south and, from afar, lowered upon Great Britain and all the Northern land, and when it was much warmer in the kitchen of Glyn Cywarch {43a} than at the top of Cader Idris, and better in a cosy room with a warm bedfellow than in a shroud in the lychgate, I was meditating upon a talk I had had by the fireside with a neighbour concerning the brevity of human life, and how certain it was that death would come to all, and yet how uncertain its coming. Thus engaged, I had just lain down, and was half-asleep, when I felt a heavy weight stealthily creeping over me, from head to heel, so that I could not move a finger—my tongue only was unbound. I perceived, methought, a man upon my chest, and above him, a woman. After eyeing him carefully I recognised by his strong odours, dewy locks and blear eyes, that the man was no other than my good Master Sleep. “I pray you, sir,” cried I, squeaking, “what have I done to you that you bring that witch here to torment me?” “Hush,” said he, “it is only my sister Nightmare; we twain are going to pay our brother Death {43b} a visit, and want a third to accompany us, and lest thou shouldst resist we came upon thee, just as he does, unawares. Consequently come thou must, willy-nilly.” “Alas,” I cried, “must I die?” “Nay,” said Nightmare, “we will spare thee this time.” “But an’t please you,” said I, “your brother Death has never spared anyone yet who came beneath his stroke—he who wrestled with the Lord of Life himself, though it was little he gained by that contest.” Nightmare, at that word, rose up angrily and departed. “Come along,” cried Sleep, “thou wilt never repent of thy journey.” “Well,” said I, “may there never be night in Sleepton, and may Nightmare never have rest save on an awl’s point if ye bring me not back where ye found me.”

Then away we went over hills and through forests, across seas and valleys, over castles and towers, rivers and rocks, and where should we alight but at one of the gates of the daughters of Belial, at the rear of the City of Destruction, where I noticed that the three gateways of Destruction contracted into one at the back, and opened upon the same place—a murky, vaporous, pestilent place, full of noisome mists, and terrible lowering clouds. “Prithee, good sir,” asked I, “what place be this?” “The chambers of Death,” replied Sleep. And no sooner had I asked than I could hear some wailing, groaning, and sighing; some deliriously muttering to themselves or feebly moaning, others in great travail, and with all the signs of man’s departure from life; and, now and then, would one give a long-drawn gasp, and lapse into silence. At that moment, I heard a key being turned in a lock, and at the noise I looked around for the door, and gazing steadfastly, perceived thousands upon thousands of doors, seemingly afar off but really close at hand. “Please, Master Sleep, where do these doors open upon?” asked I. “Upon the land of Oblivion,” was the answer, “an extensive domain {44} under the sceptre of my brother Death, and this great rampart is the boundary of vast Eternity.” By this I could see that there was a little death-imp at every door, each one bearing arms, and a name different from that of his fellows; though it was evident that they, one and all, were the ministers of the same king. Nevertheless they were continually quarrelling about the sick; one would snatch the patient to take him as a gift through his own door, while another strove to take him through his.

On our approach, I observed that over each door the name of the Death who kept it was written, and also that at each door were an hundred various things left all of a heap, showing plainly that those who went through were in haste. Over one door I saw “Hunger,” and yet on the floor close by were full purses, and bags, and brass-nailed trunks. “This is the Porch of Misers,” said Sleep. “Whom do those rags belong to?” “To the misers, mostly,” he replied, “but there are some which belong to idlers, gossipmongers and others, who, poor in everything except in spirit, preferred to die of hunger rather than ask for help.” Next door was Death-by-Cold, and when I came opposite him I could hear much shuddering and shivering, and at his door, were many books, pots and flagons, a few sticks and bludgeons, compasses, cords and ship’s tackle. “Scholars have gone this way,” said I. “Yea, lonely and helpless, far from the succour of those who loved them, their very garments stolen from them. Those,” he continued, pointing to the pots, “are relics of the boon companions, whose feet were benumbed under the benches, while their heads were seething in drink and noise; those things over there belonged to those who journeyed amid snow-clad mountains, and to North Sea traders.” The next was a lanky skeleton called Fear-Death—so transparent you could see he had no heart; at his door, too, there were bags and chests, bars and strongholds. Through this one went userers and traitors, oppressors and murderers, though many of these last called at the next door, at which was a Death named Gallows, with a rope ready round his neck. Next to him was Love-Death, and at his feet thousands of musical instruments and song-books, love-letters, spots and pigments to beautify the face, and hundreds of tinselled toys for the same purpose, together with a few swords: “With these rivals have fought duels for their mistresses, and some have killed themselves,” said Sleep. I could see that this Death was sandblind. At the next door was a Death whose colour was worst of all, and whose liver was entirely gone—his name was Envy. “This is the Death,” said Sleep, “which brings hither those who have lost money, slanderers, and a rideress or two, who are jealous of the law which demands that a wife should submit herself unto her husband.” “Pray, sir, what is a rideress?” “A rideress is a woman who will over-ride her husband, her neighbourhood, and the whole country if she can, and by dint of long riding, at last, rides a devil from that door down to the bottomless pit.” Next was the door of Ambition-Death for those who hold their heads high, and break their necks, for want of looking on the ground they tread on; at this door lay crowns, sceptres, standards, petitions for offices, and all manner of arms of heraldry and war.

But before I had time to notice any more of these innumerable doors, I heard a voice bidding me by name to be dissolved, and at the word I felt myself beginning to melt like a snowball in the heat of the sun; then my master gave me a sleeping draught, so that I slumbered; and when I awoke, he had taken me by some road or other far away on the other side of the castle. I perceived myself in a pitch-dark vale of infinite radius, methought, and shortly, I saw by a few bluish lights, like the flickering flame of a candle, countless, ah! countless shades of men, some afoot and some on horseback, rushing back and fro like the wind, in awful silence and solemnity; the land was barren, bleak and blasted, without either grass or hay, trees or animals, save deadly beasts and poisonous vermin of every kind—serpents, snakes, lice, frogs, worms, locusts, gids and all such that exist on man’s corruption. Through a myriad shades and reptiles, graves, churchyards and tombs, we made our way to view the land unmolested, until I happened to see some turning round and looking at me; in an instant, notwithstanding the prevailing silence, a whisper passed from one to another that there was a man from earth there. “A man from earth!” cried one, “a man from earth,” exclaimed another, while they crowded round me, like caterpillars, from every quarter. “Which way came you, sirrah?” asked a morkin of a death-imp. “Indeed, sir,” said I, “I know not any more than you do.” “What is your name?” he asked. “Call me here in your own country what ye will, but at home I am called the Sleeping Bard.”

At that word I could see an ancient mannikin, bent double, head to feet, like a bramble, straightening himself, and looking at me more malignantly than the red devil, and without a word he hurled a big skull at my head, but, thanks to a sheltering tombstone, missed me. “Truce, sir, I pray you,” cried I, “to a stranger who was never here before, and will never come again, could I but once find the way home.” “I’ll make you remember you’ve been here,” quoth he, and, again setting upon me with a thighbone, he beat me most unmercifully, while I dodged about as best as I could. “Ho ho!” I cried, “this country is very unmannerly towards strangers; is there no justice of the peace here?” “Peace, indeed,” said he, “thou, surely, hast no right to sue for peace, who disturbest the dead in their graves.” “Pray, sir, might I know your name, for I wot not that I have ever molested anyone from this country?” “Sirrah!” cried he, “know then that I, and not you, am the Sleeping Bard, and have been left in peace these nine centuries by all but you,” and again he set upon me. “Withhold, brother,” said Merlin {48a} who stood near, “be not too hasty; thank him rather for that he hath kept your name in respected memory on earth.” “In great respect, forsooth,” quoth he, “by such a blockhead as this. Are you, sirrah, versed in the four and twenty metres? Can you trace the line of Gog and Magog and of Brutus son of Silvius {48b} down to a century before the destruction of Troy? Can you prophesy when, and how the wars between the lion and the eagle, and between the stag and the red deer will end? Can you?” “Ho there! let me ask him a question,” said another who stood by a huge seething cauldron, {48c} “draw near, and tell me the meaning of this:—

“Upon the face of earth I’ll be
Until the judgment day,
And whether I be fish or flesh
No man can ever say.” {48d}

“I would know your name, sir,” said I, “so that I might the more befittingly give answer.” “I am Taliesin, Chief of the Western Bards, {48e} and those are lines from my mystery-song.” “I know not what your meaning may be, if it be not the yellow plague which destroyed Maelgwn Gwynedd, {49a} slew you upon the sea, and divided you between the ravens and fishes.” “Tush, you fool,” cried he, “I was foretelling of my two callings—as lawyer and poet—and which sayest thou now bears greatest resemblance, whether a lawyer to a raven, or a poet to a whale? How many will a single lawyer lay bare of flesh to swell his own paunch, and oh! so callously doth he shed blood and leave the man half dead! The poet, too, what fish can gulp as much as he? And though he hath always a sea round him, not all the ocean can quench his thirst. And when a man is both a poet and a lawyer, who can tell whether he is fish or flesh, and especially if he be a courtier as well, as I was, and had to change his taste with every mouth. But tell me, are there many of these folk now on earth?” “Yes, plenty,” answered I, “if a man can patch together any sort of metre, straightway he becomes a chaired bard. And of the others, there is such a plague of barristers, petty lawyers, and clerks that the locusts of Egypt preyed less heavily on the country than they. In your time, sir, there were only roadside bargains and a hands-breadth of writing on the purchase of a hundred pound farm, and a cairn or an Arthur’s quoit {49b} raised as a memorial of the purchase and boundaries. People have not the courage to do so nowadays, but more cunning, knavery, and written parchment, wide as a cromlech, is necessary to bind the bargain, and for all that it would be strange if no flaw existed or were contrived therein.” “Well, well,” said Taliesin, “I would not be worth a straw there, I may as well be here; truth will never be found where there are many bards, nor justice where many lawyers, until health be found where there be many doctors.”

Upon this a grey-haired, writhled shrimp, who had heard of the presence of an earthly man, came and fell at my feet, weeping profusely. “Alack, poor fellow,” cried I, “what art thou?” “One who suffers too much wrong on earth day by day,” he replied, “and your soul must obtain me justice.” “What is thy name?” I enquired. “I am called Someone,” was the answer, “and there is no love-message, slander, lie, or tale to breed quarrels, but that I am blamed for most of them. ‘In sooth,’ said one, ‘she is an excellent wench, and has spoken highly of you to Someone, although someone great was seeking her.’ ‘I heard Someone,’ said another, ‘reckoning a debt of nine hundred pounds on such and such an estate.’ ‘I saw Someone yesterday,’ said the beggar, ‘with a mottled neckerchief, like a sailor, who had come with a grain vessel to the next port;’ and so every rag and tag mauls me to suit his own evil purpose. Some call me ‘Friend.’ ‘A friend told me,’ saith one, ‘that so and so does not intend leaving a single farthing to his wife, and that there is no love lost between them.’ Others further disgrace me and call me a crow: ‘a crow tell me there is some trickery going on,’ they say. Yea, some call me by a more honoured name—Old Man, and yet not a half of the omens, prophecies, and cures attributed to me are really mine. I never counselled walking the old way if the new were better, and I never intended forbidding men to church by saying: ‘Frequent not the place where thou art most welcome,’ and a hundred such. But Someone is the name generally given me, and most often heard of when anything uncommonly bad happens; for if you ask one where that scandalous lie was told and who told it. ‘Indeed,’ he will say, ‘I know not, but Someone in the company said it,’ and if you enquire of all the company concerning the story, all have heard it of Someone, but no one knows of whom. Is it not a shameful wrong?” he cried, “I beg of you to inform everybody who names me that I uttered nought of such things. I never invented or repeated a lie to disgrace anyone, nor a single tale to cause kinsmen to fly at each other’s throats; I do not come near them; I know nothing of their scandal, or business, or accursed secrets—they must not charge me with their evils, but their own corrupt brains.”

Hereupon a little Death, one of the King’s secretaries, asked me my name, and bade Master Sleep carry me at once into the King’s presence. I had to go, though most unwilling, by reason of the power that took me up like a whirlwind, ’twixt high and low, thousands of miles back on our left, till we came, a second time, in sight of the boundary wall, and in an enclosed corner we could see a vast palace, roofless and in ruins, extending to the wall wherein were the countless doors, all of which led to this terrible court. Its walls were built of human skulls with hideous, grinning teeth; the clay was black with mingled tears and sweat, the lime ruddy with gore. On the summit of each tower stood a Deathling, with a quivering heart on the point of his shaft. Around the court were a few trees—a poisonous yew or twain, or a deadly cypress, and in these owls, ravens, vampires and the like, make their nests, and cry unceasingly for flesh, although the whole place is but one vast, putrid shamble. The pillars of the hall were made of thighbones, and those of the parlour of shinbones, while the floors were formed of layer upon layer of all manner of charnel.

I had not to wait a longwhile ere I came in view of a tremendous altar, where we could see the King of Terrors devouring human flesh and blood, while a thousand impish deaths, from every hole, were continually feeding him with warm, fresh meat. “Here is a rogue,” said the Death that led me thither, “whom I found in the midst of the land of Oblivion, having approached so light-footed that your majesty never tasted a bite of him,” “How can that be?” demanded the king, opening his jaws, wide as a chasm, to swallow me. Whereupon I turned trembling to Sleep. “It was I who brought him hither,” said he. “Well then, for my brother Sleep’s sake,” said the awful and lanky monarch, “you can retrace your steps for the nonce; but beware of me the next time.” Having been for some time cramming his gluttonous maw with carrion, he caused his subjects to be called together, and moved from the altar to a very lofty and dreadful throne, to adjudge newly-arrived prisoners. In an instant, lo! the dead in countless multitudes paid homage to the king, and took their places in wonderful array. King Death was in his regal robe of brilliant scarlet, whereon depicted were wives and children weeping and husbands sighing; on his head a dark-red, three-cornered cap, a gift his cousin Lucifer had sent him, on the corners of which were written Grief, Sorrow, and Woe. Above his head were a myriad pictures of battles on land and sea, of towns aflame, of the earth yawning, and of the waters of the deluge; the ground beneath his feet was nought else than the crowns and sceptres of all the kings he had ever conquered. At his right hand sat Fate with a morose and scowling visage, reading an enormous tome that lay before him; at his left, was an old man called Time, warping innumerable threads of gold, silver, copper, and many of iron—some threads were growing better towards the end, a myriad worse; along the threads were marked hours, days and years, and Fate, at his book, cut the thread of life and opened the doors in the boundary wall between the two worlds.

I had not been looking about me long, when I heard four fiddlers, just dead, summoned to the bar. “How is it,” asked the King of Terrors, “that ye, who are so found of joy, did not stay on yonder side of the chasm? For on this side joy never existed.” “We have done no man ever any hurt,” said one of the minstrels, “but on the contrary have made them merry, and quietly took whatever was given us for our pains.” “Have ye caused no one,” said Death, “to lose time from his work, or to absent himself from church, eh?” “No,” replied another, “unless we were some Sundays after service in an inn till the morrow, or in summer time on the village green, and indeed we had a better and more beloved congregation than the parson.” “Away, with them to the land of Oblivion,” cried the terrible king, “bind the four, back to back, and pitch them to their partners, to dance barefoot on glowing hearths, and scrape their fiddles for ever without praise or pay.”

The next to come to the bar was a king from near Rome. “Raise thy hand, caitiff,” bade one of the officers. “I hope,” said he, “ye have somewhat better manners and favor for a king.” “Sirrah, you too,” said Death, “ought to have kept on the other side of the gulf where everybody is king; but know that, on this side, there are none besides myself and another, who dwelleth down below, and you shall see that that king and myself will set no value upon the degree of your greatness, but rather upon the degree of your wickedness, and so make your punishment proportionate to your crimes; therefore give answer to the questions.” “Sir, allow me to tell you that you have no authority to arrest and examine me,” said he, “I hold a pardon under the Pope’s own hand for all my sins. Because I served him faithfully, he gave me a dispensation to go straight to Paradise, without a moment’s stay in Purgatory.” At that the king, and all the lean jaws, gave a dismal grin in imitation of laughter, and the other, angered at their laughing, ordered them to show him the way. “Silence, lost fool!” cried Death, “Purgatory lies behind thee, on the other side of the wall, for it was in life thou hadst ought to have purified thyself, and Paradise is on the right, beyond that chasm. Now there is no way of escape for thee, neither across this abyss to Paradise, nor through the boundary wall back to earth; for wert thou to give thy kingdom—though thou hast not a ha’penny to give—the warder of those doors would not let thee look once, even through the keyhole. This is called the irremeable wall, for once it is passed there is no hope of return. But since you are so high in the Pope’s favor, {54} you shall go and get his bed ready with his predecessor, and there you may kiss his toe for ever, and he, the toe of Lucifer.” At the word, four death-imps raised him up, now trembling like an aspen leaf, and snatched him away out of sight, with the speed of lightning.

Next after him, came a man and woman; he had been a boon companion, and she a kind and lavish maid, but there they were called by their plain, unvarnished names, a drunkard and a harlot. “I hope,” said the drunkard, “I may obtain some favor in your eyes, for I despatched hither on a flood of good ale many a fatted prey, and when I failed to slay others, I willingly came myself to feed you.” “By the court’s leave,” said the minion, “not half so many as I have despatched to you as a burnt offering ready for table.” “Ha, ha,” exclaimed Death, “it was to feed your own accursed lusts, and not me, that all this was done. Let them be bound together and hurled into the land of darkness.” And so they too were hurried away headlong.

Next to them came seven recorders, who, on being bidden to raise their hands {55} to the bar, pretended not to hear the command, for their palms were so thickly greased. One of them, bolder than the rest, began to argue, “We ought to have had fair citation, in order to prepare our reply, instead of being attacked unawares.” “Oh, we are not bound to give you any particular notice,” said Death, “because ye have, everywhere, and everywhile throughout your lives, warning of my advent. How many sermons on the mortality of man have ye heard? How many books, how many graves, knells and fevers, how many messages and signs, have ye seen? What is your Sleep but my brother? Your heads but my image? Your daily food but dead creatures? Seek not to lay the blame of your ill hap on my shoulders—ye would not hear of the summons, although ye had it an hundred times.” “Pray what have you against us?” asked one ruddy recorder. “What indeed?” exclaimed Death, “the drinking the sweat and blood of the poor, and the doubling your fees.” “Here is an honest man,” he said, pointing to a wrangler behind them, “who knows I never did aught but what was fair, and it is not fair in you to detain us here, seeing you have no specific charge to prove against us.” “Ha, ha!” cried Death, “ye shall bring proof against yourselves; place them on the verge of the precipice before the throne of Justice; there they will obtain justice, though they practised it not.”

There were yet seven other prisoners, who kept up such commotion and clamour—some blandishing, gnashing the teeth and uttering threats, others giving advice and so on. Scarcely had they been summoned to the bar than the whole court darkened sevenfold more hideously than before, a murmuring and great confusion arose around the throne, and Death became more livid than ever. Upon enquiry it seemed that one of Lucifer’s envoys had arrived, bearing a letter to Death, concerning these seven prisoners; and shortly, Fate called for silence to read the letter which, as far as I can recollect, was as follows:—

“LUCIFER, _King of the Kings of Earth_, _Prince of Perdition and
Archruler of the Deep_, _To our natural son_, _mightiest and most
terrible King Death_, _greeting_, _wishing you supremacy and booty
without end_:

“Whereas some of our swift messengers, who are always out espying,
have informed us that there lately came into your royal court seven
prisoners of the seven most worthless and dangerous species in the
world, and that you are about to hurl them over the precipice into my
realm: our advice is, that you endeavour, by every possible way, to
let them return to the earth; there they will be more serviceable—to
you, in the matter of food, to me, for supplying better company. We
had too much trouble with their partners in days gone by, and our
kingdom is, even now, unsettled. Wherefore, turn them back or retain
them yourself; for, by the infernal crown, if thou cast them hither,
I will undermine the foundations of thy kingdom, until it fall and
become one with mine own great realm.

“_From our Court_, _on the miry Swamp in the glowing Evildom_, _in
the year of our reign_, _5425_.”

King Death, his visage green and livid, stood for a time undecided. But while he was meditating, Fate turned upon him such a grim frown that he trembled. “Sire,” said Fate, “consider well what you are about to do. I dare not allow anyone to repass the bounds of Eternity—the insurmountable ramparts, nor deign you harbour any here, wherefore, send them on to their doom, spite of the great Evil One. He has been able to array in a moment many a haul of a thousand or ten thousand souls, and allot each one his place, and what difficulty will he have with these seven now, however dangerous they may be? Whatever happen, even if they overturn the infernal government, send them thither instantly, lest I be commanded to crush thee to untimely nothingness. As for his menaces, they are false, and although thy doom, and that of yon ancient (looking at Time), are not many pages hence, yet, thou need have no fear of sinking down to Lucifer, for however glad everybody there would be to have thee, they never will; for the eternal rocks of steel and adamant, which roof Hell, are somewhat too firm to be shattered.” Whereupon Death, in great agitation, called for someone to indite thus his reply:—

“DEATH, _King of Terrors_, _Conqueror of Conquerors_, _To our most
revered kinsman and neighbour_, _Lucifer_, _Monarch of the Endless
Night_, _and Emperor of the Sheer Vortex_, _Salutation_:

“After giving earnest thought to this your royal wish, it seemeth to
us more advantageous, not only to our state, but also to your vast
realm, that these prisoners be sent to the furthest point possible
from the portals of the impervious wall, left their putrid odour
should so terrify the entire City of Destruction that no one would
ever enter Eternity from that side of the gulf, and I, in
consequence, would be unable to cool my sting, and you should have no
commerce betwixt earth and hell. But I leave you to judge them, and
to cast them into the cells you deem most secure and befitting.

“_From our Lower Court in the Great Tollgate of Destruction: from the
year of the restoration of my Kingdom_, _1670_.”

After hearing all this, I was itching to know what manner of folk these seven might be, seeing that the devils themselves feared them so much. But ere long, the Clerk to the Crown calls them by name, as follows: “Mister Busybody, alias Finger-in-every-pie.” This fellow was so fussily and busily directing the others, that he had no leisure to answer to his name until Death threatened to sunder him with his dart. Then, “Mr. Slanderer, alias Foe-of-Good-Fame,” was called, but no response came. “He is rather bashful to hear his titles,” said the third, “he can’t abide the nicknames.” “Have you no titles, I wonder?” asked the Slanderer, “call Mr. Honey-tongued Swaggerer, alias Smoothgulp, alias Venomsmile.” “Here,” cried a woman, who was standing near, pointing to the Swaggerer. “Ha, Madam Huntress!” cried he, “your humble servant; I am glad to see you well, I never saw a more beautiful woman in breeches, but woe’s me to think how pitiable is the country, having lost in you such an unrivalled ruler; and yet, your pleasant company will make hell itself somewhat better.” “Oh, thou scion of evil,” cried she, “no one need a worse hell than to be with thee—thou art enough.” Then the crier called, “Huntress, alias Mistress o’ the Breeches.” “Here,” answered someone else, she herself not saying a word because they did not “madam” her. Next was called the Schemer, alias Jack-of-all-Trades. But he, too, failed to answer, for he was assiduously plotting to escape the Land of Despair. “Here, here,” cried someone behind him, “here he is spying for a place to break out of your great court, and unless you be on your guard, he has a considerable plot against you.” “Then,” said the Schemer, “Let him also be called, to wit, The Accuser-of-his-Brethren, alias Faultfinder, alias Complaint-monger.” “Here, here he is,” cried the Litigious Wrangler—for each one knew the other’s name, but none would acknowledge his own. “You are also called,” said the Accuser, “Mr. Litigious Wrangler, alias Cumber-of-Courts.” “Witness, witness, all of you, what names the knave has given me,” cried the Wrangler. “Ha, ha, ’tis not according to the font, but according to the fault, that everybody is named in this land,” said Death, “and with your permission, Mr. Wrangler, these names must stick to you for evermore.” “Indeed,” quoth the Wrangler, “by the devil, I’ll make it hot for you; although you may put me to death, you have no right to nickname me. I shall enter a plaint for this and for false imprisonment, against you and your kinsman Lucifer, in the Court of Justice.”