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help to support my courage; for the last scene is always a dismal spectacle.
Friend. Dismal indeed; but, in this case, I believe it will be a quiet one.
Atten. Some say that when only one person is present at a sinner's deathbed, good and bad angels are seen hovering about in the dark parts of the chamber, ready to seize his wandering spirit after its escape from the body.
Friend. Fables. Has the priest been here again?
Atten. Yes; but I cannot repeat what passed between them. The priest said it should be kept secret.
Friend. Has the last sacrament been administered?
Atten. Yes; but I fear against the sick man's will; for he seems to entertain different opinions from what are sanctioned by the church. God mend him! before he goes to be judged.
Friend. Amen! Do not, however, think him so much an unbeliever as some have supposed. What I fear is, that there is even less religion in his heart than in his opinions, so much has the business of his life thrown his better feelings into disuse. At the same time, I believe him no friend to wickedness in the main.
Mach. (awaking.) Ha! Jerome, are you there? Reach me your hand once more. It is all over with me.
Friend. This despondency should not be allowed so easy a victory. You have been enjoying the advantage of sleep.
Mach. Scarcely. I had a strange fancy just now.[1] I thought I was standing at a certain place, from whence there was a view of the road which leads up to the gates of paradise, and also of the road which leads down to the infernal regions. Upon each of these roads I saw a croud passing along, and felt much interest in observing of what sort of individuals it was composed.
Friend. What sort of persons were those on the road leading to paradise?
Mach. Poor ill-favoured rogues—half-starved, weather-worn, ragged, and thin-blooded. The very refuse of the earth, at least what are counted so. They seemed as if they had but newly escaped from a hail-storm of earthly misery and contempt, which had bent down their shoulders, and rent their garments to tatters. Beggars, slaves, and simple fools, who had remained honest after being counted knaves; homely rustics, who could scarcely have out-witted their own watch-dogs; sober mechanics, such as are known to the world only by the shoes they produce; bellmen of convents; but few priors; and, in short, such a company as brought me in mind of the text, "Beati pauperes quoniam ipsorum est regnum cælorum."
Friend. But what had these persons done, more than others, to entitle them to admission at St Peter's gate.
Mach. The same question occurred to myself, when I saw the apostle stretch forth his hands to such a homely group, and, with a smiling countenance, help such as were feeble and drooping to ascend the few steps which led up to his massive portal.
Friend. And was your curiosity satisfied?
Mach. The valves were thrown open, and a breeze rushing out upon the new comers, suddenly removed the squalor and sickliness of their appearance, so that they went in, as fresh and joyous as so many winged children painted by Correggio. In the meantime, the apostle, perceiving my astonishment, cried out to me, "The principal merit of these people consists in having spent their lives without betraying any turn for mischief. Persons like them are the only ones capable of allowing paradise to remain a paradise after their arrival. As to the plainness of their understandings it is no disadvantage, since it enables them to be happy, without asking how or wherefore; and because, in heaven, there is no need of circumventing each other.
Friend. Certainly not. But whom did you see upon the other road?
Mach. Let me first tell what more conversation I had with St Peter. I asked him if all the searching faculties, and ambitious stirrings of human nature, must then be considered as pernicious—and if so, why was man endowed with them? He replied, he knew not how man came to be endowed with them, but that we had an opportunity of feeling their effects upon earth, and were able to judge of them for ourselves.
Friend. Alas! it is true that the history of mankind says little in their favour.
- ↑ See Machiavel's Life