The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Visions of Dom Francisco de Quevedo Villegas
Title: The Visions of Dom Francisco de Quevedo Villegas
Author: Francisco de Quevedo
Translator: Sir Roger L'Estrange
Release date: January 24, 2013 [eBook #41908]
Language: English
Credits: Transcribed from the 1904 Methuen & Co. edition by David Price
Transcribed from the 1904 Methuen & Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
THE VISIONS OF
DOM FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO
VILLEGAS
KNIGHT OF THE ORDER OF ST.
JAMES
MADE ENGLISH BY R. L.
METHUEN & CO.
LONDON
NOTE
This Issue, first published in 1904, is founded on the Third Edition, corrected, published by H. Herringman in 1668.
TO THE READERS GENTLE AND SIMPLE
This Preface is merely for fashion-sake, to fill a space, and please the stationer, who says ’tis neither usual nor handsome, to leap immediately from the title-page to the matter. So that, in short, a Preface ye have, together with the reason of it, both under one: but as to the ordinary mode and pretence of prefaces, the translator desires to be excused. For he makes a conscience of a lie, and it were a damned one, to tell ye, that he has published this, either to gratify the importunity of friends, or to oblige the public, or for any other reason of a hundred, that are commonly given in excuse of scribbling. Not but that he loves his friends, as well as any man, and has taken their opinion along with him. Nor, but that he loves the public too (as many a man does a coy mistress that has made his heart ache.) But to pass from what had no effect upon him in this publication, to that which overruled him in it. It was pure spite. For he has had hard measure among the physicians, the lawyers, the women, etc. And Dom Francisco de Quevedo, in English, revenges him upon all his enemies. For it is a satire, that taxes corruption of manners, in all sorts and degrees of people, without reflecting upon particular states or persons. It is full of sharpness and morality; and has found so good entertainment in the world, that it wanted only English of being baptized into all Christian languages.
THE FIRST VISION OF THE ALGOUAZIL (OR CATCHPOLE) POSSESSED
Going t’other day to hear mass at a convent in this town, the door it seems was shut, and a world of people pressing and begging to get in. Upon enquiry what the matter was; they told me of a demoniac to be exorcised; (or dispossessed) which made me put in for one, to see the ceremony: though to little purpose; for when I had half smothered myself in the throng, I was e’en glad to get out again, and bethink myself of my lodging. Upon my way homeward, at the street’s end, it was my fortune to meet a familiar friend of mine of the same convent; who told me over again what I had heard before, and taking notice of my curiosity, bade me follow him; which I did, till with his passe-partout he brought me through a little back-door into the church, and so into the vestry: where we saw a wretched kind of a dog-looked fellow with a tippet about his neck, as ill ordered as you’d wish; his clothes all in tatters, his hands bound behind him, roaring and tearing after a most hideous manner. “Bless me,” quoth I, crossing myself, “what spectacle have we here?” “This,” said the good Father who was to do the feat, “is a man that’s possessed with an evil spirit.” “That’s a damned lie,” with respect of the company, cried the devil that tormented him, “for this is not a man possessed with a devil, but a devil possessed with a man; and therefore you should do well to have a care what you say, for it is most evident, both by the question and answer, that you are but a company of sots. You are to understand that we devils never enter into the body of a catchpole, but by force, and in spite of our hearts; and therefore to speak properly, you are to say, this is a devil catchpoled, and not a catchpole bedevilled. And, to give you your due, you men can deal better with us devils, than with the catchpoles, for we fly from the cross, whereas they make use of it, for a cloak for their villainy.
“But though we differ thus in our humours, we hold a very fair correspondence in our offices: if we draw men into judgment and condemnation, so do the catchpoles; we pray for an increase of wickedness in the world, so do they; nay and more zealously than we, for it is their livelihood, and we do it only for company: and in this the catchpoles are worse than the devils; they prey upon their own kind, and worry one another. For our parts, we are angels still, though black ones, and were turned into devils only for aspiring into an equality with our Maker: whereas the very corruption of mankind is the generation of a catchpole. So that, my good Father, your labour is but lost in plying this wretch with relics; for you may as soon redeem a soul from hell, as a prey out of his clutches. In fine, your algouazils (or catchpoles) and your devils are both of an order, only your catchpole-devils wear shoes and stockings, and we go barefoot after the fashion of this reverend Father; and (to deal plainly) have a very hard time on’t.”
I was not a little surprised to find the devil so great a sophister, but all this notwithstanding, the holy man went on with his exorcism, and to stop the spirit’s mouth, washed his face with a little holy water, which made the demoniac ten times madder than before, and set him a yelping so horribly, that it deafened the company, and made the very ground under us to tremble. “And now,” says he, “you may, perchance, imagine this extravagance to be the effect of your holy water; but let me tell you, that mere water itself would have done the same thing; for your catchpole hates nothing in this world like water [especially that of a Gray’s Inn pump]. But to conclude, they are so reprobated a sort of Christians, that they have quitted even the very name of misins, by which they were formerly known, for that of algouazils; the latter being of Pagan extraction, and more suitable to their manners.”
“Come, come,” says the Father, “there is no ear, nor credit to be given to this villain; set but his tongue at liberty, and you shall have him fall foul upon the Government, and the ministers of justice, for keeping the world in order and suppressing wickedness, because it spoils his market.” “No more chopping of logic good Mr. Conjurer,” says the devil, “for there’s more in’t than you are aware of; but if you’ll do a poor devil a good office, give me my dispatch out of this accursed algouazil; for I am a devil, you must know, of reputation and quality, and shall never be able to endure the gibes and affronts will be put upon me at my return to hell, for having kept this rascal company.” “All in good time,” said the Father, “thou shalt have thy discharge; that is to say, in pity to this miserable creature, and not for thy own sake. But tell me now, what makes thee torment him thus?” “Nothing in the world,” quoth the devil, “but a contest betwixt him and me, which was the greater devil of the two.”
The conjurer did not at all relish these wild and malicious replies; but to me the dialogue was extreme pleasant, especially being by this time a little familiarized with the devil. “Upon which confidence, my good Father,” said I, “here are none but friends; and I may speak to you as my confessor, and the confidant of all the secrets of my soul; I have a great mind, with your leave, to ask the devil a few questions, and who knows but a man may be the better for his answers, though perchance contrary to his intention! keep him only in the interim from tormenting this poor creature.” The conjurer granted my request, and the spirit went on with his babble. “Well,” says he smiling, “the devil shall never want a friend at court, so long as there’s a poet within the walls. And indeed the poets do us many a good turn, both by pimping and otherwise; but if you,” said he, “should not be kind to us,” looking upon me, “you’ll be thought very ungrateful, considering the honour of your entertainment now in hell.” I asked him then what store of poets they had? “Whole swarms,” says the devil; “so many, that we have been forced to make more room for them: nor is there anything in nature so pleasant as a poet in the first year of his probation; he comes ye laden forsooth, with letters of recommendation to our superiors, and enquires very gravely for Charon, Cerberus, Rhadamanthus, Æacus, Minos.”
“Well,” said I, “but what’s their punishment?” (for I began now to make the poets’ case my own). “Their punishments,” quoth the devil, “are many, and suited to the trade they drive. Some are condemned to hear other men’s works: (and this is the plague of the fiddlers too) we have others that are in for a thousand year, and yet still poring upon some old stanzas they have made of jealousy. Some again are beating their foreheads with the palms of their hands, and even boring their very noses with hot irons, in rage that they cannot come to a resolution, whether they shall say face or visage; whether they shall write jail or gaol; whether cony or cunny, because it comes from cuniculus, a rabbit. Others are biting their nails to the quick, and at their wits’ end for a rime to chimney; and dozing up and down in a brown study, till they drop into some hole at last, and give us trouble enough to get them out again. But they that suffer the most, and fare the worst, are your comic poets, for whoring so many queens and princesses upon the stage, and coupling ladies of honour with lackeys, and noblemen with common strumpets, in the winding up of their plays; and for giving the bastinado to Alexander and Julius Cæsar in their interludes and farces. Now be it known to you, that we do not lodge these with other poets, but with pettifoggers and attorneys, as common dealers in the mystery of shifting, shuffling, forging, and cheating: and now for the discipline of hell, you are to understand we have incomparable harbingers and quartermasters; insomuch that let them come in whole caravans, as it happened t’other day, every man is in his quarter before you can say what’s this.
“There came to us several tradesmen; the first of them a poor rogue that made profession of drawing the long bow; and him we were about to put among the armourers, but one of the company moved and carried it, that since he was so good at draughts, he might be sent to the clerks and scriveners; a sort of people that will fit you with draughts, good and bad, of all sorts and sizes, and to all purposes. Another called himself a cutter, we asked him whether in wood or stone? ‘Neither,’ said he, ‘but in cloth and stuff’ (Anglicè a tailor); and him we turned over to those that were in for detraction and calumny, and for cutting large thongs out of other men’s leather. There was a blind fellow would fain have been among the poets, but (for likeness’ sake) we quartered him among the lovers. After him, came a sexton, or (as he styled himself) a burier of the dead; and then a cook that was troubled in conscience for putting off cats for hares: These were dispatched away to the pastry-men. A matter of half a dozen crack-brained fools we disposed of among the astrologers and alchymists. In the number, there was one notorious murderer, and him we packed away to the gentlemen of the faculty, the physicians. The broken merchants we kennelled with Judas for making ill bargains. Corrupt ministers and magistrates, with the thief on the left hand. The embroilers of affairs, and the water-bearers take up with the vintners; and the brokers with the Jews. Upon the whole matter, the policy of hell is admirable, where every man has his place according to his condition.”
“As I remember,” said I, “you were speaking e’en now concerning lovers. Pray tell me, have you many of them in your dominions? I ask, because I am myself a little subject to the itch of love, as well as poetry.” “Love,” says the devil, “is like a great spot of oil, that diffuses itself everywhere, and consequently hell cannot but be sufficiently stocked with that sort of vermin. But let me tell you now, we have several sorts of lovers; some dote upon themselves; others upon their pelf; these upon their own discourses; those upon their own actions; and once in an age perchance, comes a fellow that dotes upon his own wife; but this is very rare, for the jades commonly bring their husbands to repentance, and then the devil may throw his cap at them. But above all, for sport (if there can be any in hell) commend me to those gaudy monsieurs, who by the variety of colours and ribands they wear (favours as they call them) one would swear, were only dressed up for a sample, or kind of inventory of all the gewgaws that are to be had for love or money at the mercers. Others you shall have so overcharged with perruque, that you’ll hardly know the head of a cavalier from the ordinary block of a tire-woman: and some again you’d take for carriers, by their packets and bundles of love-letters; which being made combustible by the fire and flame they treat of, we are so thrifty, as to employ upon the singeing of their own tails, for the saving of better fuel. But, oh! the pleasant postures of the maiden-lover, when he is upon the practice of the gentle-leer, and embracing the air for his mistress! Others we have that are condemned for feeling and yet never come to the touch: these pass for a kind of buffoon pretenders; ever upon the vigil, but never arrive at the festival. Some again have lost themselves with Judas for a kiss.
“One story lower is the abode of contented cuckolds; a nasty poisonous place, and strewed all over with the horns of rams and bulls, etc. Now these are so well read in woman, and know their destiny so well beforehand, that they never so much as trouble their heads for the matter. Ye come next to the admirers of old women; and these are wretches of so depraved an appetite, that if they were not kept tied up, and in chains, they’d horse the very devils themselves, and put Barabbas to his trumps, to defend his buttocks: for the truth is, whatever you may think of a devil, he passes with them for a very Adonis or Narcissus.
“So much for your curiosity; a word now for your instruction. If you would make an interest in hell, you must give over that roguy way ye have got of abusing the devils in your shows, pictures, and emblems: one while forsooth we are painted with claws, or talons, like eagles, or griffons. Another while we are dressed up with tails, like so many hackney-jades with their fly-flaps: and now and then ye shall see a devil with a coxcomb. Now I will not deny, but some of us may indeed be very well taken for hermits, and philosophers. If you can help us in this point, do; and we shall be ready to do ye one good turn for another. I was asking Michael Angelo here a while ago, why he drew the devils in his great piece of the Last Judgment, with so many monkey faces, and jack-pudding postures. His answer was, that he followed his fancy, without any malice in the world, for as then, he had never seen any devils; nor (indeed) did he believe that there were any; but he has now learned the contrary to his cost. There’s another thing too we take extremely ill, which is, that in your ordinary discourses, ye are out with your purse presently to every rascal, and calling of him devil. As for example. Do you see how this devil of a tailor has spoiled my suit? how the devil has made me wait? how this devil has cozened me, etc., which is very ill done, and no small disparagement to our quality, to be ranked with tailors: a company of slaves, that serve us in hell only for brush-wood; and they are fain to beg hard to be admitted at all: though I confess they have possession on their sides, and custom, which is another law. Being in possession of theft, and stolen goods; they make much more conscience of keeping your stuffs, than your holy days, grumbling and domineering at every turn, if they have not the same respect with the children of the family. Ye have another trick, too, of giving everything to the devil, that displeases ye, which we cannot but take very unkindly. ‘The devil take thee,’ says one: a goodly present I warrant ye; but the devil has somewhat else to do, than to take and carry away all that’s given him; if they’ll come of themselves, let them come and welcome. Another gives that whelp of a lackey to the devil; but the devil will none of your lackeys, he thanks ye for your love; a pack of rogues that are commonly worse than devils, and to say the truth, they are good neither roast nor sodden. ‘I give that Italian to the devil,’ cries a third; thank you for nothing: for ye shall have an Italian will choose the devil himself, and take him by the nose like mustard. Some again will be giving a Spaniard to the devil; but he has been so cruel where-ever he has got footing, that we had rather have his room than his company, and make a present to the grand-signior of his nutmegs.”
Here the devil stopped, and in the same instant, there happening a slight scuffle, betwixt a couple of conceited coxcombs, which should go foremost: I turned to see the matter, and cast my eye upon a certain tax-gatherer, that had undone a friend of mine: and in some sort to revenge myself of this ass in a lion’s skin, I asked the devil, whether they had not of that sort of blood-suckers among the rest, in their dominions (an informing, projecting generation of men, and the very bane of a kingdom). “You know little,” says he, “if you do not know these vermin to be the right heirs of perdition, and that they claim hell for their inheritance: and yet we are now e’en upon the point of discarding them, for they are so pragmatical, and ungrateful, there’s no enduring of them. They are at this present in consultation about an impost upon the highway to hell; and indeed payments run so high already, and are so likely to increase too, that ’tis much feared in the end, we shall quite lose our trading and commerce. But if ever they come to put this in execution, we shall be so bold, as to treat them next bout, to the tune of ‘Fortune my foe,’ etc. and make them cool their heels on the wrong side of the door, which will be worse than hell to them, for it leaves them no retreat, being expelled paradise, and purgatory already.” “This race of vipers,” said I, “will never be quiet, till they tax the way to heaven itself.” “Oh,” quoth the devil, “that had been done long since, if they had found the play worth the candles: but they have had a factor abroad now these half-score years, that’s glad to wipe his nose on his sleeve still, for want of a handkerchief.” “But these new impositions, upon what I pray ye do they intend to levy them?” “For that,” quoth the devil, “there’s a gentleman of the trade at your elbow can tell you all;” pointing to my old friend the publican. This drew the eyes of the whole company upon him, and put him so damnedly out of countenance, that he plucked down his hat over his face, clapped his tail between his legs, and went his way; with which we were all of us well enough pleased, and then the devil went on. “Well,” said the devil, and laughed, “my voucher is departed ye see; but I think I can say as much to this point as himself; the impositions now to be set on foot, are upon bare-necked ladies, patches, mole-skins, Spanish-paper, and all the mundus muliebris more than what is necessary and decent; upon your tour à la mode, and spring garden coaches; excess in apparel, collations, rich furniture, your cheating, and blaspheming gaming ordinaries, and, in general, upon whatsoever serves to advance our empire; so that without a friend at court, or some good magistrate to help us out at a dead lift, and stick to us, we may e’en put up our pipes, and you’ll find hell a very desert.” “Well,” said I, “and methinks I see nothing in all this, but what is very reasonable; for to what end serves it but to corrupt good manners, stir up ill appetites, provoke and encourage all sorts of debauchery, destroy all that is good and honourable in humane society, and chalk out in effect the ready way to the devil.
“But you said something e’en now of magistrates, I hope,” said I, “there are no judges in hell.” “You may as well imagine,” cried the spirit, “that there are no devils there; for let me tell you (friend mine) your corrupt judges are the great spawners that supply our lake; for what are those millions of catchpoles, proctors, attorneys, clerks, barristers, that come sailing to us every day in shoals, but the fry of such judges! Nay sometimes, in a lucky year, for cheating, forging, and forswearing, we can hardly find cask to put them in.”
“From hence now,” quoth I, “would you infer, that there’s no justice upon the face of the earth.” “Very right,” quoth the devil, “for Astræa (which is the same thing) is fled long since to heaven. Do not ye know the story?” “No,” said I. “Then,” quoth the devil, “mind me and I’ll tell ye it.
“Once upon a time Truth and Justice came together to take up their quarters upon the earth: but the one being naked, and the other very severe and plain-dealing, they could not meet with anybody that would receive them. At last, when they had wandered a long time like vagabonds in the open air, Truth was glad to take up her lodging with a mute; and Justice, perceiving that though her name was much used for a cloak to knavery, yet that she herself was in no esteem, took up a resolution of returning to heaven: and in order to her journey, she bade adieu in the first place to all courts, palaces, and great cities, and went into the country, where she met with some few poor simple cottagers, that gave her entertainment; but malice and persecution found her out in the end, and she was banished thence too. She presented herself in many places, and people asked her what she was? She answered them, ‘Justice,’ for she would not lie for the matter. ‘Justice?’ cried they, ‘she is a stranger to us; tell her here’s nothing for her,’ and shut the door. Upon these repulses, she took wing, and away she went to heaven, hardly leaving so much as the bare print of her footsteps behind her. Her name however is not yet forgotten, and she’s pictured with a sceptre in her hand, and is still called Justice; but call her what ye will, she makes as good a fire in hell as a tailor; and for sleight of hand, puts down all the gilts, cheats, picklocks, and trepanners in the world: to say the truth, avarice is grown to that height, that men employ all the faculties of soul and body to rob and deceive. The lecher, does not he steal away the honour of his mistress? (though with her consent). The attorney picks your pocket, and shows you a law for’t; the comedian gets your money and your time, with reciting other men’s labours; the lover cozens you with his eyes; the eloquent, with his tongue; the valiant, with his arm; the musician, with his voice and fingers; the astrologer, with his calculations; the apothecary, with sickness and health; the surgeon, with blood; and the physician, with death itself; and in some sort or other, they are all cheats; but the catchpole (in the name of justice) abuses you with his whole man; he watches you with his eyes; follows you with his feet; seizes with his hands; accuses with his tongue; and in fine, put it in your litany, from catchpoles, as well as devils, libera nos domine.”
“But how comes it,” said I, “that you have not coupled the women with the thieves? for they are both of a trade.” “Not a word of women as ye love me,” quoth the devil, “for we are so tired out with their importunities; so deafened with the eternal clack of their tongues, that we start at the very thought of them. And to say the truth, hell were no ill winter quarter, if it were not so overstocked with that sort of cattle. Since the death of the Witch of Endor, it has been all their business to improve themselves in subtlety and malice, and to set us together by the ears among ourselves. Nay some of them are confident enough, to tell us to our teeth, that when we have done our worst, they’ll give us a Rowland for our Oliver. Only this comfort we have, that they are a cheaper plague to us, than they are to you; for we have no Exchanges, Hyde Parks, or Spring Gardens in our territories.”
“You are well stored then with women, I see, but of which have you most?” said I, “handsome, or ill-favoured?” “Oh, of the ill-favoured, six for one,” quoth the devil, “for your beauties can never want gallants to lay their appetites; and many of them, when they come at last to have their bellies full, e’en give over the sport, repent and ’scape. Whereas nobody will touch the ill-favoured without a pair of tongs; and for want of water to quench their fire, they come to us such skeletons, that they are enough to affright the devil himself. For they are most commonly, old, and accompany their last groans with a curse upon the younger that are to survive them. I carried away one t’other day of threescore and ten, that I took just in the nick, as she was upon a certain exercise to remove obstructions: and when I came to land her, alas for the poor woman! what a terrible fit had she got of the toothache! when upon search, the devil a tooth had she left in her head, only she belied her chops to save her credit.”
“You have exceedingly satisfied me,” said I, “in all your answers; but pray’e once again, what store of beggars have ye in hell? Poor people I mean.” “Poor,” quoth the devil, “who are they?” “Those,” said I, “that have no possessions in the world.” “How can that be,” quoth he, “that those should be damned, that have nothing in the world? when men are only damned for cleaving to’t. And briefly I find none of their names in our books, which is no wonder, for he that has nothing to trust to, shall be left by the devil himself in time of need. To deal plainly with you, where have you greater devils than your flatterers, false friends, lewd company, envious persons, than a son, a brother, or a relation, that lies in wait for your life to get your fortune, that mourns over you in your sickness, and wishes you already at the devil. Now the poor have none of this; they are neither flattered, nor envied, nor befriended, nor accompanied: there’s no gaping for their possessions; and in short, they are a sort of people that live well, and die better; and there are some of them, that would not exchange their rags for royalty itself: they are at liberty to go and come at pleasure, be it war or peace; free from cares, taxes, and public duties. They fear no judgments or executions, but live as inviolable as if their persons were sacred. Moreover they take no thoughts for tomorrow, but setting a just value on their hours, they are good husbands of the present; considering that what is past, is as good as dead, and what’s to come, uncertain. But they say, ‘When the devil preaches, the world’s near an end.’”
“The Divine Hand is in this,” said the holy man that performed the exorcism, “thou art the father of lies, and yet deliverest truths able to mollify and convert a heart of stone.” “But do not you mistake yourself,” quoth the devil, “to suppose that your conversion is my business; for I speak these truths to aggravate your guilt, and that you may not plead ignorance another day, when you shall be called to answer for your transgressions. ’Tis true, most of you shed tears at parting, but ’tis the apprehension of death, and no true repentance for your sins that works upon you: for ye are all a pack of hypocrites: or if at any time you entertain those reflections, your trouble is, that your body will not hold out; and then forsooth ye pretend to pick a quarrel with the sin itself.” “Thou art an impostor,” said the religious, “for there are many righteous souls, that draw their sorrow from another fountain. But I perceive you have a mind to amuse us, and make us lose time, and perchance your own hour is not yet come to quit the body of this miserable creature; however, I conjure thee in the name of the Most High to leave tormenting him, and to hold thy peace.” The devil obeyed; and the good Father applying himself to us, “My masters,” says he, “though I am absolutely of opinion that it is the devil that has talked to us all this while through the organ of this unhappy wretch, yet he that well weighs what has been said, may doubtless reap some benefit by the discourse. Wherefore without considering whence it came; remember, that Saul (although a wicked prince) prophesied; and that honey has been drawn out of the mouth of a lion. Withdraw then, and I shall make it my prayer (as ’tis my hope) that this sad and prodigious spectacle may lead you to a true sight of your errors, and, in the end, to amendment of life.”
THE END OF THE FIRST VISION
THE SECOND VISION OF DEATH AND HER EMPIRE
Mean souls do naturally breed sad thoughts, and in solitude, they gather together in troops to assault the unfortunate; which is the trial (according to my observation) wherein the coward does most betray himself; and yet cannot I for my life, when I am alone, avoid those accidents and surprises in myself, which I condemn in others. I have sometime, upon reading the grave and severe Lucretius, been seized with a strange damp; whether from the striking of his counsels upon my passions, or some tacit reflection of shame upon myself, I know not. However, to render this confession of my weakness the more excusable, I’ll begin my discourse with somewhat out of that elegant and excellent poet.
“Put the case,” says he, “that a voice from heaven should speak to any of us after this manner; what dost thou ail, O mortal man, or to what purpose is it, to spend thy life in groans, and complaints under the apprehension of death? where are thy past tears and pleasures? Are they not vanished and lost in the flux of time, as if thou hadst put water into a sieve? Bethink thyself then of a retreat, and leave the world with the same content, and satisfaction, as thou wouldst do a plentiful table, and a jolly company upon a full stomach. Poor fool that thou art! thus to macerate and torment thyself, when thou may’st enjoy thy heart at ease, and possess thy soul with repose and comfort, etc.”
This passage brought into my mind the words of Job, cap. 14, and I was carried on from one meditation to another, till at length, I fell fast asleep over my book, which I ascribed rather to a favourable providence, than to my natural disposition. So soon as my soul felt herself at liberty, she gave me the entertainment of this following comedy, my fancy supplying both the stage and the company.
In the first scene, entered a troop of physicians, upon their mules, with deep foot-cloths, marching in no very good order, sometime fast, sometime slow, and to say the truth, most commonly in a huddle. They were all wrinkled and withered about the eyes; I suppose with casting so many sour looks upon the piss-pots and close-stools of their patients, bearded like goats; and their faces so over-grown with hair, that their fingers could hardly find the way to their mouths. In the left hand they held their reins, and their gloves rolled up together; and in the right, a staff à la mode, which they carried rather for countenance, than correction; (for they understood no other menage than the heel) and all along, head and body went too, like a baker upon his panniers. Divers of them, I observed, had huge gold rings upon their fingers, and set with stones of so large a size, that they could hardly feel a patient’s pulse, without minding him of his monument. There were more than a good many of them, and a world of puny practisers at their heels, that came out graduates, by conversing rather with the mules than the doctors: well! said I to myself, if there goes no more than this to the making a physician, it is no marvel we pay so dear for their experience.
After these, followed a long train of mountebank-apothecaries, laden with pestles, and mortars, suppositories, spatulas, glister-pipes and syringes, ready charged, and as mortal as gun-shot, and several titled boxes with remedies without, and poisons within: ye may observe that when a patient comes to die, the apothecary’s mortar rings the passing-bell, as the priest’s requiem finishes the business. An apothecary’s shop is (in effect) no other than the physician’s armoury, that supplies him with weapons; and (to say the truth) the instruments of the apothecary and the soldier are much of a quality: what are their boxes but petards? their syringes, pistols; and their pills, but bullets? And after all, considering their purgative medicines, we may properly enough call their shops purgatory; and why not their persons hell? their patients the damned? and their masters the devils? These apothecaries were in jackets, wrought all over with Rs, struck through like wounded hearts, and in the form of the first character of their prescriptions, which (as they tell us) signifies recipe (take thou) but we find it to stand for recipio (I take.) Next to this figure, they write ana, ana, which is as much as to say an ass, an ass; and after this, march the ounces and the scruples; an incomparable cordial to a dying man; the former to dispatch the body, and the latter, to put the soul into the highway to the devil. To hear them call over their simples, would make you swear they were raising so many devils. There’s your opopanax, buphthalmus, astaphylinos, alectorolophos, ophioscorodon, anemosphorus, etc.
And by all this formidable bombast, is meant nothing in the world but a few paltry roots, as carrots, turnips, skirrets, radish and the like. But they have the old proverb at their fingers’ end: “he that knows thee will never buy thee;” and therefore everything must be made a mystery, to hold their patients in ignorance, and keep up the price of the market. And were not the very names of their medicines sufficient to fright away any distemper, ’tis to be feared the remedy would prove worse than the disease. Can any pain in nature, think ye, have the confidence to look a physician in the face, that comes armed with a drug made of man’s grease? though disguised under the name of mummy, to take off the horror and disgust of it: or to stay for a dressing with Dr. Whachum’s plaster, that shall fetch up a man’s leg to the size of a mill-post? When I saw these people herded with the physicians, methought the old sluttish proverb, that says, “there is a great distance between the pulse and the arse,” was much to blame for making such a difference in their dignities, for I find none at all; but the physician skips in a trice from the pulse to the stool and urinal, according to the doctrine of Galen, who sends all his disciples to those unsavoury oracles, from whose hands the devil himself, if he were sick, would not receive so much as a glister. Oh! these cursed and lawless arbitrators and disposers of our lives! that without either conscience or religion, divide our souls and bodies, by their damned poisonous potions, scarifications, incisions, excessive bleedings, etc., which are but the several ways of executing their tyranny and injustice upon us.
In the tail of these, came the surgeons, laden with pincers, cranes-bills, catheters, desquamatories, dilaters, scissors, saws; and with them so horrid an outcry, of cut, tear, open, saw, flay, burn, that my bones were ready to creep one into another for fear of an operation.
The next that came in, I should have taken by their mien, for devils disguised, if I had not spied their chains of rotten teeth, which put me in some hope they might be tooth-drawers, and so they proved; which is yet one of the lewdest trades in the world; for they are good for nothing but to depopulate our mouths, and make us old before our time. Let a man but yawn, and ye shall have one of these rogues examining his grinders, and there’s not a sound tooth in your head, but he had rather see’t at his girdle, than in the place of its nativity: nay, rather than fail, he’ll pick a quarrel with your gums. But that which puts me out of all patience, is to see these scoundrels ask twice as much for drawing an old tooth as would have bought ye a new one.
“Certainly,” said I to myself, “we are now past the worst, unless the devil himself come next.” And in that instant I heard the brushing of guitars, and the rattling of citterns, raking over certain passacailles and sarabands. These are a kennel of barbers thought I, or I’ll be hanged; and any man that had ever seen a barber’s shop might have told you as much without a conjurer, both by the music and by the very instruments, which are as proper a part of a barber’s furniture as his comb-cases and wash-balls. It was to me a pleasant entertainment, to see them lathering of asses’ heads, of all sorts and sizes, and their customers all the while winking and sputtering over their basins.
Presently after these, appeared a consort of loud and tedious talkers, that tired and deafened the company with their shrill, and restless gaggle; but as one told me, these were of several sorts. Some they called swimmers from the motion of their arms in all their discourses, which was just as if they had been paddling. Others they called apes (and we mimics); these were perpetually making of mops, and mows, and a thousand antic ridiculous gestures, in derision and imitation of others. In the third place, were make-bates, and sowers of dissension, and these were still rolling their eyes (like a Bartlemey puppet, without so much as moving the head) and leering over their shoulders, to surprise people at unawares in their familiarities, and privacies, and gather matter for calumny and detraction. The liars followed next; and these seemed to be a jolly contented sort of people, well fed, and well clothed; and having nothing else to trust to, methought it was a strange trade to live upon. I need not tell you, that they are never without a full audience, since all fools and impertinents are of their congregation.
After these, came a company of meddlers, a pragmatical insolent generation of men that will have an oar in every boat, and are indeed the bane of honest conversation, and the troublers of all companies and affairs, the most prostitute of all flatterers, and only devoted to their own profit. I thought this had been the last scene, because no more came upon the stage for a good while; and indeed I wondered that they came so late themselves, but one of the babblers told me (unasked) that this kind of serpent carrying his venom in his tail; it seemed reasonable, that being the most poisonous of the whole gang, they should bring up the rear.
I began then to take into thought, what might be the meaning of this oglio of people of several conditions and humours met together; but I was quickly diverted from that consideration by the apparition of a creature which looked as if ’twere of the feminine gender. It was a person, of a thin and slender make, laden with crowns, garlands, sceptres, scythes, sheep-hooks, pattens, hobnailed shoes, tiaras, straw hats, mitres, Monmouth caps, embroideries, skins, silk, wool, gold, lead, diamonds, shells, pearl, and pebbles. She was dressed up in all the colours of the rainbow; she had one eye shut, the other open; young on the one side, and old o’ the other. I thought at first, she had been a great way off, when indeed she was very near me, and when I took her to be at my chamber door, she was at my bed’s head. How to unriddle this mystery I knew not; nor was it possible for me to make out the meaning of an equipage so extravagant, and so fantastically put together. It gave me no affright, however, but on the contrary I could not forbear laughing, for it came just then into my mind that I had formerly seen in Italy a farce, where the mimic, pretending to come from the other world, was just thus accoutred, and never was anything more nonsensically pleasant. I held as long as I could, and at last, I asked what she was. She answered me, “I am Death.” Death! (the very word brought my heart into my mouth) “and I beseech you, madam,” quoth I (with great humility and respect) “whither is your honour a going?” “No further,” said she, “for now I have found you, I am at my journey’s end.” “Alas, alas! and must I die then,” said I. “No, no,” quoth Death, “but I’ll take thee quick along with me; for since so many of the dead have been to visit the living, it is but equal for once, that one of the living should return a visit to the dead. Get up then and come along; and never hang an arse for the matter; for what you will not do willingly, you shall do in spite of your teeth.” This put me in a cold fit; but without more delay up I started, and desired leave only to put on my breeches. “No, no,” said she, “no matter for clothes, nobody wears them upon this road; wherefore come away, naked as you are, and you’ll travel the better.” So up I got, without a word more and followed her, in such a terror, and amazement, that I was but in an ill condition to take a strict account of my passage; yet I remember, that upon the way, I told her: “Madam, under correction, you are no more like the Deaths that I have seen, than an apple’s like an oyster. Our Death is pictured with a scythe in her hand; and a carcass of bones, as clean as if the crows had picked it.” “Yes, yes,” said she, turning short upon me, “I know that very well; but in the meantime your designers and painters are but a company of buzzards. The bones you talk of are the dead, or otherwise the miserable remainders of the living; but let me tell you that you yourselves are your own death, and that which you call death, is but the period of your life, as the first moment of your birth is the beginning of your death; and effectually, ye die living, and your bones are no more than what death has left and committed to the grave. If this were rightly understood, every man would find a memento mori, or a death’s head, in his own looking-glass; and consider every house with a family in’t but as a sepulchre filled with dead bodies; a truth which you little dream of, though within your daily view and experience. Can you imagine a death elsewhere, and not in yourselves? Believe’t y’are in a shameful mistake; for you yourselves are skeletons before ye are aware.”
“But, madam, under favour, what may all these people be that keep your ladyship company? and since you are Death (as you say) how comes it, that the babblers, and make-bates, are nearer your person, and more in your good graces than the physicians?” “Why,” says she, “there are more people talked to death and dispatched by babblers, than by all the pestilential diseases in the world. And then your make-bates, and meddlers kill more than your physicians, though (to give the gentlemen of the faculty their due) they labour night and day for the enlargement of our empire. For you must understand, that though distempered humours make a man sick, ’tis the physician kills him; and looks to be well paid for’t too: (and ’tis fit that every man should live by his trade) so that when a man is asked, what such or such a one died of, he is not presently to make answer, that he died of a fever, pleurisy, the plague, purples, or the like; but that he died of the doctor. In one point, however, I must needs acquit the physician; ye know that the style of right honourable, and right worshipful, which was heretofore appropriate only to persons of eminent degree and quality, is now in our days used by all sorts of little people; nay the very barefoot friars, that live under vows of humility and mortification, are stung with this itch of title and vainglory. And your ordinary tradesmen, as vintners, tailors, masons, and the like, must be all dressed up forsooth in the right worshipful: whereas your physician does not so much court honour of appellation (though, if it should rain dignities, he might be persuaded happily to venture the wetting) but sits down contentedly with the honour of disposing of your lives and moneys, without troubling himself about any other sort of reputation.”
The entertainment of these lectures, and discourses made the way seem short and pleasant, and we were just now entering into a place, betwixt light and dark, and of horror enough, if Death and I had not by this time been very well acquainted. Upon one side of the passage, I saw three moving figures, armed, and of human shape, and so alike, that I could not say which was which. Just opposite, on the other side, a hideous monster, and these three to one, and one to three, in a fierce, and obstinate combat. Here Death made a stop, and facing about, asked me if I knew these people. “Alas! no,” quoth I, “Heaven be praised, I do not, and I shall put it in my litany that I never may.” “Now to see thy ignorance,” cried Death; “these are thy old acquaintance, and thou hast hardly kept any other company since thou wert born. Those three are the world, the flesh, and the devil, the capital enemies of thy soul; and they are so like one another, as well in quality, as appearance, that effectually, whoever has one, has all. The proud and ambitious man thinks he has got the world, but it proves the devil. The lecher, and the epicure, persuade themselves that they have gotten the flesh, and that’s the devil too; and in fine, thus it fares with all other kinds of extravagants.” “But what’s he there,” said I, “that appears in so many several shapes? and fights against the other three?” “That,” quoth Death, “is the devil of money, who maintains that he himself alone is equivalent to them three, and that wherever he comes, there’s no need of them. Against the world, he argues from their own confession and experience: for it passes for an oracle, that there’s no world but money; he that’s out of money’s out of the world. Take away a man’s money, and take away his life. Money answers all things. Against the second enemy, he pleads that money is the flesh too: witness the girls and the ganymedes it procures, and maintains. And against the third, he urges that there’s nothing to be done without this devil of money. Love does much but money does all; and money will make the pot boil, though the devil piss in the fire.” “So that for ought I see,” quoth I, “the devil of money has the better end of the staff.”
After this, advancing a little further, I saw on one hand judgment, and hell on the other (for so Death called them). Upon the sight of hell, making a stop, to take a stricter survey of it, Death asked me, what it was I looked at. I told her, it was hell; and I was the more intent upon it, because I thought I had seen it somewhere else before. She questioned me, where? I told her, that I had seen it in the corruption and avarice of wicked magistrates; in the pride and haughtiness of grandees; in the appetites of the voluptuous; in the lewd designs of ruin and revenge; in the souls of oppressors; and in the vanity of divers princes. But he that would see it whole and entire, in one subject, must go to the hypocrite, who is a kind of religious broker, and puts out at five-and-forty per cent. the very Sacraments and Ten Commandments.
“I am very glad too,” said I, “that I have seen judgment as I find it here, in its purity; for that which we call judgment in the world is a mere mockery: if it were like this, men would live otherwise than they do. To conclude: if it be expected that our judges should govern themselves and us by this judgment, the world’s in an ill case; for there’s but little of’t there. And to deal plainly, as matters are, I have no great maw to go home again: for ’tis better being with the dead, where there’s justice, than with the living, where there’s none.”
Our next step was into a fair and spacious plain, encompassed with a huge wall, where he that’s once in must never look to come out again. “Stop here,” quoth Death, “for we are now come to my judgment-seat, and here it is that I give audience.” The walls were hung with sighs and groans, ill-news, fears, doubts, and surprises. Tears did not there avail either the lover or the beggar; but grief and care were without both measure and comfort; and served as vermin to gnaw the hearts of emperors and princes, feeding upon the insolent and ambitious, as their proper nourishment. I saw Envy there dressed up in a widow’s veil, and the very picture of the government of one of your noblemen’s houses. She kept a continual fast as to the shambles, preying only upon herself; and could not but be a very slender gentlewoman, upon so spare a diet. Nothing came amiss to her teeth (good or bad) which made the whole set of them yellow and rotten, and the reason was that, though she bit, and set her mark upon the good and the sound, she could never swallow it. Under her, sat discord; the legitimate issue of her own bowels. She had formerly conversed much with married people, but finding no need of her there, away she went to colleges and corporations, where it seems they had more already than they knew what to do withal; and then she betook herself to courts and palaces, and officiated there, as the devil’s lieutenant. Next to her was ingratitude, and she out of a certain paste made up of pride and malice, was moulding of new devils. I was extreme glad of this discovery, being of opinion, till now, that the ungrateful had been the devils themselves, because I read, that the angels that fell were made devils for their ingratitude. To be short, the whole place echoed with rage and curses. “What a devil have we here to do,” said I, “does it rain curses in this country?” With that; a death at my elbow asked me, what a devil could I expect else, in a place where there were so many matchmakers, attorneys, and common barristers, who are a pack of the most accursed wretches in nature. Is there anything more common in the world, than the exclamations of husbands and wives? “Oh! that damned devil of a pander: a heavy curse upon that bitch of a bawd that ever brought us together.” “The pillory and ten thousand gibbets to boot take that pickpocket attorney, that advised me to this lawsuit; h’ as ruined me for ever.” “But pray’e,” said I, “what do all these matchmakers and attorneys here together? Do they come for audience?” Death was here a little quick upon me, and called me fool for so impertinent a question. “If there were no matchmakers,” said she, “we should not have the tenth part of these skeletons, and desperadoes. Am not I here the fifth husband of a woman yet living in the world, that hopes to send twice as many more after me, and drink maudlin at the fifteenth funeral?” “You say well,” said I, “as to the business of matchmakers; but why so many pettifoggers, I pray’e?” “Nay, then, I perceive,” quoth Death, “now you have a mind to seize me; for that rascally sort of caterpillars have been my undoing. Had not a man better die by the common hangman than by the hand of an attorney? to be killed by falsities, quirks, cavils, delays, exceptions, cheats, circumventions: yes, yes, and it must not be denied, that these makers of matches, and splitters of causes, are the principal support of this imperial throne.”
At these words, I raised my eyes, and saw Death seated in her chair of state, with abundance of little deaths crowding about her: as the death of love, of cold, hunger, fear, and laughter; all, with their several ensigns and devices. The death of love, I perceived, had very little brain, and to keep herself in countenance, she kept company with Pyramus and Thisbe, Hero and Leander, and some Amadis’s and Palmerins d’Oliva; all embalmed, steeped in good vinegar, and well dried. I saw a great many other sorts of lovers too, that were brought, in all appearance, to their last agonies, but by the singular miracle of self-interest recovered to the tune of
Will, if looking well won’t move her,
Looking ill prevail?
The death of cold was attended by a many prelates, bishops, abbots, and other ecclesiastics, who had neither wives, nor children, nor indeed anybody else that cared for them, further than for their fortunes. These, when they come to a fit of sickness, are pillaged even to their sheets and bedding, before ye can say a paternoster. Nay, many times they are stripped, ere they are laid, and destroyed for want of clothes to keep them warm.
The death of hunger was encompassed with a multitude of avaricious misers that were cording up of trunks, bolting of doors and windows, locking up of cellars and garrets, and nailing down of trap doors, burying of pots of money, and starting at every breath of wind they heard. Their eyes were ready to drop out of their heads, for want of sleep; their mouths and bellies complaining of their hands, and their souls turned into gold and silver (the idols they adored.)
The death of fear had the most magnificent train and attendance of all the rest, being accompanied with a great number of usurpers arid tyrants, who commonly do justice upon themselves, for the injuries they have done to others, their own consciences doing the office of tormentors, and avenging their public crimes by their private sufferings; for they live in a perpetual anguish of thought, with fears and jealousies.
The death of laughter was the last of all, and surrounded with a throng of people, hasty to believe, and slow to repent, living without fear of justice, and dying without hope of mercy. These are they that pay all their debts and duties with a jest. Bid any of them, “Give every man his due, and return what he has either borrowed, or wrongfully taken,” his answer is, “You’d make a man die with laughing.” Tell him, “My friend, you are now in years, your dancing days are done, and your body is worn out; what should such a scarecrow as you are do with a bed-fellow? Give over your bawdy haunts for shame, and don’t make a glory of a sin, when you’re past the pleasure of it, and yourself upon all accounts contemptible into the bargain.” “This fellow,” says he, “would make a man break his heart with laughing.” “Come, come, say your prayers, and bethink yourself of eternity; you have one foot in the grave already, and ’tis high time to fit yourself for the other world.” “Thou wilt absolutely kill me with laughing. I tell thee I’m as sound as a rock, and I do not remember that ever I was better in my life.” Others there are, that, let a man advise them upon their deathbeds and even at the last gasp to send for a divine, or to make some handsome settlement of their estates, “Alas, alas!” they’ll cry; “I have been as bad as this many a time before, and (with Falstaffe’s hostess) I hope in the Lord there’s no need to think of him yet.” These men are lost for ever, before they can be brought to understand their danger. This vision wrought strangely upon me, and gave me all the pains and marks imaginable of a true repentance. “Well,” said I, “since so it is, that man has but one life allotted him and so many deaths; but one way into the world and so many millions out of it, I will certainly at my return make it more my care than it has been to live with a good conscience, that I may die with comfort.”
These last words were scarce out of my mouth, when the crier of the court with a loud voice called out, “The dead, the dead; appear the dead.” And so immediately, I saw the earth begin to move, and gently opening itself, to make way, first for heads and arms, and then by degrees for the whole bodies of men and women, that came out, half muffled in their nightcaps, and ranged themselves in excellent order, and with a profound silence. “Now,” says Death, “let everyone speak in his turn;” and in the instant, up comes one of the dead to my very beard, with so much fury and menace, in his face and action, that I would have given him half the teeth in my head for a composition. “These devils of the world,” quoth he, “what would they be at? my masters, cannot a poor wretch be quiet in his grave for ye? but ye must be casting your scorns upon him, and charging him with things that upon my soul he’s as innocent of as the child that’s unborn. What hurt has he done any of you (ye scoundrels you) to be thus abused?” “And I beseech you, sir,” said I, “(under your favourable correction) who may you be? for I confess I have not the honour either to know or to understand ye.” “I am,” quoth he, “the unfortunate Tony, that has been in his grave now this many a fair year, and yet your wise worships forsooth have not wit enough to make yourselves and your company merry, but Tony must still be one-half of your entertainment and discourse. When any man plays the fool or the extravagant, presently he’s a Tony. Who drew this or that ridiculous piece? Tony. Such or such a one was never well taught: no, he had a Tony to his master. But let me tell ye, he that shall call your wisdoms to shrift and take a strict account of your words and actions, will upon the upshot find you all a company of Tonys, and in effect the greater impertinents. As for instance: did I ever make ridiculous wills (as you do) to oblige others to pray for a man in his grave, that never prayed for himself in his life? Did I ever rebel against my superiors? Or, was I ever so arrant a coxcomb, as by colouring my cheeks and hair, to imagine that I could reform nature, and make myself young again? Can ye say that I ever put an oath to a lie? or broke a solemn promise, as you do every day that goes over your heads? Did I ever enslave myself to money? Or, on the other side, make ducks and drakes with it? and squander it away in gaming, revelling, and whoring? Did my wife ever wear the breeches? Or, did I ever marry at all, to be revenged of a false mistress? Was I ever so very a fool as to believe any man would be true to me, who had betrayed his friend? Or, to venture all my hopes upon the wheel of fortune? Did I ever envy the felicity of a court-life, that sells and spends all for a glance? What pleasure did I ever take in the lewd discourses of heretics and libertines? Or, did I ever list myself in the party, to get the name of a gifted brother? Who ever saw me insolent to my inferiors, or basely servile to my betters? Did I ever go to a conjurer, or to your dealers in nativities, and horoscopes upon any occasion of loss or death? Now if you yourselves be guilty of all these fopperies, and I innocent, I beseech ye where’s the Tony? So that you see Tony is not the Tony you take him for. But (to crown his other virtues) he is also endued with so large a stock of patience that whoever needed it had it for the asking, unless it were such as came to borrow money; or in cases of women, that claimed marriage of him; or lackeys that would be making sport with his bauble; and to these, he was as resolute as John Florio.”
While we were upon this discourse, another of the dead came marching up to me, with a Spanish pace and gravity; and giving me a touch o’ the elbow, “Look me in the face,” quoth he with a stern countenance, “and know, sir, that you are not now to have to do with a Tony.” “I beseech your lordship,” said I, “(saving your reverence) let me know your honour, that I may pay my respects accordingly; for I must confess, I thought all people here had been, hail fellow well met.” “I am called,” quoth he, “by mortals, Queen Dick; and whether you know me or not, I’m sure you think and talk of me often enough; and if the devil did not possess ye, you would let the dead alone, and content yourselves to persecute one another. Ye can’t see a high crowned hat, a threadbare cloak, a basket-hilt sword, or a dudgeon dagger, nay not so much as a reverend matron, well stricken in years, but presently ye cry, “This or that’s of the mode or date of Queen Dick.” If ye were not every mother’s child of ye stark mad, ye would confess that Queen Dick’s were golden days to those ye have had since, and ’tis an easy matter to prove what I say. Will ye see a mother now teaching her daughter a lesson of good government? ‘Child,’ says she, ‘you know that modesty is the great ornament of your sex; wherefore be sure, when ye come in company, that you don’t stand staring the men in the face, as if ye were looking babies in their eyes, but rather look a little downward, as a fashion of behaviour more suitable to the obligations of your sex.’ ‘Downward?’ says the girl, ‘I beseech you, madam, excuse me: this was well enough in the days of Queen Dick, when the poor creatures knew no better. Let the men look downward towards the clay of which they were made, but man was our original, and it will become us to keep our eyes upon the matter from whence we came.’ If a father give his son in charge, to worship his Creator, to say his prayers morning and evening, to give thanks before and after meat, to have a care of gaming and swearing, ye shall have the son make answer, that ’tis true, this was practised in the time of Queen Dick, but it is now quite out of mode; and in plain English, men are better known nowadays by their atheism and blasphemy than by their beards.”
Hereupon, Queen Dick withdrew, and then appeared a large glass-bottle, wherein was luted up (as I heard) a famous necromancer, hacked and minced according to his own order, to render him immortal. It was boiling upon a quick fire, and the flesh by little and little began to piece again, and made first an arm, then a thigh, after that a leg; and at last there was an entire body, that raised itself upright in the bottle. Bless me (thought I!) what’s here? A man made of a pottage, and brought into the world out of the belly of a bottle? This vision affrighted me to the very heart; and while I was yet panting and trembling, a voice was heard out of the glass. “In what year of our Lord are we?” “1636,” quoth I. “And welcome,” said he; “for ’tis the happy year I have longed for so many a day.” “Who is it, I pray’e,” quoth I, “that I now see and hear in the belly of this bottle?” “I am,” said he, “the great necromancer of Europe; and certainly you cannot but have heard both of my operations in general, and of this particular design.” “I have heard talk of you from a child,” quoth I, “but all those stories I took only for old wives’ fables. You are the man then it seems: I must confess that at first, at a distance I took this bottle for the vessel that the ingenious Rabelais makes mention of; but coming near enough to see what was in it, I did then imagine it might be some philosopher by the fire, or some apothecary doing penance for his errors. In fine, it has cost me many a heavy step to come hither, and yet to see so great a rarity I cannot but think my time and pains very well bestowed.” The necromancer called to me then to unstop the bottle, and as I was breaking the clay to open it, “Hold, hold a little,” he cried; “and I prithee tell me first how go squares in Spain? What money? Force? Credit?” “The plate fleets go and come,” said I, “reasonably well; but the foreigners that come in for their snips have half spoiled the trade. The Genoeses run out as far as the mountains of Potosi, and have almost drained them dry.” “My child,” quoth he, “that trade can never be secure and open, so long as Spain has any enemy that’s potent at sea. And for the Genoeses, they’ll tell you this is no injustice at all, but on the contrary, a new way of quitting old scores, and justifying his Catholic Majesty for a good paymaster. I am no enemy to that nation, but upon the account of their vices and encroachments; and I confess, rather than see these rascals prosper, I’d turn myself into a bouillon again, as ye saw me just now; nay, I did not care if ’twere into a powder, though I ended my days in a tobacco-box.” “Good sir,” said I, “comfort yourself, for these people are as miserable as you’d wish them. You know they are cavaliers and signiors already, and now (forsooth) they have an itch upon them to be princes: a vanity that gnaws them like a cancer; and by drawing on great expenses, breeds a worm in their traffic, so that you’ll find little but debt and extravagance at the foot of the accompt. And then the devil’s in them for a wench, insomuch, that ’tis well, if they bring both ends together; for what’s gotten upon the ’Change is spent in the stews.”
“This is well,” quoth the necromancer, “and I’m glad to hear it. Pray’e tell me now, what price bears honour and honesty in the world?” “There’s much to be said,” quoth I, “upon that point; but in brief, there was never more of it in talk, nor less in effect. ‘Upon my honesty,’ cries the tradesman; ‘Upon my honour,’ says his lordship. And in a word, every man has it, and every thing is it, in some disguise or other; but duly considered, there’s no such thing upon the face of the earth. The thief says ’tis more honourable to take than beg. He that asks an alms, pleads that ’tis honester to beg than steal. Nay the false witnesses and murderers themselves stand upon their points, as well as their neighbours, and will tell ye that a man of honour will rather be buried alive than submit (though they will not always do as they say). Upon the whole matter, every man sets up a court of honour within himself, pronounces everything honourable that serves his purpose, and laughs at them that think otherwise. To say the truth, all things are now topsy-turvy. A good faculty in lying is a fair step to preferment; and to pack a game at cards, or help the frail die, is become the mark and glory of a cavalier. The Spaniards were heretofore, I confess, a very brave, and well governed people; but they have evil tongues among them nowadays, that say they might e’en go to school to the Indians to learn sobriety and virtue. For they are not really sober, but at their own tables, which indeed is rather avarice than moderation; for when they eat or drink at another man’s cost, there are no greater gluttons in the world; and for fuddling, they shall make the best pot-companion in Switzerland knock under the table.”
The necromancer went on with his discourse, and asked me what store of lawyers and attorneys in Spain at present. I told him, that the whole world swarmed with them, and that there were of several sorts: some, by profession; others, by intrusion and presumption; and some again by study, but not many of the last, though indeed sufficient of every kind to make the people pray for the Egyptian locusts and caterpillars in exchange for that vermin. “Why then,” quoth the necromancer, “if there be such plagues abroad, I think I had best e’en keep where I am.” “It is with justice,” said I, “as with sick men; in time past, when we had fewer doctors (as well of law as of physic) we had more right, and more health: but we are now destroyed by multitudes, and consultations, which serve to no other end than to inflame both the distemper and the reckoning. Justice, as well as truth, went naked, in the days of old; one single book of laws and ordinances, was enough for the best ordered Government in the world. But the justice of our age is tricked up with bills, parchments, writs, and labels; and furnished with millions of codes, digests, pandects, pleadings, and reports; and what’s their use, but to make wrangling a science? and to embroil us in seditions, suits, and endless trouble and confusion. We have had more books published this last twenty years than in a thousand before, and there hardly passes a term without a new author, in four or five volumes at least under the titles of glosses, commentaries, cases, judgments, etc. And the great strife is, who writes most, not best; so that the whole bulk is but a body without a soul, and fitter for a churchyard than a study. To say the truth, these lawyers and solicitors are but so many smoke-merchants, sellers of wind, and troublers of the public peace. If there were no attorneys, there would be no suits; if no suits, no cheats, no serjeants; no catchpoles, no prisons; if no prisons, no judges; no judges, no passion; no passion, no bribery or subornation.
“See now what a train of mischiefs one wretched pettifogger draws after him! If you go to him for counsel, he hears your story, reads your case, and tells you very gravely: ‘Sir, this is a nice point, and would be well handled; we’ll see what the law says.’ And then he runs ye over with his eye and finger a matter of a hundred volumes, grumbling all the while, like a cat that claws in her play ’twixt jest and earnest. At last, down comes the book, he shows the law, bids ye leave your papers, and he’ll study the question. ‘But your cause is very good,’ says he, ‘by what I see already, and if you’ll come again in the evening, or to-morrow morning, I’ll tell ye more. But pardon me, sir, now I think on’t, I am retained upon the business of the Fens, it cannot be till Monday next, and then I’m for ye.’ When ye are to part, and that you come to the greasing of his fist (the best thing in the world both for the wit, and memory), ‘Good Lord! sir,’ says he, ‘what do you mean! I beseech you, sir; nay, pray’e sir,’ and if he spies you drawing back, the paw opens, seizes the guineas, and good-morrow countryman.” “Sayst thou me so?” quoth the good fellow in the glass, “stop me up close again as thou lovest me then: for the very air of these rascals will poison me, if ever I put my head out of this bottle, till the whole race of them be extinct. In the meantime, take this for a rule: he that would thrive by law, must fee his enemies’ counsel as well as his own.
“But now ye talk of great cheats; what news of the Venetians? Is Venice still in the world or no?” “In the world do ye say? Yes, marry is’t,” said I, “and stands just where it did.” “Why then,” quoth he, “I prithee give it to the devil from me as a token of my love; for ’tis a present equal to the severest revenge. Nothing can ever destroy that Republic but conscience; and then you’ll say ’tis like to be long-lived; for if every man had his own, it would not be left worth a groat. To speak freely, ’tis an odd kind of common-wealth. ’Tis the very arse-gut, the drain and sink of monarchies, both in war and peace. It helps the Turk to vex the Christians, and the Christians to gall the Turk, and maintains itself to torment both. The inhabitants are neither Moors nor Christians, as appears by a Venetian captain, in a combat against a Christian enemy: ‘Stand to’t my masters,’ says he, ‘ye were Venetians before ye were Christians.’